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quitesins · 2 years ago

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𝐃𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭’𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

Masterlist | Ao3

Bakugou x fem!reader

Tags: 18+, NSFW, Smut, Oneshot, pwp lol, aged up bakugou, pro hero bakugou, established-but-early-relationship, soft dom katsuki, soft fic in general, reader wears Dynamight themed lingerie

“Actually, he feels like a fucking virgin again. He doesn’t know where to touch first. So used to having you all for his taking, now wanting to savour each inch of you wrapped in his colours.”

Your relationship is by no means a secret, but it’s in it’s earlier stages, so the sudden pda surprises him. He welcomes it, a little flustered, and brings himself close to let you whisper.

“I have something to show you.”

His eyes lift in amusement and curiosity. Then he nods and turns to you.

Bakugou pays no mind to the eye rolls of his friends, the childish ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from Kaminari, all he can focus is on you. The dim lights look good on your skin, illuminating you, pretty like a picture.

His eyes flick to your hair, there’s two mimic explosions clipped in, like his own uniform��s. Cute , he thinks, before finally taking your hand and letting you lead the way.

He ruffles your hair as the two of you walk, smirking to himself. “What’s this?”

You simply shrug with your own subtle smirk. “You’ll see.”

You don’t give away a thing as he drives to your flat. Even when his free hand dances over your thighs, you keep them closed with a mischievous smile.

Tugging him along, with his hand in yours, you push him gently into your room. You tell him to sit. He raises an eyebrow at your command but listens.

You don’t sit with him, which he finds a little odd. Oftentime he’s in your bed- it’s beside you, despite the space seeming too tiny for a man like him. But he waits patiently anyways. While you skip around, looking for something.

When you do find the object of your searches, it’s a little remote. One for your lights, he notes. With a few clicks, the room suddenly becomes dark, fluorescent in its glow. He huffs a small laugh, seeing where this is going.

“Ok now watch me.” He thinks the way you speak is almost innocently eager. Although he understands the intent, he can’t help but find it sweet. “Don’t laugh!”

“M’not!” Katsuki raises his hands in jest, letting you continue.

As you begin to strip, he watches with a knowing grin.

“You wanted to fuck?” He muses playfully. “Is that it?”

Your eyes roll. “Just wait for it.”

Soon he sees the expanse of your skin, covered in something- oh.

It isn’t often Katsuki is rendered speechless, even through fear and defeat, it tends to come with a million curses. But there he sits, mouth agape, in utter silence.

It’s like you’re draped in him. Black lace coats your breasts, with orange criss-crossed atop. As your trousers slip, he nearly groans when he sees the garters on your thighs, fashioned like his own. Have you been wearing this the entire time?

“F-fuck.” He finally lets out, breathy, probably not even realising he has. His eyes glow in genuine awe.

“Like it?” Your words are playful as you give a quick twirl. Posing even, making your skin crease against itself, looking so soft and pliable. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. He doesn’t say anything either, too mesmerised by the sight.

Your expression falters for a moment in hesitation but he doesn’t let it simmer, raising his arms and beckoning you to the bed.

“Come here, pretty girl.”

And you do, sultry as you walk to take seat, in his lap.

The weight of you on top of him is familiar, yet it feels so new. Actually, he feels like a fucking virgin again. He doesn’t know where to touch first. So used to having you all for his taking, now wanting to savour each inch of you wrapped in his colours.

His eyes latch onto your breasts, how they fill out your bra so perfectly, stretching the orange X across your chest. By now, he’d already have a tit in his mouth, sucking harsh to satiate his growing oral fixation. However this time, he lets his fingers run across the lace. He feels you shiver when he goes over the slight bump where your nipple hardens, and groans.

“I guess you do like it?” You ask impishly, knowing you don’t need an answer.

“Of course I fuckin’ like it,” he huffs, bringing himself to kiss you.

The kiss is strangely gentle, a little calculated even. He can taste the cold of the gum you had been chewing, while his hands work carefully to tug your bra down. He could easily unclip it, having done so many times before, but he wants to see it on you. So he pulls it down, stifling another groan when he watches your breasts spill out. He creates a trail with his kisses, past your neck, to your collar, and then to where he wishes to be most.

It’s with a tentative lick, does he let himself taste you. He rolls your nipple around in his mouth, lightly, but tugging here and there. You react so prettily for him, taking sharp breaths that edge close to whines. You even start to subtly push yourself down onto him, whether you realise it or not, aching for any friction. He wants to stop you, to savour you, but it’s difficult when you look so needy.

“Relax for me sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin. “Let’s take it slow.”

Katsuki doesn’t have to look up to know you’re a flustered mess.

You listen, as you always do. Even when your brain starts to melt, you always listen. And that shoots another wave of heat through him. How can he be in control of himself with a girl as gorgeous as you so ready, so pliant, so obedient.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Get on the bed for me?”

With you splayed out against your sheets, his eyes aren’t even sure where to look. The cute face that stares back at him. The tits that look too perfect to be real. Or the dampening spot between your thighs, that he can practically taste from where he sits.

“You’re too…” Unsure of how to even word himself, his voice trails off. Instead he opts in showing you.

Using his hands to caress you, his lips settle on yours again. This time, when he paints his kisses down your neck, he doesn’t stop to where your breasts still call for him. Rather, he keeps going, passing where his hands hold your waist. The sensation is strange, you jostle- feeling ticklish, and he continues to mouth against the bare skin.

When he reaches the green strap that digs into your hip, he’s tempted to lift it, just to watch it snap. And he does. He’s slave to his desires after all. When he looks up, you pout indignantly, but he can see how your pout holds back a smile.

“Had to.” He shrugs smugly and continues.

Soon his tongue is slipping over the fabric itself, soothing where it snapped. His breath is so warm and it’s hard for you to stay still. So he holds you a little firmer.

It’s especially hard when he gets to your thighs. His fingers sink into them so tenderly, circling the skin where your garters lay. For a moment he wonders where you even found such a thing, of course not complaining.

“Can’t believe you’d do all this for me.” Humming, he slinks up and down your legs, making sure no part of you is left untouched.

“Wanted-” You breathe. “Wanted to look pretty for you.”

He stills as he reaches your hip, frowning. “Always look pretty to me.”

Through kisses he speaks, so earnest. “Always-” Kiss. “So-” Kiss. “Perfect-” Kiss. “For me.”

You can’t even reply with your own fluster, Katsuki catching you off guard as he parts your thighs.

He looks at where the fabric of your underwear clings to you, stickied by your own lust. He gulps. It’s pure sin. Pure fucking sin. And he hasn’t even seen you yet.

A wiggle of your hips breaks him from his stupor. When you look at him, you expect eyes of ravenous hunger and dangerous desire, but instead you are gifted with the view of a man so innocent in his awe.

“Something else.” He shakes his head, like he can’t fathom the sight. “You’re something else.”

When he does go to rid you of your underwear, he’s a little stuttered with his undressing. He pulls them down slowly, getting caught onto the garter. Then, frustrated, tears through them. Finally, you’re free, all for him to see.

His touch is timid. Again, like it’s his first time. He feels he should just give you what your body begs for, but he can’t. His own shyness too much to push through.

“Want me to open you up?”

The shake of your head widens his eyes.

“No, I want you, even if it hurts.”

The words should be filthy, should give him perfect avenue to taunt and tease. Yet all it does is make him swallow his moan, cock aching terribly at the thought of sinking into you, so raw and untouched.

Although he knows it’s best to give you the warm up, he can’t deny your request.

“If that’s what my girl wants.”

He’s quick to take his shirt off, and then his trousers. Probably looking like an eager fool but he didn’t care. He just needed to be inside of you.

His cock springs up as soon as it is freed from his boxers. Choosing to ignore the wet patch where his tip leaked, he palms himself slightly. There’s no reason to, he’s already harder than he’s ever been.

Katsuki gulps when he brings himself to you, taking in the sight one last time. He looks at how your breasts, covered in his marks, are cupped by the bra of his colours. He watches as your chest rises and falls, comfortingly. He even takes a second glance at the clips, messy, but still stuck into your hair cutely.

“Katsuki please.”

He nods. And finally pushes in.

The feeling is devastating .

You’re soft, and tight, and the further he sinks in, the more his head starts to spin. So devilishly wet, so angelically warm. He feels a little debauched in how much pleasure he takes from the simple act of being sheathed by you. He hasn’t even had the thought to move.

He feels as you hold your breath. It makes a part of him twinge in sympathy, but he knows if he stops- you’d hate it even more.

“Breathe for me sweetheart.”

With a few heavy but needed breaths, he lets himself pull out, hissing as he does. That slight friction is enough to have him almost keeling, but he continues. You’re no better, looking up at him with eyes so full of desire.

He pushes back in, hearing the noises of your bodies intertwined. Your heat is engulfing. So much so, the thought of pulling out pains him.

When he does pull out once more, it’s slow but he’s quick to find a rhythm that works.

It’s a sweet and slow back and fourth, an ebb and flow of the two of you tangled as one. Synchronised in the same pleasure. There are words unsaid. Thoughts unspoken. Yet nothing is hidden. Nothing is not shared.

When you whine, he already knows what you want. He’s heard the same sound a million times before but it never fails to leave him dizzy.

“I know baby, I know.” He comforts, still not giving into your pleads. You were too good to rush. He wanted to relish every second.

Responding by wrapping your arms around him, he smiles. Still so compliant. He lets your nails dig into his skin, then hisses because he likes it. In turn his thrusts become deeper, and you seem to like that.

You clench around him too many times to count, his own growing tightness following to bring him close. The room fills with the sounds of touching skin and lusty moans. It’d be a miracle if no one could hear, if no one could tell what was happening behind the thin walls of your apartment.

Katsuki grits his teeth when you nuzzle into his neck, you always get so clingy when you’re about to come. He isn’t any better, pushing himself closer and closer.

The tightness in his abdomen starts to get too much. He even struggles to keep up with his own thrusts, growing erratic with each push. Your body doesn’t help either, moulding so perfectly around him, squeezing each time he presses against that spot he knows all too well.

“Come with me baby- fuck-“ The words tumble out of Katsuki. “Come with me Angel.”

You reply only with the frantic nods of your head, arms wrapping tighter around him, legs doing the same. Not only does your heat embrace him, but your entire form does too. It’s too much.

The two of you break.

With skin pressed so close, unable to tell where he ends and you start, you both come with shattering pleasure. It ripples between you, like a pebble dropped in water, stretching out your orgasms till you shake and cry.

His arms wrap around you, comforting, protective. You shiver in his hold, body jellied from everything, and he strokes your hair out your face, soothing with each touch.

“You okay-” he croaks, throat groggy. “Baby, talk to me?”

You only nod, but he wants to hear you so he pulls himself off and switches your positions. Rested on his chest, he cups your chin and forces you to look at him. Your eyes are watery and your smile is shaky, but he knows as much as you, you’re in nothing but bliss.

“I’m okay,” you mumble into his chest. “Liked it… a lot.”

“So, the gentle stuff huh?” He speaks, a little guiltily. If he knew how good it would be to take his time with you, he’d have done it a million times before.

You breathe out a little laugh. “I like anything.” He can feel your smile against his skin. “As long as it’s you.”

“Fuckin’ sap,” huffing, he turns, unable to keep the sickly smile off his face. “So fucking sappy.”

“I love you.” You’re unrestrained with your words, too sleepy to care.

Katsuki softens, then presses a kiss to your forehead. He whispers his own confessions and closes his eyes.

He knows soon you’ll feel too sticky to stay comfortable, to hot to be in bed- but for now, with you on his chest, he lets himself rest.

This is my third time posting, if it don’t work I’m exploding myself into a billion pieces.

#mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #fanfic #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #dynamight x reader #female reader #bakugou x fem!reader #mha fic #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou fic #fanfiction #mha smut #bakugou smut #anime smut #quite sinner #quitesins bkg

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hughiecampbelle · 5 months ago

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How Cruel Is That? (Shiv Roy x Fem!Reader Oneshot)

Character/s: Shiv

Word Count: 1,258

Inspired By: Good Luck, Babe! - Chappell Roan

Requested: Not requested, but taken from the prompt list anyways :) tease + wedding ring

A/N: Alternatively titled So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings lol. Do I love Shiv? Of course. Am I here to show my appreciation for her with the help of Chappell Roan? Also of course :P Kinda on a roll with fics so don't be afraid to request!!! The angstier the better! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist / REQUESTS ARE OPEN

When you look at her, you know exactly how the night will play out. It will be poetic. It will be Shakespearean. It will be everything you could have ever wanted. Your wedding ring will find its place on the nightstand. It will wait, patiently, quietly, until you’ve decided you’ve had enough of this fantastic world and decide to return to reality. The living. It slips back on without a fight, without resentment, and you consider yourself lucky. One day, maybe soon, maybe not, you imagine your ring refusing your finger, as if it knows what you’ve done, as if it will take the a moral high ground. It will break out in hives at the very thought of you. It will whisper everything it has seen to the man you promised yourself to, and your father, and perhaps even her father. It will all come crashing down. Though, a small part of you, too small to name, dreams of that day. With nothing left, no one tied to you by vows or blood or name, you could finally choose. Not the way you did roses or hyacinths, cream or egg shell, but truly, really choose a life for yourself. One worth every sacrifice, every heartbreak, every night spent as his wife.

Her dress will fall to the floor. She will step out of her heels. Her hair, her makeup, all of it the very essence of perfection. Impeccable. In these moments, you’re seventeen all over again. Your pulse racing, heat rising to your face, questioning if this is happening as it has happened so many years since. You’re hidden in the back of the summer house, your skin hot from the sun and sea. You try to kiss each and every one of her freckles. You’re trying not to laugh too loud on her flowery bed, the mattress soft. It leaves the two of you sinking into one another. You’re as still as possible, pressed together beneath the bushes in the garden, grass prickling into your back. Even the moonlight cannot conceal what you two have been doing. Between kisses she will smile and giggle (a sound that makes your very insides melt) and ask you if you’re alright. You sense that she, too, has been taken back. All those times you should have been caught. All those times you weren’t. When you can find your voice, you promise you’re better than that. You’ll find yourself grabbing at her, unable to touch enough of her, unable to get enough of her. You thank God for her, for this moment, never sure you will get to do this again. You must live as if this is the very last time. You must savor every moment.

Her perfume, always the same scent, has become a comfort, an aphrodisiac. Licorice, bitter, and woods, natural, and her. All of her. You never liked his cologne. It was never right. You tried to find one that smelled of her, that resembled her, but nothing could substitute. Nothing could compare. Her voice is icy, her words frozen over, and you wish every night for hypothermia. She leaves her ring on. It has become a recent accessory, a new staple, though she’s made it clear it changes nothing about your dynamic. Still, she leaves it on. You catch yourself eyeing it when it catches the light. She doesn’t have a routine as you do, an inner reasoning, a way to compartmentalize. There is no division of worlds. In her life, there is him and there is you. In yours, there is him or there is her. A decision you still have not made. You are not her forbidden fruit as she is yours. She does not separate you and him. She has always loved you. She has only recently started to love him. You hope, foolishly of course, her love for you is greater than his. You know she is much more important to you than your husband ever will be. He is an obligation, a duty, a responsibility. She is frivolity. She is passion and joy and love. True love. Not just the empty sentence you find yourself reciting back to him. This is more than a couple of silly letters taped together haphazardly, forced between your teeth so that you might later gag them up when the time is right. No, this is not that.

For now, you’ll have to wait. For now, all you have are your memories, your hopes of the future, all your expectations of tonight. For now, you must be patient. Across the room, you keep an eye on her. You wait for the right moment. It comes. She moves, so do you. You turn away from him, trying not to look at her directly as you both make your way to the bar. She is the sun and you hope, you pray, you might fly too close. It is worth being burned. It is worth setting your life aflame. He doesn’t take notice. He never does. Instead, he closes the gap in the circle, acclimating to a conversation (a life) without his wife. You wonder if he would even miss you. Sure, the beginning would be rough. He would have to fend for himself. But he can hire help. He won’t have to lift a finger. The only catch is that he’d be going to bed alone. He’d manage. He always does. You take note that her husband doesn’t notice her lack of presence. You would, you want to cry. You would notice everything about her. You bite your tongue. Where there are eyes, there are lips. You stand beside her, asking for another drink, leaving enough space between you. She fills the gap. Her arm falls by your side. Pathetically, you reach out just a little, the tips of your fingers touching hers. She remains stoic, even bored looking, but you can feel her hand wrap itself around yours. She squeezes it. Once. Twice. Three times. You breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes you find yourself questioning if any of it was real. Was that a stolen glance? Is she following you? Is her hand really on your thigh under the table? You wonder if it’s all in your head: a singular grand delusion, an epic between you and the idea of her. This, though, reminds you it’s real and so is she. Shiv looks at you for a second, less than, and flashes a knowing smile, before letting go and grabbing her glass.

She leaves you gasping for air, heart racing, palms sweating. She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t check on you, but she doesn’t need to. Her smile said it all. It spoke every word, every reassurance, you needed to hear. She’s been waiting for you. She will wait for you, tonight, in a room between yours and hers. She will find you. She will undress you. And you will become young again. Naive, and blushing, and full of nervousness. You will be hers and she will be yours. It told you to go back to your husband, to be doting and affectionate, but to remember that she awaits you. She always will. It isn’t right. You know this, you’re no fool. Cheating on him with the woman you love. But nothing in this world is right or fair or just. If it was, you would have ended up with her instead. You would have been her wife, not his. But you’re not. You don’t think you ever will be. How cruel is that?

#writing #shiv roy #shiv roy drabble #shiv roy oneshot #shiv roy x reader #shiv roy x Fem reader #succession #succession drabble #succession oneshot #succession x reader

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blue-sadie · 1 year ago

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.Marvel.Universe.

Request Page

Platonic = 🌼 Fluff = 🌺 Smut =🌹 Lime =⚘️ Angst = 🥀 Yandere =🍁

Imagines

Temptation - Bucky 🌹

Khonsu's Turn - Khonsu 🌹

Gentle Touch - Loki 🌺

Sit Upon The Throne - Loki 🌹

Combos

Praises - Marc 🌹

Five Stars - Peter 🌺

After Class Punishments - Moon System 🌹

Reflections - Moon System 🌹

Incorrect Quotes

Crusty... What? - Bucky, Natasha

Drabbles

Oneshots

Drive On - Jake 🌹

Take A Breather - Miguel 🌹

Blood Flood - Peter 🌺

Combos

Save Him - Moon System 🥀🌺

Three For The Price Of One - Moon System 🌹

Series

Different Versions Oscar Isaac Characters: Moon System, Marcus, Shiv, Basil Stitt, Jonathan Levy, Llewyn Davis, William Tell, Cecil Dennis, Robbie Paulson, Outcome 3 (David), Santiago Gracia, Kane, Nathan Bateman, Leto Atreides, Poe Dameron, Peter Malkin, Bassam, Prince John, Orestes, Laurent Leclaire, Oscar Isaac

Modern Day

Medieval/Fantasy

Omegaverse

Crossovers

Preferences

Flashing Lights - Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes 🌺

Kiss The Cook - Peter Parker, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Thor, Bucky Barnes 🌹

Movie Marathon - Jake Lockley, Peter Parker, Pietro Maximoff, Bucky Barnes 🌹

Beach Sun - Bucky Barnes Petro Maximoff,Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, Thor, Tony Stark 🌹

NSFW and SFW Alphabet

Headcanons

Apologizing After A Fight - Moon System

Dating An Artist - Moon System

they accidentally hurt you when having a nightmare - Moon System

Them when Your On Your Period - Stephen Strange, Loki Laufeyson, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker

#marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #marvel #marvel smut #marvel fluff imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel angst #marvel angst imagine #marvel smut imagine #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #marvel x reader smut #marvel x reader angst #marvel x reader fluff #marvel universe #marvel universe x reader

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fr3sh-tragedies · 7 months ago

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Reborn

[BATIM/BATDR] Allison Angel x Female Reader

Summary: You're rebirthed from the Ink Machine, wandering around trying to find shelter. You stumble across Allison and Tom, who take you in and offer some advice.

Word Count: 5.01k Content Warnings: Mentions of fear, memory loss, very small mention of blood, minor injuries Category: Angst + Fluffy Ending || Oneshot

[A/N]: I'm trying to write multiple stories at once before uploading, that way I can schedule them to post over several weeks. Please excuse the random gaps in posting.

Enjoy!

Every muscle and joint in your body ached as you trudged forward. Headaches had become the only constant at this point, as well as the nearly consistent rumbling of your stomach. With every step forward, each nerve in your body was set ablaze. You had no idea how you ended up in this strange place. All you knew for certain was that you were terrified, lost, and starving. It had been nearly two weeks now, and you had only barely managed to survive off of random scraps of food you had found in trash cans, crates, and on dusted shelves.

The last thing you could remember before you found yourself wandering the seemingly endless hallways was being thrown out of a large pipe from a machine. You had been covered head to toe in thick ink, and you had to be careful not to breathe too much until you could wipe it off, otherwise you’d have found yourself suffocating on the thick substance.

