#i promise i don’t want to shiv ame

[dumpster-fire-sapphic-failgirl]

So in our little WBN fan discord many of us have taken namecloaks and stuck to the S convention mainly because we don’t know the rules

even those of us who would be far more likely to be witches

anyway when submitting my fireside questions i thought it would be fun to use my name in the server plus, y’know, the class/character i most vibed with

which is why there is one question from “Shiv The Witch” and another, after typing it out a second time and seeing how it could be read, that is from “Shiv is a Witch”

whooooops

[egcdeath]

sealing the deal

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick make a few unique business proposals to each other.

word count: 7k

warnings: succession au – tomshiv dynamic (pre-failmarriage), proposals (business and romantic), fluff, a little angst, mentions of a dad being very sick/almost dying, lots of exposition/background on the relationship, art cameo, a little domesticity, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t have to know anything about succession to enjoy this fic! i’ll explain everything that you need to know. if you’re a diehard succession fan i can’t promise that everything will be completely faithful to the source material but it definitely takes a lot of inspiration from tom and shiv’s dynamic.

i wanted to give a HUGE thank you to my succession anon who gave me so much help and guidance for this fic and basically ended up being my co-author for this fic! i hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn’t always easy loving the youngest son of the owner of a multi-billion dollar media conglomerate. 

In fact, most of the time, it was quite the opposite. 

Even without Patrick working in his family’s business, it always felt a little bit like you were in a competition for brain space and time with his family and career, and you were losing. Badly. 

You weren’t exactly sure that you knew what you signed up for when you first met Patrick—connected to each other by a mutual friend you went to business school with, whom you’d begged to try to set you two up for career advancement purposes more than anything else. 

“You know that guy you keep asking me about?” your friend asked you after taking a hefty sip from the drink the bartender just passed her. 

“Patrick Zweig?” you asked, not bothering to pretend like you didn’t know who she was talking about. 

“Yeah!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t sure where she was going with this subject, but you were intrigued by her mention of the man and her apparent entertainment at the situation. 

“What about him?” you asked, perversely curious as to why she was bringing him up now. 

“I invited him to come out with us tonight!” she laughed once more as she divulged this information, as if it wasn’t shocking news to you.  

“What? What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me before!” you practically yelled at her over the sound of loud music and other bar patrons. You suddenly felt very self conscious. If you’d known you were going to meet Patrick Zweig tonight, you would’ve put yourself together, rather than coming straight from work to the bar. 

“I wanted to surprise you!” she continued with her giggling at a situation that you did not find nearly as humorous. “Oh my god. I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I hate you!” you laughed, thinking that maybe this was some sort of prank. “You’re joking, then?”

“No, he’s really coming. He just got back from D.C. and wanted to meet with me. I asked if my hot friend could come along and he was like, ‘Obviously!’”

You groaned aloud. This wasn’t how you intended to make your first impression on him.

“Okay, well, what’s his type?” you asked her, hoping to get a bit of insight before you were launched right into what might end up being your first date. You were sure that you would make a good impression if you showed up as you were, but you wanted to be better than good. You didn’t want to be just another forgettable notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, taking a sip from her drink. “Hot? A nice ass? A little mean? Isn’t that every guy’s type?”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough for me,” you replied. You wanted to have a strategy going into this. You would’ve appreciated at least a small briefing before meeting someone so intimidating. 

“I am, you just check all the boxes already. Just be yourself and I’m sure things will work out fine,” she assured you. 

Her assurance was well warranted, considering that things worked out far better than fine. In fact, your friend was overdue for a fruit basket—one that you would be paying for with Patrick’s credit card as you sat in the dining room of your shared penthouse apartment, after you wrapped up a day of work in the skyscraper that was his father’s corporate headquarters. 

At the time, you had a slight idea of who he was, but you had an even better idea of who his family was. Anyone who owned a television would be familiar with his family’s corporation—from the causal channel surfers who passed one of their many news channels during their search for the newest episode of The Bachelor, to the thousands of people with their logo burned into their device screen from the hours they spent with their eyes locked on the 24-hour stream of borderline propaganda. 

Beyond his impressive family, you’d heard whispers and rumors about Patrick for a long time. Between headlines in gossip magazines and stories from your mutual friend, you learned that he’d entered the political world as an attempt to make a name for himself outside of his family name, but struggled to be taken seriously for many years due to the less than stellar reputation that came with being a Zweig.

Although, rumors about his career were just the tip of the iceberg. Gossip about his tumultuous relationships—if they could even be called that—and history of partying far too hard often ran wild, making you believe that your initial meetings with Patrick would be nothing more than a few hookups and sweet talking yourself into a new job. After all, there was no better pillow talk than an elevator pitch. 

At first, your plan seemed like it was right on track. You ended your first night together in the early morning, finding yourself in Patrick’s apartment for hours. Your night hadn’t really ever ended, with the two of you leaving the bar together, having some of the best sex of your life in a bed that felt a little bit like laying on a cloud, then proceeding to talk for hours until it was time for you to go back to work. You smiled to yourself as you sat in the backseat of Patrick’s car, exhausted from the long night and a little uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, but mostly enthusiastic after your surprisingly eventful night with the man. 

It was a strange turn of events from what you initially expected. While you couldn’t be too sure what you were getting yourself into when you learned you were being set up on a date, you assumed that Patrick would be like any other rich asshole you’d gone out on dates with, who got what they wanted from you, sent you off on your merry way, then never spoke to you again. You quickly discovered that he was unlike anyone you’d ever been with before. 

Patrick seemed to be full of surprises, and the fact that you were going on multiple dates with him in the first place was one of those very surprises. You hadn’t expected to go on any more than three dates before you asked about working for his family, securing yourself a job, then leaving him alone. 

What took you by even greater surprise were the dates themselves. What started as an intimate dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city ended with you at a terrible 24-hour diner, treating Patrick to his first slice of cherry pie as you talked into the wee hours of the morning. 

Your subsequent dates went similarly, with the two of you talking endlessly about anything and everything. Patrick was someone full of surprises—he was far from the rich asshole you expected him to be, and more like a knowledgeable politics nerd with a lot of money. 

You talked for hours about big things, like why Patrick decided to pursue a career as a political strategist and what brought you to New York City, but you also found it easy to discuss small random things with him, spending an extended period of time discussing how you named your cat, and debating on the best restaurant in the city. 

You always thought of yourself as being somewhat agreeable and friendly when it came to conversation, but your discussions with Patrick took you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’d ever clicked with someone the way you clicked with him, and it made you as excited as it made you nervous. 

By the time you worked up the nerve to ask Patrick about working for his family, you were already beat to the punch. The two of you were tucked into the booth that you’d recently declared as yours in the same diner that you seemed to be spending all of your all-nighters in, reclining comfortably in the particularly uncomfortable seats. 

“Do you like the business side of things?” Patrick asked you, stirring a flattening Diet Coke with a straw. 

“It’s fun,” you dismissed. “It’s less fun going to work on a half-hour of sleep.”

“Shut up. You love it,” the man across from you laughed, an admittedly very handsome half-smile on his face. “I mean it though. Do you like what you’re doing?”

“It pays the bills, I guess. I like the work, but I’m not huge on the company. All the politics and the instability with layoffs lately… It isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Would you ever work for my family?” he asked. “I mean, you’re just wasting potential elsewhere. I really think they could use someone like you on their team.”

“Seriously?” you asked, partially surprised at the proposition, but mostly surprised that you weren’t the one to ask in the first place. Across the table, Patrick listened to you intently. “I mean, If they’d have me, I’d love to work for them.”

“My dad mentioned something about them looking for some new blood. I can put in a good word for you, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Is this because I showed you the joys of a slice of diner cherry pie?” you joked, trying not to let on just how overjoyed you were about this opportunity. 

“You got me. And now that you mention it, we should probably order another slice,” he suggested, going along with your joke. “You’re smart and you clearly know your shit. Besides, I’m mostly doing it for myself. It’ll be nice to have someone around at company Christmas parties who can actually keep up with me.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied calmly, though you were doing somersaults in your mind. “I look forward to drinking eggnog and singing Mariah Carey songs with you.”

In retrospect, you recognized this action as the first of his many wordless declarations of love. You later learned that Patrick did everything he could to avoid talking business with his family, as it was clearly a sore spot for everyone involved. Realizing that he’d gone out of his way to get you a job had been an even more kind gesture than you knew at the time. 

While you initially expected your fling to taper off after Patrick fulfilled his end of the business deal he didn’t even know he was facilitating, your relationship did nothing of the sort. In fact, his favor seemed to have the opposite effect on your bond. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were courting each other like lovesick Jane Austen protagonists. In another shocking turn of events, Patrick ordered flowers to your doorstep each morning and took you on lavish dates, while you began to take four-hour long train rides to and from D.C. each weekend to visit him, and frequently sent him rambling love letters. 

While you hadn’t expected for your relationship to unfold the way that it did, you genuinely loved Patrick. You loved the way his eyes crinkled when you told him something stupid that he’d laugh at, or how he leaned in to whisper something judgmental in your ear about someone you mutually disliked during family events. You loved the way his hand felt in yours and the way his mind worked, which he frequently displayed to you while discussing his latest political strategy. You even loved when he minced words to describe how he felt about you, knowing that though the word ‘love’ might never leave his lips, his actions spoke far louder than his voice ever could. 

It just so happened that you loved his proximity to power, too. 

While his money and power might have piqued your interest initially, it didn’t change the fact that the two of you quickly clicked. You had a natural chemistry, with you matching Patrick’s flirty words and actions with ease. It also just so happened that you entered each other's lives at the perfect time, with you in dire need of a career upgrade, and Patrick in need of someone unafraid to show him more affection and care than he was willing to give. 

Though he wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, you quickly became a tenured professor in Patrick-ology. You were certain that this played a role in why Patrick liked you so much in the first place—being somewhat emotionally stunted, he needed someone who could understand his thoughts without him having to explicitly say every detail, and you did exactly that. 

This skill worked out surprisingly well for you. You gave him the love and understanding that he’d been looking for and missing for all of his adult life, and you got to reap the benefits that came with being in a relationship with someone in one of the most powerful families in the world. 

Despite your more humble beginnings, you quickly became familiar with luxurious items and activities. You also quickly learned that no matter how prepared you thought you were for that level of wealth—you weren’t. You couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times your unfamiliarity with certain norms left you as the laughing stock of the family. 

But it wasn’t all corner offices in skyscrapers and helicopter rides. During the honeymoon phase of your relationship, it certainly felt like it, but the cracks in your foundation became more and more evident every day. 

The thing was, as much as you two cared about each other, there was a family shaped shadow that loomed over everything that you did. It was clear that you were an outsider in Patrick’s family. Coming from an upper-middle class Midwestern background, you were often made to feel like you were a stupid gold-digger, only staying around your boyfriend for power, rather than love. At times, you wondered if his family knew what love was at all. 

The love, or lack thereof in Patrick’s family was what shocked you most of all. It was no secret that his father was unnecessarily cruel to all of his children, but particularly to his siblings trying to work their way into more serious positions in the company. Patrick somehow managed to dodge that particular flavor of cruelty, with him very obviously being his father’s favorite and working outside of the family business, but the emotional scars his father left still lingered. 

But his father’s presence didn’t just loom over him, it was beginning to loom over you, too. Not only in the extreme intimidation you felt when having to interact with him, but in the small acts of callousness Patrick showed you throughout the course of your relationship. 

It began as small things, things that bothered you less the more you got used to them. Like how he always seemed to unconsciously belittle your work, not even bothering to seem interested in the recaps you gave of your day before he launched into a story of his own about the candidate he was working with. Though you tried your hardest to fight through your smaller pet peeves with him, Patrick’s inability to be straightforward about his emotions felt like the cherry on top of an already painful sundae.

Regardless of all of the flaws, bumps, and roadblocks in your relationship, you promised to yourself that you would be in Patrick’s corner, no matter how ugly things got or how poorly he treated you. Not only out of your own self-interest, but out of your love for the man, and the knowledge of how difficult his upbringing made certain things for him. 

Which was why when you got the call from Patrick that something had gone terribly wrong with his father while coming back from his birthday celebration, you didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital, encouraging your driver to speed all the way to the building. 

When you arrived, he and his siblings were in disarray in a way you’d never seen before. His father, who was typically a presence that towered over everyone in the room, was reduced to an old man hooked up to a number of machines. His older sisters, who were always either waiting for the moment to swoop in and make a crude joke or waiting in the wings to discuss the next business strategy, paced back and forth endlessly, clearly feeling the pressure of their sick father.

Patrick sat alone on an uncomfortable chair, peering helplessly into the observation room. It was rare for you to see him with his feelings written so openly across his face, even after years of being in a relationship with him. That concerned you.

You made quick work of walking over to Patrick, whose tensed-up shoulders slightly dropped as you took a seat next to him. Though he wouldn’t ever tell you this, you knew that your presence made him feel more supported and a little more safe, though you being or not being in the hospital clearly wouldn’t have an impact on if his father lived or died. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, immediately squeezing your hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said weakly, as if he was fighting off a new round of tears. In that moment, you so desperately wanted to take some of his emotions for yourself, knowing that Patrick hated feeling any feeling, let alone such negative feelings to such a serious degree. 

“Of course, honey,” you reassured him, running what you hoped would be a grounding hand up and down his arm. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water? A snack? I saw that burger place you like on my way over.”

“No, nothing right now,” he sighed. You inspected him cautiously, knowing that he wasn’t exactly one to always say what he meant. “Really,” he assured you, though you didn’t completely buy it. 

Since he wasn’t in the mood for more material items, you decided that the best course of action was a little affection. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of receiving affection in front of his family, but you figured that in a time where he was uncertain if his father would live or die, he would appreciate a little outward support. 

You laid your head on his shoulder and angled your body closer to his. Not expecting any response, you were surprised when Patrick kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d be in trouble if someone overheard him. 

You held his hand as the two of you sat for hours, only getting up to stretch your legs or take phone calls from friends with insight on other high-end medical facilities that might be able to better accommodate Patrick’s father. 

You did your best to give Patrick his space when he needed it, as he floated between two of his siblings—one of which was focused mainly on the future of the company, and the other in a state of denial about the state of her father—then back to you when he could no longer stand the chaos of his sisters. 

It was a stressful scene, and one that was clearly too much for your boyfriend, who went back and forth between wanting to be glued at your hip, and wanting to be left completely alone. You’d seen Patrick stressed in the past, with him chatting your ear off as he waited for his candidate’s election results, or as he prepared to give a speech at an event, but you’d never seen him like this. 

He almost seemed fragile, like one wrong word or action might break him. It frightened you to see him in such a state. Again, you lamented not being able to take some of his pain for yourself. 

In the time that you waited without any word from any doctors, a few gears began to turn in your mind. Life was so fleeting, which was proven by Patrick’s mighty father falling so seemingly easily. Really, it could’ve been any of you sitting on that table with tubes and monitors attached to you. If it were Patrick who was sitting on that gurney, you would be an absolute wreck. If he somehow died, you also wouldn’t technically be a widow, despite your long-term relationship with the man. 

All of it made you wonder if you should just bite the bullet and propose to Patrick.

Sure, it wasn’t the best timing ever. Sure, you’d always imagined yourself being on the receiving end of a grand proposal, especially from someone like Patrick. But maybe he would appreciate the gesture—giving him a distraction to take away some of his pain, and giving him one final grand milestone with you while his dad was still alive. 

To a lesser extent, being married would provide you with certain protections you didn’t have while you were only his long-term girlfriend. Obviously, you didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to your boyfriend, but accidents and tragedies could happen at any point, and it was better to be prepared than to be sorry. 

It felt right that you might be able to join his family during a time where he was losing a family member. Not only for his sake, but because losing their patriarch meant unprecedented instability in his family. You wanted to be sure of your spot amongst them, after you’d grown used to the privileges that came with being Patrick’s girlfriend. 

You fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, a family heirloom passed from generation to generation onto you. It was no expensive piece of jewelry, and it certainly wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was incredibly meaningful to you—a symbol of your family, which was extremely important to you. Patrick knew just how much you valued the ring and exactly what it represented to you, so in turn, you hoped that if you gave it to him, he would understand how much he meant to you. 

Getting up from where you’d been sitting for far too long, you began to pace the hallways of the hospital, wondering about the timing of your now imminent proposal. As you shuffled through the sterile building, you surprised yourself as you came across your partner. 

“Patrick!” you said with a start after unexpectedly catching a glimpse of him. 

“Hey,” he greeted unenthusiastically before beginning to walk right past you. 

“Wait,” you grabbed onto his arm before he could fully walk away, encouraging him to look right at you. It was now or never, and the words were on the tip of your tongue. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now,” he dismissed, his voice monotone and listless. 

“You do, though. Patrick, listen,” he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk, but was prepared to listen to you anyway. You knew you only had a few seconds to pitch your proposition before you lost him, so you spat out your words rather than beating around the bush. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” he looked at you with brows drawn in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the ideal reaction to your proposal, but then again it wasn’t much of a proposal. “Right now?”

“Obviously not now, but… soon?” as you spoke, you began the process of slipping the ring off your middle finger and attempting to present it to him in the palm of your hand. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic or put together proposal, but it felt right to be offering him such a grand and personal gesture while everything else was going sideways in his life. 

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I thought that maybe I could make things a little better with your dad and… I don’t know. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to wonder about what we could’ve been and-” you rambled on before you were interrupted with a sigh. 

“Honey, you can’t just make my dad dying better,” he rubbed his temple exasperatedly, then looked between you and the ring you were presenting him with. “If you wanted to make me feel better, you should’ve just brought me coffee.”

You frowned at him, knowing that you’d offered him that very thing earlier and he turned you down. You wondered if your communication would ever improve—or if it even needed to improve, since this proposal was going so poorly that you’d probably leave the hospital single. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you closed your palm and put your hand in the pocket of your jacket, fully prepared for Patrick to tell you to fuck all the way off. It had been stupid for you to think that Patrick would appreciate such a grand gesture during such a terrible time. 

“Wait,” Patrick stopped you, now reaching for your arm. “My answer isn’t a no, it’s just… I don’t want this to be the memory. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Doing all the work of getting your hand out of your pocket, he grabbed the ring you presented him with to further prove his words and slipped it on his ringer. It only fit halfway down his finger, but he kept it on regardless. 

“Really?” you said, suddenly perking up.

“Duh,” he replied, looking a little shy as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he briefly looked away from you, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye. 

You couldn’t contain your excitement at his answer, jumping and squealing a little bit as you pulled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. You heard the familiar sound of Patrick laughing quietly in your ear as you squeezed him. Though he always seemed to hold back his emotions, you knew that he was just as excited as you were to be promised to one another.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, draping your arms around his neck, holding him as close as you could until he inevitably pushed you away. 

Patrick surprised you with how long he was willing to embrace you, clearly in need of a little bit of comfort after such an emotionally exhausting night. You surprised yourself when you ended up being the person to pull away. 

“Should we go check on our family?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement around finally being in. 

“I just need a second,” he told you, glancing down the hallway before pulling you into yet another embrace. He pressed his face into your hair, soothing himself with your scent and presence. You rubbed circles into his back and muttered something about him taking all the time he needed.

You were interrupted by one of Patrick’s sisters, whose voice called out your names down the hallway. “When you two are finished with your snuggle-fest, the doctor has news for us.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick pushed you away quickly, his tune changing in an instant.

“Good news, I think. But move your asses. C’mon,” she directed, already turning away and Patrick quickly following her. 

If you were experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, you couldn’t even begin to understand how Patrick was feeling. Finding out his dad was sick, being proposed to, and immediately hearing more news about his father in the span of just a few hours must’ve felt unreal. 

You sat quietly and observed from the sidelines as a doctor took them into their father’s room and filled in the siblings on the state of him. They all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief, and though you couldn’t hear the exact news from where you were sitting, you knew that it must’ve been good. 

When Patrick came back to you, he had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked you. 

He didn’t need you to ask twice. You were more than prepared to escape the too-bright lights, sickeningly sterile scent, and the feeling of sadness that seemed to be hanging in the air of the hospital. 

Your driver was a welcome sight, with him giving you a quiet greeting as the two of you got in the backseat of the car. As he drove, Patrick reached for your hand, which you gladly gave up to him. 

In the following minutes, Patrick crept over further into your space until he sat directly beside you, leaning his head on you with his eyes closed. The long day was surely taking its toll, with the anxiety of his dad being in such dire straits, and the excitement and confusion of you proposing to him. 

His sleep was well earned. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then closed your own eyes, letting the soft sound of the early morning city traffic lull you to sleep. 

In the following days, you could tell that something wasn’t quite right with Patrick. At first, you chalked it up to nerves around his father’s health, but that didn’t seem to be it. Typically, when Patrick was really anxious about something, his silence on the elephant-sized topic gave him away. While you’d heard quite a bit about the state of his father from him—whether it was an update sent to him by his step-mother or an actual visit to the man—you hadn’t heard a peep about your engagement since the day after you got engaged. 

On the other hand, you were struggling to keep the news to yourself, despite the request of Patrick. You wanted to scream the announcement from the rooftops, but in the early morning after you returned from the hospital, Patrick made his position very clear: Wait a little while for things to blow over before you started telling people– your friends and family included. 

Despite the fact that he wore your ring every day since the day that you’d given it to him, something about his behavior told you that it was that very ring that was giving him so much internal conflict. 

In the past few years of knowing Patrick, you learned that he was a bit of a control freak. You wondered how out of control it made him feel for you to be the person to propose to him. Part of you wondered if you should’ve even proposed in the first place if it was going to be an issue. Maybe you should’ve let him do things on his own timeline, rather than making him feel nervous or insecure in your relationship.