Once you had managed to get the majority of the ink drained off your body, it took hours to find the strength to stand and leave the room. You noticed almost immediately that you were alone. Wherever you were, there was no sign of finding help anytime soon. The very few “people” you did come across either tried to kill you, or were simply unable to speak at all. After several escapes from death, trying to escape terrifying creatures and a large demonic beast, you realized you would have to fend for yourself. Hours passed, then days, and it rapidly shifted to weeks. During that time, it was growing increasingly more difficult to get around. The lack of food and proper sleep left you weak and unable to think things through.

By the time you found a decent supply of food, your legs gave out beneath you. You collapsed to the ground, yelping at the warped planks clashing against your knees and shins. The cracked wood forced splinters into your skin. Small droplets of blood speckled the ground beneath you as you tried to stand again, ultimately failing. Pathetically, you crawled forward to the crate, prying it open and picking out the can that had the least amount of scratches and dents. You slid your makeshift shiv from your pocket, which you had originally made to defend yourself a day or two after arriving there, to lift the lid.

As the thin sheet of metal was cracked open, the shiv broke, prompting you to panic and curse under your breath. That was all you had to arm yourself against the vile things lurking around the corners, and now it had shattered while you tried to survive with the cans of soup you had been lucky enough to stumble across.

The sound of the makeshift knife snapping seemed to have been too loud. It echoed down the hall, reverberating throughout the pipes that dripped with the same ink you had been coated in weeks ago. All too soon, before you could even take a sip of the provisions you had found, a loud heartbeat was heard, increasing in volume as the source grew closer.

Fear shot through your body, veins running cold with fear. The adrenaline alone finally allowed you to stand again. Your head whipped around, eyes desperately scanning the room for a Miracle Station to hide in. There weren’t any nearby, causing even more panic. Thinking purely on instinct, you dove behind a large cart blocking a small gap in the wall. Too afraid to peek out at whatever was now only a few feet away, you could only strain your ears to listen past the sound of your racing heart. Your eyes shut tightly, tears springing free, and you clutched at your ink-stained shirt in an attempt to steady your trembling hands.

Low growling and ragged breathing were all you were able to hear. Just as it neared the crevice you were hidden away in, a loud scream rang out far in the distance. It sounded like you weren’t the only one being hunted down in this place. It just seemed like you had been lucky enough to get away each time, though you couldn’t say the same for them. This wail caught the attention of whatever was just on the other side of the wall, and soon it was running in the direction of the roaring cry. You waited for it to return, but it never did. You let out a sigh, which quickly turned to a choked sob.

You clasped your hands over your mouth in surprise, not wanting to attract anymore attention to yourself. Thinking back to everything you needed to do seemed to help, considering you were focusing more on survival than the fact you could be ripped to shreds at any given moment. Hesitantly, you shuffled out into the small room again and practically crawled back to the crate with the cans. You figured it would be a better idea to find a good hiding place to eat them in.

Since you had no idea what was nearby, you simply returned to the space you had crammed yourself into just mere moments before and slurped down two out of six of the cans in silence.

For now, for better or for worse, this was your life.

“Tom, could you give me a hand real quick?” Allison asked, motioning for the wolf to join her by a large shelf. He nodded, walked over to her, and helped her climb up just enough to reach the top shelf, allowing her to grab a flimsy box full of bacon soup cans. After standing properly again down on the ground, she counted how many there were. “We’ve got eight to add. What have you found so far?” Tom jutted his thumb in the direction of three boxes, much to Allison’s surprise. She walked over to count them, only to find that the majority of the cans were empty or entirely rotten.

She grimaced at the smell of the molded cans and turned to Tom. “How many of these are full? Can we even eat any of these?” A small shrug was her response. She sighed and nodded, then headed back over to the box she had just taken down, then added it to the other couple of crates and boxes she had gathered recently.

“Alright, I think we’ve got enough for now. That’s thirty-five cans, or more if those new boxes you found are all safe to eat.” Tom nodded and began to pick the few by him up, Allison doing the same. The two of them began to help each other head to their safe house. Just as they reached the hallway that led to the entrance, Tom froze in place, his ears perking up and toward a strange noise only he seemed to be able to hear.

Allison noticed almost immediately and turned to him, asking what was wrong. He placed his boxes down and stepped to the corner of the wall, peering out at the adjacent hall. “Tom?” He waved her over, and once she put her own items down and joined him, she was finally able to slightly hear what he could. Somewhere nearby, someone was weeping. It didn’t sound like the weeping of the Lost Ones that they had grown accustomed to–it sounded like a young woman. They could hear her slightly mumbling to herself, and they both realized that they didn’t recognize the voice.

Tom was the first to emerge from the corner. He slipped his axe from the band on his back and snuck toward the source of the noise. Allison followed closely behind, her hand hovering above the handle to her machete, and she listened as the sobbing grew louder. Finally, they came to stand right before the woman responsible for the sounds. Tom stood over you now, studying the way you huddled yourself behind a large table.

The moment you noticed him, you gasped and scrambled back, doing your best to hide away even further. “Please!” You wailed. “Please don’t kill me. I promise I’m not here to hurt anyone!”

Tom seemed to almost freeze at how you begged him for mercy, unsure of who you were and how to handle the situation. He crouched down to be eye level with you. His head cocked to the side as he studied over your features. He had never seen you around before, and you seemed to be panicking about every little motion he made. You had to have been new to the studio–that was the only thing that made sense to him.

You weren’t birthed into the studio as a Lost One or a Searcher. You resembled a human with more cartoonish features, your skin a shade of yellow, your hair made entirely of ink, your limbs and clothing coated in it as well. You were one of the lucky souls who managed to survive and keep some sort of humanity during the transition. However, it didn’t seem like you understood anything at all.

“Tom,” Allison whispered from nearby. He glanced over at her, finding her features to be riddled with confusion as to why he was crouching down in front of the crying woman. Wordlessly, he motioned for her to come over. She obliged immediately, her hand still ready to grab hold of her blade.

Upon seeing you, Allison grew curious. Who were you? Why were you here in the studio? Her eyes flickered over to Tom, who poked at your hair to show how you had been reborn from the Machine. Allison’s features softened as she watched how you flinched away from his touch, prompting him to quickly withdraw his mechanical arm. You kept your gaze on his axe, weary of what he planned to do.

“Tom,” Allison murmured again, jutting her chin toward his weapon. “I think it’s scaring her. Maybe you could put it away? I think she’s telling the truth.” He shook his head and tightened his grip on the handle of the axe. The Angel sighed and stepped closer to him, pulling her machete from its sheath and placing it down nearby to hopefully put you more at ease. “Well, if you aren’t going to, could you give her some space? I don’t think we should be crowding her.”

Reluctantly, Tom backed away and watched from a few feet behind. Allison smiled at him, turned back to you, then crouched down similarly to how the wolf had done a moment prior. She held out her hand for you to take. As she spoke, she kept her tone soft and welcoming.

“Do you need any help? You look like you’ve been through so much.”

You stayed silent, eyes glancing between her and her open palm. She waited a moment before speaking again.

“You don’t need to worry. I’m not going to hurt you, alright? My name is Allison, and this,” she motioned over toward the wolf still watching closely, “is Tom. We’re like you: people who ended up being reborn into this studio.” Her head tilted to the side as she did her best to search your skin for any injuries. “Do you have a name?”

At this question, you seemed to pause. Your eyes stared down at the ground, hands coming up to clutch at your shirt and hair as your breathing grew uneven. Allison panicked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, I’m–” “I don’t know my name,” you blurted, voice shaking and cracking. “I-I don’t remember my name. I don’t… I don’t remember who I am! Why am I here? What is this place? Why is everyone here trying to kill me or hunt me down?”

As your endless questioning continued, Allison glanced back at Tom with worry. How long had you been down here alone?

She quickly switched the topic. “Hey, hey, forget about that for just a moment. Your memory might come back to you eventually. What’s the first thing you can remember?” The gears in your mind began to turn as you reflected back on all that had happened in the past few weeks. “I don’t,” you stammered, swallowing hard. “I don’t know. I think I dropped out of some kind of…tube? Or maybe a pipe? A-All I can remember is there was some kind of machine when I woke up, and I was completely covered in ink. But why can’t I remember who I was before, or how I ended up in this place?”

A look of pitiful sympathy was now painting Allison’s face. She could remember how scared she had been years ago when she was in your shoes, especially after she realized she no longer had her memories from when she was still human. One of the most aggravating things to her all those years ago was not having any idea of who she used to be, and it was incredibly painful to see someone else suffering from the same fate.

“I’ve been looking for food and shelter for weeks now,” you continued. “All I’ve managed to find is six cans of some kind of soup. I can’t find anywhere that’s safe, though. I keep getting tracked down by this weird… demon.” Tom growled at the words, and Allison had to hold her arm out to stop him from stepping any further than he already had. He felt sympathetic for your situation, sure. Allison had been in the same spot years ago. But the Ink Demon had your scent, and you admitted that he was actively hunting you down. He couldn’t put himself and the Angel in danger just because you weren’t able to fend for yourself.

Allison nodded at your words. “Yeah, the food supply down here is running out. The scarce amount that Tom and I can find are never quite enough to even last us a month. You said you found a few cans on your own?” You hesitantly nodded back. “That’s good. That means there’s still supplies to gather. Did you eat any of it? We could give you a bit if you didn’t.” Tom grew aggravated at this, and Allison sent him a look of warning in response. “Tom, we may not have much, but we have plenty to offer one person a meal.”

Shortly after their small staredown, the Angel turned to face you once more. She gently took hold of your right hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “I know how you feel right now. Believe me, I do. I was in your exact same position several years ago after I was reborn. Even to this day, I have no memory of my past life, but things get better with time. It’s scary, I know, and you have every right to feel scared. I just want you to know that there are still people down here who will always be willing to help you with whatever you need. Tom and I are two of them, whether Tom wants to admit that or not.

“You’ll be okay, darling. Everything will be okay eventually, I promise.” You could only stare at her for a moment, no longer used to someone treating you with kindness. Everyone else you had met up until that point attacked you or pretended you didn’t exist. You weren’t sure how to react.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You finally managed to ask. Allison smiled warmly and squeezed your hand again. “Well, like I said, I’ve been in your shoes. And even though it was so long ago, I can still remember so clearly how badly I wanted someone to help me out. I was alone for so long, and it made things…complicated. I don’t want that for you. I want to be the helping hand for you that I needed once I was reborn.”

Her selflessness left you speechless. She seemed so well put together, even after confessing that she once was just like you were now. And yet, there you were: trembling, weak, and terrified of the new world around you. You hoped she was right and that you’d one day be able to find some sort of the confidence she seemed to have.

“Would you want to stay with us until you can get back on your feet? Tom and I can show you the ropes around here so you can learn to survive on your own.” You finally looked back up at the wolf, expecting to see him still ready to swing at you any moment. He seemed far calmer, however, and even showed some sort of compassion with how he stared at you.

In truth, he still didn’t entirely trust you. You were still a newcomer here, and he tended to be cold to them. There were very few that he trusted immediately, and even though you weren’t necessarily one of them, he still found himself at ease. You weren’t a threat, that much was obvious. You were too fearful of others to try and attack. On top of that, after hearing you and Allison speak, he understood why she was already so welcoming.

Tom had been the first one to greet Allison after she resurfaced from the inky womb of the Machine. They quickly grew to trust each other, and he could still recall how much livelier the Angel grew when she accepted that she was no longer alone in the world. He adored that look on her face then, albeit it was because of their past that she didn’t remember, and he found that he would feel better about himself to grant that solace to someone else as well.

Peace hardly ever came to the people down in the studio. Who was he to deny granting it to someone who needed it most?

With a huff, he nodded at you, Your mouth fell agape in surprise at how quickly they both were willing to accept you into their home. Your attention turned back to Allison, who stared back expectantly with a calm gaze. “That would be,” you whispered breathlessly. There was no way you could put your gratitude into words. “That would be incredible. Thank you both,” was all you managed to say.

In response, you were greeted with a wider smile from the Angel and a small smirk from the wolf. With her hand still grasping yours, Allison stood and helped pull you to your feet. “Let’s go, then. It’s never safe to stay in one place for too long down here. We actually aren’t far from here at all.”

You silently nodded and trailed after the two. Allison had let go of your hand to pick her machete back up from the ground, though you were quick to cling to her arm as she led you down the next hallway over. She grinned at you and squeezed your hand again, not letting it go until the three of you made it to a towering steel door with a large handwheel valve placed in the center. Tom was the one who turned it and pushed it open. He picked up the boxes he had previously set down and carried them inside.

Allison shifted her arm to slip your hands off just long enough for her to lift her own collection of crates and boxes.”You first,” she quipped and nodded her head toward the door. You quickly did as told and stepped into the safe house, instantly looking around at how comfortable it was in comparison to where you had been staying the past couple of weeks.

Soon enough, the door was shut and locked behind you, and you turned to see Allison was now headed toward a shelf to help stock the cans with Tom. All you could think to do was stand there awkwardly, worried you’d only be getting in the way if you offered to help. The Angel took notice of your tense form and chuckled. “You can sit down, darling. We won’t be upset if you make yourself comfortable.” A nod was your reply, and you trotted over to one of the bulky wooden chairs encircling the large table in the center of the room.

You watched as Tom and Allison continued to place the cans on the shelves and counted them. They began talking about how they planned on rationing them evenly between three people. A pang of guilt shot in your heart at how much they were already doing, realizing you didn’t really have anything to offer in return.

You did your best to remind yourself that they were understanding of your situation and likely didn’t expect anything. They were aware that you were struggling to survive on your own, and you had told them of how you had been hiding anywhere you could, so they knew you didn’t have much of anything at all.

Without realizing it, you had lost focus, staring down blankly at the surface of the wooden table. You were snapped out of your trance when a bowl full of bacon soup was placed down in front of you. A quick blink and glance up let you know that Allison had been the one to put it there. “I’m not sure how long it’s been since you’ve eaten, but here. I’m sure you must be starving either way, judging on what you’ve told us so far. I’ll go tidy up where you’ll be sleeping while you eat.”

You continued to stare at the bowl in silence after Allison walked away into a different room. You nearly denied the food, but the volume of your stomach growling forced you to push that thought away instantly. With a swift motion, you picked up the bowl and began to drink from it, too famished to worry about how there was a spoon beside it for you to use instead.

It only took a minute before you had drained the bowl of the broth. You then finally picked up the spoon and used it to scoop up the small pieces of bacon gathered at the bottom. By the time you finished, Allison had returned to the room, laughing softly in surprise at how quickly you had managed to finish. “You really were hungry,” she murmured, then looking sorrowful. “You must’ve had so little to eat while you were wandering around. I can’t imagine being starved for that long.”

A look of sheepishness now adorned your features as you looked down. “Sorry,” you whispered. She stepped over and stood beside you, her hand dropping to rest on your shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize. I would’ve done the exact same thing. In fact, I did do the same thing back when Tom and I started gathering rations.” She smirked and pointed over at the wolf, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Tom eats like that all the time anyway, so you really aren’t doing anything too out of the ordinary here.”

A look of relief crossed her face when you laughed at her words. Now you felt more at ease, even after nearly downing an entire can of soup in less than a minute. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room. It’s nothing fancy, but at least you’ll have your own bed and some privacy.” You felt excited at the mention of a safe place to finally get a proper night’s rest. Standing from your spot at the table, you trailed behind her as she brought you to a small room.

There, you found that you now had a bed with thick comforters and pillows, a large chest tucked in the corner for storage, a makeshift aquarium with live fish built into the furthest wall, and a small column of shelves lined with plenty of books. You beamed ear to ear at the sight, glancing over at Allison. She mirrored your expression, grateful to see you so joyous over what she and Tom were able to provide. “I love it,” you stated gleefully. Almost instantly, you walked forward and practically threw yourself onto the bed, the plush surface welcoming and already lulling you into sleep.

Allison snickered once again and opened the door again. “Sleep well, darling. You’ll be safe here,” she whispered, then closed the door.

It had been several months since Allison and Tom had graciously taken you in. During that time, Allison had been the most understanding, considering she knew exactly what you were going through. She helped you choose your name since you couldn’t remember your old one, gave you rations and supplies to keep you safe when you joined her to scavenge for supplies, and offered advice on how to cope with no longer remembering who you used to be.

After another successful round of gathering supplies, you and Tom had sat down at the dining room table to play a game of cards, the radio playing softly in the background. Allison hadn’t gone with the two of you, instead heading down to the lower levels on her own. She returned about an hour after you and Tom had made it back. Immediately after stepping through the door and shutting it, she greeted you both.

You smiled at her as she walked over to give you a small hug. She questioned how the search had gone, and while Tom gave a simple thumbs up, you gave a more detailed description of what had happened. Allison beamed brightly at you and sat in the chair next to you, chin resting in her palm as she listened intently to the way you enthusiastically recalled your quick trip with Tom. As you chuckled at how the wolf had dropped an empty box on his head and gotten it stuck there, the Angel couldn’t help but laugh with you, much to Tom’s dismay.

She could feel the sensation of her heart fluttering that she had grown familiar with during your stay. She couldn’t–and wouldn’t–deny that she had fallen for you, though she wasn’t sure how to let you know. So instead, she kept it to herself for the time being. She enjoyed listening to you talk, hearing you sing with a random song playing on the radio, watching you make up a small dance as you cooked the soup at the stove, and overall just appreciated having you around. That was enough for her until she was ready to confess.

Tom had developed a soft spot for you, too. Although it took him far longer to trust you, he knew that you weren’t there to harm him or Allison. All it took to fully convince him was swooping in to stall an enemy long enough for him and the Angel to get away. You had risked your life for both of them, claiming that it was the least you could do after all they had given you, and that was enough for him. He knew how Allison felt for you, and although it hurt him to watch the woman he was once married to fall for someone else, he was at least glad it was you she had taken an interest in. He trusted that you’d keep her happy.

Once your laughter calmed down and your story came to an end, you couldn’t wipe the smile from your lips, glancing down at your cards. “I really can’t thank either of you enough for helping me out these past few months. I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me, and I hope one day I’ll be able to properly repay you. I love it here in the safe house.”

With a casual motion, Allison reached over and took hold of your hand to squeeze it the way she often did now. “You don’t need to do a thing. Just having you here with us is enough. You know you can stay here as long as you’d like.”

Although she didn’t want to admit it, she had actually grown to hate the thought of you leaving to live on your own. Not necessarily because she didn’t trust that you couldn’t defend yourself, but because she would miss having you around. Tom was great company on his own, but your cheerful, positive personality was a breath of fresh air to both of them. It made it far more enjoyable to come home for the day.

If you left to be on your own, there would be so much she’d miss. No more late night talks or bundling up to read a book together, no more watching you doodle and paint while she talked to Tom about their plans for the day, no more cuddling up under the blankets with each other when the studio grew frigid in the winter months, and no more days spent simply relaxing with the one person who truly understood all she had been through.

In a way, she had grown dependent on you.

It was a foreign feeling, considering she had grown to be a hardened survivor, but she enjoyed this new sensation.

She loved feeling this way.

She loved you, so, so much.

“You know we’ll always be here for you. You aren’t doing this alone anymore.” Her hand squeezed yours again, her gaze lingering a little too long on your features as you bashfully moved to stare back at your free hand still grasping your cards with a smile. “I know,” you replied. “Thank you both so much. I can’t ever tell you how grateful I truly am. And for what it’s worth, I promise to protect both of you with my life the same way you’ve done for me.”

Although your next words were mostly directed toward both of them, you found yourself staring directly at Allison as you spoke. Your hand squeezed hers three times, a wordless phrase her face burned brightly at. She had no need to worry about whether or not you knew of her feelings for you anymore–you had just told her you felt the same, even when your words didn’t say it explicitly.

“You mean everything to me. I couldn’t have asked for better love and company in this new world. Thank you, truly.”

#fluff #x reader #female reader #slight angst #angst #batim #batim x reader #batdr #batdr x reader #allison angel x reader #allison angel

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jeniffercheck · 3 months ago

Text

red side of the moon

shivlina oneshot: canon divergence, shiv is sent to shanghai on the ceo tract and karolina is sent with as her handler. set in some combination of s1 & s2. no CWs, just good old rollercoaster of romance xx

words: 10k

read here or on ao3

A huge opportunity.

Karolina’s been repeating it to herself relentlessly, filling her head with those three simple words at every possible moment—scribbling them into the margins of notepads during meetings where she’s effectively useless, carving them into the steam coating her bathroom mirror on the mornings where she feels the dreaded thrum of regret pulse at her fingertips, tracing invisible letters across her thighs as her driver takes to her to and from the office—if for any reason than to stop herself from thinking any harder about it. It is a huge opportunity, and a good one at that. At least, that’s what Gerri had said.

It’s a test, Karolina. Pass it, and you’re well on your way.

She remembers asking Gerri why she had to pass a test like this at all, what part of her worth at a company like Waystar had anything to do with chasing Logan’s children around the world, couldn’t recall when in her nearly-two-decades of professional experience a promotion ever involved playdates with her CEO’s daughter, but she realizes now that those had been the wrong questions entirely. She should’ve asked Gerri if Waystar was worth it.