But at the same time, Patrick initially seemed rather entertained by the idea of you getting married. In the morning after your engagement, he couldn’t stop referring to you as Mrs. Zweig. At the desk of your brand new office, given to you after a serious promotion, you found a box of expensive chocolates with a note fondly referring to you as his fiancé. As you laid next to him in bed that night, he pulled up the profiles of three separate wedding planners and asked you about your preference in people. 

It almost felt like his feelings on your engagement were constantly fluctuating between being excited to be with you forever, and being terrified of that very commitment. Things weren’t made any better by Patrick’s professional-level ability to dodge questions, especially questions related to how he genuinely felt. 

“C’mon, you know how I feel,” he replied to you after you directly asked him over breakfast. He lifted his mug casually, subconsciously putting space between the two of you. 

“Pat, I don’t. That’s why I asked,” you forced out a laugh, though the situation wasn’t exactly funny to you. If Patrick didn’t want to marry you, you didn’t want to force him to do so. 

“But you always know how I feel,” he said with a bit of a pout and a whine—what you called his ‘let me get away with it’ demeanor that he often used with his family—before setting down his coffee and standing up. 

“Not this time,” you explained, standing up as well and abandoning the plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you. 

“You’ll figure it out,” he dismissed your concerns and stepped close enough to you to hold your face in both of his hands. 

“Love you?” you asked, hoping that if he could confirm that at the very least, you might have a better understanding of what was going through his head. 

“Of course,” he said genuinely, though he didn’t offer you any parroting of those words. Instead, he dropped his hands from your cheeks and kissed one of them. “Have a good day at work, okay?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you tried not to look as annoyed as you actually felt as you made quick work of grabbing your work bag and leaving. You needed some time to make sense of it all. 

The situation only became more complicated as you sat down in a conference room, mentally preparing yourself to make your first big presentation as the newly vetted Head of Parks and Cruises division. You cared greatly about what your peers thought about you, so you couldn’t deny the nerves running through your veins. 

These nerves only increased when you caught a glimpse of Patrick from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the conference room, shaking hands with people on your floor and clearly making cordial small talk. 

You desperately hoped that he was there to wish you luck on your presentation, and not to pick your conversation from the morning back up. You bitterly thought about how he couldn’t have picked a worse time as he waved at you from the window. You stiffly waved back, not exactly in the mood to be interrupted right before a big presentation. 

“Hey, if I don’t make it back for whatever reason, you can do this presentation, right?” you asked quietly, leaning into your newly-hired assistant’s ear. 

“Wait, what?” he asked you, brows furrowing. “I don’t know, I haven’t practiced or anything, and-“

“Perfect,” you replied, not listening to a single word he was rambling out. “Just read off the slides. You’ll be okay.”

You didn’t bother staying to listen to Art ramble in your ear about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one presenting, and if he absolutely had to, he’d probably be fine. 

You shut the door behind you, politely waving at one of your co-workers as they entered the conference room. You made your way to Patrick and stood with your arms crossed against your chest, trying to strike a good balance between showing him how agitated you were, and not trying to further agitate your fiancé, who seemed to be in a particularly fragile mental state lately. 

“Hi honey, is anything important going on?” Patrick asked once you stood across from him. 

“Actually, yeah. Is there any way we could chat a little later? Like maybe an hour or two?” you suggested. “I can block some time off on my calendar for you and everything.”

“I’m sure whatever it is isn’t more important than this,” he glanced over at the conference room as he spoke to demonstrate his point. You wished you could explain to him how far that was from the truth.

“What is it?” you asked, your patience beginning to grow thin.

“You’ll have to see. Come with me?” he offered. 

“Patrick, I’m in the middle of a meeting!” you whisper-shouted, trying to keep your voice down and your body language mostly neutral, so your colleagues couldn’t observe how much you were freaking out as you talked to your partner. 

“It hasn’t started yet,” he dismissed casually. “They’ll be fine without you. I won’t be fine without you.”

You eyed him suspiciously. 

“Please,” he added, as if you’d ever be able to say no to him—though you were pretty tempted to do so. 

“Fine,” you gave in with a small, soft sigh. That didn’t deter Patrick at all, who seemed uncharacteristically excited as the two of you sat in the backseat of his car. 

“So where are we going? Or, what are we doing?” you asked, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in your gut that you felt about leaving your meeting. 

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick said coyly. “It’ll be more fun than that meeting, though.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking out the window. You hoped that whatever romantic gesture Patrick planned would be worth losing the respect of all of your peers. You wondered what you could tell them that would make your absence seem acceptable. Family emergency? It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t quite the truth either. 

When your ride stopped and you stepped out of the vehicle, you were surprised to find yourself at the diner that you spent the majority of your first few dates at, splitting pieces of pie and talking each other’s ears off for hours. 

“Craving some cherry pie?” you asked him curiously. Obviously, this seemed like a task he could’ve handled on his own, coming to the diner himself or having his driver buy and deliver him a whole pie, but you figured that maybe he was simply in the mood for some nostalgic comfort. In the midst of such chaos, you would be happy to give that to him. 

“It’s been too long,” he shrugged before grabbing your hand.

Patrick led you to the booth that you declared as yours all those years ago, and began to chat your ear off like normal. While you wanted to think about work, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the real world when you were in such a nostalgic place with him. 

The two of you ordered your old usual order, only enhancing the feeling of nostalgia as you shared a plate of painfully average pancakes and a slice of cherry pie.

“Ew, what is that?” you laughed after you bit into something hard and gross. “This fucking place,” you muttered, looking for a napkin that you could spit out whatever it was that you almost just consumed. 

When you glanced down at the napkin, you were shocked to find what looked like a metal ring covered in cherry syrup. “Oh shit. Do you think this belonged to someone?” 

Once you looked up, you were shocked to find Patrick holding a black velvet box, one that you’d seen before nearly a year ago as you deep-cleaned your shared bedroom, one that you chalked up as a gift for his mother or a friend. 

“Patrick?” you asked, clearly confused. He parroted your name right back to you and opened up the box, showing you one of the most beautiful rings you ever laid your eyes on. 

Suddenly, it made sense why he asked you to come out with him, interrupting you in the middle of the day to take you to a diner where you shared so many memories. Sure, he could’ve waited until you got off work, but you figured he was thinking about your conversation from the morning and wanted to do something that would show you how much he truly cared about you. He’d always been better at bigger gestures than verbally sharing his feelings, so part of you remained unsurprised. 

“I first fell in love with you here, so it only felt right to bring you back here to ask you to marry me?” he explained, not breaking eye contact with you. He was never one for a soapbox when it came to sharing his feelings, so his proposal was short and straight to the point. Though, you wondered if he had more words prepared that he simply couldn’t get out. Based on the speed of his leg bouncing under the table, you knew that Patrick was nervous out of his mind—despite him already knowing what your answer was. 

You recalled what Patrick told you in the hospital about not wanting your proposal to be the memory—the memory you told others about when you shared the news, or fondly recalled to your kids in ten years when you reminisced on your love story. 

If accepting his proposal now, and acting like his proposal was the only proposal made him feel better, you didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t fully lean into it.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, genuinely being surprised at the offer, but playing up your excitement for the sake of your nervous fiancé. “Of course I’ll marry you, Pat.”

Patrick broke into a toothy grin, his excitement contagious to you. “Give me your hand,” he directed, taking the ring out of the box. 

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and it somehow looked even better on your finger than it did in the box. You looked at it in amazement curling and uncurling your hand to look at the ring from all of its angles. 

“It’s gorgeous, Patrick. Thank you,” you told him earnestly as you looked from your hand to him. You weren’t surprised by the quality of the ring or even that he found something that you liked so much. Growing up with lavish gifts constantly being given as an expression of ‘love’ made Patrick pretty damn good at giving you gifts. As for the other expressions of love… he wasn’t the best. But he was very obviously trying his best for you, and you loved that about him. 

In some ways, your proposals felt like the perfect encapsulation of your roles in your relationship. While you offered Patrick a ring with little monetary, but high emotional value, he gave you a ring that was probably more expensive than you could ever fathom, that didn’t have the same emotional ties that your family heirloom of a ring did. 

Beyond the appearance or symbolism behind your rings, and despite your very different proposals, you were ecstatic to be engaged to Patrick. It only felt right that after years of loving the man, you two were finally making things official in the legal sense. 

As you peered at your shyly smiling fiancé, you couldn’t help but break out into a grin yourself. You underestimated just how exciting it would be for you to be starting a new chapter of your relationship. 

[wambsgansshoelaces]

could you maybe do headcanons on how the succession characters would comfort their partner? it's just being such a shit week and on top of that i finished succession and i am immensely sad💀 it's okay if you can't tho !! thanks <3

I hope your week ends on a good note!!! Thank you for requesting anon, I love u and I hope this makes you feel better :) <3

p.s. I’m so sorry I’m updating slowly :( I promise I’ll get better about it the moment I’m on break, im sick and school is ruing my life :,) enjoy x

comforting you

Kendall

ᝰ he doesn’t need you to say anything, ever

ᝰ he just knows what you need

ᝰ when he comes home and finds you in bed early, he knows you’ve had a difficult day

ᝰ he doesn’t know what happened, but he won’t ask until you’re feeling better

ᝰ he changes out of his work clothes and just gets into bed with you

ᝰ when you don’t say anything either, he pulls you into a cuddle, one hand pressing your head to his chest and the other cupping your hip

ᝰ “hi, ken.”

ᝰ peppers your face in kisses

ᝰ “feeling off?” he asks

ᝰ you nod

ᝰ his fingers go to stroke your jaw

ᝰ “you can talk to me, you know. i want to make it better,” he tells you

ᝰ so you tell him everything

ᝰ whatever the issue was, the next day, he’s found some way to solve it

ᝰ just for you

ᝰ anything for you

Roman

ᝰ he’s not exactly a ‘sit down and talk about feelings’ type of person

ᝰ but he can tell when something’s wrong

ᝰ and he wants nothing more but to make you feel like you’re on top of the world

ᝰ he sees your pouty face when you get home from a grocery run

ᝰ “hey, babe, come look,” he says after he helps with all the bags

ᝰ he’d been at work when you’d left for the store

ᝰ so he’s had some time to figure out what to do for you without making it seem like he’s prying

ᝰ he’ll ask you about what’s bothering you once you’ve relaxed

ᝰ he plops down on the couch, dragging you with him

ᝰ your favorite movie is paused on the tv, waiting to be played

ᝰ “i found an extended version. with bloopers and deleted scenes and everything,” he murmurs

ᝰ the entire movie, his hand is rubbing up and down your back

ᝰ his fingers sometimes creep up your neck, playing gently with your hair

ᝰ the entire thing is extremely soothing

ᝰ you know he knows something’s wrong

ᝰ and you also know he’s going to do everything in his power to fix it

ᝰ and you’re so grateful he just loves you

Shiv

ᝰ the minute you come home from work, exhaustion and misery rolling off of you in waves, she demands to know what’s wrong

ᝰ “is someone bothering you? is it your boss again? because i can get him fired.”

ᝰ you tell her everything

ᝰ she promises to help you with whatever it is that’s causing you trouble

ᝰ she’d tip the earth off it’s axis if you asked

ᝰ and she does as she said she would

ᝰ everything’s somehow resolved in the next hour

ᝰ “come here, i want a kiss,” she tells you

ᝰ you very happily oblige

ᝰ she spends the entire night just spoiling (and worshiping) you

ᝰ the sheets of your bed are tangled between both your legs

ᝰ you’ve never felt more loved

ᝰ she murmurs about how valentine’s day is coming up

ᝰ and tells you to get your nails done and dress pretty day of

ᝰ you don’t really know how you got here

ᝰ but you’re not upset

ᝰ you smile up at the ceiling, delightedly dazed

ᝰ you don’t even remember why you were upset

Tom

ᝰ the two of you are watching your current show, as you do every night, and he notices you’re zoning out

ᝰ he pauses it and looks down at you

ᝰ he dots a couple kisses over your brow

ᝰ “everything okay?”

ᝰ “rough day…”

ᝰ “why didn’t you tell me?”

ᝰ his expression is one of concern now, yet still absolutely laden with affection

ᝰ “i’m sorry, i’m not trying to keeping things from you or anything. i just don’t want to bother you.”

ᝰ “i want you to bother me. say everything that comes into your brain, i want to hear it.”

ᝰ he pulls you closer, palm smoothing over the back of your neck as he sets your head against his chest

ᝰ you tell him about your day, and how you were getting so frustrated

ᝰ frustrated everything was going wrong today, frustrated that the entire week was going wrong

ᝰ he listens intently, stroking your hair the entire time

ᝰ he gives soft “mhms” and “of courses” at your words

ᝰ he peppers warm kisses all over your face

ᝰ he does his best to give you a solution

ᝰ even if what he suggested doesn’t work, he’s sending you flowers to your office for the next week

Greg

ᝰ he’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit

ᝰ he’s a little nervous to ask what’s wrong

ᝰ he’s afraid he won’t know what to do to make you feel better

ᝰ “hey, uh, everything okay?”

ᝰ you shrug

ᝰ “wanna talk about it?”

ᝰ you tell him everything

ᝰ he nods the entire time, his eyes never leaving your face

ᝰ he’s trying to memorize everything you’re saying

ᝰ he doesn’t really have any great solutions

ᝰ and he kind of hates himself for it

ᝰ he wants to help you

ᝰ “hey, how about we go out tonight? take your mind off things.”

ᝰ you spend the night at dinner then wandering through a night market

ᝰ you both talk nonstop

ᝰ he gets you a bunch of trinkets

ᝰ just things that reminds him of you

ᝰ and a bracelet, too

ᝰ`he spends a bit of time fiddling with the clasp, eventually hooking it together and letting it sit on your wrist

ᝰ you don’t take the bracelet off

ᝰ ever

ᝰ at home, he’s worried you’re still upset

ᝰ but you’re not

ᝰ you fall asleep curled up against him, your worries now nonexistent

Stewy

ᝰ he feels what you feel

ᝰ and at this point he can never leave you alone

ᝰ he NEEDS to be with you 24/7

ᝰ so naturally it’s like he’s dying when you come home looking upset

ᝰ “hey, no kiss hello?” he whines

ᝰ that manages to get you to laugh

ᝰ he smiles at your smiling

ᝰ you go over to kiss him and he catches your wrist before you walk off

ᝰ “no, c’mere,” he insists

ᝰ he tugs you into his lap and winds his arms around your waist

ᝰ he sets his chin on your shoulder

ᝰ “why’re you upset?”

ᝰ “oh, it’s nothing, stewy.”

ᝰ “bullshit.”

ᝰ you spill

ᝰ he rubs circles into your hip bone

ᝰ “i’d be upset, too,” he admits

ᝰ he kisses all up your neck

ᝰ “but we don’t have to think about that all now. can we just spend some time together? i promise, though, if you’re still having problems i’ll gladly fuck up many lives for you.”

ᝰ you laugh, making him laugh

ᝰ you spend the rest of the night just sitting there talking to him

ᝰ he even lets you put his hair into pigtails with your hair ties

[secondhand-snow]

a question, (a promise)

jeryd mencken x f!reader (succession)

wc: 6.1k+

warnings: shitty politician (fictional), swearing, slight dub-con, slight abuse of power, drinking, smut, affairs, workplace relationships, cheating, grinding, thigh riding, fingering (f! receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), clothed sex (m!clothed, f! nude), biting, slight degradation, angst, light dom/sub, no use of y/n

summary: It's been several months since your first meeting with Jeryd Mencken, and many weeks since his involvement with ATN began your work together. What followed was hours of cocky smiles, over confident laughs, and unaddressed tension. Tension that finally snaps due to an party invitation, a vodka martini, and a conveniently empty hotel bar.

authors note: This is a longer one, but I wanted to start out strong for my first fic published on this account! Mencken was such a dick in the show, but I know he'd treat you so right in the bedroom. please consider liking, commenting, or reblogging if you enjoyed!

You didn’t mean for it to start this way.

Well, you didn’t mean for it to start at all, but if you had to choose a way to a begin an extramarital affair with an infamous American politician and presidential candidate, fucking him against the wall in a hotel room at 1 AM would not be your first choice.

And yet, when those blue-green eyes stared into yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, or how his smile-lines wrinkle as he smirks, but you don’t push him away. You don’t tell him to fuck off and run back to your apartment. Instead, gazing up at his face, your questions receding to the back of your mind, you pulled him back in.

You should have found yourself hating him, like Shiv, or maybe enthralled in him, like Roman, but you really felt somewhere in the middle. Your first meeting was in Virginia, at that Future Freedom Summit where Logan was flooded with more attention than the queen for three days straight. You were in the room when he brought Waystar’s CEO a coke, setting it onto his table like a trophy. Maybe it was the casual confidence in his voice, or the way his crisp white button up was rolled to expose his forearms, but you couldn’t help your eyes raking across his back as he left the room.

“That was nice,” Logan had said.

         Out of all the words you could use to describe Jeryd Mencken, “Nice” was not one of them. “Bastard,” “Fascist,” “Cocky,” and “Manipulator” all came to mind. But so did “Confident,” “Intelligent,” and “Charismatic.” Don’t get yourself wrong, you didn’t agree with his politics at all. But at the end of the day, you were devoted to Waystar Royco and ATN. And whatever worked for them, worked for you.

         You didn’t get to be in the photo that took place the next day, not important or close enough in relation. You lingered to the side, next to your few-times removed cousin, Greg, and out of view of the harsh camera lens. Mencken and you didn’t end up having too much interaction that weekend. A nod of recognition here, a handshake there. But by the time you left the conference, his boisterous laugh was echoing through the halls of your mind, and you just couldn’t stop thinking about his impenetrable gaze.

You remember Roman saying once that Mencken had told him that he “didn’t have a lot of boundaries.” That much became clear to you as you began to work with him. From your very first meeting at ATN, the man didn’t seem to have any issue with discussing personal topics or joking with his employees. You were used to humor in the workplace, I mean, you worked with Kendall and Roman Roy for fuck’s sake, but there was a stark difference in the humor between the Roy siblings and Jeryd Mencken. While their jokes bordered on sexual harassment, Mencken’s were backed by a teasing smirk and a good-natured laugh. You knew it was wrong, or at least weird, to be so enamored by this man. He was a borderline fascist, bible-thumping yuppie, but for some reason you allowed yourself to overlook the obvious flaws in the politician. And soon, you found yourself beginning to fall for his good looks and somewhat sleazy charms

         “You’re on in ten, let me know if you need anything.” You popped your head into the conference room where Mencken was waiting. It was his first in-person appearance on ATN, an interview with one of the hosts to help his relatively extreme political agendas seem a bit more palatable to the average  viewer. He was surrounded by his team of marketers, campaign managers, and other low to mid-ranking poli-sci majors, a thick stack of papers in front of him and a chorus of open laptops circling the table.

         “A kiss for good luck, maybe?” He lifted his head from his reading to give you a half-quirked grin. Nobody else paid you any mind, too engrossed in their work to give a shit about some random woman that probably out-ranks them making sure they’re on task. “I am half Irish, you know.”

         “You’re a white American man, of course you’re part Irish. But seriously. Get down to makeup soon, they want to do some touchups before you go on.”

         “I don’t need makeup,” he stressed the word need, like it’s so obvious his beautiful face shouldn’t be covered by any cosmetics.

         “Nobody needs makeup. It does help though” You lightly rolled your eyes as you stressed the same word as him and laughed at the reaction he displayed before exiting the room, heading to the stage as you pulled out your phone. An incoming text caught your eye, and you clicked off the email you had been reading to view it.

         Having a small celebration after the show tonight. Interested in coming? – Jeryd.

         It was something small that reminded you of his age, the signing of his name behind the text he sent. As if you didn’t have a contact for the man you’ve been working with for several weeks now. But still, a smile brushed your lips and you responded.

         Sure. What time?

         10, I’ll send the address.

         10? Isn’t that a bit late for your age? I thought you’d be tucked into bed by 8:30.

         Haha.

  See you soon, Mr. Mencken.

So, at 9:50 pm you found your driver pulling up to the curb outside The Four Seasons hotel in Manhattan. It figures that Mencken would book the most expensive hotel in New York for his stay. You were familiar with the building, having gone to enough work parties in the bar to make your way there without getting lost in the vast expanse of the well-decorated hallways and foyers. Brushing your hair out of your face, you checked your phone again. Refreshing your emails and messages, you had about a dozen new items to read, even though you were off the clock. One thing you learned early on about working in Waystar, the work never really stops.

          “Hey, look who showed up,” your attention snapped from the device in your hands to the source of the noise. Your eyes met Jeryd Mencken, whiskey in hand, moving from his spot atop a bar stool towards your direction. His smile was bright, and he was still dressed in his suit from earlier in the day, though now he was missing a tie and a few buttons at the top of his shirt. You noticed his blazer buttons were undone as he opened his arms wide to you.

“Here I am. I know, I know, you missed me.” You replied to his open arms with your own, giving in to the hug he initiated. Your arms circled around his neck and shoulders, his fall to your waist as you held each other for a moment. Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, but you feel him rest his mouth against the top of your head, placing something close to a kiss on your hair.

“Yeah, I don’t get enough of you during 12-hour workdays. You want a drink?”

“Yeah.” The hug broke away and he smiled down at you, a look which you returned with a bit of reservation. You were far enough into the bar now from moving to meet Mencken that you only had to turn a bit to address the bartender. “Can I get a vodka martini?” A silent nod confirmed your order.