Currently, it seems entirely not worth it.

“How are we looking?” Shiv asks, briskly walking toward a packed conference room. Karolina trudges behind her, dodging random employees and underlings she’ll never learn the names of, and checks Shiv’s schedule on her phone. It’s a job that should be Sarah’s, but something about the Harvard Veritones and a summer showcase involving far too many shots in the Shanghai Pudong International Airport means that Sarah’s visa was denied, which also means that the roles are so muddied now that Karolina isn’t quite sure what her job is at all. Manager of Shiv Roy? Professional Adult Babysitter? Senior Grooming Advisor?

(I don’t quite understand what my role would be over there, sire,” she’d said, nervous hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“You’ll mold her, Karolina,” Logan said. “She needs guidance from someone who understands. You get it, don’t you? She needs a serious person.”)

“Two meetings left—and we have a tentative dinner with a tech reporter who has a layover in the city,” Karolina says.

“Who?”

“Freelancer,” Karolina says. “He has a history with a few A-List publications, but recent patterns suggest he’s likely looking to submit to Wall Street or The Post.”

“What’s his angle?” Shiv asks.

“Hard to say right now, but my best guess?”

Shiv pauses as they reach the door, her hand hovering over the handle.

“How America’s Politico Sweetheart has anything to do with Waystar’s recent tech grabs in China.”

“Prep some key messaging,” Shiv says. “Tell him I won’t be answering any questions about Kendall or Vaulter.”

“Okay,” Karolina says, glancing into the conference room. “You remember our goal for this meeting?”

Shiv winks. “Got my keys and wallet, too.”

—

“So,” Karolina said, cigarette burning loosely in her hand. She wasn’t expecting to find Shiv out here, hiding from the party like a wallflower. “Are the rumors true?”

“What rumors?”

“You know,” Karolina said. “The name on the front of the building. It’s gonna be yours.”

Shiv froze then, but there was a wistful look she couldn’t hide, a satisfied quirk of her lips and an all-too nonchalant of a shrug that all but confirmed it. He chose her.

“I’m just…observing,” Shiv said. “Getting to know the company.”

“Sure. Observing,” Karolina said. “Do you also like to sit at construction sites and watch concrete dry?”

“What, is your job not exciting enough? You need extra drama?” Shiv asked. “I’m sure Kendall will have you in a bind bright and early on Monday morning. What was it this time? Vape fluid?”

Karolina brought the cigarette to her lips. She couldn’t help but laugh as Shiv’s eyes turned toward her, bright.

“And candy.”

—

Karolina’s already entered the room by the time she realizes she shouldn’t have, news of the freelancer canceling their dinner sitting on the edge of her tongue as Shiv’s voice reverberates through their makeshift conference-room-turned-battle-station.

“This is ridiculous,” Shiv says, pacing in front of the large windows showcasing the city’s nightcap, phone glued to her ear. “You know that’s not it, Tom.” Tom. “Fine, yeah, I’ll just—keep rearranging deck chairs on the fucking Titanic, I guess.” Silence. “That is what I’m fucking doing.”

It’s then that Karolina makes her move, pulling open the door as if she’s just entered, louder this time, so that Shiv has no reason not to notice. She does, a sly glance in Karolina’s direction and Karolina walks over to her laptop still open on the table. She checks the time as she sits down. 6pm, which means it’s a heart 6am in Manhattan. If she remembers correctly, which she most certainly does, Tom has a division sync in just two hours. Regret threatens her once again, but not for any crucial matter—she just really wishes she could’ve seen the shit show that would’ve been Tom’s first few weeks of reign over ATN.

“Whatever, I have to go,” Shiv says. “Yeah. Love you.”

Karolina busies herself on her laptop as Shiv hangs up. It’s not like she has as much work as she wishes she did, it’s, so far, all felt like a colossal waste of both her time and talent, but she lets her fingers do her bidding before she gets too far ahead of herself. A huge opportunity. Huge.

Shiv sits down in her spot, only a few seats away, and they settle into a comfortable silence. It’s like this most days, working in quiet unless there’s a meeting to prep for, responding to email chains while five feet away from one another, Shiv sending lists of prospective investors and projects and Karolina sending page-long lists back of why it would be a terrible idea for Waystar to get involved with any of those companies.

It’s only when Karolina stops fake-typing that she realizes Shiv isn’t typing at all, and she looks over, Shiv lost in thought as she stares at her computer screen. Karolina’s done a lot of shit that’s been far above her pay grade the last few weeks, and she doesn’t think adding emotional labor to the list is going to help her growing resentment at all, but she knows firsthand how objectively awful this entire endeavor has been, so she humors Shiv.

“Are contactless computers our next great investment?” she asks. It’s a second before Shiv realizes she’s being spoken to, looking at Karolina with a tired kind of confusion.

“I just didn’t know if you were testing out some kind of eye-tracking software,” Karolina goes on. “I mean, knowing Waystar’s customer base, I don’t really think spyware is the direction to go in, but—what do I know?”

Shiv leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, glaringly unamused. She stares at Karolina for what feels like an eternity and then speaks, her question begging with sincerity.

“Do you think this is all bullshit?”

Karolina is briefly stunned, unused to Shiv speaking so plainly to her. Much to Karolina’s surprise, in the four months they’ve been working together it’s stayed strictly professional. Small talk, business talk, even the occasional serious talk—because that’s what Karolina’s there for, right?—but never real talk. And this, is real. It’s not Shiv asking Karolina to give the answer she wants to hear; she’s asking Karolina to give the answer that Karolina believes to be true. She’s asking if it’s worth it. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Shiv that that’s something she doesn’t quite know just yet, but she does know one thing.

“I think that it better not be.”

Because she’s given up things for her career before, weekends, bachelorette parties, first dates—dating—but this is a lot. Chasing some nepo-baby to China just because her dad dangled the proposition of a promotion in front of her was a big risk, and she’s not about to let it amount to nothing. Shiv’s jaw clenches then, at nobody in particular, and she looks up at Karolina, serious.

“Roman’s in the management training program,” she says. Karolina can’t help but interpret a small amount of worry in Shiv’s tone, a new emotion from the youngest Roy that she hadn’t yet discovered could be shown. Shiv says just as much then, a tired hand running through her hair. “Should I be concerned?”

Shiv looks at her like Karolina’s got all the answers in the world, and despite the fact that part of Karolina’s need-to-know briefing prior to coming to Shanghai was centered around Shiv entering the CEO tract, she still couldn’t guess Logan Roy’s plan of action with a loaded gun pointed to her head. All she knows is what’s in front of her. The facts.

“Roman’s never been to Shanghai,” she reasons.

“But he’s been to LA.”

“And then he was fired.”

“And now, he’s COO,” Shiv says. “And they just shipped him off to Management Training.”

“Look, Management Training is largely for on-the-ground suits who will never make it past regional management,” Karolina says. She should know, she led the campaign research. “It’s where executives go to die, Shiv.”

Still, it’s not enough to satisfy Shiv.

“Maybe for executives who don’t have a name on the building.”

She wonders if this simmering insecurity is something she’s missed, or if it’s a new development in the world of Shiv Roy. She’d always imagined there was some. She could always see it with Kendall, the validation seeking, the overbearing need to be involved, to have his voice heard—but Shiv, she’d always been the wild card. The prodigal daughter, the one who got away and built something for herself. She seemed sure. Even when Karolina had stepped down and made her way to the Shanghai office for the first time, Shiv hadn’t let a shred of her nerves show, but now—Karolina thinks she isn’t the only person who’s tired.

“He doesn’t have anything over you,” Karolina says.

“He has Gerri,” Shiv argues. “A fucking steel-rod in the Old Guard, and he has her wrapped around his fucking spiny finger. He has Gerri.”

“And you have me,” Karolina blurts it before she can stop herself.

Shiv gives her a once over, as if she hadn’t considered Karolina as anything of value yet. It’s funny, she’s probably no less of a pawn to Shiv than Shiv is to her, only Shiv hadn’t realized the stakes were even, didn’t know that the goalposts were shared.

“And what are you exactly?” Shiv asks.

“I’m your golden ticket,” Karolina says, not missing a beat.

Shiv’s lip quirks. “How’s that?”

Karolina leans forward. “Because, whether I like it or not, my career hinges on yours,” she says. “And truthfully, Shiv, I’m not wasting a year in Shanghai without getting my dues.”

—

It’s at night, when Karolina misses home the most.

The cracked asphalt and yellow cabs, college students littering her street with the butts of stale Newport Reds as their two-in-the-morning laughter echoes through her thin front windows on their way to the subway line that takes them back downtown, the subway, going to sleep knowing she’ll wake up and get to stop by her favorite cafe on the way to the office. She thinks she’s almost forgotten the smell of cigarettes mixed with some twenty-one-year-old’s lavender oat milk latte, not that she’d thought to savor it anyway. Stopping to smell the roses only works if you have time to notice there are any roses at all.

They left for China right after the New Year. She remembers her holiday bonus and an ultimatum. She doesn’t recall any roses.

—

“Media day?” Shiv asks, tense as her arms stiffly on the back of a chair in the conference room. Karolina looks up at her from across the table. “I thought you said this would blow over.”

This, also known as “The Shiv in Shanghai: America’s Politico Sweetheart and Her Grab for the Crown,” published in the New York Mag by the very reporter who’d skipped out on their planned dinner. It’s a lengthy think piece on the future of Waystar and the impending battle of the heirs, and it had been a nightmare to deal with twelve hours ahead of New York. Karolina thrums her fingers along the wood, trying to come up with the simplest explanation of their current predicament.

It’s simple, in her mind: the Roy siblings are cash cows for the American news machine, and even the smallest scent of a fight for the throne is much too intriguing to let pass without making it as big of a deal as possible. Unfortunately, Shiv entering Waystar’s payroll is a big deal, a very large, unprecedented, huge deal.

(“Say, Karolina,” Logan folded his arms across his desk. “Shiv’s in Shanghai, what’s our angle?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to make Kendall look unfit—not when he’s still largely a face of the company,” Karolina said. “Bridging the gap, maybe. The youngest Roy bringing a new perspective to Waystar’s tech wing. It’s broad. Prepping for the future. Maybe we bring her…liberal politics, into it. Western expansion in the Asian market. Growth.”)

“Things are moving faster than we’d initially wanted, yes,” Karolina says, treading lightly. “But, it’s important that we’re the ones controlling the narrative surrounding your introduction into the company. Not caricature drawings on Page 6.”

“And, what—inviting a bunch of reporters into our international offices is supposed to show them that I’m just on some field trip? Shaking hands and making nice for shits and giggles?”

“If you want to put it that way, sure,” Karolina says, looking at her laptop. “It’s just what we need them to believe. That you’re an addition to the company’s roster. Not anyone’s replacement.”

“For the time being.”

“What?” Karolina’s eyes shoot back to Shiv.

“At a certain point, they’re gonna know,” Shiv argues. “We’re dancing around the inevitable here.”

“Shiv, your father—”

“Isn’t here,” she says. “He sent me off to China with a half-baked plan and a watchdog, and I’m just supposed to follow along?”

“It’s not half-baked, Shiv, it’s procedure.”

“But, you are a watchdog, then?” Shiv asks, a smug smile encroaching on her face.

Karolina exhales lightly. She’s unsure if the argument would be worth it at all, unsure if there even is anything to argue at all. The leash is taut on Karolina; she either succeeds, or she’s sent back to the pound.

“If that’s how you want to put it, then sure,” Karolina says. “I’m your personal watchdog. And right now, I’m watching you waste an entire prep slot complaining about an opportunity to show your father exactly why you should be CEO.”

Shiv’s posture stiffens, and Karolina knows she’s got her right back where she wants her. Karolina may be on a tight leash, but she needs to keep Shiv on an even tighter one.

“Fine, media day,” Shiv huffs, sitting down. “Lay it on me.”

—

Shiv is brilliant.

She’s warm smiles and schmoozes, floating through the office like she owns it—Karolina wonders if that helps, knowing in some way that she actually does—and it’s relieving, to know that beyond the complaints, beyond the bitterness behind closed doors and the pushback that feels all too personal at times, Shiv has been listening to her.

Karolina’s staying late, wrapping up a report on all of the follow-ups she’ll need to do after the weekend when Shiv enters the conference room, silently placing a paper coffee cup next to Karolina’s laptop as she sits down next to her.

“Do you ever leave this room?” Shiv asks, hands wrapped around her own cup of coffee.

“They still haven’t found an office for me to take over, so…” she drifts off, twisting the coffee cup around to look at the logo. It’s someplace down the street that they stop at occasionally on their way back from off-campus meetings. She quirks an eyebrow at Shiv as she picks it up.

“I made one of the IT guys go get them,” Shiv admits, and Karolina nods. Sounds right. “Sorry if it’s not hot enough, you were on a phone call earlier and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It was Gerri,” Karolina offers. She sips the coffee, knowing she probably shouldn’t be having any caffeine this late in the evening, but her sleep schedule’s never been one to boast about, and, anyway, it could do her some good to get her work done, now that she actually has some to do.

“Yeah?” Shiv asks. “How’s the old Fairy Godmother?”

Which, not good. There are rumblings of a major leak surrounding cruises, not to mention Kendall’s pause from reality still causing blowback in the press, and Roman, well—Karolina’s just lucky she’s with Shiv.

“We were just catching up,” she says. “Hard to stay in touch when we’re twelve hours ahead.”

“Tell me about it,” Shiv sighs. “Tom and I are lucky if we get a conversation in every few days.”

“What does he think about all of this?” Karolina asks, then. She says it absentmindedly, like she would about the weather or a new restaurant, and maybe she is prodding, poking her head into things that don’t concern her, itching for a sense of normalcy within the throes of the upheaval of her life with the source of said upheaval as her cannon fodder, but Shiv doesn’t seem to back an eye. Maybe she’s searching for something normal, too.

“He’ll come around,” Shiv says, and it’s an admission of sorts, that Tom isn’t fully on board with the change.

“To which part?”

“Which part?” Shiv asks.

“The part where he’s not going to be CEO, or the part where you’re going to be.”

Shiv pauses, a dilemma she’s obviously thought of before by the way she bites the inside of her cheek. How could she not? Everyone knows Tom’s endgame. When Karolina read the presser for their wedding announcement she was surprised the venue was listed as Eastnor Castle and not One World Trade Center.

“I think…” Shiv trails off, ultimately shaking her head. “It’s too early for those kinds of conversations. Dad, he’s unpredictable.”

Something snaps in Karolina at the noncommittal statement. Like this is all just some side quest, a will-they-won’t-they between Shiv and the C-Suite.

“Shiv,” Karolina says, and Shiv’s eyes snap to hers. “Do you want this?”

Because she has to know. Karolina is wasting time and credibility if Shiv isn’t all in. Shiv hesitates, and Karolina can see the grips of the voices in her head, the Dads and the Toms and the Kendalls, and Karolina doesn’t want their satiation. Doesn’t want the Politico Sweetheart’s centrist neutrality. She wants honesty.

“You,” she adds. “Not them.”

Shiv’s brow furrows, a determined little movement that Karolina’s noticed only appears when things get serious. Real.

“I do,” Shiv says.

“Okay,” Karolina says, like an affirmation. I believe you. “Thanks for the coffee.”

She turns back to her laptop, but Shiv’s voice rings out again.

“Hey,” she says. “I mean—what’s in this for you? Being here.”

“It’s my job, Shiv,” Karolina says.

“Last time I checked, Waystar PR took place halfway across the globe. This couldn’t have been what you thought you were signing up for.”

It’s not, but there are only three words Karolina can think of. Well—the other three.

“It’s a test,” she says. “For you, and for me.”

Shiv’s face contorts in confusion.

“How is this a test for you?”

(“Now, Karolina. We’ll see how things fair over there, and if you’re successful, well. We can talk about what that means for you.”)

“You’re my test, Shiv,” Karolina says. “Your image, your progress. It’s on me.”

“So, I am just a puppet,” Shiv says. “Your puppet.”

“You’re not,” Karolina says. She doesn’t say what she really thinks—that Shiv is a type of untamable beast. That she’ll do her best to shape and mold, but to what avail, she’s not so sure. “This is mutually beneficial. You fail, I fail.”

Shiv mulls it over, crosses her arms.

“And what happens if you fail?”

Karolina settles back into her chair.

“I don’t fail.”

—

Karolina would be lying if she said she didn’t notice the shift happen.

It’s subtle in the way something drastic can only be, like one night you go to sleep in New York and the next you’re in Shanghai. One night you can’t even figure out the remote control to the television and the next you’re rehashing three seasons worth of Chinese reality show drama into your weekly email to Gerri. One night, your apartment has never even seen another person, and the next, Shiv Roy is inside of it, two glasses of wine deep, sitting on your couch and talking like you’ve been friends for years.

“C’mon, you and Gerri have never done anything?”

It’s most likely the wine when Karolina almost blurts that Gerri has been far too busy with Shiv’s brother to ever notice her, but she keeps her composure, laughing slightly as she puts her glass down.

“I said you could ask one personal question, and this is what you’re stuck on?”

“Fine,” Shiv says. “Can I have a redo?”

“One,” Karolina says. “So ask wisely.”

She knows in the morning she’ll regret offering, thinks what was supposed to be a simple prep session for an on-screen interview later in the week turned into one episode of Karolina’s newest reality show binge, which then turned into one glass of wine, which turned into two, which led her here. Invasive probing into her personal life by none other than Shiv Roy.

“Aside from Gerri, anyone waiting for you at home?”

Karolina rolls her eyes at the added innuendo, but she finds it difficult to stay annoyed at the satisfied look Shiv throws her way, a realization that rolls around nervously in the pit of her stomach.

“No,” Karolina says, grasping onto her composure. “Married to the job, I guess.”

She doesn’t realize how sad it is until after she’s said it, the loneliness that hangs in the air in the aftermath of her words. Shiv, to her credit, doesn’t give away whether she’s surprised or not, only a lingering curiosity in the following quiet.

“The job,” Shiv repeats, slowly. “So. Why PR?”

Karolina shrugs, grateful for Shiv’s swift change in subjects.

“It’s what I’m good at.”

“Sure—” Shiv says, notably not disagreeing, “But what do you like about it?”

“I don’t know,” Karolina says, picking her glass back up. “I guess…I like problem solving. Crafting a narrative, watching the pieces fall into place.”

“Control?”

Shiv eyes her, the intensity of her gaze growing, and Karolina’s nerves return, unsure of Shiv’s endgame.

“Storytelling,” Karolina says. Shiv nods, seemingly satisfied enough, and she takes a sip of her wine.

“What’s my story?” she asks.

“You tell me.”

“No, come on,” Shiv says. “What narrative have you crafted for the infamous Siobhan Roy?”

Karolina sighs. She doesn’t know why she’s stalling. She’s worked on this relentlessly, time-stamped and color-coded, refined, and then refined again. Sleepless nights spent on this very couch, crafting the journey.

“You’re the future,” Karolina says. “Optimism, growth. A new era for Waystar with a sense of safety under the same Roy name.”

It loses some of its magic as she says it out loud, as if the entirety of the endeavor is only possible as long as it’s never spoken into existence, as long as nobody knows that the plan is real enough to be taken away. Shiv seems to notice as much, lightening up the mood with yet another thorn jammed into Karolina’s side.

“But I’m a registered Democrat,” Shiv says. “I don’t think shareholders want a filthy liberal leading their company.”

“Your husband is a registered Republican,” Karolina says. “You’re amenable to alternative viewpoints.”

Shiv laughs.

“What?”

“Tom’s a registered Democrat.”

“He—what?”

Shiv must be entertained by Karolina’s horror, because the shit-eating grin won’t leave her face as she continues. “He named his dog after Walter Mondale,” she says through a new fit of giggles. “How’s the strategy now?”

Karolina closes her eyes and rubs a hand across her face, mumbling to herself, “Fucking—Walter Mondale?”

“Relax.” Karolina opens her eyes as Shiv’s hand lightly hits her knee. “He’s voted Republican since 2008.”

Despite this, Karolina still makes a mental note to carve out some time to redraft phase four of Shiv’s ascension to account for her Nazi-elbow-rubbing husband apparently being a registered Democrat. Shiv’s laughter dies down slowly, and just as she’s about to speak again, her phone dings, her smile faltering with a light, Shit, as she reads whatever’s on the screen.

“Everything okay?” Karolina asks, noting the frown.

“Yeah, sorry,” Shiv says. “Tom—he thought we could try scheduling our phone calls and I missed one.”

“Oh,” Karolina says. “We can call it a night if you need to get back to him.”

“No,” Shiv says, with what seems like, if Karolina didn’t know any better, urgency, and she tosses her phone aside. “No, I mean—the last thing I need from him right now is a lecture.”

“I take it he still hasn’t come around?”

“He’s just—” Shiv cuts herself off, waving her hand around flippantly.

Karolina’s asking before she can stop herself, “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Making excuses for him.”

Maybe it’s another thing that she can blame on the wine when it happens, but her stomach twists slightly as Shiv’s face falls, nerves replaced with something more somber as she notices a familiar tiredness display so clearly across Shiv’s features.

“He’s worked hard for it,” Shiv says. “We had a plan.”

“So have you. So do we.”

Shiv looks at her unsure.

“You can feel guilty,” Karolina continues, “but it doesn’t have to be the only thing that you feel.”

Shiv breaks the eye contact, “I know, I know.” She pauses as her gaze falls on the television. “You know, you weren’t this complimentary in the beginning.”

Karolina’s surprised by the assertion. She’d had been so caught up observing Shiv, she never thought that Shiv would be observing her right back.

“I was guarded, sure,” Karolina says. “This whole thing, I mean—I was weary.”

“Weren’t sure that the spoiled-runt of the Roy clan had it in her?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say you’re the runt.”

“Humor me,” Shiv says, though nothing currently feels warranting of a joke.

“I just didn��t want this to be a waste of my time,” Karolina admits. “Packing up and leaving for a new country without a clear result—it felt risky.”

(She’d done that once already, young and wide-eyed, suddenly stuck in a world that didn’t want her. It taught her how to adapt, sure, but she thinks somewhere inside of her it’s always left a gap. No place ever truly feels like home, no building or title or role. New York had become that—as much as it could be, and Waystar, well, it’s still a gamble.)

“And now that you’re here, four months into it?” Shiv asks.

“It feels less risky.” Risky all the same, but the payout is starting to look more likely.

“What changed?” Shiv asks.

There’s only one reasonable answer, one honest answer that she pretends to mull over. She keeps her eyes downcast as she says it, doesn’t need to look up to feel the intensity of the gaze that she knows is on her.

“You.”

—

Shiv starts to show more of herself, letting Karolina craft the story with all of the pieces, not just the ones that she wants people to see.

“Are you sure about this?” Shiv asks, smoothing her blazer.

“You’re ready,” Karolina says from behind, locking eyes through the mirror. “It’s a puff piece, nothing major.”

“It’s early.”

“It’s five months, Shiv.”

“You said six.”

It’s strange, being allowed to see Shiv like this, nervous and fussy, worried about making an impression.

“I said the timeline moved up,” Karolina reminds her. Shiv turns around, huffing out a deep breath.

“Can we go over everything one more time?”

“No,” Karolina says. “I want you to be organic, not rehearsed. You know this. It’s your life, Shiv. We’re having lunch with a reporter, and you’re just going to talk. You’ve done this before.”

“This one feels different,” Shiv says.

“Because you know what’s at stake,” Karolina says. “The reporter doesn’t.”

Shiv nods, taking another deep breath, and Karolina’s doing it before she realizes, her hand reaching up slightly to smooth out a stray strand of silky-red hair. Shiv just straightens her shoulders.

“I’ll be right there beside you,” Karolina assures her. “Just—enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it,” Shiv repeats to herself.

By the time they’re with the reporter, it’s as if Karolina isn’t even there at all.

—

“You know that’s not true.”

They’re in the car, speeding down the highway on their way to tour a potential partnering facility. It’s mostly for the press—shaking hands with VPs and laughing in front of the cameras with opposing executives. Karolina’s supposed to be giving Shiv the rundown on each of the high-ups they’ll be meeting with, but Shiv’s been on the phone with Tom the entire ride, leaving Karolina no choice but to eavesdrop as the conversation slowly devolves into an argument, Shiv’s agitated tone and Tom’s agitated voice the only sound filling the back of the car.

“I mean, what,” Shiv says. “Did you think I was just going to get bored and call it quits a couple of months into the job?” Silence. “A year, Tom. Six in Shanghai, and six in Europe, we’ve talked about this.”

(Just three months ago the entire prospect of seven more months of this seemed nauseating. Now, it seems exciting. When there are no meddling voices taking up her valuable prep time.)

“I don’t know, London, Berlin? Does it matter?” Shiv’s silent for longer than expected, and then she laughs, coldly. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in your en-suite at Headquarters getting chauffeured three blocks to work every day. It must be stressful for you.”

Whatever it is that Tom says on the other end must not be good, because it’s enough for Shiv to hang out the phone without another word. Karolina steals a glance in her direction, Shiv’s gaze firmly set out the opposite window.

“Wanna talk about it?” Karolina asks. It’s not her business, not really, but it feels wrong not to offer. Shiv’s silent for a while, Karolina just listening to the drone of the car’s tires speeding down the highway when Shiv does speak.

“Do you really think I can do this?” she asks, teary eyes turning toward Karolina. “Like, actually win the seat?”

Karolina doesn’t even have to think before saying it.

“Yes.” She clutches the papers in her hand. “What did he say to you?”

“It’s not what anyone says to me.” Shiv turns away again. “It’s what they’re not saying.”

“What are they not saying?”

“That they think I can do it.”

Karolina can’t imagine how unbearably lonely it must feel to be going after something so huge and to be made to feel so small for it. The people closest to Shiv are all of her direct competitors. Hell, even her own husband is vying for the very same spot.

“You can, Shiv,” Karolina says. “You can do it.” She does it before she has a chance to stop herself, reaching out to grab Shiv’s hand across the seat. She squeezes it lightly, Shiv’s eyes stuck on the window.

“Yeah,” Shiv breathes out. She squeezes Karolina’s hand back, once, and lets go. “Thanks, Karolina.”

And because she doesn’t want to leave the mood so heavy before sending Shiv off to smile and wave for three hours, “Does Tom really take a car three blocks to work every morning?”

Shiv laughs slightly, and Karolina bites back a small smile at the win.

“He says it’s for safety.”

“From what, the fucking rats?”

—

One meeting.

One meeting is all that’s left and Shiv will have closed her first deal. It’s monumental. Karolina heads to her usual spot in the corner of the conference room, ready to send a play-by-play to Gerri as the proceedings begin, but Shiv stops her.

“Sit here.” Shiv taps the chair next to her. She hadn’t requested Karolina for the meetings earlier that day, or earlier that week, or, ever, but then she sees the jerky pen and the stiff posture and Karolina realizes—Shiv is nervous. She’s nervous and she wants Karolina.

So, Karolina sits there diligently. In an attempt of brevity, she slides a post-it in Shiv’s direction right before the acquisition target walks in, a swirly enjoy it in ballpoint-black that Shiv palms with a small smile before anyone else can see it. When it begins, Karolina takes notes, offers calm, affirming nods when Shiv says something, and glances in her direction. It’s going well. Until the client gets cold feet. Karolina holds her breath.

We’re just not sure we’re ready for this kind of move. We have to think about our shareholders.

But Shiv is quick on her feet.

“Forget acquisitions for just a moment,” she says. Eyes around the table look nervous as soon as the word forget tumbled out of her mouth, but she keeps going. “With our partnership, well—the integrations we can offer through our movie studios and amusement parks alone bring impressions into the millions. That’s not even factoring in our cruise lines and ATN—I mean, we get one actor on your app and the hits will be rolling in. Profits doubled within the year.”

And it’s missing something, but Shiv already knows that. She looks down at the papers in front of her. Frowns.

“Of course, with losses in the US market for five quarters straight, that’s not exactly difficult to achieve. Truthfully, if we’re talking Hollywood, that’s about as good as dead.”

(Karolina thinks she’ll savor that look forever, the gawking eyes of the men across from her as the target realized that Shiv backed them into an inescapable corner. Karolina knows the intensity of that gaze, has to wonder if she herself is moving somewhere she’ll never get out. Can’t decide if escaping is something she’d even want to do.)

—

They’re not late yet.

In ten minutes they’ll be five minutes away from being late, and it’s Karolina’s job to count, so she’s counting, but they’re not late yet. She knocks on the green room door again. No answer.

“Shiv?” she calls out, her voice met with silence. She knows Shiv’s in there. It’s the last place she’s checking and Shiv wouldn’t have just left. She tugs on the handle, and it’s unlocked. Because why shouldn’t that be the very first thing she checks?

She opens the door slowly, unsure of what could possibly be holding Shiv up other than some sort of wardrobe malfunction, but what she finds isn’t anything she had in mind. Shiv is sitting in silence, staring at herself in the mirror. Her gaze is steeled, and Karolina can see large inhales and exhales as her chest rises and falls. She steps into the room and closes the door.

“What do you want?” Shiv asks.

Karolina looks into the mirror, finding an unflinching sort of anger in Shiv’s eyes.

“They need you in the studio.”

Shiv’s first interview with a live audience. Celebrating her win. But why does it feel like there’s nothing to celebrate?

“I need a second,” Shiv says, and Karolina nods, a soft, Okay, escaping her lips.

Karolina busies herself on her phone, refreshing her email about twenty different times. This trip has been the driest her inbox has been in years. She’d have almost called it a sabbatical if it weren’t for—

“What do you normally say to Kendall?” Shiv’s voice pipes up. “When you used to prep him, what did you tell him?”

Karolina looks up again, Shiv’s eyes softer, now. Karolina isn’t sure what exactly Shiv’s getting at, what she hopes to achieve from Karolina’s response, but Karolina says it nonetheless.

“To remember what I told him.”

“Did he?”

Karolina pauses and locks her phone. She takes a tentative step closer. “Not usually.”

“Do you think I—” Shiv’s voice catches, and she has to take another deep breath. “You always tell me to—”

“Enjoy it,” Karolina finishes before her.

Shiv continues to stare straight ahead.

“This place fucking sucks.”

“I know it does,” Karolina says quietly.

Shiv looks down then, one deep breath, and then she’s back, shaking off her tears, steadying her lungs. She’d fool Karolina if she didn’t know her so well, couldn’t see the slight shake in her hands as clamoring fingers rub roughly across her wedding ring before pulling off forcefully. She stands and drops it onto the vanity in front of her, fixing her hair one last time in the mirror.

“Send that back,” Shiv says. “Don’t include a return address.”

Karolina nods, swiping it off the counter. Shiv seems to stand straighter, as if the weight of the ring itself was the very thing dragging her down.

“You ready?” Karolina asks.

“What’s it gonna be today?” Shiv asks.

“Just do what you’re here to do,” Karolina says. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“…and what we really want at Waystar is for the people to enjoy it—to come on this journey with us, so that we might look back on this time as one of growth, of innovation, and of cultivation. To know that we are all the future of the Royco family.”

And Shiv looks directly into the crowd as she says it, enjoy it, and it’s as if she’s staring right at Karolina, piercing her with those eyes, saying her words back to her exactly as they’d practiced, and that feeling returns, right in the pit of Karolina’s stomach and she knows that she’s trapped. That she’s entered the space that she cannot get out of, and that feeling follows her all the way back to the green room until the door is shut and Shiv’s drunk with applause and a few glasses of whiskey and Karolina is cornered, her back against the vanity and Shiv flush against her front.

She can’t remember how they got here. One moment they were laughing on the couch and the next they were touching. One moment Karolina was moving away and the next she was standing still. One moment Shiv was across the room and the next she wasn’t.

“Shiv,” Karolina whispers, lips hovering unbearably close to hers. She can feel every breath Shiv takes, the slight movement as Shiv moves her glass to the vanity. Shiv looks onward, unphased, staring at Karolina as if they’re both exactly where they should be, and it’s a flaw, that gnawing thought that Karolina isn’t so sure where she belongs ever, but she doesn’t have to say anything. Shiv is already searching, already reading between the script that Karolina’s building in her mind.

“Why not?” Shiv asks. As if it’s meant to happen, as if Karolina’s pushing against something that shouldn’t be fought, even though she’s desperately aware that it should be.

“You know why,” she says. Still, she doesn’t move.

“But I don’t care.”

Karolina brings her hands up to Shiv’s shoulders, feels Shiv’s wedding ring dig into her thighs through the loose fabric of her pocket, and then she lightly pushes Shiv away.

“Not now,” she says. “Not like this.”

—

She thinks about it in the moments she shouldn’t, in meetings sitting right across from Shiv, wondering what might’ve happened if she’d said yes. In press interviews, watching the way Shiv’s lips curl around the words that Karolina feeds her, the words Karolina spends hours writing down, meticulously picking them out, imagining just how Shiv is going to say them. She thinks about it at night, imagines those lips on hers as she lays in an empty apartment no more barren than the one back home, and wonders what all of this is worth, what she expects to come out of it.

(“Then when, Karolina?”

The ring, buried deep in her pocket—“Shiv—”)

—

Logan, in all of his spite, chooses Berlin.

“—God forbid he sends me to the country where I have citizenship,” Shiv says. “Or where anyone speaks fucking English.”

Karolina watches Shiv pace back and forth in her living room, hand in her hair and a warm mug of tea propped on her lap. She realizes she’s lost track of what Shiv’s saying when Shiv’s suddenly stopped moving, arm on her hip as she looks at Karolina expectantly.

“What the fuck are you smirking about?”

Karolina bites her lip, not having realized that’s what she was doing.

“He’s sending you to Berlin because business is notoriously more difficult there,” Karolina explains.

(She leaves out that she’d made the same exact complaint to Gerri just hours before Shiv barged through her door.)

“He’s happy with your performance,” Karolina adds, and Shiv stills, her brows furrowing.

“Really?”

Karolina feels it this time as she smiles at the innocence of the question. Really? Like a kid in a toy store, tantrums and all.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he trusts you.”

“Trust is a strong word,” Shiv says, moving toward the couch. “This is another one of his fucking tests, isn’t it?”

“Look who’s finally catching on,” Karolina says, playfully knocking her shoulder.

“Whatever,” Shiv scoffs, getting comfortable on the couch. She leans across Karolina to grab the remote, and the proximity sends a jolt of nerves through her gut. “I’m not leaving the country until we finish this show.”

Later—after the wine’s been poured, and poured, and the television show is complete, they sit in a comfortable silence as Karolina surfs the channels.

“This apartment is a shoebox,” Shiv says, an observation made about four months too late, considering Karolina’s going to be moving out in less than two weeks. Besides the fact that it’s not, but—

“Someone else took the penthouse,” Karolina says pointedly. Shiv ignores the dig, placing a hand over Karolina’s on the remote.

“What’s that?”

Karolina knows this one. “A bunch of celebrities get sent out into a foreign country without their personal assistants,” Karolina says. Shiv quirks an eyebrow. Sound familiar?

“It’s not that hard.”

“Sure,” Karolina says. The couch shakes as Shiv turns fully toward Karolina, resting her head on the back of the couch.

“You know they asked Kendall to be on The Surreal Life?”

Karolina laughs at the reminder. That shit show.

“They pitched a season with Lori Petty and Fabio.”

“Wait—you were there?” Shiv asks, surprised. “How long have you been at this fucking company?”

Too long.

“It was when I had just gotten hired,” Karolina says. “The PR head at the time wanted them to go for it. Thought it could make him more sympathetic to the public if he had some heartfelt moment on national television.”

“So?” Shiv says. “Why didn’t he go all Simple Life?”

Karolina shrugs. “Anyone with half a brain could figure out that Kendall shouldn’t be monitored by cameras twenty-four-seven.”

“Fair enough,” Shiv mumbles.

Karolina looks over then, Shiv still leaning on the couch lazily. Her cheeks are whiskey-flushed, glassy eyes stuck on Karolina.

“What are you doing here?” Shiv asks.

“You’re in my apartment, Shiv.”

“No,” Shiv shakes her head. “Here. In Shanghai.”

“I told you, your father is—”

“Fuck that,” Shiv says softly. “With a resumé like yours, you could go to any firm in the world. Why take a grunt position after fifteen years with a company?”

It strikes her then, that Shiv knows exactly how long Karolina has been working for Waystar. How long she’s been working up to this.

“You know why.”

“Say it,” Shiv says. “I just want to hear it from you.”

Karolina grabs her wine glass, taking a sip before answering.

“Because I want the success story,” she says. Though, no, not quite. “I-I want your success story. To be a part of it.”

Shiv tilts her head.

“It’s more than that.”

Karolina knows it is. Knows the ugly part of her ambition has been rearing its head for the last six months, knows exactly why she’s willing to sacrifice so much for what could possibly garner nothing in return.

“I don’t want the glory, Shiv,” she says. “I just want—”

But how does she explain it? That she’s happiest in the wings? Watching her plans come to fruition, hearing her words coming out of Shiv’s mouth?

“Control?” Shiv asks.

Karolina realizes how close Shiv is now.

“Power?” Shiv tries again, leaning in closer.

“Shiv—” It’s a weak attempt, but Shiv is close now, and Karolina doesn’t think she wants to push her away.

“You’re always telling me to go for the things that I want,” Shiv whispers. “To understand what it is that I deserve.”

Karolina swallows, frozen to her spot. Trapped.

“What do you think you deserve right now?” she asks.

Shiv pauses, inches away from Karolina’s lips. They lock eyes.

“What do you think I deserve?”

Karolina’s fucked.

“Anything you want.”

—

For a brief moment in time, she feels unstoppable.

Whoever said not to mix business with pleasure certainly never experienced what this feels like. Like every time they walk into a crowded room everything slows down, the attention shifts, and the moment is theirs. Every time she locks eyes with Shiv she can feel power surge, like the city only sleeps when they’re no longer in it. Every brush of the fingers in their daily sync, every sly look during a conference call, every stolen kiss behind closed doors because the arschlochs in Berlin actually bothered to give Karolina an office, affirms that she’d made the right choice all of those moons ago.

That worth, should never have been in question at all.

—

It’s vicious, the way things seem to fall apart just when they’re coming together.

“Are you serious?” Shiv asks, voice immediately loud in the privacy of her apartment. “I don’t give a fuck if Kendall’s run off into the fucking Siberian Forest or wherever the fuck they think he’s run off to, I n—you can’t just go, Karolina.”

“Shiv, please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” Karolina says. “It’s a few weeks, tops. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But you’re mine,” Shiv says. “That’s like, the whole fucking point of you.”

It’s a stark reminder, those few words, how complicated simple things can be. There are two parts of her, clawing at each other. One is Shiv’s. Her coach, glorified babysitter, scriptwriter, pep talker—all things that grew out of a role that hadn’t yet existed, a role neither of them knew she was going to fill. The other half, the more frightening half, is herself. A side to her that she can’t qualify into small little sections. The part of her that would give everything up to follow her heart, to follow Shiv.

“Yeah?” Karolina asks. “I’m just another name on your father’s payroll. Here to do your bidding, right?”

“My keynote is tomorrow, Karolina,” Shiv says, voice growing louder. “You couldn’t have asked Dad for one fucking day?”

And it’s funny, ironic in a sadistic sort of way, maybe, that the side that belongs to Shiv, is the side that forces her to leave.

“You don’t think I did?” Karolina asks. “He said you’d be fine. That if I’ve done my job correctly, you won’t even need me there. Don’t you get it? It’s a test.”

“I don’t give a shit about your stupid tests, Karolina,” Shiv says. “Fail the fucking test!”

Karolina scoffs. “This isn’t a game, Shiv. This is my life. My career.”

“Exactly. So fucking do something for yourself. For once in your life—”

“It’s not just about me,” Karolina snaps. “Leaving is for the both of us. It’s for you. I mean, Christ, Shiv—everything I fucking do it for you. Everything.”

Shiv’s nostrils flare. Maybe it’s something she can’t admit, or something that, if she admits right now, will break her—Karolina is her anchor.

“If you go—” Shiv crosses her arms, her voice rigid. “My father’s payroll, is the last payroll you’ll ever be on at Waystar.”

It’s a make-it-or-break-it, the last ultimatum she might ever receive from a hot-headed Roy, but the choice is clear to her. If she stays, Shiv fails the test. Karolina loses either way. So, she chooses Shiv, whether Shiv wants to believe it or not.

“I guess I’ll start counting my days, then,” Karolina says softly. “Good luck at the keynote. Don’t expect me at the coronation.”

—

She attempts to watch the keynote while on the road, unsure of what rainy-mountainous European countryside they’ve dragged her off to this time, but the service gets spottier the farther out into the hills they go. Instead, she picks up Kendall, cleans up his bloody nose and straightens his blazer, all while pretending she isn’t thinking about Shiv, imagining she’s sending her off for the big presentation— smoothing her hair just one more time, fingers always hovering over places they shouldn’t be; not dressing up Logan’s second eldest like a newly unboxed Lobotomy Ken.

It’s not fun. There’s no joy in it. She feeds him the script and she prays that he remembers, clutches her coffee that’s gone cold and tries not to think about the waning Berlin sun and which version of the closing paragraph Shiv had chosen to go with as thunder claps off in the distance outside the sound studio.

“I saw their plan, and my dad’s plan was better.”

It used to feel good, her words on national television. Her publicity plans making or breaking business deals, her work paying off as if it was worth something, but it’s missing something now.

(Later, under the covers, the keynote in 1080p on her hotel’s high-speed Wi-Fi—her words.

It feels like it did, before she left. As if it meant something when Shiv read her script, because it did. Because they were being said by someone who cares. And when she closes her eyes and listens as the crowd applauds, it feels like that applause is for her. Like she can take pride in this thing that she’d created. Like she passed a test. But when she opens them and sees her face, watches a smile that doesn’t quite stretch as far as she knows it can, the feeling fades. The light dims.

But it’s better this way. That’s what she’ll tell herself.)

—

“It’s bullshit.”