“Walk with me.” Jeryd whispered into the shell of your ear, stooping down a bit to level himself to your height. He offered an arm out to you, and you grabbed on with a hand as the two of you began moving through the crowded bar.

You saw a few familiar faces as you slowly progressed, which you greeted with small smiles and hellos. Mencken was stopped more times than you, something you had learned to accept when with him, but he was hasty in ending conversations as he pulled you through the crowd. It took longer than it should for the two of you to finally arrive at the empty booth in the back of the bar, but you were happy all the same to sit down on the cool red leather seat. He sat across from you, because of course he did, and you heard a small sigh escape his lips as he relaxed a bit against the seat behind him.

         Both of you stayed quiet for a moment, just sitting in each other’s presence. There was something thick about the air around the table, something dark in the way he looked at you, eyes never leaving yours. You broke out of the haze as the bartender from earlier set your drink at the table, which you welcomed with an acknowledging smile. As you lifted the drink to your lips, he finally spoke.

         “I’m glad you came.” You swallowed thickly, a slight burn grazing your throat before opening your mouth again.

         “Well, I had to celebrate your television debut,” you responded with a small teasing smile, he scoffed a bit at your joking.

         “The numbers were good.” He said quietly, unwavering eyes still trained to yours. There’s something he’s not saying, you felt it in his short responses and slightly clenched jaw, the way he brought his whiskey glass to his lips and how his empty hand flexed a bit against the dark wood table. You hummed in response, taking another sip of your martini. It was quiet again for a moment, the two of you just staring and drinking, tension building until you broke it.

         “Is there something wrong? Did someone fuck something up?” You finally questioned him, shaking your head a bit as you spoke. He just smiled and exhaled through his nose, moved to lean forward and placed his elbows on the table.

         “It’s… personal,” he took his time answering, searching for the right word before he spoke. And you think you might have just messed everything up, ruined the unsaid attraction between you two. He hadn’t been one to shy away from personal topics before, you might have just pushed him too far. “But hey, marital issues are basically a rite of passage in the oval office,” he joked with a grin.

         “True, it’s probably a sign of your future. Might wanna get used to it,” you matched his tone. You knew it was fucked up to be attracted to a married man, a man currently talking about his troubles with his wife, but something about that smile sent a wave of shock down your stomach and found yourself subtlety squeezing your thighs together beneath your skirt. Regardless, he laughed at your answer, and you smiled at his amusement.

         You continued this way for a while, small talk and meaningless conversations just to make each other laugh. You poked fun at his age and he joked about your fucked up family. Around and around you go, drinks are removed and refilled, coworkers stop by for a few minutes before leaving, and others just wave before making their way out. The next time you checked your phone, two hours had passed and more drinks than you probably should have on a near empty stomach had been consumed.

         “Shit, I should get going. I have a meeting tomorrow I need to be ready for.” You mumbled a bit, looking down at your screen with cheeks flushed a light red from the alcohol in your system and the presence of Jeryd across from you. The bar was nearly empty by then, and completely devoid of your co-workers. Any last lingering customers were patrons of the hotel, and you were suddenly struck by the realization you were practically alone with him.

         “You sure? It’s late, I have a suite on the top floor and the guest bed is empty.” He had lost his suit jacket by then and pushed up his sleeves in the way you loved so much. His arms were open and rested on the top of the booth, elbows slightly bent and hands lightly gesturing as he spoke. You pressed your lips together, biting the bottom one and contemplated. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to stay, didn’t wonder what would happen if you accepted. It was a bad idea, you both knew it, backed by the gold ring on his left hand and the NDA you signed when accepting your job so long ago. Still, he cocked an eyebrow at your silence and beneath the table you felt the toe of his black leather loafers travel up the expanse of your leg. He started at your ankle, just above your designer heels and slowly moved up the inside of your lower leg, beginning to reach the inside of your knee. You had enough time to stop him, to move away, kick his foot away and leave the bar.

But you didn’t. You didn’t want to. So instead, you opened your mouth slightly, your bottom lip slightly wet from your bite to it earlier.

         “Yeah, okay. I probably shouldn’t be driving.” It was a half assed excuse and you both knew it. You barely drove, and you’d been dropped off at the hotel today so there was no way you were driving home in the first place. But maybe you needed some justification for yourself, something to make your subconscious just a little less guilty for what you were about to do. For what you wanted to do.

         Mencken didn’t press, though. He just nodded, tapping his toe lightly on the inside of your thigh before retracting it to stand up. The loss was sudden and a bit jarring, and it made you notice that you had been subtly leaning into his touch. He put back on his jacket, not bothering to roll down his sleeves as he moved beside the table to help you up, extending a hand to you. Slowly, you reached up and gently placed your hand in his. His skin was surprisingly rough for a man who worked a desk job, you could feel calluses on his palms and the tips of his fingers. He pulled some of your weight as you stood, reaching around with your free hand to smooth the back of your skirt and grab the handles of your small purse. When you met his eyes again, his pupils had grown and a smirk had landed on his otherwise stoic face.

“Lead the way,” you spoke so softly that your lips barely moved, your eyes looking up at him through dark lashes. He nodded again. His eyes dragged over the curves of your body before briefly returning to your eyes. As you began walking, your hand rose from clutching his to softly holding his arm just above the bend in his elbow. You maintained just enough distance between your bodies that the interaction could be passed off as polite, not the breaking point of months of unresolved sexual tension that it was. Mencken walked fast, you almost tripped over your feet a few times as you tried to keep pace with him. The halls were ornate, outfitted in marble flooring that left your shoes clacking frantically with your hurried steps.

The pair of you stopped briefly at the entrance to the elevators, and you took the time to quickly glance over your shoulder behind you, finding the room otherwise empty. You weren’t sure whether you should be relieved or disappointed. Relieved for a lack of witnesses. Disappointed that you couldn’t use a crowd as an excuse to call off the encounter. It would be for the better to forget about it, put the flirtations to an end and abort the budding affair. You were putting your job at risk, your credibility and your public image. Not to mention your relationship with your family.

He pressed the elevator button once, twice, three times. You opened your mouth slightly, the beginnings of a sentence forming on your lips when he moved his arm from your grasp, snaking it around your back to rest on your hip. He pressed the fabric of your skirt gently, and you found your side pressing against his. Warmth radiated through your body, going straight to your cheeks as a subtle blush started to grow. Your mouth was left hanging open, silently gasping for air as he delicately traced his lips in a small line over your hair. His large nose pressed into your scalp, you felt him slowly inhale the scent of your shampoo. The moment was the closest thing to tender you’ve ever experienced from him, and it’s over just after it starts.

A loud ding from the elevator dragged your attention from the feeling of Jeryd to the empty elevator in front of you. You looked from him to the space before you. He was watching you, of course. Waiting for your next move. Either into the elevator and a time of lies and careful discretion, or back to what you knew was safe. 

You walked into the elevator.

The second the hotel door clicks shut, Jeryd is on you. Pressing your back into the nearest wall, his hands cradle your face with a surprising amount of care. His knee slots between your legs and he takes a moment to just look at you. Your chest rises and falls quickly, mouth open and eyes blown wide with passion. 

“Tell me you want this.” He breathes into you.

“What?” You gasp out the question, mind too foggy with desire to quickly process his words.

“Tell me you want this. I need to hear it from you.” His hands move from cupping your face to grab your chin, your lips slightly pouting with the pressure on your skin. The air is silent for a moment before you answer.

“I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before it's covered by his, greedy and heavy and passionate. You move with him, slinging your arms around his shoulders and leaning into his touch. His tongue taps at your bottom lip before entering your mouth, tracing lines on the roof of it. You let out a quiet moan and his knee moves up between your thighs, granting you a source of friction for the heat building between your legs. You grind down on it unabashedly, sighing at the sensation that results. Jeryd smiles against your lips before moving one of his hands from your face to your hip, encouraging the movements you’re making against his leg. A whimper escapes your lips and he groans at the noise, your attention moving to the growing bulge you feel pressed into your lower stomach. 

He kisses you like a man starved. Like he could do it forever, just savoring the flavor of your lips. You move a hand from his shoulder to feel down the front of his chest and reach his crotch. Your fingers press lightly against the seam of his pants, rubbing the fabric just enough to earn a low growl from Jeryd’s throat and a restrained buck of his hips. His lips move from yours to travel down your neck, sucking your skin hard enough to leave bruises that’ll last the week. Your lips part when freed from his kiss and your neck falls slightly to the slide, allowing him more access to the small area not covered by your button up, office appropriate blouse. A small nip of his teeth causes you to squeeze the hand covering his groin, a movement that causes Jeryd to muffle a deep moan into the slope of your neck. 

“Fuck.” You sound wrecked, desperate, needy, and Jeryd’s barely touched you. You’re rolling your hips steadily now, too far gone to worry about his reaction. Pencil skirt hiked up, skin-toned stockings on display, you selfishly chase your own climax. Eyes flutter shut as you focus on the sensations enveloping your body. Jeryd’s wet kisses trailing down your neck, his hands possessive on your hips and chin, his leg sandwiched between your thighs and pressing roughly against your core. Two thin layers of fabric separating you, both providing a deliciously coarse texture against your sensitive clit.  Your panties are soaked, you wouldn’t be surprised if his slacks are left with a wet mark when he removes them. 

His hands move from their places to begin undoing the buttons on your top. Your eyes open with heavy lids as you watch him. He’s hurried, urgent, his brows slightly furrowed and his lips parted while his fingers move nimbly, making quick work of your blouse. You move to help him, together pushing the garment off your shoulders. He bends his knees slightly to level his face to your chests, and you momentarily whine at the loss of pressure against your vulva, but the sight your eyes are greeted with is worth it. His hands are immediately on your breasts, cupping you roughly through your bra and pushing your tits together as he plants sloppy, open mouthed kisses on your cleavage. It’s odd to see him like this, slightly bent over, serving someone other than himself and enjoying it. Hair ruffled and forehead damp with sweat, pupils blown wide, wide, wide, with lust. You thread your fingers through his salt and pepper hair, not pulling or controlling, just wanting to touch him.

The throbbing between your legs increases and your thighs clench together with nothing else to stimulate your core. You whimper, he chuckles at the sound, a vibration traveling through your chest and sending electric shocks straight to your center. Jeryd reaches up, moving the straps of your bra down your shoulders, not bothering to move his face from his attack on your breasts. You push it down to your waist, not bothering to unclasp the back, fully exposing your tits to him. Now he pauses, taking a moment to crouch down and sit back a bit on his heels, eyes focused on your body before him. Your immediate reaction is to cover up, but you hold yourself back when his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. When he finally meets your gaze, you're sure you must look wrecked, at least if his smirk is anything to go off of. 

“Look at you. So eager for my touch.” Jeryd speaks quietly, getting closer to you as his hands travel up your thighs to rest on the dip of your hips. His fingers dig in slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to control you and dimple your skin underneath his touch. One hand comes up, kneading the flesh of your left breast. The other moves to unclip your bra from behind you, letting it softly fall to the floor. You nod and bite your lower lip, knees knocked together as your thighs rub against each other, desperately chasing some kind of stimulation. Your eyes drop his gaze as you watch him palm your skin. 

“Please..” You whine out, blushing as you make eye contact again. Mencken laughs, only a little mean, takes your nipple between his fingers and pinches enough to make your voice squeak in your throat.

“If you want something you have to ask for it.” He cocks an eyebrow as he speaks and you swear you’re drooling at the look in his eye. You hesitate a minute before responding, feeling strangely self conscious and filthy.

“Please touch me, Jeryd. I need you.” He smiles and curses before returning his mouth to your breasts. A large hand creeps between your thighs, pressing gently on the soaked fabric of your panties. He speaks into your skin as he feels your need.

“So wet for me already. I wouldn’t have kept you waiting if I’d known how desperate you were.” His touch is feather light, and you feel your cunt clenching at the sensation. His hand doesn’t wait long, hooking your panties to the slide before he begins to slide his middle finger through your sopping wet folds. Your hips buck against his touch, he responds by moving a hand to pin your hip against the wall. Your head is thrown back now, resting against the surface behind you. Blush is hot on your face, you can’t figure out if it’s caused by shame, or desire, or the combination of both.

It’s not long before his fingers are gently probing your entrance, his middle digit entering you up to his second knuckle. You clench around him, moaning at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you. His thumb moves to your clit, spreading your wetness there as he massages small circles into the bundle of nerves. Instinctively, you try to move, try to grind down on his palm and take what you want. Jeryd’s hand keeps your back to the wall though, and he tsks at your disobedience. Your eyes move down and you find him staring back at you. You wonder if he’s ever looked away, or if he’s just been relishing in your desperation. 

His finger presses deeper, your folds met with the skin of his first knuckle. He curves the digit, gently pressing against that spongy tissue deep inside of you. When he finds it, he smirks, looks down at your exposed mound and briefly presses a kiss to your upper stomach. The finger moves, thrusting in and out of your cunt a few times before being joined by his index finger. It stretches just a bit, before the sensation is replaced by one of building pleasure. That heat you’ve been chasing courses through your core, your lips parting at the feeling. Shocks of pleasure course down your thighs as your clit becomes more and more sensitive. 

You were slightly shocked when your legs began to shake, kness almost buckling under the jerky motion. It normally took you much longer to climax when with a partner, but you had been so needy for so long that your orgasm was approaching at a rapid speed. Jeryd felt it too, wrapping a free arm around the back of your hips to help hold you up while your cunt clenches and flutters around his fingers.

“Come on, Cum for me. Show me how good I make you feel.” He whispers, leaning his upper body back slightly to look deeply into your eyes. You barely hear him over the filthy sounds of wet skin and your increasingly loud moans. His words have to register somewhere though, and just a few seconds after he utters the command, you obey. Eyes roll back while you constrict around his fingers, gasps of air leaving your throat. Jeryd is relentless, finger fucking you through your orgasm until you’re overstimulated and practically pushing his hand away.

Your eyes haven’t even opened again when you feel him stand and crash his lips crash back into yours, his hands raking through your hair. Unhindered by his grip, you move your arms to press him against you, rolling your hips into his.You groan in unison, and Jeryd takes the moment to move one of his hands to the back of your skirt, quickly unzipping it. Your grip releases for a moment to push the skirt and your panties down your legs, kicking them off your heels further into the room. Neither of you bothers with your thigh high stockings or shoes, too engrossed in the feeling of your exposed skin to pay them any mind. 

The pair of you separate for a moment. Jeryd’s eyes travel down your body, a curse escaping his lips at the sight. You look vulnerable, powerless under him. He loves it. His lips go back to your throat and his hands reach for your breasts again. In turn, your hands fumble with a few buttons on his shirt, exposing the top of his chest before you abandon the garment and travel down to the seam of his pants. Your fingers linger on the zipper. Asking for permission or readying yourself or wanting him to tell you what to do, it doesn’t matter. All that matters in this moment is Jeryd Mencken and the passion burning through both your bodies.

He nods against your neck and you waste no time in undoing the button and zipper of his slacks. His boxers are black, your fingers flutter under the elastic waistband, stroking the soft skin there lightly. Your hand dips lower, past the mass of short blond pubic hair climbing up his lower stomach, settling on the base of his cock. Slowly, you begin to pump his length. When you reach his tip you dip your fingernail slightly into the slit there, and Jeryd rolls his hips forward in response with a loud groan. A wide smile graces your face, your hand surging faster in his boxers. 

“Fuck, take it out.” He traces his nose up the side of your neck, whispering into the shell of your ear. Of course you comply, how could you not? Your eyes dart down to his cock, getting your first good look at the skin there. He’s an average thickness but long, longer than you’ve taken before. With a slight curve upwards and a pink tip dripping with pre-cum, you clench around emptiness in sympathy. Your hand moves again, jerking him off as his head falls back and his eyes shut. You savor the sight before you. 

Jeryd’s eyebrows are raised and his lips are parted, completely and totally lost in his pleasure. His neck now exposed to you, you lean forward and press kisses along the underside of his jawline, trailing down to his Adam's apple. You’re careful not to leave marks, even if you nip a little at the sensitive skin that your lips brush. His eyes open again, and he grins at the coy smile on your face. He kisses you again, his tongue stroking the roof of your mouth, causing you to moan loudly into his lips before he pulls away.

“Here, wrap your legs around me. I’m gonna fuck you right next to this door, let the rest of the hotel hear how loud my cock makes you.” He moves against you, pressing his hips to yours, slotting his arms around your waist. You wrap a leg around the back of his hips before he helps hoist you up to wrap the other. His length is hard against your lower stomach, the tip spreading wet precum across the skin there. Your hand moves down, grasping it and pumping a few more times when Jeryd moves his hips back, creating enough space between you for his tip to brush against your folds. 

He tilts his hips again, rubbing himself across your pussy, catching on your clit just enough to make you rock your core forward to try and meet him. A breathy laugh escapes his mouth at your attempt, he rewards your debauchery by circling his hand around his base and roughly tapping his tip against the bundle of nerves. You sigh and let your head fall back, watching him move with heavily lidded eyes. Jeryd moves again, using his hand to position himself at your entrance. He teases you a bit, slightly shifting in and out without fully sheathing his cock inside of you. 

“Jeryd…” Your voice is whiney as you speak, but still carries an edge of warning with it. He just smiles that lopsided grin of his, takes a deep breath in, and presses fully into you.

There’s a slight stretch as you adjust to his length, you can’t help your mouth falling open in ecstasy at the feeling. As he bottoms out, he releases his breath with a groan and you feel his tip brush against your cervix. You’re needy and wanton, whimpering and moaning at his every twitch, wiggling your hips to try and get some relief as he keeps himself deep inside your cunt. His face is tucked into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You feel your entire being aching for him. Another mewl escapes your lips, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. He’s waiting for you to break first. So you do.

“Please fuck me.” Your voice is barely a whisper, your hands traveling to cup his chin. Jeryd surges forward, even deeper into your dripping pussy, and kisses you roughly on the mouth. He bites your lower lip, slightly pulling it with him as he moves away, and your hands find their place again on his shoulders. His hips move back, so far that his length almost slips out of you, before thrusting forward. He sets a brutal pace from the beginning. Hard and fast, pulling noises you didn’t know you could make from the depths of your throat. It almost hurts at the beginning, but then he tilts his hips and finds that spot inside of you, the one that lights a roaring fire inside your cunt. The pleasure is immense and all consuming, the only thing you can focus on as your head drops backward and your back begins to arch.

You don’t even recognize half the words leaving your throat. Strings of “please,” curses and mumbles come from your mouth, joined by the animalistic grunts and groans of Jeryd’s approaching climax. Your fingers tangle in his hair and this time you pull, earning a deep moan from his parted lips. The sex feels primal and wanton and borderline violent. The culmination of heavy pressure. A cord stretched as tight as possible and then some, the snapping of which caused depravity and perversion for all those involved.

 He grinds into you roughly, hitting your g spot perfectly with every thrust. Your hand moves down to rub frantic circles into your clit, repeatedly murmuring a line of “yes”’s as you stare deeply into Jeryd's eyes. You know you’re pathetic. Begging and pleading him to fuck you harder, the wet slick from your cunt spreading onto both of your thighs, causing truely obscene sounds to fill the air. 

“Fuck, look at you. My pretty little slut..” He groans out, punctuating his words with strong bucks of his hips. “Cum on my cock, you’re fucking mine” he says, adding your name like it’s a divine word. 

That's all it really takes, and with a particularly perfect movement of your fingers, you clench down on his cock in a harsh climax. You swear you see white for a moment, your toes curling in your heels, your back arching up from the wall behind you, the moan coming out of your mouth echoing around the hotel room. All you can do next is hold on as Jeryd’s hips stutter and his mouth comes down to bite on your exposed shoulder as he follows you to his own peak.

He spills inside of you, fucking his cum further into you while he thrusts through his own orgasm. A “fuck” falls from his lips, muffled by the skin his mouth is pressed into. You stay like that for a minute, heavily breathing and coated in sweat, his softening cock still inside of you. When you finally move away, he’s surprisingly careful. Setting you back down on your feet delicately before tucking himself back away. Your hands come up to instinctively cover yourself, feeling insecure now that he wasn’t actively fucking you. His hand grabs one of yours, removing it from its position in front of your breast as he steps closer to you. You speak first, quietly and full of question.

“I can go…” you look behind him for your clothing strewn across the carpeted floor.

“No. Stay the night, I meant it.” Jeryd pulls you into him, his larger form tucking around your body in a hug. He rests his chin on your head. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting you go so quickly. Not after I’ve waited so long to have you.”

You smile at that, let him press a kiss to the top of your head before he grabs your hand and begins leading you to the bedroom. 

He’s passionate and possessive and caring and mean. You live in the shadows together, wrapped in deceit and white bed sheets. You never comment on the lack of his gold wedding band, and he never mentions the taste of vodka on your tongue. Your fights are brutal and sadistic, always ending in sex that would make the bed shake and leave your bodies sore for days after. It’s more of an alliance than an affair. It’s more of a tragedy than a comedy.

It’s more of a promise than a question.

© secondhand-snow 2024

[reveriexxgirlly]

you want a piece of me ? (repost)

Shiv Roy x Fem!Reader SMUT

Prompt: I want Shiv to dom and humiliate me, okay ?

Warnings: oral, orgasm denial, voyerism, fingering, squirting

Word Count: 2.0k

                                  ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤　enjoy !　﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

“Oh my god, don’t stop. Please, don't- Fuck!"

I felt a sharp pain on my ass. I looked down and saw Shiv peering at me from between my legs with her glossy lips scowling at me.

“God, can’t you shut up? Do you want us to get caught?”