Karolina watches as Roman paces throughout Gerri’s office. He’d barged in without a spare glance, not that she and Gerri were in the middle of any sort of thrilling conversation—not that they’d been in any sort of conversation at all, Karolina perched on the couch in the corner of Gerri’s office as her last remaining salvation from the hordes of new underlings barging through her own door every few minutes. Still, she finds a quiet kind of amusement in the way she goes from slightly unnoticed to forgotten in a split second, a fly on the wall to Roman Roy’s first tantrum of the day. She discreetly marks a tally in her planner. This is the fourth one she’s been privy to this month alone.

“It’s business,” Gerri replies, a tired kind of sternness taking up her voice. Roman doesn’t seem to notice.

“No,” he says, like a child trying to correct their parent. “It’s bullshit. She doesn’t work here, a-and she doesn’t even want to. She’s just—showing her fucking dick.”

Gerri’s eyes move past him towards Karolina, and Karolina looks down. This is Gerri’s mess.

“She’s just coming back to shadow, Roman,” Gerri says, as if that should somehow pacify him. “You and Kendall—”

“Me and Kendall worked for this,” Roman argues. “She’s just walking back in here like she’s owed the place.”

Karolina has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing at the prospect of Roman and Kendall having worked for anything at all. An entire media conglomerate at the tips of their fingers, only shielded from them by the silver plate itself. She also has to stop herself from shouting out in a rage that Shiv has worked for this. Probably more than Roman ever has—

“Roman, if you have a problem—”

“Take it up with the big man,” Roman says, waving her off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Whatever.”

He turns around then, finally spotting Karolina. She smiles awkwardly over her laptop.

“Oh,” Roman says. “Hey, Karolina.”

“Hi, Roman.”

“Congrats on the new title.”

She’d returned to her own office and a new plaque. Head of Public Relations and Communications. It hadn’t felt like winning.

“Thank you, Roman.”

He stops in front of her, eyebrows scrunched and arms crossed.

“This doesn’t really change anything, right?” Roman says, feigning interest. “You still have to run around and tell all those press people how many sugars Dad takes in his coffee?”

Karolina shifts in her seat. Not that a squeaky twink in a two-piece is any match for her resolve, but it’s a Thursday and her patience is wearing thin, and those press people forgot the correct amount of sugar in Logan’s coffee the day before, so yeah. Maybe he hit a sore spot.

“That’s not really—”

“Now that you have some staying power, could you tell them to stop referring to me as Logan Roy’s middle child?” Roman interrupts. “I’d prefer something more debonaire like, I don’t know, C-O-O?”

“I’ll run it up the chain,” Karolina nods, not letting her smile slip.

He shrugs. “Wait—” It hits. “They sent you to Shanghai. Shiv’s in Management Training now?” He laughs. “I mean, what’s your take here? Aren’t these optics, like, a major fuckhole?”

Fuckholes aside—“It’s an exciting time for the company,” Karolina says. “That’s what I’d say.”

“God, you people are—”

—

Logan dies.

It’s drastically subtle, how she’s learning most things tend to be. One moment she’s dreading traveling halfway across the world, and the next she doesn’t want to leave. One night the only conversation she’s ever had with Shiv Roy was a brief chat on a smoke break and the next she’s leaving Shiv’s wedding ring on Tom’s desk in a plastic sandwich bag. One day Logan is alive, and the next he isn’t.

Pronounced dead in fucking Bergen County. Humiliating, really.

Karolina drafts the statement. Perfunctory, complimentary, assuring—everything the public needs to hear in all this PR nightmare’s glory, and then they don’t need it. She watches Shiv’s statement to the press from her office, the building’s floors more quiet than she’s ever heard them in all fifteen years, and it’s perfect. Everything she wrote and more, with a little bit more heart. It’s a feeling she can’t quite place, not at all like she’s passed the test—maybe someone like she’s failed it—but even still, it’s like her work is done.

It’s how she knows Shiv is going to win the seat.

(She goes to the funeral. It’s her first time seeing Shiv since Berlin. She looks older, like the six months they’d spent apart were enough to change them into entirely new people. Tom’s not at the funeral, but Karolina notices the ring. The ring that she never mailed but brought back with her, and left on Tom’s desk without a return address. She dodges Shiv at the repast, hides behind Gerri’s questioning glares and distracts them all with interim CEO gossip.

And then it's like she was never there at all.)

—

Gerri is interim CEO for one month when Shiv returns, and then it’s hers.

Nobody thinks it’s going to happen. The office buzzes in the days leading up—Kendall this, Shiv that—but then the board convenes. Logan’s last order of business—a merger with some Swedish tech outfit, and Karolina hears the rumors from the room as they come. Shiv just spent the last year crafting relationships with big tech in China. She just did a successful keynote on the future of entertainment tech in Europe. It’s hers. America’s Politico Sweetheart turned Sweet-talker of Tech. The board wants her and her shiny new relationships. She wins.

Karolina goes to the coronation. She doesn’t think she’d be able to live with herself if she didn’t. She watches from the corner as Shiv signs the dotted line, smiles for the photos, shakes hands and earns their blessing. A year ago, she wouldn’t have been ready. She most likely still isn’t ready—who could be—but it’s not the same Shiv that it would’ve been. It’s the confident Shiv. The one who believes in herself. The one who isn’t asking if she can do it anymore. The one who is doing it.

After, she goes back to her office. She thinks about packing her things, abandoning the office that she’d only gotten to use for the better part of a few months. Shiv had said it clearly, and it’s not that simple, legally, but Karolina knew the terms. She knew it could come to this. She starts a “Where I Left Off” document for Hugo—though it pains her to imagine him besting her in the end—or whoever. She hopes it’s some shiny new suit, one of those millennial consulting firms that Shiv doesn’t have to get close to.

Then Shiv shows up at her door. The air is rife with tension.

“You came,” Shiv says, breaking the ice.

Karolina sits stiffly behind her desk. “Would’ve looked bad for you if I didn’t,” she says. “The board should know you have the V-Suite’s support.” Shiv nods. That’s all it was, optics.

“I got your flowers.”

“I thought a call would’ve been unwelcome,” Karolina says. Shiv shrugs. Moves closer. That’s when Karolina notices—

“Where’s your ring?”

Shiv looks down at her hand, as if she’s just noticed it was bare. She hesitates.

“I only put it on for the cameras,” Shiv says.

“Why?” Karolina asks.

“Well—divorce is too dangerous for the brand-new, inexperienced CEO,” Shiv says.

Karolina keeps a still face. Divorce. “Who told you that?”

Shiv shrugs, walks further into the office. “It’s what I imagined you’d say,” Shiv says. “Shareholders need stability right now, Shiv. It’s not like you have to be with him. Just pretend.”

Karolina bites her lip as Shiv mocks her PR voice.

“So that’s it?” she asks.

“I mean, he’s gonna fight it,” Shiv says. “Figure out some way to say I broke the terms of the prenup. Say he sacrificed progress in his career for me to have this. It’ll be public. Ugly.”

“He won’t win,” Karolina says, immediately.

The shift is subtle. Drastic.

“I know.”

Karolina raises her eyebrows.

“He can’t,” Shiv says. Then, she looks nervous. “Not with you on my side.”

Karolina attempts to hide her surprise.

“Thought you were firing me,” Karolina replies.

Shiv shrugs.

“And I thought you weren’t coming,” she says, and Karolina wonders if Shiv understands. Understands that there’s no world where Karolina wouldn’t show up for her. Shiv leans forward in her seat. “So. How’s CCO sound?”

Karolina’s mind blanks.

“Are you serious?”

Shiv leans back, “Sure, yeah, Shiv, I’d love to be Chief Communications Officer of a female-led Fortune 500. Thanks for the offer.”

“I mean—of course, I’d love to,” Karolina’s speechless. “Is this real?”

“It’s my company, Karolina,” Shiv says. “I want you in it. I do.”

Karolina bites back the tears coming to the surface, looking down if only so that she doesn’t have to look at Shiv.

“Shiv—”

“Not now,” she says softly. “Look, I—I owe you a lot.”

Karolina nods, eyes still glued to her desk, waiting to see where this is going to go.

“And—” There’s a movement out of the corner of her eye, Shiv’s hands, playing with the empty space on her ring finger, “There are things I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Things,” Karolina repeats, letting the word move around in her mouth. Karolina looks up again. Shiv is nervous.

“Dinner. This week?”

Karolina wonders if it’s worth it, if saying yes is some sort of destructive self-entrapment that she’d missed the first time around, but Shiv standing here now, in Karolina’s office, both having achieved everything that Karolina bet they would—she can’t find it in herself to say no.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I—that would be nice.”

Shiv nods to herself, that self-satisfied small smirk Karolina hadn’t realized she missed this much until it’s gone once again, and Shiv stands, looking at her watch.

“Transition meetings all day,” she says. “I think you’re scheduled for a few.”

“I am.”

“Great,” Shiv smiles, a small smile. “I’ll see you around then.

There’s more to say, they both know it, but Karolina nods and Shiv heads for the door, pausing as her hand reaches the handle.

“Hey, Karolina?”

Karolina looks up expectantly.

What?”

Shiv smiles, an easy glint in her eye.

“Enjoy it."

#posting a fic to tumblr the morning after posting to ao3 always feels like a walk of shame of sorts #as stated on ao3 this is just moments before disaster (the divorce battle of the century and shiv’s hubris taking the whole ship down)#shivlina #shivlina fic #shiv roy x karolina novotney #duskfalls

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secondhand-snow · 7 months ago

Note

It's been over a week, and I'm still thinking about that "thinking about your wedding night with mencken" drabble. I'm obsessed with that AU 😍. Roman's jealousy, Shiv being proud, even if she hates her stepsister's groom and everything he represents, she still has this weird sense of pride over another Roy woman climbing to the top, even if her perceived power comes from the man she's with. The mother medicating herself with wine, I headcanon she does it because she herself knows what a solitary thing it is to be married off to a terrible man, just to gain more power for your deranged family. But mostly, I'm hooked on them as a couple, Mencken's inner battle with himself, her longing for a deeper connection. Chef's kiss. I wanna know more about this AU. I so can see Roman being like, "We gave you my sister, and you're still losing" on election night because he's my little goblin 😆

ahhhhh i'm so happy you liked it!!! it was genuinely such a joy to write, i finished writing and editing the entire thing in like two days because i was so obsessed with it.

omg your giving me so many ideas... i feel like an election day oneshot to continue this little universe would be so fun. the entire family would be so hilarious and sassy. and the celebratory sex when he wins?!? i might need to do it

#asks #succession #jeryd mencken #arranged au

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shivvroys · 1 year ago

Text

hold me like water (or christ, hold me like a knife)

shivlina oneshot | severance au

cw: suicide attempt, some mildly dubious consent

around 9k words

read below or on ao3

this phantom life sharpens like an image

but it sharpens like a knife

“Hi, Rose.”

The woman standing in front of her bears no resemblance to Siobhan Roy, save for the way her eyebrows scrunch in confusion. Her shoulders are hunched in on themselves, and she’s looking at Karolina like she’s begging for an extended hand—for a shaky tendril of trust to cling to.

“My name is Karolina.” she continues. “I just want to talk a bit about how you’re coming along. I know everything must still be very confusing for you.”

“Karolina—is that, are you…” the woman looks down at her fidgeting hands.

“No. I’m not.”

It’s the only thing she can bring herself to say. What could she tell the other woman (Shiv? Not-Shiv?) that wouldn’t make what they’re doing seem even more inhumane?

No, my brain hasn’t been torn apart and filed away into neat little boxes. I have a past beyond a cold fiberboard desk and a present that doesn’t stop at a threshold. I can’t even begin to understand what you must be going through but I’m here to twist it into whatever I need it to be.

If you reach your hand out the most I can give you is a pen to sign the press release.

Not-Shiv—Rose—nods absentmindedly, her eyes darting around the grey walls of the room they’re in. Karolina had asked for a private room to talk in, but the whole thing is starting to feel less like a semi-formal interview, and more like an interrogation.

Karolina looks down at the bullet points she’d prepared beforehand, and cringes at how sterile they feel.

Have you accommodated to the working conditions?

How easy do you find it to concentrate on your tasks?

What does a working day look like for you?

Do you get along with your colleagues?

Do you still feel who you are—is it all gone? Does it feel like a void or a locked door? Is there freedom in that?

Sighing, she rearranges her notes.

She’d read Shiv—Rose’s report. Out of everyone involved in the trial, she’s had the most difficulty adapting. A broken pair of speakers, a guard who’d narrowly missed having his eye gouged out. Karolina supposes that must be the remnants of Shiv they hadn’t managed to untangle. A tiny chip could only hold back so much of Siobhan Roy’s stubbornness.

“Rose, I know you’ve had a…rough time adjusting to the program. It’s perfectly normal, given—”

“Is it?” the other woman cuts her off. “How would you know, Karolina? Who gave you your name?”

For a split-second, the glint in her eyes becomes strikingly familiar, sending a shiver down Karolina’s spine.

“Right.” she clears her throat. “Let’s begin, shall we? What does a working day look like for you?”

As time goes on, each visit to the severed floor begins to weigh down on Karolina. Each week she marches into Logan’s office and has to look Shiv in the eye and tell her just how miserable she is. How much fear and pain can still linger in a person even when you’ve stripped everything away. How Karolina’s grown a perpetual nausea watching all of it unfold.

“She doesn’t trust me.” she says, during one of their updates. At least she’s managed to keep herself from glancing at Shiv every time she is mentioned. “Her answers are always neutral or positive, but the defiant behavior is still ongoing. We can’t risk putting out a statement at the moment.”

“How hard is it to gain her trust—she’s a blank fucking slate. Do they even understand the concept of trust?”

Shiv crosses her arms, eyebrows furrowed, and Karolina briefly wonders if Shiv is aware of her own body, if she understands that the person they are talking about isn’t just a shadow, a trick of the light that resides anywhere other than inside herself. She wonders if Shiv can feel her, somewhere deep within herself, if she hears the scratching at the door.

As far as Logan is concerned, he looks at her like he always does—as if the fact that she’s even brought up a problem without immediately providing a solution to it is a testament of her incompetence and a waste of his time.

Between the two of them, Karolina feels like an accomplice to a murder.

“Maybe if we were to bring someone, um— a professional, maybe it could help?”

“What, a fucking therapist?” Shiv scoffs. “How’s that going to work? ‘So, tell me about your relationship with your parents.’ ‘Um, I have no idea because my memory is three weeks old.’”

“I just mean someone who can make her feel more comfortable. Ease the adjustment period.”

“No.” Logan finally decides to join their conversation. “I don’t want more people on this. Tight fucking lid.”

“Well, we have to speed things along.” Shiv declares, with all the finality of someone who doesn’t plan on lifting a finger to help. “We can’t show up to the launch and tell our shareholders our innovative program’s showing great results—if you just disregard the faint screaming coming from the basement.”

Logan nods, two sides of the same cruel coin.

Karolina suppresses an eye-roll, busying her hands with the pen she’s holding. “Okay. Then can I at least suggest a less—formal setting? I think the environment is contributing to the distress.”

Logan shrugs, already wiping his hands cleans of the situation. As if it isn’t his daughter scratching SOS's into her arm with bent paperclips. As if the person whose fate they’re disregarding isn’t at least physically in the room with them, locked away in a forgotten synapse. As if the woman in front of Karolina doesn’t wring her hands the same fucking way when she’s anxious, doesn’t narrow her eyes when she smells bullshit from miles away, doesn’t breathe and sigh and blink the same fucking way as the scared woman begging to be freed from that Orwellian nightmare. Begging to become someone, to become real.

That’s all she’d been talking about during their interviews. Being real. Asking Karolina questions about the real world that Karolina’s had to evade, for fear of interfering with the subject’s perception of their own existence. Asking her for any form of individuality, for anything she can hold that didn’t come in an onboarding package. That didn’t have a filing number or a code to scan.

“Do whatever you need. Just get it done.” Logan grunts, with a dismissive wave. “I don’t want Matsson’s suits sniffing around my fucking panty drawer.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Karolina nods, like she’d ever asked to be involved in this whole inevitable gross violation of human rights. If anything, the only thing she’s glad about is the access to information it gives her, for when she’ll have to put out the fire that’s already starting to smoke up their entire building.

“We apologize for breaking virtually every international human rights convention, but we really would rather employees stop moaning about their depressing lives around the water fountain.”

That had been Shiv’s initial reaction to the project. Karolina wouldn’t dare to ask what had managed to change her mind so radically in just a couple of months—doesn’t spare a glance to the faint shadow on her ring finger, or the striking silence left by Roman and Kendall’s absence, one currently bankrupting their LA studio, the other having disappeared off to some island with warm beaches and relaxed attitudes towards Class-A drugs.

Seeing it from both sides, though, having to take that goddamned elevator and talk to those half-people—Karolina feels something within herself slowly being ripped apart.

Karolina hears it in her dreams a lot—that elevator. A faint hum, then a soft ding, and she finds herself suddenly lost, feels a heavy fog envelop her mind. The walls are too bright, and her reflection keeps melting away as she tries to catch a glimpse of herself on the cool steel of the elevator doors. In the dream, she walks along miles upon miles of empty corridors, and names everything she knows—street names, distant cousins, names of birds and brands of cereal, until the only things she can name are the dark carpet flooring, the bright walls, the feet walking along the corridor. Until she looks down at her hands and wonders whose body she’s seeing.

Each time, she wakes up and checks her alarm twice, then walks into the kitchen and checks that the stove isn’t on. When she gets back into bed, she checks her phone again—just to make sure she hadn’t forgotten to set her alarm.

“Hello, Rose.”

The woman wearily takes in the room.

“What is this place?” she says as she settles down on a couch opposite Karolina.

“I thought it might be nice to have a less—formal place to have our meetings.”

She’d initially asked for a room with warm lighting, maybe a plant thrown in for some semblance of life. Naturally, Logan had provided her with more than enough resources, essentially turning her calming space into a fucking rainforest.

“Are these real?”

They both turn to assess the various plants covering the room.

Karolina huffs an embarrassed laugh, shaking her head. “I’m actually not sure.”

Sensing an opportunity, she gets up, signaling for the other woman to follow her. She does, cautiously approaching Karolina as she singles out a Monstera leaf.

“Rip a bit off. See if it’s real.”

Rose looks at her with wide eyes, reaching a tentative hand to caress the plant.

“Won’t it wilt?”

Karolina doesn’t react at first, but it takes all of her strength not to gawk at the image of Siobhan Roy being concerned about the safety of a house plant. Instead, she gives the other woman a small smile, before pressing a finger into the plant’s pot, feeling the wet soil.

“It’s real.”

“Hm.” the woman nods. “Pretty.”

Before she returns to the couch, Karolina catches a faint scratch mark peeking out from under Rose’s shirt collar.

“Sorry if I sound like a broken record, but how have you been, Rose?”

Rose shrugs, sticking her hands under her thighs and keeping her attention on the various items of décor some intern had probably picked out of an IKEA catalogue.

“I only filed forty-two resignation requests this week, so…”

“Okay.” Karolina jots down forty-two on her notepad, before realizing she isn’t here to actually act as a therapist, and the only thing she needs from Rose is confirmation that whatever bullshit she’ll put in the press release won’t come back to bite her in the ass. She drops the notepad entirely, crossing her fingers over her knee instead.

“That’s good.” she urges the woman to continue.

“Can I just ask—” she starts, gesturing to the room. “No one else has to have these meetings.”

“Right.” Karolina nods. “Well, seeing as you’ve had a harder time adjusting, we thought it might be beneficial to talk to…” she hesitates, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. “…someone.” She squeezes her knuckles together tightly, hoping her face doesn’t betray the disappointment in her own lie.

“So, you’re like my counselor?” Rose frowns.

Karolina cuts her off with a tight smile. “No. Just someone…to talk to.” A part of her wants to ask Rose’s monitors if they could throw her a bone and erase this entire day from the woman’s mind, too.

“Good. ‘Cause you haven’t counseled me for shit.” Rose laughs, which might be the first time Karolina’s seen her show any sort of positive emotion, except for one of their first meetings, when Karolina had briefly asked her about the incident regarding the guardian’s eye.

It’s unsettling, how much and simultaneously how little of Shiv she sees in that smile, how much room it takes up on her face, how nicely the light settles in the lines laughter has carved into her cheeks.

Shiv grows restless. As the resignation requests diminish in frequency, and the size of Rose’s behavioral report stagnates, Karolina senses the woman’s weariness at being left in the dark. Knowing that there is a part of her that continues to exist outside of her conscious control is beginning to take a toll on Shiv.

“How’s my corpo twin? Haven’t had to scrub any sharpie off of my torso in a while.”

As usual, she barges into Karolina’s office, feigning disinterest while tapping her fingers rhythmically against the back of a chair or fiddling with Karolina’s pen holder.

Karolina blinks. She’s equally horrified and in awe of how much Siobhan insists on detaching herself from the war being waged inside of her own mind.

“Good. I think we’re making some valuable progress.”

“Uh huh.” Shiv nods. “And—what, is there some sort of observer-lab rat confidentiality?” she frowns, sensing Karolina’s apprehension.