Shiv used the hand that slapped me to grip the fleshy part of my ass and started digging her nails into my skin.

I almost moaned out loud until I caught myself and quickly clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle my sounds.

“That's better.” Shiv said as she began giving me butterfly kisses on my inner thigh while I was trying to catch my breath.

“I’m sorry. I promise to shut up, just don’t stop. It feels so good.”

I responded with a sense of urgency because it was only a matter of time before everyone, specifically Tom, would begin to wonder where Shiv was.

Shiv smirked at my desperation, pleased that even though she was on her knees eating me out, it was her that was in control.

“Good girl.” That was the last thing she said before moving her head back to my center, taking my clit between her lips, and began sucking on it softly.

I clamped my hand over my mouth again and bit down on my palm hard. Stopping myself from letting out another loud moan. 

How the fuck did I get here? I came to this celebratory event for Waystar as Roman’s date, and now I’m in the women’s bathroom with his sister's face between my legs. Why did I let this happen?

I looked down to admire the sight before me. I was leaning against the wall with one leg holding me upright and the other on Shiv’s shoulder. Her eyes closed in complete bliss, as if she was savoring the taste.

Although her suckling made it hard to stand on a wobbly leg, it wasn't enough to make me cum. It wasn't like we had all the time in the world.

I tried moving my hips against her lips to reach an orgasm faster, but she kept pushing my hips against the wall to keep me still.

“Shiv, I need more.”

“Aw baby, you're not the one calling the shots here. I am.”

“We need to hurry, people are waiting for us. Tom is probably wonderi-”

“Don't say his fucking name.”

She gave me a cold stare. I seemed to have struck a nerve mentioning Tom, given the situation. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up Tom.”

Shiv stared at me as she was thinking, tapping her slender and manicured pointer finger on my thigh. After a few seconds her face lit up. All she needed was a light bulb on top of her head. 

“You know what, you’re right.”

“W- what?”

Shiv placed a final kiss on my clit, making me shiver from her light touch. She got up from between my legs and fixed up my dress. Making sure I looked presentable. Then she grabbed my panties from the ground before leaving the stall we were in and throwing them away in the trash bin. 

I stayed in the stall feeling stunned before desperation hit me once I realized I didn’t cum. I walked out to see Shiv standing in front of the mirror, reapplying her lipstick. 

“We should be getting back. You were right, we were gone for too long.” Shiv said nonchalantly.

“But...” I couldn’t finish my sentence, feeling foolish for what I was going to complain about. I looked down at the ground in shame.

“But what?” Shiv said turning to look at me with a bored expression.

“I didn’t get to cum.” I said quietly, glancing up at her and seeing Shiv pout her lips mockingly before she cupped my face with both hands and forced me to look up at her. 

“Baby, don’t worry. We’ll get to that later.”

Shiv said with a mischievous smirk, that both confused and worried me.

“Come on.”

Shiv said before she taking hand and pulling me out of the bathroom. We were walking through a crowd of wealthy people bickering, when Shiv finally spotted Tom. She let go of my hand and walked toward him.

“Shiv!” Tom said excited to see her as if she just arrived from a long trip when it’s only been 20 minutes.

“Hi honey.”

Shiv leaned up to Tom's face, who wanted to kiss her on the lips, but she avoided it and kissed him on his cheek instead. He was a little embarrassed by this, but considering she was eating me out a few minutes ago, I was grateful.

I cleared my throat before speaking up. 

“Hi Tom, where’s Roman?”

"I think he’s at the bar getting a drink with Logan.”

“Where were you guys?”

I was about to respond when Shiv beat me to it.

“Y/N and I were just in the bathroom talking.”

Tom was nodding at Shiv, then an announcement was made for everyone to take their seats since the speeches were about to begin.

“Shall we.”

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

It had been a few minutes since we all took our seats. I sat next to Shiv on my right, and there was a reserved seat for Roman on my left. It’s then I began to wonder where he was.

“What up, cum dumps?”

We all whipped our heads at Roman, walking up to our table, who looked so proud of his vulgarity. While Tom and I stared at him in bewilderment, Shiv rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“Hi Roman. Where were you?”

I said as he was taking a seat next to me. He looked at me, and his face lit up like he remembered that I was his date.

“I was talking to ol’ daddy about business, nothing too major.” Roman said, brushing off the situation like it was nothing.

“The better question is where were you? I didn’t see you around the room for like 30 minutes.”

I could feel the tension in the air when he asked that question, but of course, no one but Shiv and I could feel it.

“I went to the bathroom with Shiv.”

“What took you guys so long? Were you flickin’ each other’s clits in there?”

“Roman!”

Shiv scolded him, and Roman pretended to look scared of his sister’s irritation.

“No we were just talking, I didn’t realize how much time was passing us by.”

I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. I didn’t want Roman, out of all people, to catch on to what was going on between me and Shiv.

Before he could question me any further, the party planner spoke into the microphone. I let out a breath of relief, but during his speech I remembered the wetness between my legs, feeling it between my thighs. I hoped it wouldn’t seep into my gown, so I crossed my legs to try to prevent that.

I was squirming in my seat, and Shiv must’ve noticed because she leaned back into her chair and placed her hand on my thigh.

I tensed at the action and straightened my posture. I could see from my peripheral vision that it made Shiv smile.

Luck played a huge part in this situation. We were close to the stage, but behind us were walls from the sides of the room. Tom faced away from me, Shiv, and Roman, who paid no attention to me. Switching his attention from the person speaking on stage to looking at his phone. Not to mention the large white table cloth covering what went on underneath.

Shiv used her fingers to slowly pull my gown up to my hips. The action fed into my anticipation, although I worried that people would happen to catch on to what was going on under the table. 

Once the fabric gathered on my hips, she placed her hand on top of my thigh and lightly gripped the flesh to uncross my legs. I felt the cold breeze of the air conditioning brush against my wet lips, making me feel exposed in front of all these people. That’s when I thought back to when Shiv threw away my panties earlier for this purpose.

She started teasing me by running her fingers through my unshaven pubic hair, which was covered in my slick. I bucked my hips into her hand as a sign to give me more, resulting in a pinch in my inner thigh. I squeaked at the sharp pain but covered it with a cough. 

I turned to look at her, and her attention was on the guest speaker on stage, still smiling at our current situation. She glanced at me, noticing my teary eyes and the pout on my lips, and decided to give in. 

Shiv’s fingers landed on my clit and rubbed slow and tight circles. My pussy was so wet it spread everywhere from my lips to my clit, so she didn’t need extra lubrication. 

It continued until the entertainment for the night started, an interpretive dance which meant that loud music would be blaring throughout the room. So Shiv took the opportunity to slip her middle finger into my dripping hole. 

Unlike her gentle touch on my clit her pace started to get a more aggressive. The wet sounds of her fingers slapping against my pussy were being masked by the orchestra. The louder the music got, the faster and harsher her pace would be. 

There were moments when I wanted to scream, but I made sure to bite my bottom lip extra hard to prevent any sounds from escaping my mouth. I almost failed when Shiv added her ring finger into my pussy. 

It was starting to become too much, and her rough thrusts into my slit were resulting in her palm repeatedly slapping against clit, bringing me closer to an orgasm. 

I squeezed her wrist between my legs to let her know I was close. She seemed to get the hint and started going impossibly faster than before. My orgasm finally hit me, but this time felt different. I felt like I had to pee but I didn’t want to cause a scene so I relaxed as much as I could and let my pussy gush all over her fingers. 

I shivered from the aftershocks of my orgasm. I pushed Shiv's hand away when I started feeling overstimulated, and Shiv got the hint and pulled away. She grabbed her cloth napkin and wiped her hand. I noticed that not only her fingers but her wrist were wet. I looked down and noticed that the bottom hem of the tablecloth was drenched. I had squirted under the table and all over the cloth.

I panicked and pushed my dress down and back into place. I looked around the room to make sure no one witnessed the event that happened under the table. I felt relief when I saw that everyone appeared to be unbothered and slightly bored. I turned my attention back to the stage, and the rest of the ceremony continued as planned. 

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

When the event was over, I waited for my Uber on the curb in front of the building where the event was held. Roman offered to give me a ride as long as it was back to his place. I eagerly declined and hoped it would be the last of any invitations from Roman Roy.

“Y/N!” 

I heard someone call my name and turned around and saw Shiv lifting up her dress a bit as she was speed walking towards me.

“Shiv, what’s up?”

“I forgot to give you this.”

She handed me her business card. I was confused until I turned the card over and noticed her personal number written in pen. I started blushing at the thought of our future meet-ups being similar to tonight.

"We should definitely make plans to meet up next week because I think owe you more than one.”

She was pleasantly surprised by my answer and smirked before she leaned in, her lips nearly touching my ear.

“Can’t wait.”

She whispered before she kissed my cheek and again on the other one so it would seem like a normal goodbye gesture to others.

Shiv gave me a final wink before she walked away to her ride back home with Tom. 

I turned back around to wait for my ride and thought further about ways I could return the favor. 

[endlessly-cursed]

Primrose Gray's Legacy, Act One: The Younger Years, Chapter Eight: Infatuated

A/N: It's been sooo long, but it's finally here!! Completing this chapter was no joke, but it's done and I'm proud of how it turned out, not to mention this was one of my faves to write so far! Enjoy!!

Summary: Primrose has a crush. The problem? She's a promised woman and must have some discretion, however, it is not an easy task

OCs featured: Teddy Ellison and Hestia Herron ( @cursebreakerfarrier ) Roxie Haley and William Berkeley ( @mjs-oc-corner ) Niamh Kelly ( @unfortunate-arrow ) Siobhan Llewellyn ( @kc-and-co ) Gwendolyn Archeron ( @thatravenpuffwitch ) Professor Capel ( @camillejeaneshphm )

OCs mentioned: William Devlin ( unfortunate-arrow) Abraham Alden ( @cursed-herbalist ) Miranda Iverach ( cursebreakerfarrier )

Word Count: 2.1k

Taglist: @gaygryffindorgal @nicos-oc-hell @camillejeaneshphm @hphmmatthewluther @catohphm @thatravenpuffwitch @magicallymalted @cursedvaultss

March, 1893

Primrose found herself once again distracted in Charms class. The reason? A brown-haired, boyishly handsome Gryffindor boy who was snickering with his friends and plotting something. Probably a prank. She sighed. He was simply charming, handsome and quite witty when he wasn’t tormenting the staff with said pranks.

“Lady Gray,” Professor Herron called “while I am aware that one cannot pay me attention forever, I suggest you come back to us.”

Primrose cleared her throat and flushed deep red. Roxie arched an eyebrow and elbowed her “So, who is it that you’re looking at? Certainly is not your oh-so-dear fiancé.” She smirked.

“Later,” she whispered “I am still in Professor Herron’s field of vision.”

She chuckled, amused by how nervous and distracted the ever-perfect Primrose Gray was. After class, she linked arms with her and beckoned Shiv and the others: Gwen and Niamh. Mira had fallen behind, talking to the gruelling Mr. Hawthorne.

“So,” Roxie asked “who were you staring at?”

Primrose bit her lip “I do not wish to drop names or point. Tis quite rude.”

“Then whisper! C’mon, don’t leave us hanging!” Gwen pleaded.

“Aye, we won’t get to see you so flustered again, lady.” Shiv teased.

They all rounded a corner and the lady gathered all of her friends and, out of earshot, she whispered “Arthur Ellison.” Then she quickly broke up the congregation and put her face in her palms as the girls squealed and Shiv laughed at her “You have a crush on him?”

“As if you don’t make eyes at Galen!” Gwen defended.

“I dinna!” Shiv retaliated.

“Focus! Prim has a crush on—,” Primrose shushed her, now aware of the portraits around. She then whispered low enough “Prim has a crush on Teddy!”

They all laughed and Primrose moaned with embarrassment. All of the girls gathered around and started teasing her. Mira at last joined and, after being told of the situation while whispering, she joined the teasing “Oh, perhaps you’ll write him some poetry!”

“Oh, good heavens, no! Tis but… a small fancy, that’s all.”

“For now.” Roxie giggled.

“Ooh!” Gwen gasped, “what if we put him a secret name? So nobody may overhear!”

“I vote for Gryffindor Git!” Cried Shiv.

“How about Pukwudgie?” Gwen suggested.

“Too obvious! He’s one of the few transfers from Ilvermony!” Primrose cried.

“True! Oh! How about Bear? Like the teddy bear!” Roxie suggested.

Shiv started chanting “Prim likes Bear! Prim likes Bear!”

Primrose covered her face in shame once again, all the girls chanting, calling the attention of some older students and the occasional teacher. She spotted Professor Falcon and quickly told the girls to hurry to class now.

“Why?” Shiv asked “I dinna want to go through history o’ magic!”

She whispered “Professor Falcon is within earshot. The man is a terrible gossip and very meddlesome!”

“Except when it comes to his daughter.” Gwen giggled.

“Aye. If looks could kill, Earl Abe would’ve died burned a’ the stake.” Shiv continued.

They all laughed before entering Professor Capell’s class. Some girls sighed “The subject’s boring, but my, is he dreamy…” Gwen commented.

Primrose noticed how the young professor pretended not to hear it before he turned to the class “All right, everybody, let us begin with, I’m afraid, a rather dull lesson: wand lore.”

Almost all of the class moaned in unison, knowing they’d be stuck there for an hour and a half hearing of different kinds of wood. Not Primrose. She looked forward not addressing Bear’s issue.

“Good morning, class!” The flying professor greeted “Today we shall learn about…”

Primrose sighed. Flying was not her forte, given her fear of heights. Despite her rooms being in high places, she was not a woman of constant adrenaline. Most of her friends seemed to get the hang of it, but she only made a fool of herself. This was not the adrenaline she was used to.

She nevertheless tried, but was, as usual, wobbly “Higher, Gray! The skies do not bite!” The teacher cried.

For some reason, her broom made a violent spin and she let out a screech as she started falling, and closed her eyes, bracing for impact… when a pair of strong arms caught her and, with their own broom, set her on the ground. She looked up to see Mr. Ellison himself, who must’ve pulled it off with his friends. Her eyes went wide and flushed deeply “I… t-thank you, sir, Mr. Ellison.”

He smiled, and her stomach fluttered “Please, just Teddy. And it is my pleasure to rescue ladies in need of assistance.”

She nodded, flushed and embarrassed before the teacher sent her to polish brooms and scare off Peeves.

Later, at luncheon, she talked to her friends about the incident. She buried her face in her hands, groaning of pure embarrassment “I can’t believe that just happened!”

“I know. It was actually quite chivalrous of him to rescue you that way!” Roxie smiled.

“Nah. I could’ve pulled i’ off.” Shiv argued.

“And your face! Oh, Prim, you had the colour of a tomato!” She giggled.

They all giggled and Primrose threw a breadcrumb toward Gwen. She shrieked and threw one back. They were, however, stopped by someone clearing its throat. She looked around, and a few Slytherins and other boys had gathered, expensive-looking gifts with them.

Before she could even put a name to the situation, they all introduced themselves as high-ranking men of all places and offering their ‘allyship’, though Primrose knew they were trying to woo her out of her current engagement to promise herself to them instead. When she realised it, she pursed her lips and held her head high, nodding and giving dry ‘thank-you.’. As one of them tried their own luck, a baritone chuckle caught her attention.

He had dark brown hair, intense blue eyes and a rather strong physique, and was looking in her direction “Whatever is so amusing?” She asked, sick of social climbing opportunists.

“All the gifts in the world and none satisfy you?” He teased.

“It is none of your business.”

He observed her further before starting to shoo everyone away, and turned to her once the herd of hyenas was gone “Allow me. Mr. William Berkeley. You are Lady Gray, correct?”

“Indeed. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She extended her hand, and he saluted her, and for once, she was thankful that he did not kiss it. Taking a better look, she realised she had seen him before “Do you play quidditch?”

“I do. I just started this year.”

She nodded “You have an impressive technique.”

“Tis just practise and passion for it, m’lady.”

She smiled “Prim.”

“Sorry?”

“You may call me Prim. After rescuing me, I believe we should leave formalities behind.”

He smiled “Very well, then, Prim. I shall see you around.”

Something told her that she had just made a new friend. Father would certainly be proud. Mother? Not so much.

A month had passed since the incident, and Primrose was desperate to spend some time with Teddy. It sounded stupid, but his presence was quite comforting, and she always laughed in his presence. At her age, very few people could make her laugh.

But the miracle happened: talking to Shiv, she casually commented “Oh, and apparently your Bear is looking for someone to tutor him in history of magic. That poor boy’s failing and is quite desperate to find someone patient enough to put up with him for a few hours.”

Prim grinned “Oh, Siobhan, you mad genius! That’s it!”

“Huh?”

Upon seeing Primrose’s expression, however, she caught up with her scheme.

“If you excuse me, I have a bear to save from the historical wolves.”

“Gimme the details later!”

Naturally, she entered the Gryffindor common room and cleared her throat upon seeing Teddy laugh with his friends “Do forgive me if I’m interrupting, but I believe one of you gentlemen is looking for a history tutor?”

Teddy, naturally, stepped out of the circle “That’d be me. I suppose you’re good at the subject?”

“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but Professor Capell said once that I am one of his best students.”

Teddy grinned “There is nothing wrong with a little bragging. Shall we?”

Primrose nodded. Although her expression was calm, inside she was about to faint. Her heart beat fast, and she felt like she was out of breath. Sitting down in one of the couches, Teddy started explaining “I admit I am not good at memorising so many facts, and have failed several exams. Professor Capell has assigned me a four-page essay on any apprentice of one of the founders, but I don’t know where to start.”

Primrose smiled calmly “You’re in luck! The age of the founders is one of my favourites. In fact, during some personal research, I found that my ancestor, Henriette, was an apprentice of Helga Hufflepuff and key to the founding of Hogwarts.”

“Influential how?” He had his quill ready.

“If I remember correctly, at nine and ten she had raised a small army that rode into one of the most key battles of the Mages Wars and won it because of a stirring speech.”

As she spoke of her ancestor, she couldn’t help being mesmerised by his beauty: his russet brown hair, his calming brown eyes, his soft skin, untouched by age, his overall presence. He was beautiful, and she had to restrain herself from stroking his hair. After taking notes, she smiled at him “Got everything you need?”

“Yes. Your ancestor sounds incredible! It must be amazing, to have such a long family history.”

Primrose bit her lip “Well… there is also the price of legacy. Of maintaining it. Having a powerful bloodline is complicated.”

Teddy nodded, somehow understanding it. Then, he shrugged “Shouldn’t stop you from being twelve years old in peace.”

Primrose chuckled “Technically, I’m still eleven but… thank you.”

Months passed, and Primrose tutored Teddy, and, in exchange, taught her some flying skills, and got to know him well enough. It was nice, seeing Teddy in unusual elements. During that time, she figured out how to help him learn history: telling it as if though it was a legendary story out of a storybook, which she apparently had a knack for.

“Do remind me of what happened how did the Battle of the Four Mages turn its tides?”

“Easy! Lady Henriette, with Lord Frederick as her champion, led her sizeable army to battle, all shouting for the lady’s loyalty and to justice, rather than the nobles or power.”

Primrose smiled “You got it in one! A few weeks ago, you would’ve mixed Lord Lachlann with Lord Frederick.”

He gave her a crooked smile “Thankfully I didn’t?”

She chuckled “I’m proud of you, Teddy. You’ll do amazingly on the next essay!”

“Will you proofread it as always?”

Primrose gave him a sweet smile “I think it’s time that you trust your own judgement.”

Teddy blinked “Are you sure?”

“Positive! I… have faith in you, Teddy.”

She blushed furiously and looked away. She could hear the boys’ snickers and teasing glances. Was it truly that obvious?

On the day of the submission of the essay, she observed Teddy take a deep breath and give the essay to Professor Capell, and sat with his friends, not without giving Primrose a ‘Hope this doesn’t backfire’ look.

The end of the year was almost there, and Primrose had been told by Tadgh Lynch that Professor Capell had called Teddy and would be discussing his grade. She waited outside, fussing with her uniform. Then, the door opened, and Teddy came out with a wide grin “Guess who’ll be in your class on second year!”

Primrose squealed “I knew it! I knew you could do it!”

Teddy hugged Primrose, and she, over the moon, hugged him back. They looked at one another before Primrose was called by William, who also sought her help with history. Clearing her throat and waving goodbye to Teddy, she went over to William. He arched an eyebrow “What was that about?”

“Celebrating that a good friend has passed a subject he was struggling with.” She declared, nonchalantly.

“A good friend whom you’re taken with.”

“Nonsense. The only man I am taken with is my dear, future husband.” She held her head high and walked faster towards the library, an amused William in tow.

Were she admit out loud such a thing in a place where all walls have ears would’ve been a reckless and tragic thing to do.

September 1st, 1893

Primrose sat down with her friends this year, laughing and commenting their summers. Then, Siobhan taunted “Excited to see a certain Bear?”

She chuckled “I’m afraid to inform you that my infatuation with him has washed away over the summer. Besides, it would’ve only spiralled into something treacherous, don’t you think?”

The ladies agreed, chatting away as the Hogwarts Express took them to their next adventure.

[lungthief]

not even bothering to ask on anon bc this is my calling card but I am DESPERATE to know your shivlisa headcanons

HI im so sorry it took me so long to respond to this ask, i promise i wasn’t ignoring it, i just have a long ass backstory framework i wrote for them lmao, here it is:

- shiv & lisa meet while shiv is in undergrad at yale and lisa is completing her law degree (and TAing one of shiv’s classes probably)

- start to hang out outside of class

- definitely friends, probably mutually attracted to each other at this point (i cant decide whether or not itd make more sense for them to start hooking up while still in college or if they wait until after when theyve reconnected) (shivs definitely at least Aware of the fact that she likes girls if she’s not already fucking them) (i feel like her brothers’ own dabbling in gay shit made her avoid confronting her feelings as much as possible bc she saw the consequences firsthand w/ what happened to roman and probably kendall also) (she’s so determined to not be the fuckup) (but the problem is that she is Very Much attracted to women) (maybe it’s a lady Gaga poker face moment where she goes out and fucks guys and thinks of girls while doing it)

- lisa graduates, goes to DC—shiv is still studying polisci but doesn’t really know what she wants to do

- all she knows is it makes her feel better to at least pretend to care about people and it makes staying out of the business look like her own choice instead of her dad and her brothers actively freezing her out

- shiv graduates, leans toward the left

- this sparks a big argument with her dad re: ATN or politics or something (probably ends up getting belittled by him & her brothers), which makes her decide to fully pursue being a political consultant for dems

- reconnects with lisa while trying to surround herself w/ libs in DC

- she & lisa start hooking up (despite the fact that lisa has a boyfriend) (i imagine this is also around the time kendall introduces shiv to nate so thats happening also)

- neither lisa nor shiv really acknowledge the whole Feelings part of their thing but it is definitely there (more so for shiv than for lisa, which shiv hates bc she hates caring about other people more than they care about her) (she’s Shiv Fucking Roy everyone should be worshipping her)

- meanwhile logan is still pissed at shiv for everything

- things are also not going well with nate, he either suspects or knows she’s cheating on him but she breaks up with him first to get out in front of it (he worships her but he’s also on her level which makes him dangerous anyway she’d rather just have a boyfriend who doesn’t challenge her like that) (she’s also just devoting so much of her time and energy to trying to figure out where she stands with lisa)

- lisa starts talking about getting engaged to the guy she’s seeing, tells shiv they have to break off their thing

- shiv is Heartbroken and jealous but won’t admit it

- she also has no one to fall back on bc she already broke things off with Nate

- so then lets it slip to someone that lisa fucks women (i don’t think she’d talk about their recent relationship, i think shiv would off-handedly allude to them having a relationship in college even if they didn’t “how do you know” “we went to college together. i know from experience” etc etc even if shes completely lying her ass off. this angle looks especially bad for lisa bc the whole TA/student thing)

- lisa’s boyfriend? fiance? catches wind of this, breaks up with lisa over the rumors

- lisa goes to shiv for comfort but shiv is super blasé abt the whole thing bc part of her wanted this to happen

- lisa gets suspicious of how this info even got out and shiv tries to just play it off as DC gossip but then (because shes in love with lisa still a little and wants to believe lisa loves her) is like “well. it’s already out there why not continue this we dont have to say that we’re dating or anything we can just. yknow. stay together” basically proposing they have an actual formal relationship even if it’s not public

- lisa is fucking pissed bc a) shiv just fucked up what was supposed to be Her Marriage and b) is like “is this some fucking ploy to get at your dad???” bc obviously shiv roy daughter of conservative media empire even just rumored to be dating a prominent Black female dem lawyer would be a Big fuck you to logan (i doubt shiv even really considered this angle bc she’s so involved in her own jealousy and feelings for Lisa) and it is a move that would also endear her to the dems and get her more important jobs (which is the whole reason she sought out lisa in dc in the first place even if not the Entire reason)

- shiv has no idea how to even respond to this she did not realize the consequences

- Lisa (rightfully!) tells her off about how she’s self involved and hypocritical for trying to appear empathetic when she doesn’t even think to consider the extent to which shiv’s pettiness would affect lisa as a woman and as a POC in the professional world and how even just associating with shiv makes her look and feel bad because shiv is heir to The Misogynistic Racism Factory

- Shiv Knows She Fucked Up Real Bad and attempts to explain that she did it all bc she loves lisa and she was jealous and lisa is like you are fucking delusional!!!! the two of us together would never work out even if we wanted it to (bc i do think there is part of lisa under all of the pragmatism that would want it to work out) and shiv is a mess at this point bc she hates feeling naive and lisa is basically confirming that she never was as In It as shiv was

- Shiv (miserable) is probably like “im sorry im sorry I’ll take care of it I’ll get PR to deal with it i just don’t want to lose you please let’s be friends let’s just put this all behind us okay” and lisa is like no actually I want nothing to fucking do with you you made a big fucking mess and now i have to clean it up

- And this whole fight and cutting lisa off is what Shiv becoming the mess that she and Tom reference later on and what eventually leads her to dating him

[slippery-peeps]

This came to me in a vision. Had to get it off my chest

The Roy siblings as songs by The Smiths

-Kendall is so “How Soon is Now”-coded it’s crazy. “I am the son and the heir, of a shyness that is criminally vulgar. I am the son and the heir of nothing in particular…” like come ON. “I am human and I need to belong… just like everybody else does.”

-Shiv is very much “This Night has Opened My Eyes.” The injustice of womanhood, men’s broken promises. “Save your life because you’ve only got one. The dream has gone but the baby is real.” The motherhood of it all. But she will always be her own number one. Self-preservation above all, and the guilt that comes with it. I’m sick.

Plus the Tom of it all in the lyrics “You kicked and cried like a bullied child. A grown man of 25. Oh, he said he’d cure your ills. But he didn’t and he never will….” Obviously he’s older than 25 but the sentiment is the same.

-Roman is a little harder to nail down for some reason. At first I was thinking maybe “Half a Person”? Or “Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want”, but that feels too on the nose even for me. Roman is “I Know It’s Over.” He’s trapped, he can’t get out of the cage even though the door is open. “Oh Mother I can feel the soil falling over my head… I know it’s over, still I cling. I don’t know where else I can go.” The way the song cycles back in on itself, round and round and round, never to escape.

-Can’t forget Connor. “The Boy with the Thorn in His Side” I think. Though honestly this might also be applicable to all of them. “The boy with the thorn in his side. Behind the hatred their lies, a murderous desire for love.” The injustice of his very existence in his family, the chip on his shoulder.

[flock-of-cassowaries]

I’m having a deep think right now about the overlaps and the differences between the appeal of fascism, and that of libertarianism.

On one level, this is because I am writing a Sucession fanfic, and trying to get into Roman’s head.

But on another level only reason I’m even writing Succession fanfiction is that I identify with Roman, and that is in large part because he is a queer person who is philosophically in the thrall of his terrifying conservative father, whose love he desperately craves.

And once upon a time, that used to be me. And I feel deep and abiding shame about that.

(Not the sexy kind of shame. The devastating kind.)

But as I delve into philosophical discussions of fascism and conservatism (and honestly, I have not yet delved the deeply), I’m starting to realize that maybe I have less in common with Roman, and more with Connor (if we leave out his weird S3 white-nationalism dog whistles about the evils of onanism).

I’m basing a lot of this on the first chapter – which is all I have read so far - of “The Reactionary Mind” by Corey Robin; which I came upon via the source list for the linked YouTube video.

[link to “Endnote 2: White Fascism” by Innuendo Studios, on YouTube.]

Robin (if I’m understanding him correctly) posits that the end goal of conservatism is fundamentally Fishstick fascistic, and that the real animus driving political conservative movements is always the desire of the privileged to remain above those the existing social order oppresses.

I have certainly voted for, and carried water for, conservatives (a fact of which I am, again, deeply ashamed), but I don’t think that was ever the real appeal for me.

I’m not saying I didn’t internalize beliefs that were (I now realize) racist, classist, ableist, and elitist; but I don’t think that was ever the main draw, so much as a side effect of reading the goddamn National Post every fucking day

But for me, I think the main appeal of conservatism was the illusory promise of total self-sufficiency, and of being impossible to further hurt. It was the libertarian lie, bound up in the same nihilistic appeal as the Nine Inch Nails song whose hook is “Nothing can stop me now, cause I don’t care anymore.” (‘Piggy’ is the song.)

In this respect, I think I had more in common with Connor; I was also the discarded child who grew up to think of themself as “a flower that grows on rocks and feeds on the insect that land inside of it.”

Honestly, that soliloquy (from S4E2) could’ve been me at thirteen.

I felt rejected and shunned by the world, but I was also rapidly becoming aware that I could use my looks and intelligence as currency (just a Connor uses his literal currency as currency).

It was only when I was 21, and ended a long relationship, and found myself with no one to turn to, and no idea who I was, that my father swooped in to be my new best friend; and that’s when I became more Roman-like in my fawning attempts to appeal to him.

But I think Roman truly believes that his father is better than him, whereas a much more significant part of me always knew my own dad was a false prophet.

I think the world reaffirmed this belief in Roman, because his father has been so successful, and I think his father, concerned with legacy, has been much more active in fostering this mythology than my own father was.

(My dad would tend to just willfully ignore that l existed for several years at a stretch, if I was acting too cringe [i.e. not stereotypically conservative-lady feminine enough] for his conservative sensibilities; something I am assuming that Shiv could probably relate to.

The scene where Logan tells her he wants her back in the fold was very similar to what my father did with me when I was 21, and I glowed just the same way she did.)

But yeah, I think an internalized belief on Roman’s part that his father truly is better than him, and a desire to “be as good” as his father in order to redeem himself and overcome this inadequacy in his person, really feeds into Roman’s affinity for fascism / conservatism.

And I think that belief structure is with him in that bathroom with Mencken, unacknowledged and subconscious, and even more insidious than his conscious priorities of wanting to win points with Logan, and maaaaaybe wanting to be pushed to his knees and have a fascist phallus (a fascllus? I’m going to hell) thrust upon him.

Anyway, if anyone ever reads this, feel free to suggest some books / essays / videos to my reading list.

So far, in addition to the above-mentioned Cory Robbins tome, I am planning to actually finish “The Ur-Fascist” by Umberto Ecco, and to at least dip into “The Dialectic of Enlightenment” by Horkheimer and Adorno, and “The Authoritarian Personality” by Adorno.

[prolix-yuy]

All right Cee, here it is - the promise reblog!

First of all, I love you and I love that you wrote this and took a dip into the Frankie pool! If the notes are anything to go by, obviously people liked it! And the fact that you dedicated this to me? I adore you, my Frankie soul sister!

Frankie and Shiv's chemistry is off. The. Charts! I know people often portray Frankie as a big softie who falls in love easily (present company included) but tapping in to the more stoic, stubborn side of him works so great for this story.

for as long as I’ve known you that you don’t see the point of going to a hairstylist when you can have Pope cut your hair with kitchen scissors in his bathtub.

Noooo Frankie! Though this also gives me the sweetest image of Santi cutting Frankie's hair and them both grumbling about it.

I want to adopt Ashton, and same baby, I'd give Frankie a drink (and my number) if he even looked my way.

Shiv's background is so cool, I like that Benny is the one that pulled her into the group! And then getting him to be her model - I mean, that's a good enough endorsement for me!

He’s leaning his whole weight on his right elbow on the armest, his left arm outstretched and blunt nails tapping on the table, the only hint of impatience he’s giving away.

Sassy baby, time for Shiv to put him in his place!

From the way he plasters his palms to the top of his denim-clad thighs, as if to stop them from fidgeting, you know he’s feeling vulnerable. 

And we have the first wall down! Him jumping when she touches his hair made me all giddy - and the 'down boy'? I love the way you write banter, Cee, it feels so natural and fun even when she's relentlessly teasing him.

He huffs and gives in. ‘Fine. It’s a 2-in-1 body wash. I get it at the gas station, happy?’

NOOOOOOOO FRANKIE! You're washing your hair with dish soap at this rate! Poor Shiv's got her work cut out for her.

Oh the grays conversation! I've been dying to hear them talk about this, and I love the vulnerability and how matter-of-fact Shiv addresses his concerns. I agree, some silver is very fine on Frankie, and it would be a crime to cover it up. And letting him open up a little to Shiv and her to give him reassurance back really lets us see their relationship play out naturally.

Shiv saying unclench is me telling my nethers to unclench after imagining Frankie in this SCENE!

You try - valiantly - not to gape too obviously at the conspicuous bulge nestled snugly between his thighs under his belt buckle. But you can’t avert your eyes from something of that size. It’s against the laws of physics. Or something.

ME TOO GURL ME TOO. Big Boy Morales is in the house and we all know what's really speaking for him when he's picking up girls in the bar.

The hair washing scene was so sensory and relaxing, I felt myself drifting away just like Frankie the longer it went on.

‘Still with me, Morales?’ you tease quietly.

He garbles incoherently, and you grin.

Just once, universe, I would like to make Francisco Morales speechless! Just once!

And THERE'S the moment - the ex's wedding. Oooof, it all makes so much more sense now.

‘Well, on the bright side, you’ll definitely get laid, being the heartbroken ex and all. Chicks love that shit.’

OH WILL HE SHIV? YOU PRETTY CONFIDENT ABOUT THAT? SOME MIGHT SAY VOLUNTEERING? ;)

I love that Shiv knows so much about Frankie from the salon and how annoyed that makes him. It's so freaking cute and funny.

He dips his index finger into the pot, scooping up a generous blob. Your attention is unexpectedly piqued at the sight of his hands. 

Have they always been so big?

I am looking DISRESPECTFULLY Cee, Frankie can dip those fingers any time.

For the first time, you see the pilot in him up close, and you wonder if he’s this thorough about other things,like -

Laundry, your mind interrupts as it careens on the brink of the metaphorical gutter. Get your shit together, Shiv.

The fact that she hasn't gotten herself in the gutter yet is a testament to her fortitude, because I sure as hell would have been there in the first minute of this interaction.

Leaning down to his ear so he can hear you over the whir, you instruct him, ‘Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.’

Then she gets to rub that fine fine neck? Shiv is living our dreams and I am here for it!

A dramatic gasp draws both of your attention. Ashton is clutching at his chest, backed up against the neighbouring styling station, gaping at Frankie. ‘Mister - you look good enough to devour. Look at that salt and pepper, I’m living for the grays. Doing the Lord’s work, Shiv!’

Ashton speaking the truth, even if he ruins the moment just a tad. I'd probably react the same way!

You better stock up on the condoms, Morales, the ladies will be all over you at the party.’

Methinks the lady doth mention the sexing too much ;)

And then that cheeky little kiss? I'm melting at the end of this Cee! I adored the entirety of it, their conversations were so punchy but still deep. I could feel the history there, and how in this one event she's broken down a bit of a wall between them. And to get him confident enough to be strutting - god, he's gonna be insufferable but in the best possible way.

If you do write a smutty part two I will absolutely read it, but i also love the perfection of this one story! Your first foray into Frankie and you knock it out of the park! So proud of you Cee, and I love love love love LOVED IT!

Grays

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: Frankie wants you to cover up his grays. You want to knock some sense into his salt-and-pepper head.

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, no physical descriptions other than that Reader has hair that can be dyed, not-quite-friends to *respectfully looking* dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, sexual innuendos, lots of teasing and banter.

Word count: 4.8k

Notes: The origin story is here if you missed it. This is dedicated to my Frankie soul sister LJ @prolix-yuy who encouraged me to write this many months ago ❤️ As always, I’m an anxious mess writing for a new-to-me Pedro boy, so please be gentle with me (cos it's my birthday week) 🥺

I have a part 2 (with smut) in mind. I love where this leaves off, but who am I kidding. I probably won’t be able to help myself 😂

The bell on the door chimes with a sweet tinkle, cutting through the low, insistent purr of the hair clipper buzzing in your grasp. You don’t look up as you spy broad shoulders and a battered Standard Heating Oil cap crossing the threshold out of the corner of your eye.

‘Are you lost, Morales?’ you drawl indifferently, focused on the task at hand. ‘I have an appointment with Pope today, not you.’

‘He booked it under his name. Thought you’d take it as a prank if I called in myself.’

You look up to meet his gaze reflected in the mirror sitting in front of Greg, your current customer. ‘I wonder why he’d think that.’

Frankie shrugs, leaning against the reception counter with his arms crossed. ‘Beats me.’

You snort. ‘Really? You’ve insisted loudly and repeatedly for as long as I’ve known you that you don’t see the point of going to a hairstylist when you can have Pope cut your hair with kitchen scissors in his bathtub.’

‘C’mon, Shiv.’

‘Oh, he knows my name,’ you gasp sarcastically. You turn to Greg, who’s clearly amused by this exchange, and loop him in. ‘He usually just grunts at me.’

At this point, Ashton - your apprentice and all-round salon maverick - makes an appearance. Clearly having caught the tail-end of your conversation with Frankie, he glances between the two of you with an arched eyebrow. ‘Are we back to chasing customers away, boss?’

‘Sit his ass down but he doesn’t get a free drink,’ you instruct. ‘I’ll get to him when I get to him.’

Ashton goes ahead and ignores your orders point blank, per usual. After hanging up Frankie’s jacket and settling him at the station furthest away from you in the far corner of the salon, you see him sneakily give him a coffee. He can never resist the handsome ones.

You take your sweet time with Greg, cleaning up his sideburns, even though you’re basically done with him - just to tick off your waiting customer.

Not that it works, and you know it won’t. He just sits there, his wide frame filling up the chair, still as a rock. The dog-eared, months-old magazines strategically placed on the table for idle reading lie untouched. That’s Francisco Morales for you.

You’ve been orbiting each other since sixth grade, as all kids in your close-knit neighbourhood do. In fact, most of your customers went to your school. 

You don’t even remember how it started - probably at a sleepover - you discovered one day that you’re handy with box hair dye. By freshman year, you were colouring your fellow classmates’ hair in the girls’ toilets after school, earning enough pocket money to keep your cabinet at home fully-stocked with new hair products on rotation.

Your ever-changing hair colour got you into trouble with the headmaster more times than you can count, who nicknamed you Shape Shifter. Your friends abbreviated it to Shifter, then over the years, whittled it down to Shiv, and it stuck.

After being gifted a set of styling scissors for Christmas one year, you started hanging out at the neighbourhood salon, hustling for an apprenticeship. You practised what you observed on your fellow students, giving out haircuts on the bleachers on non-game days for a couple of dollars (the fee waived if something went disastrously wrong).

That’s how you first met Benny - his then cheerleader girlfriend took him in for a haircut when it got too long for her liking. When you eventually opened your own salon years later, he was your first paying customer, having come home after being honourably discharged from the army.

During the early days, when you struggled to fill your appointments and he couldn’t win a fight to save his life, you made a pact. You would do his hair at a heavy discount for his posters and promotions, and in return, he would let you use his photos for the salon’s marketing.

And it worked. Well, not that you had anything to do with him turning his fortunes around on the MMA circuit, but he had everything to do with getting customers through your door. It only got busier when Santi joined the ranks a couple of years later, and even though Will only shows up when his hair gets really unruly, they both sit in front of your camera with no complaint in return for mate’s rates.

Having these guys on your salon’s social media keeps both the gents and the ladies booking up your appointments.

Frankie Morales, though, is a different animal.

When you finally appear over his left shoulder, his coffee is all gone and he meets your eyes in the mirror nonchalantly. He’s leaning his whole weight on his right elbow on the armest, his left arm outstretched and blunt nails tapping on the table, the only hint of impatience he’s giving away.

He’s good at that - he’s the laid-back one out of the boys, the one who hangs back and observes with arms crossed, but quick to crack a grin and throw in a wicked barb when the occasion calls for it. Nothing ever seems to faze him, and probably nothing does - you hear that makes a good pilot, and from what Pope lets on, he’s a damn good one.

It also makes for highly effective bait for the ladies. He’s a popular fixture on the local bar scene - let’s face it, all of the boys are. You’ve seen him in action more than once when Benny or Pope invites you along on a night out, more often than not without Will since he had a baby girl with his high school sweetheart last year. Frankie’s brooding, quiet, beer-sipping act often works better than Benny’s over-the-top flirting or Pope’s Casanova bit.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Hands on your hips, you goad him, ‘Alright Morales, how do I know you’ll pay up, you cheap bastard?’

‘Pope says to put it on his tab.’

‘Music to my ears.’ You tap him on the shoulder. ‘Sit up and off with the cap.’

With a grumble, Frankie lifts the cap up by the beak, ducking his head as he does so. He tosses it onto the table offhandedly and shifts in his seat, but you’re not fooled by his unconvincing air of indifference. From the way he plasters his palms to the top of his denim-clad thighs, as if to stop them from fidgeting, you know he’s feeling vulnerable. 

You can’t say you’ve ever seen Frankie without his headgear - now that you think about it, he’s been wearing it since high school. Heck, he might have gone through several incarnations of that blasted hat in the years in between. You’ve caught glimpses when he lifts it up to fix his hair, but otherwise, all you see is what peeks out from underneath, the longer wisps that coil around his ears and the curls at the back. 

As it turns out, there’s really nothing to hide - sure, the cut is blunt and his hair lacks shine, but both can be easily fixed. You step into his space and comb through his locks, starting at the base of his skull and working your way up the sides. 

The contact startles him - he practically jumps out of his skin, and you don’t miss the way the veins on the back of his hands pop and he digs his nails into his legs.

'Easy, boy,' you soothe with a teasing undertone, earning yourself a glower from the pilot. As much as you enjoy needling him, you do want your customers to be comfortable. So you let slip a deliberate but genuinely appreciative hum as the dark tendrils, subtly tinged with grays, part softly at your prying fingertips. ‘Wow, your curls are really thick.'

He looks up, an unsure frown on his brow. ‘Oh. Is that bad?’

‘No, Morales, it’s definitely a compliment,’ you tell him encouragingly - your bark has always been worse than your bite. ‘What do you use to wash your hair? It’s a bit dry.’