“No, it’s just—” Karolina pauses. She gets the sense that the equation Shiv’s using is a double-edged sword. That her own role in this project changes depending on which floor those elevator doors swing open to. “I thought it might be, I don’t know, a bit uncomfortable—for you?”

Shiv sizes her up, zeroing in on her face like a microscope lens twisted into focus. She crosses her arms, perching on the edge of Karolina’s desk. Her hip almost bumps into Karolina’s laptop.

“Why would it be?” she asks.

Although her brain is intact, Karolina feels her own mind being split apart. She looks up at Shiv, her head illuminated by the harsh neon light coming in from the hallway while her hands are tinged amber by Karolina’s desk lamp—a half-frozen, half-burning divoženka.

And Karolina would answer her call, which is what scares her the most. She’s gone too deep, dove headfirst into this cruel experiment and now finds herself enticed by the prospect of taking a closer look at the thread that separates Shiv from Not-Shiv—wants to follow that stitched line and see where the two cross over and where they break apart. Where the medical technician had carved out who gets the anger and who gets the fear, who laughs and who scowls.

Do the lives inside this woman stumble over each other, strain and push against the other for space, like twins in the womb? Or do they lay curled in on themselves, picking at the wound where another half should be—aching with the phantom pain of the other.

Would Shiv know to follow the same trail along a Monstera leaf? Would her fingers instinctively know to hold it lightly?

“Right, sorry.” Karolina clears her throat. “Here are the notes I’ve been keeping. We have some promising answers about the workflow, though there’s still a lot of questions about their tasks, which seems to be a collective issue—most subjects have asked why they’ve been assigned the work, and what the gathered data is used for.”

Shiv narrows her eyes but decides to drop the subject, choosing to halfheartedly leaf through Karolina’s notes instead.

“Nice handwriting.” she murmurs.

“Thank you.”

“What’s it like up there?”

Karolina sighs. They’ve had this discussion too often lately, and she’s began to find it increasingly hard to put up any defense in front of those sad, crystalline eyes.

“Come on…” Rose whines, puffing out her cheeks. “All I have is that stupid fucking calendar. Aloha from the world’s fakest beach!”

It’s a lighthearted comment, but it stirs something dark and uncomfortable in Karolina. Down here, she realizes, there aren’t even any windows to let some fresh air pass through. The staff has had to switch out a plant every week, as they’ve kept on dying. The only light Rose has ever known has come from a bulb, a wire in the wall connected to the living beast that is the Waystar enterprise and its newly acquired parasite, Gojo.

Rose, like her above-ground twin, drives a hard bargain.

“Can you at least give me something? From out there?”

“I think it’s best if we just focus on right here.” she tries to convey as much sympathy as she can without revealing too much of just how fucked up Rose’s out there is.

Rose doesn’t let her continue. “Please, Karolina. You said you were someone I could talk to…so talk to me.”

“Of course. But I’m here more as a listener, than—”

“And what do I have to talk about!?” she crosses her arms, throwing daggers at Karolina. “I know how to sort files into boxes and that whoever owns my body won’t let me fucking die. That’s about everything I have to talk about—everything I know about the world.”

Karolina bites her lip, avoiding the other woman’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

The apology only seems to fuel her frustration. She rises from her cross-legged position on the couch to start pacing the room, occasionally stopping to assess one of the plants.

“You work for them, too, right?”

Karolina nods. “Yes, I do.”

“And they pay you?”

“They do.”

“What’s the first thing you buy when you get a paycheck?”

Karolina laughs without meaning to. It’s almost…endearing—to have one of the world’s richest people ask her what she buys when a paycheck comes through, as if it’s an event she believes should be celebrated.

Rose tilts her head, frowning at Karolina. “What?”

“Nothing, sorry.” she looks down, trying to suppress a smile. “I don’t really keep track of that, I couldn’t tell you.”

Rose lets out a disappointed huff, running her finger along the braided trunk of a pachira. The money tree. She contemplates Karolina’s answer, carefully preparing her next approach tactic.

“God, I fucking hate that constant buzzing.”

Despite the tiny speaker blaring soothing nature sounds, the humming of the lights is the only thing bouncing off the walls. They both turn their heads to look at the neon light fixtures and the colonies of dead flies trapped in them.

Were those the only animals she’d ever seen?

Unlike Shiv, Rose wears her misery right on her sleeve, and the shadows under her eyes seem to grow in waves as another drop falls into her already overfilling bucket. When she lowers her head to meet Karolina’s gaze, there are tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

“I can’t live like this. This isn’t a life.”

All Karolina can do is stare at the other woman. Clutch her hands together in repentance and give her the smallest grace she can manage—to look at her and acknowledge the living, breathing person standing in front of her. To make Rose as real as the plants surrounding them, and hope that the fact that life is slipping away from them both is proof that there is life there to begin with.

She only tears her eyes away from the other woman when she feels her phone buzz in her pocket. It isn’t anything important, but as she dismisses the notification pop-up, she remains still, weighing the device in her hand. The audio speaker in the corner of the room lets out a high-pitched noise as the audio loops for the hundredth time.

“You’re right.” she says, looking up at Rose. “That noise is driving me crazy. How about some music?”

Rose’s eyebrows shoot up, her mouth falling slightly open.

“Real music?”

Karolina nods, letting out a shaky breath. She opens her music app, before extending the phone out towards the other woman.

“Your pick.”

Rose tentatively grabs the device, cradling it in her hands and carefully moving her fingers across the screen. It only lasts a moment, though, before her teeth grab at her bottom lip, and she’s furrowing her brows in concentration as she scrolls away through the app.

“I don’t know any of these.”

“Just pick whatever looks interesting.”

She watches her scroll back and forth for a few minutes, before standing up and taking the phone back.

“Here, let me.”

Unfortunately, Karolina finds herself facing the same kind of pressure, as she realizes this is the first time Rose has heard any real music, save for the occasional droning instrumental they use for ambiance. In these conditions, it’s easy to understand one’s urge to gouge someone’s eye out. Sighing, she opens a random suggested playlist and hits the shuffle button.

Let fate and malicious algorithms decide.

Whatever moment she’d imagined as Rose’s first exposure to real music, it doesn’t exactly come to life as the fucking Eurythmics start blaring from her phone’s speaker, moaning about angels playing with hearts.

“Shit, sorry. Let me find something better.”

As her hands move rapidly to look for something more appropriate, she feels Rose’s fingers wrap around her wrist.

“No, leave it.”

As the music swells, Karolina watches Rose close her eyes, quietly humming along as she learns the words to the chorus, her hand still wrapped around Karolina’s. It breaks Karolina’s heart to watch how such a small and insignificant of a gesture can light up the other woman’s face like a divine act.

When the song reaches its bridge, and a loud saxophone takes over, Rose finally opens her eyes, mouth widening into a shocked grin.

Karolina can’t keep the corners of her own mouth from rising up into a wide smile.

“You like it?”

Rose nods, grin not leaving her face until the song fades out, returning them to the chorus of neon lights and AI-generated chirping.

She flashes Karolina an exaggerated frown, even pouting slightly. “Another one?”

A very hard bargain.

As Karolina looks down at the phone, trying to pick another song, she realizes Rose’s hand is still wrapped around her own.

It all starts to fall apart on a Friday.

The date isn’t the significant part, except for its marker as the end of an interminably long workweek, and the beginning of a wasted weekend.

Logan had been riding her ass all week, demanding a first draft of the launch presentation for his precious project. On top of that, he’d also expected her to make a very scathing expose disappear, while also putting out some of Gojo’s fires, now that their own comms team had been left with an Ebba-shaped hole to fill.

What begins the end of it all is a glass of water. Perilously perched on the edge of a coffee table, Karolina doesn’t even notice it until it’s too late. She’s listening to Rose talk about how frustrating the repetition involved in her tasks has become, while Nina Simone croons softly in the background.

Since that day, Karolina had let Rose fiddle with her music app during every meeting, choosing a couple of songs that she’d then dissect with Karolina, before they’d let the music keep playing in the background while they carried on with their mandatory discussion.

“I really don’t get it. Why would they need people to have no memories just to sort some files into boxes? It’s all bullshit.”

As Rose continues to pour out her anger, thumb worried between her teeth, Karolina finds an unsettling feeling of déjà vu wash over her. She’s not sure if it’s that, or the mountain of pressure building on her temples that prompts it, but as she starts to drift away from the conversation, sinking into a mindless buzzing, her tapping foot bumps into the table, knocking that damned glass of water down.

She only gets startled back to reality when she sees Rose rush across the table to catch it. She misses it, and the glass shatters into tiny shards, the water splashing Karolina’s ankles.

Before she can fully comprehend what’s happened, she sees the other woman lean down to pick up the broken pieces of glass, her knees almost touching the mess on the floor. She reaches a hand out to stop her, grabbing her arm.

“Don’t, Shiv, there’s glass—”

“Shiv?”

She drops Not-Shiv’s arm like it’s scorching coal.

“I meant there’s shards everywhere.” She clears her throat, not daring to meet the other woman’s eyes as she busies herself with picking up the biggest pieces of broken glass.

“No.” Rose cuts her off firmly. “No, that’s not—you said Shiv.”

“I must have misspoke. I meant to say there are shards of glass—”

Roses fixes her with an incredulous stare. “Bullshit, Karolina!”

All Karolina can do is shake her head and try to suppress the dreadful heat rising up her neck. She can mould her face into whatever mask is needed to placate Rose, but she can do very little to stop her hands from shaking.

“Is that me?” Rose whispers. “Is that her? Shiv?”

Whatever mask she thinks she’s wearing crumbles as Karolina looks up to meet Rose’s wide eyes.

She’s had to deliver bad news thousands of times during her time at Waystar. News about world wars, about deaths and lawsuits and every kind of fucked up event in-between. But never like this, never to the person that’s been wronged. Never having to face her own guilt, staring down at her own fingerprints on the bloody knife.

“I’ll get someone to clean all of this up.”

She doesn’t give the other woman time to reply, heading straight for the door. Before she can open it, though, a slender had wedges itself between her and the threshold.

“I’ll tell them.”

“What?” Karolina frowns.

The fractured image of Siobhan projected inside of Karolina’s mind grows even blurrier as she takes in Rose’s sharp glare and set jaw.

“I have a feeling this was a major fuck-up for you, Karolina. I’ll tell.”

They stand there, locked in a stalemate, unmoving for what feels like ages. Karolina quietly runs through every possible scenario this could evolve into, and the only conclusion she reaches is that she’s fucking exhausted. That if Shiv wants to invent new and creative means of self-flagellation she should do so without collateral. That one million a year is really only minimum wage when you’re in the devil’s pocket.

She takes a deep, steadying breath, her chest almost bumping the other woman’s. She’s never noticed just how many freckles are scattered across her face, from the bridge of her nose, and all along her temples. There’s a tiny one, barely visible, just above her lip.

“It’s Siobhan. Your—her name.”

“Is she planning a coup or something?”

“I’m sorry?”

Shiv shakes her head, throwing the file back on Karolina’s desk.

“What—two weeks ago she was biting security guards, and now she’s mindless drone of the month?” her eyes narrow as she scrunches her face. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Karolina doesn’t answer, letting Shiv run herself ragged coming up with as many theories as she needs to, before settling on whichever one she finds most satisfying. Over the past few months, she’d unwillingly come to learn much more than she’d ever wanted about the inner workings of Siobhan Roy’s mind—both sides of it. When Shiv found something to toy with, it was best to let her tire herself out, before quietly stepping in to unravel whatever tangle she’d gotten herself stuck in.

Karolina continues working, occasionally nodding or humming along to Shiv’s rambling. She almost wishes it was harder to hide the reason for Rose’s sudden complacency from Shiv. That there was some deep, visceral connection between the two, and Shiv could feel the quiet misery slowly draining the life out.

She knows it’s all temporary, this state of suspended existence—that feeding Rose morsels of her life above ground will only sustain her for so long. That Karolina only has so much information to give her until she’ll hit something raw and ugly and painful. Things she doesn’t feel she has the right to share—that she’s only ever been a passive observer to.

“Are you fucking her?”

“Excuse me?” Karolina’s eyes snap up to meet Shiv’s smirk.

“Oh, so you were actually listening, and I wasn’t talking to myself like an idiot?” she frowns, twisting a pen between her fingers.

She doesn’t wait for Karolina to respond as she gets up from her chair and drops the pen back in its holder, narrowly avoiding knocking the whole thing over.

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Karolina.”

She silently watches Shiv strut out of her office and only lets out an incredulous laugh when she’s back home, wine glass in hand and staring dumbly at the tiny digital clock above her stove.

Goddamn self-fulfilling prophecy.

It’s her own goddamn fault, for letting Rose drag her up to dance. Rose’s song of choice doesn’t leave much room for actual movement, but it’s nine pm on a Tuesday, so Karolina decides to indulge her. That’s how she finds herself holding the other woman while lazily swaying to Steely Dan like two drunkards refusing to leave the bar after everyone’s already gone home.

As the song slowly starts to fade out, Karolina starts to pull away, until a soft hand settles at the base of her neck, keeping her in place. The look in Rose’s eyes spells trouble in bright neon letters, yet the only thought Karolina can conjure as the woman leans in to kiss her is that her cheeks turn the warmest shade pink when she’s flushed.

“Rose, we can’t.”

Karolina lowers her head, though she makes no move to break the embrace, her hands resting on Rose’s hips, Rose resting her forehead against hers.

“Says who?” she whispers.

“It’s not right. Siobhan—”

Rose scoffs, raising her head. “Do you know how many bruises I’ve found on our hips? Do I have any say in that?”

“I can’t—” Karolina sighs.

“I love you.”

Karolina snaps her head up, staring blankly at the other woman.

“What?” she laughs softly. “No, you don’t.”

“I do.” Rose presses. Her brows are furrowed, but her face is the most open plane of life Karolina’s seen. “I think I do.”

Karolina shakes her head. She brings a tentative hand up to cradle Rose’s jaw. “You barely know me.”

“I know you more than I know anything in the world.”

“Rose.”

What a terribly small world to live in.

Karolina knows her words might have more of an impact if her hands could let go. Instead, she turns her gaze as her fingers grip Rose tighter—all her conviction tangled somewhere among the green leaves surrounding them, fading away like the tail-end of a love song.

“Fine, I don’t love you. But I want to kiss you. And I think you want to kiss me.”

There it is, that familiar look of untamed resolve. The shiny pin to their homemade bomb.

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Rose shakes her head, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Yes, it does, Karolina.”

She knows it’s only the size of the room—the shoebox of a life they’re keeping this woman captive in, that’s made her cling to Karolina like this. That’s made Rose see her as this big figure, this center of some imagined Universe.

In a way, they are both only as alive as they’ve made each other—only as alive as these four walls will allow them to be.

It’s never going to survive those elevator doors, anyway.

Karolina leans forward.

With the stress of the project’s impending launch, Siobhan’s frustration heightens. It doesn’t help that Karolina suddenly finds it nearly impossible to maintain eye-contact with her, and some important meeting seems to spring up every single time Shiv steps foot into her office.

What she fails to consider, in her flawless avoidance strategy, is Shiv’s determination, and her willingness to track Karolina down all the way into Waystar’s execute suite communal bathroom.

“Hey.”

She turns her head sharply to see Shiv hovering near the sinks. “Shiv, hi.”

Karolina side-steps her, feigning focus on washing her hands. Stalling, she performs the task as if she were scrubbing in to perform surgery.

Shiv pretends to make for the door, before turning around as if remembering something. “Oh, just real quick—how long have you been fucking her?”

Karolina freezes, hands clutched together under the water stream, praying for some form of divine intervention. Some perfectly timed rapture.

“I’m sorry?” she doesn’t look directly at Shiv, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror instead.

Shiv takes another step towards her, reaching to close the running tap. “Mhm. Are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Siobhan.”

Shiv reaches behind her to grab some paper towels from the dispenser, which Karolina rips out of her hand with more force than she intends.

“See, I thought that might’ve been the case for a while, too.” Shiv tilts her head. “But it all makes sense now—the resignation requests suddenly disappearing, all those cute little quotes you’ve been feeding my dad. All quiet on the severed floor, sir!”

“I’m just doing my job.” Karolina swallows a nervous tremor.

“Uh huh. Well, you’re doing something.”

As Shiv steps even closer to her, Karolina finds herself frozen in place, hands gripping the dirty porcelain sink. Her head feels unmoored, and she doesn’t know how Shiv manages to twist her around until their position is reversed, and it’s Karolina’s back resting against the sink, Shiv’s body keeping her trapped in place.

“I can assure you, Siobhan, nothing is—”

Shiv cuts her off, reaching a hand towards the collar of her shirt. “How’d you get that bruise, Karolina?”

Instead of letting go, Shiv starts trailing her finger along the exposed skin of Karolina’s neck. Where Rose’s touch felt like a cool, cleansing breeze, Shiv’s feels like molten lava, like hot iron branding every inch of Karolina’s skin.

“I—that’s…” Karolina mumbles, finding it very hard to concentrate as Shiv’s mouth replaces her hand, leaving feather-light kisses across her neck, and all the way up to the back of her ear.

“Let me guess, hair straightener? Come on…” Her breath is hot in Karolina’s ear, leaving goosebumps all along the back of her neck. “It’s still my body, I know when I’ve been fucked. And your perfume lasts longer than you think.”

There’s a fleeting thought running through Karolina’s mind that this is fucked up on levels that she isn’t sure even Hell is equipped to handle, but Shiv’s hands are heavy and precise like scalpels as they roam all over her body, and the only thing Karolina can do is let them.

All she can do is stare into Shiv’s eyes and tighten her grip on the sink as the buttons of her pants slowly come undone.

“Muscle memory, right?” Shiv grins, whispering into her hair.

She barely makes any noise as Shiv fucks her against the dirty bathroom sink, her breathing almost lost among the incessant buzzing of the neon lights. As a small act of mercy, Shiv lets Karolina lean her head against her shoulder, their bodies forming a shield over this looming death sentence. This small death.

Karolina comes with a heavy, shuddering breath, a hand reaching up to grab Shiv’s forearm. As Shiv withdraws her hand from her body, the lack of warmth brings Karolina back to reality, and her legs begin to shake for an entirely different reason. Instead of washing her hands, Shiv pops her fingers straight into her mouth, locking eyes with Karolina. Once she’s satisfied with the show she’s putting on, she takes them out and pulls Karolina into a messy, forceful kiss—all teeth and angry grunting.

Finally, she lets go of Karolina, moving around her to actually wash her hands.

“She’s got good taste, I’ll give her that.” she doesn’t spare a glance in Karolina’s direction.

“Siobhan...”

Shiv cuts her off. “You’re off the project.” She dries her hands, waiting for Karolina to meet her gaze before continuing. “You know, you could’ve just asked.”

Later that night she emails Shiv the latest draft of the launch statement, along with firing a text to her assistant to have all of physical her note files sent over to Ms. Roy’s office. She could scan her own damn files. After she’s scrubbed her computer empty of any trace of the Janus project, she empties an entire bottle of wine and stares out her window at the skyline until the sun sets and the only thing she can see is her own reflection on the glass pane.

In a way, she feels grateful for the lack of choice. For the ease with which she’s able to sever all ties to this entire fucking mess. She lets the guilt pool inside of her like a bowl of hot soup, settles into it cozily as she gets into bed—whatever nightmare she has that night, the only thing that lingers from it by the following morning is a gasping breath and a hand grasping at the dark.

She hears about it from Greg, of all fucking people. He corners her in the staff kitchen, practically galloping with excitement. She tunes most of his droning out, until the words ambulance and severed floor tumble out of his mouth.

“Greg, what are you talking about?”

He blinks, gawking at her.

“Oh, man, they—uh, I thought you might have heard? It feels kind of, um, big? In terms—well, from the media perspective of it. It sound kind of…like, an event?”

Karolina resists the urge to smack the stale croissant out of his spidery hands.

“What happened, Greg?” she grits her teeth.

“It’s Shiv. Well, kind of? Her innie, um, she—well she kind of attempted, well—not suicide, but so—”

Karolina doesn’t let him finish the rest of his sentence before storming out, calling every contact she has on the severed floor. She doesn’t have to fish much for information, because soon enough, Logan’s calling her into his office, furious and aghast, ordering her down to the severed floor to tie up any loose ends. Nothing gets out past that goddamn elevator.

She makes the journey like a man on death row heading down for his final sentencing—her head held high and numb hands frozen into fists. She doesn’t expect there to be a bloodbath down there, but the stark white walls burn her eyes as the elevator doors swing open.

She’s greeted by one of the security guards, who talks her through the event in more detail than she feels able to stomach, then makes it a point to say how great it is that there were no witnesses, except for the monitor who walked in on it.

They reach the interview room just as the cleaning staff is making their way out, which eases some of the dread rapidly building in Karolina’s stomach. The room looks just as it had the last time she’d been there, save for some new plants. Life had a habit of desperately trying to escape this god forsaken place.

As Karolina takes in the room, instructing the security guard on how to handle the impending murmur of the rest of the project participants, she spots it. The letter opener. Shiny and smooth, tucked just under the couch Rose would always occupy during their meetings, where she’d last held her, humming Burnin’ for You in Rose’s hair and indulging in some half-baked dream of an easy life, a kinder life for the both of them—just until the song ended.