He shrugs. ‘Shampoo.’ At your insistent stare, he snaps, ‘What?’

‘Don’t lie to me, Morales,’ you warn him in a stern voice.

He huffs and gives in. ‘Fine. It’s a 2-in-1 body wash. I get it at the gas station, happy?’

You shoot him a smug grin as he rolls his eyes. ‘Well, you’re using proper shampoo from now on, and conditioner.’ He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue, when you hold a finger up at him. ‘Don’t argue with me, mister. I’ll throw in a couple of bottles on the house to get you started.’

‘Fine,’ he concedes. Unfailingly polite even when grumpy, he adds, ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Your trusty swivelling stool screeches in protest when you drag it over on its wheels, before you take a seat and address the elephant in the room. ‘So - I’m guessing you’re here because of the wedding.’

You get a grunt in response. Scratching a particularly scrappy patch of his beard that has turned prematurely silver, he says, ‘My ma says I should cover up my old man grays for it.’

You snort, shaking your head. ‘Ha! And you tell your mother I say - hell no, ma’am! I will do no such thing.’

Frankie blinks at your unexpectedly adamant response. ‘What?’

‘I said, hell no,’ you repeat. Turning his head to the side with two fingers on his stubbled cheek, you comb his locks upwards to study the way the grays blend in softly with the umber, matching the ashen flecks in his beard. He doesn't start as badly at your touch this time, but there’s a telltale tick in his jaw, and you can almost hear the tension that thrums just below his skin where a late summer tan still lingers.

‘See how your grays are mainly coming out on the underside?’ you point out. ‘I like the way they just peek through the brown, it gives more depth to your curls. Natural highlights, if you will.’

He looks unconvinced and swipes at a smattering of silver with dismissive fingers. ‘Dunno. Thought the grays make me look old.’

You chuckle. ‘You’re no spring chicken anymore, Morales, and I mean it in a good way. Grays are natural - they will look even better when you start using actual shampoo and conditioner. Trust me, the salt and pepper works on you. I’m not dyeing your grays, and that’s that.’

For the first time today, Frankie turns his head and looks directly into your eyes. ‘My mother’s coming back to town for the wedding, you know. And she remembers where you live.’

You laugh. ‘Go ahead and send her my way, you know I’m not scared of her.’

He scoffs at your big talk. ‘You should be.’

Your relationship with the Morales matriarch is complicated, to say the least. She was always hard on you when you were a kid, thinking you were too wild and undisciplined. Now that you’re grown, you’re still torn between your admiration for her as a single mother who raised a good man, and the woman who never tires of dishing out criticism, warranted or not.

You give him a reassuring pat on the back, solid and warm under your touch. ‘Leave your mother to me, Morales. The grays stay, and I’ll make sure you steal the show at the party.’

‘Your funeral,’ he quips.

‘You just worry about getting yourself to the wedding,’ you retort, cracking your knuckles. ‘Now, are you ready for some pampering?’

Frankie rolls his eyes, but you see the corner of his mouth tick up in a vaguely upward direction - and you take it as a win.

‘Relax, Morales.’

‘I am relaxed,’ he insists through gritted teeth.

‘You’re about as relaxed as a cow on the butcher’s block. Unclench.’

For someone as economical with words as he is, his body certainly says a lot. Every single part of him seems hellbent on making his discomfort known. He breathes a frustrated exhale through his nose, brow deeply furrowed, his glare burning holes into the ceiling.

The leather seat of the backwash barely contains his tall build, his t-shirt stretched to the seams across his chest as he leans back into the basin. He’s bouncing his left leg irritably, the tight denim straining against his lap.

You try - valiantly - not to gape too obviously at the conspicuous bulge nestled snugly between his thighs under his belt buckle. But you can’t avert your eyes from something of that size. It’s against the laws of physics. Or something.

Even from where you’re standing, at the top of the basin peering down the slope of his body, its heft is clearly testing the structural integrity of the zipper of his jeans. Imagine the view from the other side -

Clearing your throat, you bodily press down on Frankie’s shoulders which are coiled up like the hood of an angry python, forcing them to loosen up. He jerks as if he’s a copper wire and you’re electricity. You tease, ‘So sensitive. You act like you’ve never felt a woman’s touch before, Morales.’

‘You know that’s not true,’ he growls at you, the prominent vein in his neck starting to pulse in frustration.

‘No, you’re right - I do know,’ you smirk, dragging out your syllables.

Your tone has him frowning at you, upside down. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean - I know,’ you repeat with a conspiratorial wink.

He narrows his eyes at you. ‘What do you know, Shiv?’

You wriggle his eyebrows at him suggestively, enjoying yourself far too much. ‘I own a salon, Morales. I hear things from the ladies about town.’

One large palm reaches up to shield his face in embarrassment, a pained groan escaping between the gaps of his fingers. ‘For fuck’s sake - kill me now.’

You laugh, wrestling his hand from his face to with an impish grin. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve only heard good things so far - Frankie big boy Morales.’

He blushes so hard that his ears and neck go a livid red, and for a minute, you’re actually worried that he’d pass out from not enough blood reaching his heart. Not keen on the prospect of having to explain to the emergency services that you teased the poor man into an aneurysm, you turn on the water and cut short your little chinwag with a good-natured chuckle. 

His hands are still tightly clamped around the armrest when you carefully run the shower head along his hairline and behind his ears, soaking his curls. His biceps flex from the tight grip and the lean muscles strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt. 

At least he closes his eyes when you start with the shampoo. The velvety lather froths as you patiently wash his hair, which clings to his wet curls like vanilla frosting. The deep crease between his brows eases with each gentle swipe into his locks, and the invisible force pulling his lips downwards slackens. By the time you rinse out the bubbles, you don’t miss the way the tension in his body unwittingly goes with it down the drain.

When your nails slide slickly into his hair with the conditioner, his stubborn body finally, slowly unfurls. His head tips back of its own accord, baring the column of his strong neck as he leans inadvertently into your touch. Colour returns to his knuckles when he releases his death grip on the backwash. 

You smile to yourself, scraping your fingertips along his scalp in a firm massage, watching his chest rise and fall as he teeters on the brink of consciousness.

As your thumbs trace a confident path down the back of his skull, they appear to find a particularly sensitive spot near the base of his neck, and it's as if a switch is flipped. You witness the exact moment he breaks - his back arches off the leather seat, his obstinate lips part with a strangled half-sigh catching in his throat as he yields his full weight into the palm of your hands.

If you're not careful, you could get used to this.

‘Still with me, Morales?’ you tease quietly.

He garbles incoherently, and you grin.

Frankie practically molds into the chair like warm wax when you shepherd him back to the styling station. You’re so chuffed with yourself that you don’t even feel the need to gloat at the way his eyes are glazed over and how his head lolls into the soft pressure when you run a fluffy towel through his hair. The man recoiling at the mere brush of your fingers a distant memory.

You run an assessing eye over him, brushing out his locks to gauge your game plan. ‘I like this length on you, so I’ll just trim the split ends and tidy up your sideburns. You’ll benefit from some layering too - it’s a bit heavy on top right now.’

From the way he blinks owlishly at you, you know he doesn’t catch a single word. He shrugs and says matter-of-factly. ‘You can’t do worse than Pope.’

The salon is quiet this afternoon, as it tends to be on Wednesdays. You let him enjoy the peace for a little bit and tap your foot to Ashton’s playlist as your styling scissors move over his curls in metallic snips.

‘Tip your head forward for me,’ you instruct, sliding around the back of his head on your wheels as you probe, ‘So - how are you feeling about the wedding?’

The fabric of his t-shirt bunches over his shoulders as they quirk noncommittally.

‘It’s just a few days away.’

He makes an indifferent noise. But you’re not so easily dissuaded from conversation, and he knows it.

‘Can’t be easy - watching your ex get married.’

Frankie pins you with a long-suffering stare in the mirror. ‘We broke up a year ago.’

Getting onto your feet, you ruffle your fingers through the crown of his curls. ‘Yeah, but you dated for years. She sure moved on quick.’

He huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Swapping out the styling scissors for blending shears, you argue, ‘What? It’s a legitimate observation. I’m just making conversation here.’

‘Or we could just sit here quietly.’

Ha. As if you ever listen to him. You press on, ‘Why did she invite you anyway?’

Frankie’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender as he humours you. ‘It’s a damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t kind of situation, I guess. The whole town’s invited.’

‘You sure she isn’t trying to flaunt it in your face or something?’

‘Flaunting implies I still care. I don’t.’

You give him a juvenile nudge nudge, wink wink. ‘Well, on the bright side, you’ll definitely get laid, being the heartbroken ex and all. Chicks love that shit.’

He dispatches a side-long stare in your direction. ‘I’m not heartbroken, and that’s not why I’m going. And you know none of this is any of your business, right?’

‘You’re no fun,’ you pout.

He quips, ‘As a professional hairstylist, you really should be better at making polite conversation.’

You snort. ‘Do you really think it’s a good idea to call me rude when I have scissors in my hands?’

Frankie watches you work in the comfortable lull that’s settled between you, gliding the blades along strands of his curls pulled taut, before running a fine-toothed comb through to brush out the loose tufts. Soft coils land on the floor around his chair as you work your way methodically through his layers.

‘Are you going to the wedding?’ he asks eventually.

You shrug. ‘Maybe, depends on my schedule. I gotta say, I’m kind of curious to see how tacky it will be.’

At his eyebrow sternly cocked, you argue, ‘I know she’s your ex and all, but she’s always been a bit tacky. I mean, that remodel of your house was just tragic.’

Frankie frowns. ‘How do you know all this? You’ve never been to my house.’

You wink. ‘Benny tells me everything when I do his hair.’

He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course. Benjamin fucking Miller.’

You give him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m on your side, if it helps.’

‘I don’t need you on my side.’

You flash him an insufferable grin. ‘Too bad, Francisco. I am and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

The hairdryer drowns out any further conversation, and Frankie quietly studies you as you cord your fingers through his hair, ruffling it as it dries.

It’s still a bit damp when you switch off the hairdryer and reach up to pull a couple of jars from the shelf above. ‘On the day of the wedding, I want you to wash your hair just before you style it. You have a hairdryer at home, right?’

He throws you a pointed look. ‘I’m not a heathen.’

You grin. ‘Down boy, just checking. Now, you’ll dry your hair until it’s still a bit wet, like so.’ Presenting the styling mousse to him, you say, ‘Then go on and grab some product - you only need a dollop.’

He dips his index finger into the pot, scooping up a generous blob. Your attention is unexpectedly piqued at the sight of his hands. 

Have they always been so big?

Realising he’s staring at you in wait, you shake yourself out of it. ‘Ok, rub the mousse onto your fingertips and run them all over your hair, combing from root to end.’

Frankie does as he’s told, face set to a serious scowl as he impeccably goes over each section of his locks, staring into the mirror to make sure he gets every strand. For the first time, you see the pilot in him up close, and you wonder if he’s this thorough about other things, like -

Laundry, your mind interrupts as it careens on the brink of the metaphorical gutter. Get your shit together, Shiv.

‘Good,’ you smile when he’s done, hoping he doesn't see the strain in it. ‘Now, I want you to rake your fingers through the roots when you dry your hair all the way.’ In demonstration, your nails burrow into the base of his thick hair, then you wriggle your fingers upwards towards the ends. ‘It will give you lots of volume and really show off this cut.’

Passing him the hairdryer, you watch him critically in the mirror. He imitates your movements, a bit clumsily and far too cautiously. Leaning down to his ear so he can hear you over the whir, you instruct him, ‘Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.’

He chokes and pins you with a wide-eyed stare in the mirror that glances right off your oblivious self. Along with your words, nothing about this exchange would register in your head in any other way until much, much later tonight, when you replay the conversation in your head in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness. 

It may or may not have you squealing into your pillow in latent embarrassment - and something else.

But for now, you’re happy with the way his hair has set, and you gesture for him to switch off the hairdryer. Turning his chair towards you and away from the mirror, you scan your eyes over him and make small adjustments - tucking a couple of strands behind his ear here, a couple of final snips there. 

As a final touch, you bury your fingers into his locks, dragging your fingertips through the roots to impart a final tousle so that the curls are loose and soft. You preen at the way he sways into your contact, all shyness gone, his hooded eyes half-closed - before he seems to catch himself and sits up with a self-conscious ahem.

Grabbing a small bottle from the shelf, you say, ‘Last thing - your beard is a bit dry as well. This oil will keep it nice and moisturised, just two or three drops after you wash up in the morning will do.’

Tipping his face up by the crook of your finger and opening up his neck to you, you smooth the ointment along both sides of his jaw, rubbing circles into his neatly trimmed whiskers and all the way up his sideburns. Sliding downwards, your hands seek out the closely shaved stubble tucked beneath his chin. Then, by sheer momentum, your palms continue down his throat in a slow, sticky descent, until the pads of your thumbs slot into the hollow between his collarbones, your fingers resting at the base of his neck where you feel his pulse rabbiting underneath. 

The air thickens and shifts between you. When he swallows, you feel the ripple of the moment against your fingertips. 

His eyes are on you, and suddenly he’s too close, his skin too hot under your hands. To your horror, something akin to shyness rears its head and you almost stumble backwards to put a safe distance between you.

Scrubbing the oily residue from your hands on a towel, you break the moment with a wink and a steadier smile than you actually feel. ‘You look good, Morales. Ready to take a look?’

‘As if you would take no for an answer,’ he mumbles under his breath. Fondness might be too strong of a word - but you don't think you're imagining the faint trace of amusement in his voice.

With a dramatic ta-da, you spin his chair around with a flourish.

Frankie Morales is obviously not a vain man - he most likely owns five pairs of jeans that he’s worn on rotation for the past fifteen years, his t-shirts are washed ragged, and his trusty leather boots have seen better days. He probably doesn’t use a mirror other than for purely utilitarian purposes, like checking if there’s something stuck in his teeth from his last meal.

But right now, by the way he’s holding his breath as he meets his own eyes in the reflection, you can tell that he’s really looking at himself for the first time in a long while. 

You pretend to busy yourself with tidying up the styling station as you discreetly sneak glances at him, feeling strangely bashful for intruding in this moment. When he remembers to breathe again, he tilts his head left then to the right, and back again, even swivelling his chair from side to side so he can peer round the back.

You’ve parted his waves to the side, the lighter cut allowing his curls to carry their natural shape. The healthy sheen, courtesy of the mousse, tempers his grays to a softer, burnt silver that catches the light fetchingly as he moves. Reaching up, Frankie pushes back a stray curl that falls over his eyes, and his back straightens in a quiet show of confidence.

Running a salon is hard work and often thankless. But on days like this? You know you’re meant to do this.

A dramatic gasp draws both of your attention. Ashton is clutching at his chest, backed up against the neighbouring styling station, gaping at Frankie. ‘Mister - you look good enough to devour. Look at that salt and pepper, I’m living for the grays. Doing the Lord’s work, Shiv!’

You laugh as Frankie flushes, scratching an invisible itch on his forehead. You brush the loose hairs off his shoulders with a towel and give him a nudge. ‘See? I’m not the only one who thinks you look good with the grays. You better stock up on the condoms, Morales, the ladies will be all over you at the party.’

He shakes his head self-deprecatingly as he stands up, rubbing his palms on his jeans, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. ‘I doubt it, but - thanks. I appreciate this, Shiv.’

He shrugs on his well-loved burnt yellow jacket, the one with the sleeves perpetually folded up above his wrists and grabs his cap. You hold out a paper bag with the free shampoo and conditioner you promised him, throwing in a jar of hair mousse for good measure. ‘You’re welcome, and you better not put your hat on again this afternoon after all that hard work.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes the bag from you, then, as if it’s the logical next thing to do, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your right cheek, his stubble coarse against your skin - and you know without looking it’s the gray patch in his beard that brushes against your jaw as he draws back. You fumble, feeling heat prickle the back of your neck and blooming in your rib cage. 

He flashes you the most self-assured smile you’ve seen on him this afternoon, which has you biting your bottom lip. ‘I won’t. Maybe see you at the wedding, Shiv.’

It takes you five full seconds to regain motor functions. By the time you unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Frankie’s already out of the door with a spring in his step.

In companionable silence, you and Ashton watch the pilot strut - because that’s what he’s doing, he’s strutting with a confidence that becomes him - across the road through the glass front of the salon.

‘What a dish,’ Ashton sighs dreamily, flopping into a chair as if his limbs have given out. ‘I hope he comes back soon.’

You smile. A girl could always hope.

Notes: It's the first time I'm using a nickname for a Reader, but I have a real soft spot for Shiv, and I think she deserves one. I'm not sure where the fandom stands on this, does it disqualify the fic as a reader insert? If anyone has an issue with this, please let me know! For me, Shiv has no physical descriptions so to me she's still a reader insert.

I don't know if anyone expected this kind of dynamics between these two, but it's been so much fun to write with a bit of antagonism in the mix. I hope you enjoyed this, reblogs and comments are so, so appreciated as always. Thank you for reading ❤️

[jaskierswolf]

So when three separate people sent me this post... I realised I just had to write it. So have some Assassin!Jaskier and concealed weapons.

CW: horny but not explicit, implied weapon kink, minor injury but quickly healed.

_________

The vase flew off the chest of drawers as Jaskier blindly reached behind him to steady himself, too busy fiercely attacking Geralt’s lips in a kiss to pay any attention to his surroundings. He wasn’t sure who had finally made the first move but the tension between them had been building for months now, and it had tipped over the edge that evening. All Jaskier’s wildest dreams were coming true in the middle of a shitty inn, in a village that probably wasn’t even on any maps.

And yet, Jaskier would remember it for the rest of his life.

Geralt’s hands ran down his arms, stroking along the soft silk fabric. The sensation made his skin tingle even through the blasted layers of clothes. He was about to snap at Geralt, tell him to bloody well hurry up, when he heard a familiar click.

He pulled his hand back from Geralt’s face just in time as a blade shot out from his sleeve, sharp and deadly. “Ah fuck!”

“What the fuck, Jaskier?”

“Umm, ah, well… travelling bard, all alone. I need the element of surprise if I get attacked?”

“You’re a bard, not an assassin!” Geralt growled.

Jaskier blushed, thinking back to his training at the illusive Lettenhove Castle. “Yes, I’m a bard, obviously, now let me just…” he shimmied out of his doublet and unstrapped the holster and mechanism for his hidden blade. “Okay, shall we?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and pulled him into another kiss, even more insistent  than the last, the heat building quickly, and soon Jaskier was moaning into Geralt’s mouth. He was everything he dreamed of and more. It was like they were made to kiss each other. “Fuck, Geralt,” he groaned as Geralt’s hands landed on his arse.

“Shit!” Geralt pulled back, sucking at his fingers. Blood stained his lips, and whilst it looked strangely attractive, reminiscent of red stains that sorceresses favoured, it really shouldn’t be there. Jaskier frown and tentatively reached to where his throwing knives were safely tucked away in the back of his trousers.

Only one had come loose in the kerfuffle of moving upstairs, slicing through the fabric… and apparently Geralt’s hands.

“I am so so sorry!” Jaskier exclaimed, his cheeks heating up and he wanted to sink into the floor.

“Seriously?!”

“Bandits are tricky buggers?”

Geralt just glowered at him. The wound on his hand was already starting to knit back together but it had really killed the mood… which was not the purpose of throwing knives. They were made to kill his contracts, not his erection.

And by the gods he was not losing this opportunity. He gently took Geralt’s injured hand in his and pressed a kiss to the palm, avoiding the jagged wound that ran across it. Then he kissed each of Geralt’s finger tips, turning the witcher’s hand round to kiss his knuckles. He gazed up at Geralt through his eyelashes with wide eyes. “Forgive me, dear heart?”

The witcher’s frown softened into a fond expression and Jaskier knew he’d  won. “Any more?”

Jaskier considered the question. Yes, he had more. A lot more. He’d just finished a contract before meeting up with Geralt so he was well stocked on blades and other useful weaponry… but how the fuck was he going to explain it all.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. This was really not going his way, but if he didn’t come clean there were going to be more accidents and he really really didn’t want that.

“Umm…” he trailed off.

Geralt took a step back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What the fuck, bard?”

“Well. Umm… I am a bard…”

“But?”

“I’m not just a bard?”

Geralt cursed and turned around, facing the bed that had held so much promise before. Jaskier whined, his trousers were still uncomfortably tight and Geralt still looked so fucking gorgeous even with his grumpy face…. especially with his grumpy face.

With a sigh, Geralt turned back around, his fingers still pressed to his forehead. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Jaskier grinned and went to throw his arms around Geralt but the witcher held his hands up to stop him. “What now?”

“I’m not touching you until you’re undressed, no more hidden weapons.”

Jaskier pouted but got to work, he carefully took off his rings and set them aside. “Poison,” he muttered when Geralt raised an eyebrow at him.

“Poison… in your rings?”

“Why do you think I have so many?”

“Melitele’s tits, Jask.”

“I’m sorry! I don’t judge you for all your monsters guts and severed heads!” Jaskier snapped, “Don’t judge my rings.”

“Just hurry up,” Geralt grumbled, a faint blush colouring his cheeks.

Jaskier winked. “Eager, witcher?”

“Shut up and strip.”

Jaskier giggled and pulled off his chemise, making sure his selection of smaller knives that were pinned to the inside didn’t show when it landed on the floor. Geralt’s gaze was burning in its intensity and Jaskier took a moment to bask, enjoying the feeling of his witcher’s attention. There were leather holsters strapped to his thighs, impossible to hide from his witcher as he pealed off his trousers, but he saw the growing hunger in Geralt’s face when the straps were revealed. Jaskier winked as he took both daggers from their holsters, flipping them in his hands before setting them aside, although judging by Geralt’s reactions to the weapons, perhaps one day could keep them on hand.

The thought of having Geralt, the mighty White Wolf, pinned to the bed, Jaskier’s blade at his throat, fuck. He shivered and filed that thought away for a later date.

But with almost all his clothes and weapons laying strewn all over the floor, he could almost have everything he desired. Geralt seemed to have the same idea and he reached forward to kiss Jaskier, but this time it was the assassin that stopped the kiss. Geralt stared at him incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

“You have got to be kidding me…” he breathed and sat back down on the bed.

Jaskier smiled sheepishly down at his lover as he pulled a shiv from a secret pocket in his small clothes. It wasn’t easily accessible but useful for the rare occasions he got caught and thrown into prison. Thankfully he usually only got caught by angry Lords and Ladies who thought he was a useless bard. It was much easier to escape when they underestimated him.

“What the fuck,” Geralt groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ll explain later, now will you please just kiss me, and possibly fuck me into the mattress until I can’t remember my own name?”

“No more weapons?” Geralt grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Where the bloody hell would I have any more…” he trailed off as he remembered one memorable visit to Toussaint, “ah right. Okay. Never mind, point taken. No more weapons.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Geralt growled, grabbing for Jaskier’s hand and pulling him forward so they both tumbled onto the mattress together in a mess of limbs.

[emmalovesdilemmas]

10 characters, 10 fandoms, 10 tags

thanks for tagging me @wolfpants​, i loved reading yours! i couldn’t tell if this was for the character you love the most or the character you related to most so i kind of just went with the character who took up most of my brainspace for each of these.

1. black sails - flint

“You must know this. You're too smart not to know this. They paint the world full of shadows and then tell their children to stay close to the light. Their light. Their reasons, their judgments. Because in the darkness, there be dragons. But it isn't true. We can prove that it isn't true. In the dark, there is discovery, there is possibility, there is freedom.”

2. the terror - francis crozier

“Friend, mother, lover, all the things they say a ship is to a captain, and they miss the only thing that matters: Confessor. This ship knows everything about me, Thomas.”

3. hannibal - will graham

“At night I leave the lights on in my little house and walks across the flat fields. When I look back from a distance the house is like a boat on the sea. It's really the only time I feel safe.”

4. succession - shiv roy

“You’re in a shitstorm of conflicting interests here. You can’t trust anyone. You just have to be smart. So, listen to everyone and make an assessment. Because frankly, I want what’s best for me. But the other people? The folks who want you to get up there tomorrow, and get pulled apart? They want what’s best for them. You need to think about what’s best for you.”

5. our flag means death - jim

“I’m gonna keep this very simple. You all know me as Jim, si? So just...keep calling me Jim. Huh, nothing’s changed.”

6. infinity train - lake/mirror tulip

“I’m not Tulip! I’m not foil, I’m not reflection, I’m not a sliver, I’m not a ‘Null,’ I’m not any of the hundreds of names that everyone wants to give me! I’m my own person who is getting off this train!”

7. avatar the last airbender/the legend of korra - katara

“I know sometimes it hurts more to hope and it hurts more to care, but you have to promise me that you won't stop caring.”

8.  everything, everywhere, all at once - waymond wang

“You think I'm weak don't you? All of those years ago when we first fell in love, your father would say I was too sweet for my own good. Maybe he was right. You tell me it's a cruel world, and we're all running around in circles. I know that. I've been on this earth just as many days as you. When I choose to see the good side of things, I'm not being naive. It is strategic and necessary. It's how I've learned to survive through everything. I know you see yourself as a fighter. Well, I see myself as one too. This is how I fight.”

9. schitt’s creek - david

“There are certain lies I tell myself, and if you’re any kind of friend you will let me cling to those lies.”

10. the locked tomb series - harrowhark nonagesimus

“I have tried to dismantle you, Gideon Nav! The Ninth House poisoned you, we trod you underfoot—I took you to this killing field as my slave—you refuse to die, and you pity me! Strike me down. You’ve won. I’ve lived my whole wretched life at your mercy, yours alone, and God knows I deserve to die at your hand. You are my only friend. I am undone without you.”

no pressure tagging @softlystarstruck, @corvuscrowned, @academicdisasterfic, @saintgarbanzo, @babooshkart, @epitomereally, @moonstruckwytch, @nv-md, @oknowkiss, @bluebutter-art (and anyone else who wants to) if you haven’t done this yet and want to!

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Something Sweet; Chapter 4

Kendall Roy x Reader

Read the Prologue and Chapters 1, 2, and 3!

a/n: spoiler, but shiv’s in this one and we’re going to pretend like she canonically acts like that and doesn’t hate everyone and everything. enjoy x

Word Count: 2,358

Your meeting with Marcia went suspiciously smoothly. She fed you, sent you home with fancy tea leaves, and made you promise not to overwork yourself, which you found uncomfortably endearing.

It’s two weeks before Christmas, and you’re trying not to fall asleep standing up at the register. It’s been busier than usual, and you’ve been working later and later each day.

The lady in front of you is gorgeous. Her hair is the perfect shade of orange, and her pantsuit is the same one you’d been eyeing while window shopping up the street.

She orders a box of miniature cheesecakes then asks, “What’s your favorite?”

You glance at your pastry display and smile. “That’s a difficult question. I love everything I bake, which is selfish, but…” You open the display case and fish out a small slice of key-lime pie— the same recipe that got you hired by Logan. “If I had to choose right now, my key-lime is my favorite.”

“Wait, I recognize that. Are you by chance Y/N Y/L/N?”

You’re taken slightly aback. “I am. Why?”

“You’re the baker doing dessert for my family’s Christmas dinner. I was wondering why my brother recommended this place.” She reaches across the counter and gives your hand an excited squeeze. “I wasn’t there when you were baking for my dad, but I found the pie when I was over later. Best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“You’re Kendall’s sister?”

“Siobhan. Shiv. You’re the one he’s always talking about!”

You feel your face flush. “Always?”

“Yes, always. You know what? I think we’d be good friends.”

You smile.

Shiv pays for her pastries and beckons you around the counter. “The second a customer walks in, get up and go. Don’t let me keep you.”

Unlike Kendall, Shiv was an open book. You both talk freely of your work, her asking questions and responding to any of yours about her job. She asks about the competing café that had opened down the street, but you tell her you don’t think you’re worried because the owner has a crusty little white dog he lets run around the property and terrorize customers.

“I love your stuff better than anything else I’ve tried, anyway,” she says. “I’ll tell everyone I know to come here, don’t worry.” The bells tinkle as someone comes in. “Aw, damn. I’ll leave you to it.”

You exchange numbers and a quick hug before she leaves and you get back to work. Because you threw yourself into your work, you didn’t really keep friends that well. It was nice to have a bubbly personality in your life again.

જ⁀➴

A few days later, Kendall texts you that he has the night off and that you should come over. Giddily, you throw on sweats and a sweater and realize he’s already outside. When you climb into the passenger seat, you tell him, “I have a car. You don’t have to take me everywhere.”

He waits until you buckle your seatbelt to start the car, not responding to what you said. He seems dazed, not focused.

“Are you alright?” you ask quietly, watching as Kendall white-knuckles the steering wheel.

“Fine.”

“Is this a bad time for me to be here?”

“What?” That seems to snap him out of his trance. “No, no. I want you here.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong, Kendall.”

He stays silent for a moment, focused on the road. “Issues with my ex-wife.”

You know he’s been divorced, you know he has two kids. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” he says harshly. You wince, not pressing it any further, and shift to stare out the window. After a few minutes of strained silence, he sighs and wipes at his face with his hand. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s not fine how I spoke to you. I’m sorry,” he repeats. He glances at you before putting his eyes back on the road.

You chew on your bottom lip. “What do you want to watch tonight?” you ask, changing the subject.

Kendall visibly relaxes and throws you a grateful look. “I have a bunch of old Disney movies.” Turns out, his apartment complex isn’t too far from yours. You follow him into the building and up on the elevator. “I also think I have the old Spider-Man movies.”

“Toby Maguire?”

“I loved them when I was younger.” When you’re both awkwardly settled on his couch, he says, “I, uh, got popcorn to pop for this,” and doesn’t say anything else.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to pop popcorn.”

He avoids your gaze. “I’ll let you pick the movie if you do it?”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you say sarcastically.

Kendall goes pink with what you think is shame. “Please. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I’m only joking.” You bump his knee with yours before making your way to his kitchen. It takes you a bit to find a pan and some oil, but you have the kernels popped and sitting in a bowl in no time. You pad back into the living room, your socks making soft sounds as they hit the carpet.

You hand him the bowl. “You have no butter in your fridge, you monster. Enjoy disgustingly unbuttered popcorn.”

“If you couldn’t tell, I don’t exactly cook that much.”

You sit yourself down next to him, tuck your feet under yourself and lean into him. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t make any move to get closer to you, either.

Before sitting down, he’d shown you where he keeps the movies and you drew Toby Maguire’s Spider-Man from the shelf.

Kendall keeps the bowl between you two, making sure you’re eating. “Sorry. About all of this.”

“Stop. You’re doing fine. I know you think you’re not allowed to have emotions, but you are.” You readjust, setting your head on the spot where his chest meets his arm.

The movie starts, and you’re immediately fighting back tears.

Kendall shifts in his seat, trying to keep you both comfortable before throwing you a worried look. “Y/N? Why are you crying?”

“His uncle just died, Ken! And he thinks it’s his fault!” You can’t help it- you don’t know why, but you cry easily at movies. “Sympathetic, much?”

He scoffs and finally hooks his arm around you, bracing his hand on your jaw, keeping your head on his chest. His thumb traces absentminded patterns into your skin as the movie goes on. “You’ll be fine,” he says gruffly. You laugh and smile to yourself, glancing up at him. “I forgot how bad the quality is.”

“That’s what gives it its charm, Ken.” His fingers brush up and down your jaw. You two stay like this the entire movie, and you cry every time the movie demands it if you.

Every time, without even looking, Kendall thumbs your tears away.

With ten minutes left in the movie, you can feel yourself slipping away. You’re at the point where you can barely keep your eyes open, your cheek pressed up against Kendall’s torso. The last thing you think before dozing off is that you hope you don’t snore.

જ⁀➴

You wake up to the sent of faint cedar wood and Kendall’s cologne. You don’t know where you are for a moment, but when you shift and stretch out your body, you realize you’re in bed. In his bed.

You roll over and find that you’re by yourself. The other side of the bed doesn’t even look slept in. You find your phone charging on the nightstand next to you- it’s eight in the morning.

You wander back into the living room to find Kendall face down on the couch, snoring lightly. He’d taken a pillow from his bed and put it over his head, blocking out the light pouring in from the windows.

You decided you’d wait for him to wake up before doing anything. You’d feel bad if you called an Uber and left him here without saying anything, and you don’t want to be rude and do anything in his home without him knowing. Instead, you climb back into bed and kill time on your phone.

You have a working list of ingredients you need to get by Christmas Eve, and a schedule of what and when you’re going to start baking. You’re going to be closed the entire week of Christmas- just for your own sanity. Was this Christmas going to be absolute hell? Probably. But you craved the challenge. You needed it.

“Y/N? You up?” Kendall rasps, poking his head through the doorway. “I made coffee.” You follow him into the kitchen, exchanging ‘good mornings’, and he hands you a mug.

You murmur a ‘thank you’ before asking, “How’d I end up in bed?”

He says nothing, taking a sip of his coffee.

“You know you snore like a puppy?”

“You know you snore like a cartoon character?”

“Your thing is cute.” He leans against the kitchen counter, his hair ruffled and shirt wrinkled. You cross an arm over your torso, facing him.

“I could’ve slept on the couch,” you say.

“Then I would’ve slept on the floor.”

“Ken, it’s your home.”

“I’m not letting the guest in my home sleep on the couch. ‘Specially not you.”

You finish your coffee and wash your mug in the sink. When Kendall gives you a dirty look, you tell him, “It’s the least I can do,” then demand he gives you his mug.

“Hey. I need to get to work. You can, um, stay as long as you like. Or you can go. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll stick around until you leave?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll call you a car.”

He disappears into his bathroom, and you hear the shower turn on. You lounge around on his couch, sitting with your thoughts. You don’t exactly understand your relationship with Kendall. Are you exclusive? Does he like you like you like him? Sometimes, like last night, you were perfectly cozy with each other, and other times, like the night when you kissed him on your porch, he made you want to rip your face off in embarrassment.

A half hour later, Kendall absentmindedly sits down next to you, fiddling with his tie. A matching blazer to his gray slacks is tossed over his shoulder. He stares ahead of him, while you stare at him, finally tying his tie.

“You look nice,” you say softly.

He glances over at you, meeting your eyes, and gives you a rare, tender smile.

“I’ve been thinking,” he begins. “It’d be nice if you spent Christmas with me. My family.”

You smile. “Is Shiv going to be there?”

“How do you know Shiv?”

“She came into the bakery the other day. She recognized the pie I made your dad.” You tuck a bit of his hair into place. “She also said you talk about me a lot.”

Your smile splits into a grin as he blushes, embarrassed. “She said that?”

“Among other things.”

“I do talk about you. I… I can’t stop thinking about you, sometimes,” he says, face still pink. “I never say anything bad. There’s nothing bad to say, anyway.”

You steel yourself, then ask, “What are your intentions with me?”

“The more time we spend together, the more I want to make ‘us’ a thing.”

“So why don’t you?”

“I’m scared,” he says simply. “I’m scared I’ll ruin it.”

“Why?” you ask again.

“I don’t even know,” he admits quietly. “I’m clearly not good enough for you. I was, and probably still am an addict. My ex won’t let me see my kids. I have an asshole father who’s also my boss”

“I decide who’s worth my time and who isn’t, not you.” You shift so that you’re sitting sideways on the couch, completely facing him. “I like you, you know.”

Kendall looks into his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What makes you think you will?”

“Everything I’ve ever done in my life.” He drags his hands over his face and braces his elbows on his knees, holding his head up. “God. That’s ridiculous to admit.”

“Well, let’s take it slow, then.”

“But I want you now. Which is insane, but I do, even though I’ve only known you two weeks, I do.”

You fidget with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t-“

He cuts you off, pressing his mouth to yours. This time, he’s not stagnant. He kisses you like you’re fresh air after a deep sea dive, like he needs you to survive. Kendall’s desperate, needy, hungry for this. For you.

When he pulls away, he looks shaken. “Is this wrong?”

“Not in my eyes.”

You pull him back towards you, taking his jaw in your hands. He doesn’t falter, kissing you again, his hand coming up to close around your wrist. This time, you go slow, keeping the kiss sweet and tender.

This time, it’s you who pulls away. You wipe at his lip with your thumb. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Don’t be mean about it,” he says meekly. “I’m sorry for holding back before. I… we’ll figure it out together, right?”

“Right. And stop apologizing. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“You must think I’m-”

You press a finger to his lips. “Kendall. Stop.” He gives the pad of your finger a weak kiss. “You have feelings, too. Just feel them, it’s okay.”

He moves your finger from his mouth, instead taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. “As much as I’d like to stay and talk about all that sappy shit, I have to go.”

“Ugh, you know just how to ruin the moment.”

You both get to your feet as he rolls his eyes at you. “Put on your shoes and get the fuck out of my apartment,” he says teasingly, setting a hand on your head and kissing your brow.

“Nice seeing you too, Kendall, I had a great time, Kendall.”

He tweaks your nose and gives you a last kiss on the lips before he’s gone.

[asilverspring]

finished my asoiaf reread so here’s my ranking of the books this time around

a feast for crows - it’s the jaime/brienne/cersei book, it’s grrm’s semiaccidental gender treatise!! i was never going to put anything else first! this is often called the most boring book but everyone on reddit is wrong and simply does not appreciate terrified and terrifying unhinged woman cersei and earnest teenage girl brienne and her quest. every plot in it is like tailor made for me to like. sansa in the vale becoming alayne and learning how to run a household and arya in braavos becoming no one and the parallels!! the dornish plot, arianne martell, the chapter the princess in the tower!! but most of all, brienne no chance and no choice!! she’s the truest knight and she’s not a knight!!!

a storm of swords - this is the most exciting book it’s got the red wedding, joffrey’s death, sansa and tyrion’s marriage, arya and the hound’s duo roadtrip, i could go on. this is the first jaime pov book and i am a jaime lannister girl at heart, and his bearpit chapter is one of my faves ever. the structuring of both weddings and deaths is insanely good, it’s so tense and well-written with the shifting povs, also catelyn clawing her own face when her son dies is so awful i love it. this also has the introduction of margaery tyrell, my favorite enigmatic charismatic teenage girl queen! sam playing politics to get jon elected lord commander fucks hard. the red viper and the beginning of the dornish plot! storm is so action packed i could keep going forever but suffice it to say it’s fucking good and sets up the destruction of society very well.

a game of thrones - the book that started it all! for that reason it’s in the middle, also i realized i like ned’s pov more this time. love that he gets fridged to further the development of his wife and kids. this is the simplest plot of all the books and it’s still insanely good. i’m the least bored by daenerys in this, so points there. this has peak bratty little girl sansa and angry little girl arya and i love them both. the first chapter is SO fucked up and sets the tone perfectly, like a 7 year old is going to see a beheading, it’s exciting. the best part obviously is the ned/cersei confrontation where’s she like yea i’m fucking my brother and he pushed your son out a window to cover it up, you’d do the same, and ned is like yea i would and my wife definitely would.

clash of kings - honestly i could swap this and #3 but for the qarth storyline, other than the house of the undying chapter it is so boring! this is like when things really start getting messy and bad, it’s the sansa in the house of atreus book which goes so hard, it’s arya the ghost in harrenhal, it’s the introduction of brienne of tarth my girl!!! the battle of the blackwater chapters are some of my favorites, especially cersei drunkenly giving sansa insane advice. and this is THE cersei/tyrion dynamic book, this is what shiv and kendall roy want, celebrating together and then one immediately poisoning the other.

a dance with dragons - i feel about this book sorta how i feel about the album lover, some of it is the best he’s ever written and some of it i just don’t care for. the theon/reek chapters are unbelievably good, pure psychological horror and everyone trapped in winterfell actively plotting to kill each other, it’s like murder on the orient express ratcheted up to 100. the northern conspiracy is just so good, bc it’s not a conspiracy! they’re all acting independently and when twow comes out (it won’t) there will be multiple claimants to the north, it’ll be so good. cersei’s atonement chapters make me want to throw up they’re so good. and jon trying to live in a political drama while everyone around him tries to tell him he’s a king, he’s the prince that was promised, and he’s just like sorry i’m counting our stores of salt beef. the one thing i love about him and daenerys in this is that both receive prophecies, and she bases a lot on them, while he doesn’t, and hers don’t pan out, while his do completely. it’s all in the interpretation! but the reason this book is last is that i don’t really care for daenerys’ chapters and i really don’t care about tyrion’s. if i had to read “where do whores go” one more time i was going to put a knife through my brain. i have the reverse opinion of everyone on reddit in that i think tyrion is 100 times less interesting when he’s away from cersei. would that theon had 12 chapters and tyrion 7, instead of the other way around. also loses points for no sansa chapters :(

[pynkhues]

.... any succession fic recs? 👀

Yes!! I haven't read a lot for it yet, but some of the stuff I've read has been staggeringly good. I'm generally more into gen fic in this particular fandom, but have enjoyed some Stewy x Kendall, Gerri x Roman and Naomi x Tabitha too.

A few recs under the cut!

“I wanted to get out. From under all this. Take the money and run.”

Kendall tells Stewy even though he knows he’ll never get it, not like Naomi does. He’ll never understand the crush of it, the heart-stopping head-fucking fear of failing a tyrant. Kendall’s been ignoring the shape of it for a long time, putting pieces of it together in the back of his mind in total darkness like a blindfolded man. It doesn’t matter that one day his dad will die. It doesn’t matter about the money or the hostile takeover or the stolen files or any of it. There’s no running. Kendall’s Logan Roy lives inside his head.

Stewy laughs. Stewy laughs for a long time.

“There is no out, Ken, what the fuck are you talking about? You were born this and you’ll die this. You are what you are, and what you are is a fucking Roy.”

Kendall hates him, for a moment. Lightning-strike furious. What the fuck does he know about any of it, about his dad’s swinging dinner plate-sized hands, about getting 24% name recognition in reliable international polling, about puking every time you think about a car swerving off the road in the rain. About finding out that you can do something unthinkably, unimaginably terrible, and it doesn’t matter to anyone you know but you. There’s a scar on his arm that no one else who hasn’t already been told how it got there can ever know about, and he’s sick of it, and it’s not fair. He hates Stewy for a moment because Stewy’s right.

“I wanted to do the right thing, Stewy, for once in my fucking life.”

Stewy laughs again, more briefly, and the predator flash of his eyes in the neon of the motel sign is a torture all its own.

‘There is no right and wrong, Ken. How the fuck do you not know that yet? Not for people like you. Like us. There’s shit you get caught doing and there’s shit you don’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You really, really fucking don’t,” says Ken, and fuck, there it is. The road less travelled, that only he has ever driven on. The path he’s down where Stewy can’t follow. That place beyond Stewy Hosseini where he never thought he could go.

“You’re not telling me something, and when I find out what that is, and I will find out what it is, Kendall, don’t you think I won’t, so I am warning you that when I do find out I am going to be righteously fucking pissed,” says Stewy, and if Kendall thought those were a predator’s eyes before—

“Yeah, you will,” says Kendall, because he knows exactly how perceptive Stewy is. Exactly how weak he is. Exactly, precisely what both of them are.