She barely makes it to the toilet in time for her body to purge all those fucking dreams away.

Later, when her doorbell rings in the middle of the night, her first thought is that it might be the FBI, a thought that washes over her with much more relief than it should.

“Hi.”

Karolina grips the door frame, trying to suppress the shiver that runs through her. It isn’t the police knocking on her door to demand payment for her crimes, but a much crueler executioner.

“How did you get my address?” she whispers, words barely having the strength to reach past her frozen lips.

Shiv smiles, shrugging almost playfully.

“Maybe I had you chipped as well.” she raises her eyebrows, before crossing her arms and feigning a shiver. “Are you gonna let me in, or what? I’ve got, like, blood loss anemia—I’m fucking freezing.”

“Come in.”

Karolina steps back, almost hitting the wall as she lets Shiv pass through. As they make their way into the living room, Karolina starts turning on every light, not trusting Shiv to not vanish into the cold air of the night.

“Why are you here, Siobhan?” she asks, once they’ve run out of steps to take, and are forced to face each other again.

Shiv tries to shrug nonchalantly, which only makes the bandage peeking out of from under her right sleeve stick out like more.

“Well, everyone keeps saying they don’t know how this fucking mess could’ve happened. And you’re the only one who stuck her finger deep enough in the pie to make it talk, so...” she pulls at her sleeves until her hands are covered entirely. “Thought you might shed some light on the situation.”

Karolina swallows down the shame burning at her core. “I can’t help you, I’m sorry.”

Shiv raises a pointed eyebrow at her, delighting in Karolina’s discomfort. “What, she not that into pillow talk?”

It almost feels like nothing’s changed, and they’re still in Karolina’s office, Shiv toying with her stationery and trying to get a rise out of her. Like it could have ever just stayed that easy.

“Siobhan…” she sighs. “You can’t keep doing this.”

She isn’t sure if she means to Rose or to yourself.

Shiv scoffs, shaking her head and taking an angry step towards Karolina. “How the fuck is any of it my fault?”

She looks smaller, dressed in an oversized sweater and jeans. And younger, her face bare and paler than Karolina would like to see her. There’s an ache in Karolina’s chest that makes her heart skip a beat, as the images of Shiv and Rose keep blurring in her mind. As the stitches start coming apart.

“What did you expect to happen when you force humans to exist in a cubicle?” she sighs, crossing her arms. “She’s miserable, Shiv. She kept trying to tell you.”

Shiv frowns, breathing out a cruel laugh.

“She doesn’t fucking exist, Karolina. That’s not a real person, it’s just—I don’t know, a fucking black hole in my brain.”

Her hand slices through the air, emphasizing her every sentence—each motion flashing the strip of gauze wrapped around her hand.

“Am I a real person, Shiv? What makes me real to you? The fact that your father needs me to clean up his messes for the public eye?”

She knows bringing Logan into the discussion is a low blow, but she’s gone too deep, stuck her hand out too far into the flames to pretend she doesn’t enjoy stoking them.

Shiv shakes her head. “That’s not—”

“That black hole is a part of you, and she’s begging for your help.”

“It’s not really a plea if you’re holding a weapon, is it? Sounds more like a threat.”

Karolina doesn’t know when it’s happened, but Shiv is standing right in front of her, red-rimmed eyes peering into hers like a blind animal—seeking comfort with bared teeth and shaking legs.

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot in common.”

Shiv doesn’t respond, looking down before raising her bandaged hand and holding it out between them.

“Wanna see it?” she whispers.

She looks up, daring Karolina.

“I…” Karolina hesitates briefly, before nodding. “Okay.”

It’s not guilt that makes her accept, but the rapid rise and fall of Shiv’s chest. The shaking force of her set jaw. The way her eyes seem to beg Karolina to say no. To turn her back on this ugly wound and confirm its shame. Make it something to be hidden.

Karolina refuses. Despite the murmuring thrum of her heart, she looks down at the torn, broken flesh of Shiv and shows her she still sees a whole person.

She takes the outstretched hand and cradles it as gently as she can. She ghosts her finger along the angry stitches, trailing the length of it. Then, she continues up the length of Shiv’s arm, up to her elbow—the length of life that still remains untouched.

Shiv looks on blankly, though Karolina can feel the tiny goosebumps erupting along her arm.

“She didn’t hit an artery, so…” she finally says, locking eyes with Karolina. “Still in business.” she gestures crudely with her middle and ring fingers.

The serious expression on her face as she does it sends Karolina into a fit of laughter, carefully trying not to distress the injured hand in her grasp.

“Siobhan.” she admonishes.

They laugh quietly for a moment, before she watches Shiv’s face fall as her shoulders start shaking more frantically. Her breathing falls into quiet sobs, and it isn’t long before she collapses on Karolina’s shoulder, right arm cradled between them. Karolina doesn’t whisper soft encouragements into her ear, or kiss her head, but she holds Shiv until her breathing evens. And when she feels the trembling force in her arms subside, Karolina takes the bandage and gently wraps Shiv’s wrist again, holding onto it for a second before letting her go.

Far be it for a man like Logan Roy to let something as insignificant as his daughter’s near-death get in the way of his project’s launch.

The minor setback gets dealt with swiftly and efficiently, the only trace of it gone with Friday’s garbage collection.

That’s how Karolina ends up being stuck smiling at shareholders and sweating through silk as the bright projecting lights split her brain in two, Logan and Mattson having spared no expenses for their beloved pet project. The giant rotating gold coin stirs a wave of nausea in her gut, a tilt-a-whirl of horror.

She’s managed to sneak backstage, half-heartedly checking the teleprompter for spelling errors, when she spots Shiv exiting the bathroom much more distressed than she’d looked going in.

She doesn’t move from her spot, raking her eyes over the text while tracking Shiv’s silhouette out of the corner of her eye. She convinces herself it must just be nerves, until she hears soft humming coming from where Shiv was getting her make-up touched up.

“Must be talking to an angel…”

Karolina’s head snaps up, her eyes immediately meeting Shiv’s in the mirror’s reflection. She tries to blink her doubt away, chalking it up to her own nerves, until she hears the stage manager call out for Ms. Roy two times, before coming up to touch the woman’s shoulder.

“Ms. Roy? We’re ready for you to go up in five.”

She blinks, jumping a bit in surprise. “Oh, sure. Thanks.”

Karolina takes a step towards her. “Shiv?”

The make-up artist disappears off to the bathroom, leaving them alone. As she looks into the woman’s eyes, Karolina feels the same sharp glare stare back, the same clenched jaw, spots the same freckle—barely visible, just above her lip.

“Siobhan.” she tries, though her voice is already shaking. “Rose, don’t. Please.”

The stage manager enters the backstage area again, not sparing a single glance in Karolina’s direction. Instead, she motions for Shiv to be ready in three minutes, then exists as quick as she’s come in.

Rose just keeps smiling at Karolina, red-rimmed eyes daring her to stop her from what she’s about to do. Daring her to let it happen.

“It almost felt like a life—that room, with you. But I have to do this. I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t kiss Karolina, or hold her hand. Instead, they just look at each other for the remaining seconds they have left. There’s a part of Karolina that aches to stop all of this, a pavlovian instinct straining her muscles, wanting nothing more than to call every number in her phone and make this all go away. Start drafting the press release, touch base with her contacts at every major outlet and push their official statement, control the fucking narrative.

Instead, she banks the moment like that shiny gold coin looming over her head. She knows she’ll never see Rose again—not like this, anyway, so she takes in every twitch of her mouth, every shaking breath, every particle of that ephemeral life.

As Rose makes her way out to the stage and takes the microphone, Karolina stares into her own reflection and tries not to flinch. The audience soon erupts into chaos, and Karolina closes her eyes, only to find that the noise echoes in her ears less like an explosion, and more like a firework.

She doesn’t know when it’s become a common occurrence—Shiv showing up at her door in the middle of the night, but she’s loathe to admit that the house doesn’t feel palpably colder every time Shiv isn’t there.

This particular night, they’re sitting at the kitchen island, Shiv bringing a hand to run over her shiny new excision scar every couple of minutes.

Karolina doesn’t berate her, though the look she flashes Shiv is enough to still her movement and bring her hand back to the stem of her wine glass.

“How do you feel?”

“Weird.” Shiv shrugs, eyes not leaving her glass. “I don’t know—feels like I drank too much and I’m starting to remember getting into a sloppy bar fight.”

Karolina busies her own hands by twirling her glass, looking at the bottom of it like it had any wishes to grant. “Is—are all of her memories…”

Shiv cuts her off. “Not all of them.” she clears her throat, still avoiding Karolina’s gaze. “But some random, quick flashes—mostly of you, actually.”

“Siobhan…”

Shiv raises her head, finally meeting her eyes. “Were you in love with her?”

Karolina feels her eyes start burning as she lets the question drip down her throat like bitter medicine. It’s a strange feeling, looking at someone and wanting to hear the truth. Stranger yet, wanting to tell the truth.

“It felt that way.” she finally says.

She isn’t quite sure if the looks Shiv gives her is that of understanding, if there’s some part of her shadowed mind coming to life under Karolina’s confession—some remaining flicker of Rose. But she looks like there’s something she wants to tell Karolina, a half-remembered thought she can’t shape into sentences.

“Sorry for your loss, I guess.”

Karolina shakes her head, taking a slow sip of her wine, letting the cold liquid soothe her straining throat. “It’s not my loss to feel, but thank you.”

Shiv nods, then hangs her head back down. A hand reaches up to rub at the spot the scar is in, which Karolina softly bats away as she rises to open another bottle.

“Hey, uh, I’m also sorry for—the bathroom, a while back? That was kind of fucked.”

Karolina’s hand stills mid-air, the bottle shaking from the effort. “It was a very…complicated situation.”

“Uh huh. Well, sorry if I—”

Shiv raises her thumb to her mouth, teeth biting anxiously at it.

“You didn’t.” Karolina says quickly, before drawing in a deep breath. “Well, it’s…complicated.” she sighs.

She reaches for Shiv’s glass, their fingers touching as she fills it up. Shiv steals a quick glance, before lowering her hand to cup both of them around the glass. Even in the dim kitchen light, the scars on her right wrist shines like the quick glint of a knife’s blade.

Emboldened by Karolina’s admission, Shiv lets a small grin take root at the corner of her mouth.

“Right.” she says, taking a sip of wine. “And it would be very stupid to complicate it further, right?”

“It would.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” she nods mournfully.

Karolina picks up her own glass, but doesn’t back down. Instead, she crosses the kitchen island separating them, until she’s staring down directly at Shiv. The scar on the side of her head is barely visible beneath Shiv’s hair—a tiny thing, thin and red. An angry mark of the soul’s unwillingness to be halved—a mark she hopes will remind Shiv that there is a force within her still aching for freedom. That she is not made to fit in a cage.

Karolina resists the urge to reach out and touch the scar. Instead, she focuses on Shiv’s heavy gaze, the warm flush spreading across her cheeks—the tiny freckle above her pouted lip.

“Shiv, is there something you want to ask me?”

Shiv peers up at her through bare lashes, one hand rolling the stem of her glass around, while the other reaches out to pick at a loose thread on Karolina’s sweater.

“There is, actually. Who the fuck still listens to Eurythmics?”

#shivlina #karolina novotney #siobhan roy #succession fic #severance au #my fics #it is DONE!!!#muAH :X

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gemsofthegalaxy · 2 years ago

Text

succ sunday fic posting blitz

hi everyone happy succ sunday. have just an exorbitant amount of TomGreg from yours truly!!!

Updated:

Husband Privileges - TomGreg accidental marriage and staying-together-for-publicity au, roughly 43k, 7/14 chapters posted

Best Mistake - TomGreg sugar baby au, roughly 49k, 12/18 chapters posted

And the little one said... - TomGreg/Tom&Shiv pregnancy au, roughly 29k, 8/13 chapters posted

New!:

Oneshot:

a pretty boy like you - At his behest, Tom agrees to fuck Greg so he will be prepared for prison. Tom finds it bad, amazing, transcendent, and heart-wrenching all at once. 1 chapter, 3,092 words. consensual but not safe for sane

Chaptered:

Keep Coming Back - divorced Tom/single dad-and-stripper!Greg au. roughly 50k, 4/21 chapters posted.

#succession #my writing #my fic #my au #tomgreg #im making my mark on this fandom as the person with just way too many cutesy tomgreg aus #plus a couple heartwrenching oneshots

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pastelwell · 2 years ago

Note

You write really good tomgreg fics but what Tomgreg fics are your favourite? Always interested to know what authors are enjoying, as sometimes, even with ao3's filters, there's a lot of fics to choose from - kind of like asking a bookstore employee to help me choose but for fic 🤣

I love this analogy so much, I will hereby do my best!

So, my terrible confession is I don't read a lot of fic, I am so super fussy, and I haven't deep-dived the tomgreg tag all that much. I am very lucky, though, in that I have many friends with splendid taste, so a lot of the below were recommended to me in the first place. It's nice that I now get to recommend them onwards.

It does mean, though, that the fics I rec may end up being, like... The super popular fics everyone has already read haha. But we shall see. (ETA: oh my god this got so huge, I'm so sorry).

Apple Tree Metaphor (Rating: E) - rulebreakingmoth Honorary mention, I know EVERYONE has read this fic, but to me it is just the fic of all time. One of the first tomgreg fics I ever read, and I read it every day for about two weeks upon discovery. Something about it just really spoke to me, I can't describe it. It's very accomplished and I still return to it even now. Such a classic.

From Ithica, with love (Rating: G) - windlefin I adore this fic. It's Shiv POV and a little glimpse into tomgreg life post-Shivorce. It is absolutely just... The warmest thing, I adoreeee seeing the life T&G have built for themselves in this universe, it is absolutely dripping with love, charm and character, but very true to each character. Seeing it through Shiv's eyes is just the icing on the cake.

The Allomancy Series (Rating: E) - princemousetrap A big investment, in terms of reading/wordcount, but SO worth every moment you pour into it, I cannot stress that enough. I think it's another one of those iconic series' that everyone has already read, but I had to put it in bc it's so un-put-downable. Beautifully written and so much warmth (can you tell I love warmth?)

A look from you and I would fall from grace (Rating: M) - brandyalexanders Gorgeous quick(ish) read that's so unexpectedly romantic and sexy. I return to this one a fair amount, it's suuuch an enjoyable read and idk, it just feels cosy to me. I love the dialogue and I can see it all so perfectly in my head.

Domus Aurea (Rating: E) - rubyduck This one is very new but I LOVED it, it's Tom & Greg how I love to read/write them - desperately in love and desperately horny (lol). Delicious tension, delicious kissing, delicious getting together fic. The whole thing is just yummy. Plus Tom buys Greg a crazy expensive watch and even that in itself is satisfying to me.

White Truffle (Rating: T) - neglectedtuesday This author has done a fair few AUs, this is the newest one and ohhhh I loved it. In this world, Tom is a food critic and Greg is a photographer. Something soooo perfect about it, really charming fic, really sexy, too. I also recommend (by the same author) the Academic Credential series where Tom is a Professor. It's soo tasty, so hot, and such a perfect take. Both worlds you can really entrench yourself in.

Prompts on tumblr by ezlebe (Rating: Unrated) - ezlebe I am a big ezlebe fan and I enjoy everything she does both here and over on AO3. There are a couple that spring to mind that I wanted to rec. The first one is the one about sand mites lol. Idk, I recommend it to everyone, it feels so warm to me, there is such an atmosphere throughout the whole thing. Nothing really happens, but everything happens. Plus I am a bit weak for Tom taking care of Greg. The other is the one where Greg has a cat. Sounds bonkers but you muuust trust me, it's so cute and charming. The dialogue is fun and it's just an all round enjoyable read. Big big fan.

no other shelter (Rating: E) - champagnedproblems & lanceslot This is unfinished BUT there's no cliffhanger and it works perfectly as a oneshot. This is another one of those desperately horny desperately needy DESPERATE DESPERATE vibe fics that makes your heart race. I mean, you know me by now, I am all about desperate horniness and this has it in spades, it's very tasty. I also love detention by the same authors. Just as steamy and hot, but like.. Angrier and dirtier. So good.

Summer daze (Rating: G) - regent This is just one of those fics that makes you feel warm and cosy and nice. I am so weak for glimpses into establish tomgreg domestic life, and this is suuuch a nice little window into that world. Really comforting and lovely.

Ohhh you know what, I could go on forever, I do have a few more but fear I've already gone on way too long here - let me know if you’d like some more. Alternatively, if there's anything YOU love and wanna rec me, please do, I always read fics that are recced to me x

#ask #anon #answered #long post sorry #q

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wambsgansshoelaces · 9 months ago

Note

maybe general dating headcanons of the succession characters? like the type of partners/lovers they are? thx 😸

hi anon!! so sorry this is late AKDJSJF hopefully you like it x love u thank u for requesting <3

listened to “i see the light” on loop while I wrote this so now it’s the size of a oneshot

dating them (succession main cast)

Kendall

ᝰ idc what you have to say, words of affirmation is his TOP love language

ᝰ all the others apply to him but like

ᝰ that one is his favorite

ᝰ both to give and to receive

ᝰ he’s always making sure you’re happy

ᝰ in the moment and just in general

ᝰ and it’s like his world comes crashing down when you express you’re feeling insecure

ᝰ he’s your #1 supporter in self love

ᝰ once you’ve moved in together, he starts leaving you notes where he know’s you’ll find them

ᝰ things like “you’re loved” with crappy doodles of hearts and two stick figures that you think are supposed to be the both of you

ᝰ he likes treating you to nice things whenever he can

ᝰ fancy dinners, jewelry, watches, vacations

ᝰ he has the money; it’s not like he’s just going to NOT spend it on you

ᝰ and he’s your biggest advocate in everything

ᝰ sometime’s he’s lowkey rude about it

ᝰ like if your order comes out wrong at a restaurant

ᝰ he’s all “um, actually, no, this isn’t right”

ᝰ and you’re just “ken calm down”

ᝰ “no, you deserve the best, which is what you’re going to get.”

ᝰ maybe he’s not so much into kissing in public, but he’s always touching you one way or another

ᝰ he’s always holding your hand, or you’ve taken his bicep or elbow, or he has his hand on the small of your back, your hip, your shoulder

ᝰ the paparazzi is always around, and he wants you close and safe

ᝰ and he also likes that everyone can see that the two of you are involved

ᝰ committed to each other

ᝰ at the end of the day, he’s just happy you’re his

ᝰ you make him a better man

ᝰ and he’s eternally grateful that he has you

ᝰ he’s your big ol softie

Roman

ᝰ physical touch and quality time

ᝰ you spend all of your evenings together cuddled up and murmuring to each other about your days

ᝰ can’t cook for the life of him, but when he can, he makes you breakfast

ᝰ if your hair is long, he’ll learn to braid just so he can spend mor time with you

ᝰ under all the jokes he’s really just soft and sapp

ᝰ he treats you with so much car

ᝰ everything he does is thought out as to how you’ll receive i

ᝰ he only takes you out to dinner when he knows you’ll be able to have your favorite table

ᝰ he learns how to make different kinds of soup for you when you’re sick

ᝰ subtle pda king

ᝰ if you’re at dinner with his family, his hand’s on your thigh

ᝰ if you’re out walking in the street, he’s holding your hand

ᝰ if you’re lounging around on his dad’s yacht, his head’s on your stomach

ᝰ and he’s snoring but that’s not the point

ᝰ he loves just being with you

ᝰ he sits right up against you when you’re on the couch

ᝰ he lets you sit in his lap whenever you want

ᝰ his arm’s around you in every picture you take

ᝰ your cheeks smushed together in a bunch of selfies

ᝰ you’re his phone wallpaper

ᝰ work and home

ᝰ he loves talking about you

ᝰ at work galas he absolutely adores introducing you as his spouse

ᝰ or if you’re not there he asks “oh, do you happen to know my partner?”