And treat this night like it’ll happen again by postcardmystery. 8k words. Kendall x Stewy. Post s2. (CW: internalised homophobia, some homophobic language)

I tried to pick a shorter excerpt, but I literally couldn’t, this fic is so. good. The voices are pitch perfect, and it’s got this incredible build to it overall that goes back and forth between time and point of views and just rips your heart out. The premise itself is pretty simple – after the press conference at the end of 2.10, Kendall calls Stewy, and they drive through rural America while Kendall has a breakdown, and it’s just - - unspeakably good. I love it so so so much, I have no words.

r/roysucks Connor’s gf just posted on Instagram (instagram.com) submitted two months ago by webbedscrum_2279 23 comments share save hide report

[–] DM_ME_SAMESMAIL 40 points two months ago I too like to escape to my yacht in the Mediterranean when my family and I are on trial for covering up rape and murder. permalink embed save report reply

AITA for accusing my father of multiple crimes on his own news station? By amleth 3k words. Gen fic. Post s2.

And now for something completely different – epistolary fic which is just reddit news threads of the Roy family drama. I love an epistolary fic and this is just totally charming, and made me laugh a lot out loud.

“You’re quiet,” she observes. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, well, the Turks beat it out of me. Gave you a run for their money.” He waggles his eyebrows. “So what is this? Whips and chains? Are we doing the whole boat-sex thing? I heard Shiv and Tom are looking for a third —“

Gerri finds what she’s looking for: a black leather binder. She drops it on the bed and begins paging through it, and Roman cranes his neck enough to recognize that it’s just full of documents, not like, dick pics. “I’ve given some thought to what you proposed a few weeks ago, and I agree that we should make things official in some way,” she says, and he blinks.

“Uh,” he says. “Which — what part of it?”

“Take a look.”

Gerri closes the folio and hands it over. It’s deceptively heavy, and the print on these pages is way too fucking fine, he thinks, paging through it. “Is this some kind of, like, Fifty Shades of Roy sex contract? Because it’s not that I’m not into it, but I think there’s a strong argument for going paperless —”

“Strictly speaking, this isn’t legally binding,” Gerri says. ��Just something I threw together with regard to our business arrangement going forward. But with no respect to the family — the past few weeks have really illustrated that no one should take anyone at their word right now. Give me a little more than your word.”

Evacuation strategies for a yacht on fire by devourthemoon. 11k words. Gerri x Roman. Post s2. Explicit.

After the events of s2, Roman and Gerri fake being married as a professional alliance, only, y’know, maybe it’s not so fake. This fic is just so, so much fun, and messy in the best possible way. The author nails all the character voices, and the sex scenes are just the right amount of hot and ridiculous, and I just love it all a lot too.

Kendall estimates it will take an hour for the first articles to go up. Some rapid-fire blog without oversight—the New York Post, maybe, or wherever those Vaulter hippies have skulked off to—will slap a catchy headline on it and report his words verbatim. Give or take a gif of his face when he switches to script number two. New York Times, Washington Post, AP, those fuckers take longer. They like to bleed the story like Middle Ages plague doctors for its marrow, fact-check and add context and analysis and as many backlinks as their servers can handle. Still, a couple of hours, and his face will be plastered on every major news outlet. His voice will play over the nightly talk shows. He’ll trend on Twitter. A few more days, and he’ll be the star of analysis segments, podcasts, weekly briefings. Maybe, fuck it, maybe he’ll trend on Twitter again.

It’s been years since Kendall read Shakespeare. But that shit sticks with you, gets under your skin and emerges when you least expect it, like eczema or Keynesian economics. He knows how the media will spin this. Kendall Roy Attacks CEO Logan for Years of Corruption. Prodigal Son Disrupts Family Legacy to Restore Credibility. That’s how Hamlet ends, right? And Macbeth, Lear, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, even Titus fucking Andronicus. The spilled blood sinks into the ground, the seedlings sprout forth from the soil, and a new castle is built on the bones. Order out of chaos, or at least close enough an approximation that the tabloids will buy it.

Legacy for profit by owlinaminor Post-2.10. Kendall Roy. Kendall through Shakespeare analogies – just - - ooooof. It's a beautiful, lyrical character study that weaves through Roy family history and teases at a future none of them are even sure they want. It's gorgeous writing.

For the next few days Shiv would have to keep the pressure on Kira like an open wound because there were other women, victims that Nate’s people were going to find one by one as soon as that phone call disconnected. Mo was her father’s friend, good friend, for a long, long time. Nate and Gil, Sandy and Stewy, too many sharks in the water and the share price probably dipped to a new low but she would never check a stock ticker. Her husband’s nerves fraying at the edges on national television. She had promised a woman she’d never met before that she would kill roughly one third of the top male executives of her family’s company. Her company.

The last look Rhea gave her before she shut the car door was concern close to fear—no longer the same woman who heard their pitch in the safe room, who laughed with her at Argestes. Rhea had only looked into the abyss; she got cold feet and she didn’t even know what it’s like to grow up in it.

Her family’s company is hers, will be hers. Even from a whale fall, new life would spring.

Feed his flesh to wayward daughters by reogulus. 2k words. Shiv Roy. Set during 2.09.

This entire fic is set around Shiv bribing Kira not to testify, and god, it is so good. It’s bleak and rough, and really hones in on the complex ground Shiv walks as a character. It's another brilliant study of what it takes to be a Roy, and the way they make the awful choices in order to fulfill this legacy that they don't even know they want.

Kendall sets down his fork. “So. Tell me. Is it everything you wanted? Is it what you thought it would be?”

Roman stills. He never does that. He’s constantly a menace in motion, slouching and fidgeting, worse even than Kendall at his amphetamine peak. “What? The view from the tippy-tippy-top?”

“His regard.” Kendall wipes his mouth with the edge of the white cloth napkin. It comes away pink from the steak. “Dad. He’s all yours now.”

Roman still hasn’t moved. Finally, he lurches, like corroded machinery come uncertainly to life. “Yeah, man. It’s fucking tight as hell. I love every beautiful daddy and me moment I was a good enough little boy to earn.” He snorts. “Fuck you.” His face goes curiously slack then, like something Kendall’s own face would do. An intermission in the performance, an energy cut. Something genuine finding its way to the surface. “Why don’t you tell me. When you got everything you wanted, how the fuck did that make you feel?”

Nauseous, is the first word that springs to mind. Sick. Scared. I’ve never had everything I wanted, there’s that. I’ve never once had a single fucking thing I wanted. There’s that, too.

Interim leadership by arbitrarily 2k words. Roman + Kendall. Post s2.

I love Roman and Kendall scenes generally, but this one which features Kendall and Roman meeting for the first time a few months after the press conference in 2.10 is just a bit magic. The push pull dynamic that's just inherent to them mixed with the genuine affection and brotherly love is really special, and arbitrarily embraces both in equal measure. It's a great little fic.

There are lots more of course, and I'd also recommend checking out other works by these authors, but I hope this is a good place to start! :-)

[ericsonclan]

Inseparable

Summary: Clementine heads out to hunt with AJ looking forward to spend some time with the one she loves most.

Word Count: 3138

Read on AO3:

Clementine glanced down at the worn-out map of Ericson and gave a long sigh. Things were really starting to come together around here. It had taken a lot of work and time to process all that had happened but after what felt like countless months they had finally reached it. A new normal.

Clementine’s eyes studied the map once more, her fingers tracing the different markers until they paused on the marker for the traps. Today was the day. She’d finally go out and get to help with hunting again instead of being stuck with indoor chores. She knew exactly which partner she wanted to take with her. Clementine smiled softly to herself then folded up the map and tucked it away in the headmaster's desk.

With a deep breath Clementine turned sharply on her heel and opened the door. Her fingertips brushed against the hallway wall as she moved forward. For some reason she was swept up in a feeling of nostalgia; maybe it was because things were finally truly looking up. She had been cleared to help out on all chores now. She had gone hunting a handful of times already. Louis had always jumped to volunteer to go with her and each time they went out he’d been extra protective of her, making sure that the coast was clear each step of the way.

But today she wanted to give Louis a break, let him focus on other things and go with the person who was the nearest and dearest to her heart. All she had to do was find AJ. He wouldn’t be hard to spot with his afro and never-ending energy and determination to help protect the school.

Clementine moved down the stairway carefully since she was still getting used to the newest prosthetic that Willy had made her and headed toward the door. With a strong push she opened it and was greeted immediately by Rosie. The pitbull happily wagged her tail and moseyed over to Clementine, giving her hand plentiful licks.

“Hey, girl,” Clementine laughed and wiped the dog's saliva off her left hand before giving Rosie some much needed head scratches. The pitbull soaked up the love and happily panted, her tongue drooped out of the right side of her mouth as she enjoyed this simple bliss. Clementine chuckled once more then looked up. Her eyes scanned the courtyard and noticed that Aasim was helping carry some fertilizer over with Ruby, their joined hands lazily swaying back and forth as he whispered sweet words into Ruby’s ear. The redhead’s rosy cheeks turned rosier as she stopped for a moment and got up on her tiptoes to surprise Aasim with a tender kiss. Aasim was shocked for a moment but immediately deepened the kiss before leading the way towards the greenhouse to store away the fertilizer. Omar waved towards the pair from the watchtower and exchanged a few words then resumed his lookout duty.

“That's bullshit!” Violet’s voice made Clementine glance over to see her friend crossing her arms as Louis gave a shrug.

“The game is the game,” Louis offered his best friend a playful smile as he shuffled the cards with a bit of a flamboyant flair.

“The only reason you're winning is because I’m fucking blind,” Violet grumbled and leaned her arms on the table. Her eyes tried to follow Louis’ movement as he started to deal the cards.

“Partially blind, and no, I’m winning because I’m the best at card games,” Louis’ statement made Violet roll her eyes. “In fact you might say I am the greatest card player to ever live! I-”

“Just deal the damn cards,” Violet groaned and waited until all the cards had been dealt before picking them up. She was acting like this game wasn’t fair and that she was just doing this for Louis’ sake but the small smile on her lips showed her real feelings. Based on the grin on Louis’ face, he had picked up on that too.

Clementine’s eyes moved away from the pair and over towards the loud laughter nearby. Willy was happily chasing AJ who kept bobbing and weaving through the courtyard to avoid his friend. Stretching his arm out, AJ grabbed the flagpole and spun around to dodge Willy as he tried to tag him.

“Gotta be faster, dummy!” AJ smiled back at Willy who frowned for a second before a confident smile appeared on his face.

“You’re gonna be the dummy when I finally tag you!” Willy sprinted forward and began to close the distance between the two of them. AJ’s eyes grew large and he quickly sidestepped to avoid Willy, laughing smugly when he was successful.

AJ was about to run off again but he stopped when he noticed Clementine. His eyes immediately shone with joy and he scampered forward. “Time out!” AJ yelled as he ran up the steps of the admin building, jumping over steps to reach Clementine faster. His arms stretched foward and he tackled Clementine in a loving hug. He had put so much force into it that it caused Clementine to stumble back a bit.

“Whoa there, kiddo! You gotta give me some warning next time,” Clementine teased as she ruffled AJ’s afro fondly. AJ looked up with a big smile, only a flicker of apology in his eyes.

“Sorry. Oh! You wanna play tag with me and Willy?” AJ asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

“Not now, goofball. I was going to go out hunting and I was hoping I’d find you because I needed to ask you something,”

That statement made AJ’s nose scrunch up. “What?”

Clementine knelt down in front of AJ to be more at his level, a warm smile on her lips. “Want to be my hunting buddy today?”

AJ’s eyes grew large and he nodded excitedly. “Yes! Are we going now?”

“Yep, just gonna grab my bow and I’ll be all set,” Clementine smiled when she saw AJ’s little happy dance. She loved whenever he got excited enough to do that.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep you safe,” AJ’s expression turned serious and he met Clementine’s eyes. “I’ve been working hard.” He patted his hip which had a sheath with his knife in it, a gift that Clementine and Louis had bartered for with a caravan not long ago. Clementine had wanted to make sure that AJ had a weapon all his own so he wouldn’t have to rely on shivs anymore.

“I know you will,” Clementine pulled AJ in for another hug then started to walk towards the targets where the bows were kept while AJ went to explain to Willy that their game of tag would have to wait.

Clementine’s eyes searched the pile of bows and landed upon Marlon’s old bow. Her hand grasped it and she examined it closely, her mind being drawn back to the day it had been fished up from the stream by the fishing shack. Even though Clementine had mixed feelings about Marlon and what had transpired she still found it fitting that his bow would continue to protect the school.

“I heard you’re heading out,” Louis’ voice shook Clementine from her inner thoughts and she looked over at her boyfriend whose eyes held love and concern for her.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Clementine took one of Louis’ hands and gave it a gentle squeeze. “AJ and I will be safe. I promise.”

Louis still seemed worried but he nodded. “Okay, you better be because if anything happened to you or that little dude-” Louis’ throat became tight and he took a deep breath. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with? Because I totally can.” “No, it's okay. I think it's good for you to have some down time. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard lately and besides I think some one on one time with AJ will be good for me too,”

Louis nodded and gave Clementine a quick, warm kiss that soon turned into many before he wrapped her up in a hug.

“Be safe,” he whispered into Clementine’s ear and she immediately returned the hug.

“Always,” Clementine held on tight then slipped her hands free and gave Louis one final goodbye kiss.

“Clem! I’m ready!” AJ declared proudly as he barreled forward with Rosie in tow. “Rosie wanted to come too. Is that okay?”

“Sure, I think that's a great idea.” Clementine ruffled AJ’s afro once more then started to head over towards the gate. Giving their final goodbye waves, the trio set out towards the traps.

“So, you gonna be my eyes and ears to make sure no walkers get near me?” Clementine smiled over at AJ who nodded determinedly.

“Yeah, those monsters won’t get near you,” AJ’s grip on his knife tightened and Rosie gave a small bark in agreement.

Clementine smiled at that; she really was lucky to have AJ beside her. He had kept her going throughout all those hellish years on the road, had always been by her side and had kept her safe just like she did for him. Now they’d continue to be the inseparable duo they always were excect now they had a forever home to come back to. After all those years of searching they had finally found their home. The thought made Clementine’s heart swell with pure happiness as she notched an arrow to prepare to snag any rabbits that came their way.

The two walked side by side down the trail, the leaves and twigs crunching and snapping underfoot as they were on the lookout for both walkers and rabbits. An unnerving groan to Clementine’s left drew her attention and she pulled back the drawstring, releasing the arrow and hitting a walker right in between the eyes. Walking over, she pulled out the used arrow and brushed the blood off on the side of her pant leg.

“I get the next one,” AJ commented as he jogged over to Clementine, Rosie right on his tail.

“Alright,” Clementine nodded, then led the way forward. It wasn’t long before another walker was spotted. “Okay, AJ, now remember-”

“Kick out the leg then aim for the head,” AJ finished Clementine’s instruction then moved forward to take down the walker.

“Hey, stupidhead!” AJ yelled, getting the walker’s attention. The walker roamed forward, its milky eyes staring blankly at AJ as it extended its arms to grab its next meal. AJ easily dodged its attempt to grab him though and kicked out its leg. The walker fell with a groan and AJ lifted up his knife and plunged it into the walker’s skull. His blade became slick with blood and brain matter as he yanked it out, causing the walker to fall over dead. AJ took a deep breath then looked back at Clementine with a smile.

Clementine returned the smile, her eyes shining with pride as AJ ran back towards her. “That was great, AJ. You’ve really gotten better with the knife,” Clementine knelt down. “You’ve definitely grown.” “I’ve always been this tough, Clem,” AJ corrected and Clementine gave a small laugh.

“Yeah, you have. Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?” Clementine asked as she led the way once more.

“Yeah, all the time,” AJ jogged forward along with Rosie, his eyes peeled for any signs of threats.

“Well, I’m gonna tell you again. I’m super proud of you, AJ.” Clementine smiled over at AJ who beamed at her praise. After a moment of them sharing a smile both focused back on the trail, making sure the path was clear. Soon the two got into a rhythm along with Rosie, clearing out walkers. There weren’t that many today which was nice and with how capable all three of them were it was easy to clear the way.

“Do you need a break, Clem? Is your leg hurting?” AJ stopped and looked at Clementine, his hands on his hips. “You gotta make sure you don’t push it.”

“I’m not. My leg is okay for now. I promise that as soon as it's too much I’ll tell you,”

AJ thought about Clementine’s words for a moment then gave a nod. “Okay, promise?” He held out his pinky.

“Promise,” Clementine intertwined her pinky with his. The two shared a smile then continued forward.

After a minute they had reached the traps and then began to undo the ones that had been triggered, taking the game and then resetting them once more. It seemed like a fairly good haul today. They didn’t need to gather as much as before now that they had the rabbit pen but still it was good not to abuse that and grow cocky in thinking it was unlimited.

Clementine handed over some more of the rabbits to AJ who had offered to carry some more then began to walk towards the next trap, careful to avoid setting off another. Suddenly though her balance shifted due to her still getting used to this newest prototype and her foot gave out, leading it to get snagged in the trap. A small, startled yell left her lips as she immediately flipped upside down as the trap pulled her up into the air.

“Clem!” AJ’s voice was frantic as he ran forward with Rosie who gave a worried bark.

“I’m fine, kiddo. Just lost my footing for a second there. Mind helping me get down? I-” Clementine froze when she saw a group of four walkers roam forward. Low, gurling moans left their hollow throats as they approached. “AJ! Behind you!”

AJ spun around, his knife drawn as his eyes grew big. Rosie growled protectively and got ready to take down the walkers before her.

“Don’t worry, Clem, I’ve got this,” AJ took a deep breath and tossed the rabbits to the ground then shuffled over to the right to take down the walker that was furthest away from the others. Picking up a rock, AJ tossed it against a tree to draw over the walker.

The walker’s head tilted as its jaw flapped due to it being loose and decayed. Stumbling forward, the walker went for its new target. AJ used that to his advantage and harshly kicked out its leg before embedding his knife into its head. He grunted as he struggled to pull out the knife. His sounds of struggle drew one of the other walker’s attention who wandered towards the child.

Clementine felt her fear rising and she tried to lift herself up to cut the rope and get free. Unsheathing her knife, she leaned up and was nearly at the rope when her knife dropped. “Shit! Fuck!” Clementine whacked against the tree due to the force of her swaying. Her eyes immediately went back to AJ who had successfully gotten the knife out of the first walker’s skull but the other walker was nearly upon him now.

Suddenly Rosie dashed forward and jumped onto the walker, pushing it down. The walker groaned, its arms flailing about until Rosie’s maw pierced into its skull and crushed it into a bloody pulp. Brain matter and blood coated the pitbull’s mouth as she moved to attack another walker, her teeth ending its existence in mere seconds.

AJ took a deep breath and picked up the rock. Using the same tactic again, he guided the last walker over to a secluded spot and kicked out its knee. With a sharp jab AJ’s knife ended the walker’s hollow life and soon the monster was on the ground, limpless and lifeless. AJ let out a shaky sigh and gave Rosie some head pats then ran over towards Clementine. “I did it!” He smiled proudly and Clementine returned it, her heart relieved that he was okay.

“You did. Good job, AJ!”

AJ’s smile grew at that praise before he turned his attention towards helping get Clementine down. Studying the tree for a moment, AJ proceeded to climb it carefully while holding the handle of the knife in his mouth. He’d have to cut the trap, destroying it in the process, but he’d make up for it by helping Willy whenever he came out with Louis to replace the trap. Holding onto the tree with one hand, AJ spat out his knife into his other hand and worked to cut down Clementine. The edge of his blade slid back and forth on the rope, slowly cutting through each thread until finally it snapped and Clementine came crashing down. Clementine gave a pained groan as she landed, causing AJ’s eyes to widen with worry.

“Clem!” AJ hastily climbed down the tree and placed away his knife before running over to check on her. “Are you okay? I was trying to help and- Did I do a bad?” AJ had a guilty pout as his sight turned to Clementine.

Clementine took a shaky breath and got up then kneeled in front of AJ. Without a word she wrapped him in a hug. “No, you did good. You helped make sure I was okay. You and Rosie both,”

The pitbull barked happily at the mention of her name, her stub tail wagging back and forth.

AJ held tightly onto the hug. “Told ya I’d keep you safe,”

“You did,” Clementine pulled back and gave AJ a smile. “Now how about we take what we caught for the day and head back home.”

“Okay,” AJ ran over to pick up the game and separated it evenly while Clementine retrieved her knife and bow, glad that both weapons were still in good condition. She paused for a moment and looked at AJ.

AJ felt her staring and his sight turned towards her. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad I have you, that's all.”

Clementine’s words made AJ’s heart warm with happiness. “Me too!” He smiled as Clementine wrapped her arm around him and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Bleh, a kiss!” “Hey now! That was to show that I love you,” Clementine defended her gesture as AJ walked forward.

“I already know you love me,” AJ looked back at Clementine, waiting for her to catch up. Clementine sighed and ran forward to catch up with AJ before the two wandered back down the path with Rosie in tow.

“Well, even if you know it, I’m gonna keep showing you that I do and keep saying it. I love you, AJ.” Clementine’s eyes locked with his.

“I love you too,” AJ smiled brightly up at Clementine and he led the way forward. His heart was warm with those words and his pulse had settled now that Clementine was safe. As AJ walked forward through the woods towards his home he knew that no matter what they’d always look out for each other and would always be together. They were inseparable.