ᝰ and then talks about you nonstop

ᝰ at a dinner you leave him to go get something for you both to drink

ᝰ before you make your way back, you spot him talking to a colleague

ᝰ he has his wallet out, and he’s showing the colleague something

ᝰ you get closer and realize it’s a picture of you

Shiv

ᝰ she treats you like a queen

ᝰ she’s a physical touch girl

ᝰ but really she loves words of affirmation

ᝰ and gift giving

ᝰ giving you gifts, specifically

ᝰ her favorite part of life after meeting you is spending lazy mornings in, cuddled up, kissing, touching

ᝰ she particularly enjoys going on long walks with you

ᝰ down piers, beaches, whatever

ᝰ her hand in yours, her eyes towards the sky

ᝰ she loves bringing things back for you from work trips

ᝰ or any trip she takes

ᝰ chocolates, matching bracelets, trinkets that remind you of her

ᝰ she makes all your days brighter

ᝰ one day on a visit to her office to bring her lunch, you find out there's literally seven framed pictures of you on her desk

ᝰ you are her phone wallpaper

ᝰ but she has it so it changes every time her phone closes

ᝰ so it's really thirty different photos of you are her wallpaper

ᝰ most mornings, she’s tucked up against you

ᝰ face buried in your neck

ᝰ it’s her favorite place to be

ᝰ just with you

ᝰ despite all of her peacocking and chest puffery, she just needs your support

ᝰ she needs you

ᝰ she needs her rock

ᝰ your love

ᝰ she tends to overthink and stress herself out

ᝰ but when things look like they’re going bad, she knows she can come to you

ᝰ and you’ll kiss her, tell her she’s beautiful, coo to her with that perfect voice of yours

ᝰ and suddenly everything is okay again

ᝰ for that, she knows you deserve the world

ᝰ she pampers you

ᝰ spoils you

ᝰ a tradition between the two of you is an annual trip down to the caribbean

ᝰ you both spend all your time out on the beach

ᝰ either splashing each other in the water

ᝰ or her curled up on top of you, skin pressed to yours

ᝰ she loves doing your hair and picking out outfits when you let her

ᝰ she loves doting on you when you’re sick

ᝰ she can’t bear it when you’re hurt

ᝰ but obviously won’t ever show it

ᝰ what she will show is how much she loves you

ᝰ everywhere you go, you feel loved

ᝰ she’ll never stop loving you

Tom

ᝰ mr. quality time

ᝰ literally does not care what you’re doing; he’s with you

ᝰ all he wants is to be with you

ᝰ you bring him peace

ᝰ his favorite pastime is cuddling with you in bed

ᝰ specifically with your jaw cupped in his hand, anchoring your head to his chest

ᝰ along with quality time, he’s huge on gift giving

ᝰ every week, he comes home with flowers

ᝰ and there’s always a fresh vase on your work desk

ᝰ he LOVES writing you notes

ᝰ love letters, even

ᝰ every new bouquet of flowers that show up at your work come with a heartfelt note

ᝰ in every single one, he tells you he loves you

ᝰ then writes about whatever it is he has going on in his day and how he’s thinking of you

ᝰ while he’ll never admit it, he loves pda

ᝰ specifically when you initiate it

ᝰ it makes him all smiley and happy

ᝰ he especially loves it when you’re hanging off of his arm at work things and he gets to show you off

ᝰ he just thinks you’re the most gorgeous person to exist ever

ᝰ he can never go to sleep without his arms around you

ᝰ he started wearing those nasal strips because he knows he snores and doesn’t want to keep you awake

ᝰ this man loves him a good restaurant

ᝰ but only if you’re there with him

ᝰ he can never get behind sitting across from you unless you’re in a booth

ᝰ he says that it’s more intimate when you’re sitting next to each other at a square table

ᝰ ALWAYS lets you eat from his plate

ᝰ if he ever ‘stoops as low’ (his words) as to go to a fast food place, he always asks if you want fries

ᝰ he knows to get you an order regardless otherwise you’ll just steal from him

ᝰ not that he cares anyway

ᝰ he also particularly loves watching the sun set with you

ᝰ something poetic about the sky almost being as beautiful as you

ᝰ you both try to watch it whenever you can

ᝰ because you only have so many days on this earth

ᝰ he wants to spend as many of them as physically possible with you

ᝰ you’ve noticed, though, over the sunsets, he doesn’t really pay attention to them after a certain amount of time

ᝰ he just stares at you

ᝰ and whenever you catch his eyes, they’re so full of love

ᝰ just for you

ᝰ only for you

Greg

ᝰ acts of service warrior

ᝰ LOVES doing things for you

ᝰ whether it be chores or bringing you coffee at work

ᝰ he likes feeling useful

ᝰ especially if he feels useful to you

ᝰ it’s a different sort of ecstasy for him

ᝰ you like buying him bracelets

ᝰ he wears them everywhere

ᝰ you’d gotten him an “i love my partner” (those like i <3 my gf) pin as a joke and he unironically wears it around on his waystar lanyard

ᝰ "yeah, my partner got that for me!"

ᝰ he’s a bit panicky and overthinks too much

ᝰ but he just has to look at you and his anxieties come under control

ᝰ he’s always running around, so he really enjoys just laying with you in bed

ᝰ he sleeps like a dying victorian child

ᝰ slumped over on you like the life was sucked from him

ᝰ he likes going on miniature adventures with you

ᝰ they’re nothing crazy; just dates that push him out of his comfort zone

ᝰ like kayaking

ᝰ you had to force him into the boat to go kayaking with you

ᝰ like physically

ᝰ yeah he’s scared, he doesn’t want to get hurt

ᝰ he doesn’t want you to get hurt

ᝰ but he hears you laughing and sees your gorgeous smile

ᝰ and that’s when he realizes he can just suck it up

ᝰ because he wants you happy

ᝰ he learns how to make those braided bracelets for you

ᝰ it’s a calming hobby, and he likes seeing them on your wrists

ᝰ he made something for you

ᝰ and you like it

ᝰ that’s all he could ever need in life

ᝰ he learns how to cook your favorite meals for you

ᝰ and he’s a surprisingly good cook

ᝰ his hyper vigilance over the food makes it come out almost perfectly every time

ᝰ unless he’s having a breakdown

ᝰ which happens less now that he’s gotten with you

ᝰ you make things calm

ᝰ he loves calm

ᝰ he loves you

Stewy

ᝰ he’s so extra

ᝰ literally every single love language under the sun is his favorite one

ᝰ showers you with little trinkets that just remind him of you

ᝰ if you collect something, he’s constantly gifting you specifically that

ᝰ he spends as much time as he can with you

ᝰ as long as he’s not working, he’s perfectly content just sitting in silence with you

ᝰ he’s a massive fan of the water

ᝰ may it be yachts, jetskiis, floating gazebos

ᝰ he likes making special dates out of things like that

ᝰ he wants you to feel like everything you do together is new

ᝰ he doesn’t want you getting bored

ᝰ he’s worried you will, actually

ᝰ if he buys you jewelry, it’s hella expensive

ᝰ and diamond studded

ᝰ if you’re a watch person, he’s even worse

ᝰ he buys you every watch you ever look at

ᝰ goes the most bananas over pda out of everyone

ᝰ internally, anyway

ᝰ he doesn’t make it kown, but his some of his favorite moments with you are when you’re both bustling through a crowd in italy or something

ᝰ but you’re clinging to each other so neither of you get lost

ᝰ did i mention he likes traveling

ᝰ he likes traveling

ᝰ and you’re the only person he’d ever even consider traveling with

ᝰ at night in greece, he discovers he likes the pinky holding thing

ᝰ he saw it on tiktok

ᝰ so when you’re walking back to your hotel, he hooks his pinky with yours

ᝰ and it becomes a thing between you two

ᝰ also is for some reason obsessed with giving you his jacket when you’re cold

ᝰ it could be below freezing and you already have a jacket on

ᝰ and he’d give you his blazer or coat anyway

ᝰ and he’ll stand there shivering with this dumb grin on his face

ᝰ it always ends with you two sharing a scarf

ᝰ you think he does it on purpose, just do be close

ᝰ just to have an excuse to have an arm around you

ᝰ and really, you’re right

ᝰ he just needs you

#succession x reader headcanons #succession headcanons #succession #succession hbo #succession x reader #anon ask #kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #roman roy #roman roy x reader #siobhan roy #siobhan roy x reader #tom wambsgans #tom wambsgans x reader #gregory hirsch #gregory hirsch x reader #stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x reader #wambsgansshoelaces

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 8 months ago

Text

Denim on Denim

A Seams x Grays crossover

Summary: Joel tries to get a haircut - but it turns out he can’t do anything in the QZ without getting into a fistfight, and you’re lucky enough to be in the audience.

Warnings: Mildly spicy thoughts, two sexy men fighting, language, reader was a hairdresser prior to the outbreak and has a nickname related to her job, no use of Y/N, no physical descriptions of reader, very lightly edited.

This oneshot can be read independently of the two series, but for the full experience, I recommend reading at least Grays. This is a post-outbreak AU of Grays, and is set before Seams Joel leaves the QZ. Part of the Shiv's salon drabbles.

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: A whole year after my random thoughts about how Joel's hair looks that good in an apocalypse and a random notif on this post that reminded of it, we finally get Joel to Shiv's salon... or do we? 🤷🏻‍♀️ I had a blast writing this oneshot - it's a bit silly, a bit spicy, I hope you enjoy it ❤️

‘Goddamnit.’

Joel swipes viciously at the curl hanging over eyes, like a boxer at a punchbag. Try as he might to slick it back, every time his shovel hits the dirt, the hair uncoils, bouncing obnoxiously in his field of vision.

He needs a fucking haircut. Tess usually does it for him every month or so, but she’s been in a mood - snapping at him, keeping him at arm’s length, she hasn’t even been to his apartment for two whole weeks.

This time of the year is hard for her. He knows all too well that he’s the same every September. They’re in each of their own time loops, a cage within the trappings of the QZ.

‘You look like you need a trim, bro.’

Joel barely glances up. He knows the guy, they share a surname after all. People call him Ben, or Benny, and even an old man like him knows he’s a good-looking son of a bitch.

They work the same shifts sometimes, and he knows Tess has crossed paths with him at the illegal fight nights. Joel has also seen him a few times at the bar, where he’s usually surrounded by even more good-looking motherfuckers.

Joel knows he’s a damn flirt too. He always has pretty words for Tess when he sees her. He’s harmless though, and he supposes that she deserves sweet nothings from at least one Miller since he’s no good at them.

Realising he hasn’t responded, Joel grunts noncommittally, self-consciousness prickling the back of his neck.

‘I know someone, she was a professional hairdresser before all this.’

Joel ignores him and keeps shovelling.

‘If you tell her you know me, she’ll give you a good rate.’

More shovelling.

‘Alright man, my shift’s up. See you ‘round.’

Five steps, and Joel sighs, digging the shovel into the dirt.

‘Wait.’

Joel stands on the doorway, and stares.

There’s an actual backwash in the corner of the dingy living room - well, living space. There are no doors in the tenement apartments.

‘You waiting for it to say hello back, or what?’

His eyes snap to yours, a scowl drawing his brows together.

Not that you look at all intimidated, one eyebrow arched high and an amused smile sitting lopsided on your lips, which he will admit throws him just a bit. He’s not used to having to work for it.

Giving you a tight nod, he takes two steps into the apartment. He recognises the layout, a mirror of his own, which is a few blocks away.

Closing the door with a flourish behind him, you ask brightly, ‘You’re here for a haircut?’

He’s about to answer when something winks at him, and he looks up, momentarily blinded by the reflection of afternoon light in the cracked mirror that hangs over a battered styling station.

Your apartment has windows that don’t look directly onto the next building, and sun floods the space. Even light is a real rarity in the shithole of a QZ, where everything indoors is dingy. He idly wonders if you had to bribe someone -

Distracted, he catches the sliver of a shadow moving from the corner of his eye a split second later than he would if he was on high alert. On reflex, his fingers find the hilt of his knife and he whips it out in a wide arc, swinging to his left where gunmetal catches the afternoon light.

‘Drop it!’ he barks, the same moment as the other man growls, ‘The fuck are you doing in my home with a knife?’

To Joel’s bewilderment, you chuckle somewhere to his right, amused. ‘C’mon guys. Dramatic, much?’

‘He snuck up on me,’ Joel growls defensively.

‘Frankie, put your gun away, dude’s just here for a haircut - I’m assuming anyway, he never did answer my question.’

‘Yes, I’m here for a haircut,’ he snaps, resheathing his knife. ‘Fuck would I be doin’ here if not?’

‘Fuck should I know, dipshit?’ retorts Frankie, tucking his gun in the back of his jeans. ‘You always bring a knife to your haircuts?’

‘D’ya always threaten to shoot paying customers?’

‘No, we definitely do not.’ You step into the space between the two men in case they get snippy with each other again. ‘Who sent you?’

Your customer crosses his arms, and you can’t help noticing the fabric of his shirt stretching across those broad shoulders. ‘Blondie.’

‘Blondie?’ you frown, confused. ‘Oh wait, you mean Ben? I thought I recognised you. I’ve seen you at one of his fights, with your wife? What’s her name now -’

‘Tess,’ he replies, then promptly looks like he wishes he’d stopped himself before he answered. ‘She’s not my -’ he trails off, and it’s clear he doesn’t like how you’re reading him at the moment, grumbling, ‘None of your damn business.’

‘Hey, you watch your mouth around my lady, old man,’ warns Frankie, ratcheting up the tension again.

Squaring his shoulders, the man seems to grow two inches. ‘Or what?’

Suddenly aware of being caught in the crossfire between your protective husband on one side, and this gruff, silvered stranger on the other, heat bubbles unbidden under your skin, the unexpected reaction from your body catching you off guard.

Biting your lower lip, you clear your throat, and somehow you sound steadier than you feel when you dispense the orders.

‘Ok, this is enough. Frankie, sit down over there,’ you say, pointing him in the direction of the couch on the other side of the room. ‘And you - since you’re Benny’s friend, two ration cards.’

‘’M not his friend,’ he almost spits out that last word, as if it tastes weird.

You give him a pointed look. ‘Three ration cards, then.’

He huffs, and hands you two from his back pocket. ‘Fine, I’m Benny’s friend.’

You grin. ‘If you’re besties, it’s one.’

‘Don’t push it.’

You back off with a chuckle. ‘Fine, not besties. Maybe next time. Now sit.’

Joel does as he’s told, awkwardly, in the styling chair, a relic from the pre-outbreak days. It creaks dangerously under his weight, and it wobbles, slightly off-kilter. The cracked leather is warm from the sun, which seeps into his skin, and he finds himself wondering when was the last time he went to a hair salon.

Sarah used to love cutting his hair. She always made an afternoon out of it on one of his rare days not working overtime, putting the music on, setting up her Barbie mirror on the dining room table, and having him pick out a hairstyle from a magazine (it never looked anywhere near like the photos). She’d even put a disposable raincoat over him like a hairdresser’s cape. She really wasn’t any good, there’s a reason why Tommy didn’t let her anywhere near his curls, but he always wore her handiwork with pride -

So lost in his thoughts, he reacts purely on instinct when, for the first time in decades, fingers other than his own find his hair.

Swivelling around, he’s out of the chair in a split second, fingers wrapped tight around your wrists. You yelp as he pushes you back against the wall, which he sees from the shape of your lips but doesn’t hear over the blood pounding in his ears.

Joel barely holds you there for a second before he’s yanked backwards by a hand on the back of his collar, and he stumbles, crashing into the adjacent wall. He barely misses the fist heading towards his face, ducking just in time to save himself what would undoubtedly have been a broken nose.

He barrels into the younger man with his shoulder, expecting him to tumble back, and is surprised when he doesn’t budge. Joel’s aware he’s got a few years on him, but he more than holds his own against punks that age on the daily. This guy clearly has a background in combat, and it’s taking Joel everything to stay on his feet.

In the meantime, you’re still plastered against the wall, dazed by your customer’s reaction. Heck, you haven’t even gotten his name yet before he literally jumped you. He’s a skittish one, that’s for sure.

You smile at the memory of Frankie’s first time with you at the salon - he’d give this guy a good run for his money. Lucky for him, you’ve always been good at wrangling the nervous ones.

Speaking of, the two men are now literally wrestling in front of you. If you had to venture a guess by the grays in the hair, you reckon your customer is pushing fifty. He’s built like a fucking tank though, and he’s giving everything he’s got.

So you decide to watch for a little while. Boys will be boys, best leave them to let off some steam. Leaning against the wall, you get comfortable, and you think wistfully to yourself that Ashton would have loved this view.

You’re not sure how you missed that they’re both wearing denim on denim, and you would struggle to pick out which is your husband if not for the hat on his head. Yes, the damn cap survived the apocalypse with him.

They are remarkably similar in build, though your customer seems to stand just a couple of inches taller. His biceps flex and bulge through the shirt sleeves as he scuffles with Frankie, teeth bared; meanwhile, your husband plants his feet, jeans stretched tight over his adorable little ass, trying to hold the man back long enough to throw a punch.

If the room was warm when they were trading barbs, it’s positively sweltering right now.

All you can see are broad shoulders and fabric bursting at the seams, grappling fingers and clenched fists. Back muscles rippling through denim, teasing slivers of skin and soft bellies when shirttails ride up and jeans fall low. The cheerful afternoon sun kisses their skin golden, casting long shadows across the creaking wooden floor.

And they’re not quiet. Throaty grunts as they jostle, panted breath peppered with cusses, fuck’s and sons of bitches as they wrestle for control.

Suddenly, you’re the one who’s out of breath despite not moving a muscle.

As much as you would’ve loved to stand and watch, you can tell both men are starting to get winded. You don’t exactly want the show to end, entertainment is hard to come by in the QZ, let alone of such a visually stimulating variety, in your own living room. But you think you hear the older man wheeze, their shirts are now stained with sweat, and the frantic energy they started with turns heavy with lethargy.

With a rueful sigh, you speak up, ‘Frankie, come on, that’s enough now.’

He growls, ‘No fucking way. He tried to hurt you!’

‘He barely touched me. It was just his PTSD acting out.’

‘I don’t have PTSD,’ the man protests, shooting you a glare before dodging an elbow.

‘There’s no shame in having PTSD,’ you admonish him. ‘Or in getting help.’

‘Why don’t you give me a hand then?’ he scoffs, tipping his head at Frankie.

‘Yeah, looks like you can use it,’ your husband taunts him.

‘Sure you can’t, asshole? Can’t even take down an old man on your own?’

‘I hope you're hungry, 'cause you're gonna eat your words, asshole -’

Hands on hips, you roll your eyes at the exceedingly average trash talk. ‘You know what? I tried asking nicely - I’m going in.’

It’s a tight squeeze, but somehow, you find a space between the elbows and shoulders and knees, and you wedge yourself in. It’s hot and humid between the two men, who are still trying to get at each other, despite the fact that you now have one hand on each of their chests, trying to pry them apart. Trapped between the two solid walls of chest, their raw strength vibrates through you, through harsh panting breath, the musk of sweat and man, and denim rubs rough on your bare skin where you’re pressed up against them.

It’s not hard to imagine being in this position in an entirely different situation, with the axis tilted, on a softer surface. Heat prickles all over you like needles, and unbeknownst to you, your thighs press together, and your panties start to feel sticky -

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ asks Frankie, incredulous as he looms over you, still grabbing onto the other guy’s shirt.

You bat your eyelashes at him, then crane your neck over your shoulder to wink at the other man. A little spiral of a curl dangles over his eyes as he glares at you, puffs of warm air hitting the shell of your ear.

Knowing that your best chance of breaking off this nonsense is to wildly offend both men, you purr, ‘Making a delicious sandwich ‘cause I’m famished -’

Frankie flushes bright red instantly, and he roars, ‘Get your filthy hands off my wife, son of a bitch!’

Not that his hands are anywhere near you (a tragedy), nonetheless, the man jumps five feet back, as if you burned him. He may deny Tess being his wife, but the look of absolute horror of being accused of touching you speaks volumes.

You can tell he would have doubled over catching his breath, hands on his knees, if not for his pride. Stubbornly, he stands tall, hands on hips, chest heaving.

‘Bit jumpy, are we?’ you quip.

‘You always that handsy?’ he retorts.

‘Can’t help myself with beautiful curls like yours,’ you wink, and your smile widens when he flushes.

Frankie throws up his hands in disbelief. ‘Shiv, I’m standing right here.’

‘You always are,’ you tease, pressing a kiss to his pinched lips. ‘Now, go take a walk, you've made enough of a scene.’

‘I’m not leaving you here with him -’

The older man scoffs. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not interested in your woman.’

You feign indignation. ‘Hey! That’s hurtful.’

‘You should be, jackass!’ Frankie gripes, and promptly looks as confused as the other man at his own pronouncement.

Taking his hand, you pull him towards the door. ‘Go on babe, you were going to have a drink with Pope anyway. I got everything under control.’

‘Alright,’ Frankie relents, but not before he points a menacing finger at your customer. ‘If he tries anything -’

‘I know where the gun is,’ you finish his sentence.

Pressing one final kiss to your lips and throwing a glare over your shoulder, Frankie turns and leaves - and you preen at the knowledge that he trusts you can take care of yourself.

Once the door closes, you smile. ‘So… should we start over?’

The man snorts. ‘I’d say.’

‘I’m Shiv,’ you say, but you don’t offer him your hand. He doesn’t seem to be the handshaking type.

He picks up on your perception, studying you with curious eyes. ‘Joel.’

Pushing the swivel chair back to the styling station, you gesture at him to retake his seat, and this time, you make sure his eyes are on yours in the mirror while you stand over his shoulder.

‘Hair’s a bit long, huh?’ you remark, eyeing the ringlet over his eyes.

‘It’s drivin’ me nuts,’ he admits.

You hold up your hands this time, giving him plenty of notice. ‘May I?’

He nods, and you start small, wrapping the spiral around your index finger with a grin. ‘I wasn’t just saying it, y’know. You do have beautiful hair.’

He shifts awkwardly, the chair squeaking, obviously uncomfortable with compliments. ‘Dunno. I’m all gray and shit.’

‘As someone wise once said, grays are sexy as fuck,’ you assure him. Running your fingers through his curls, you study the texture critically, noting the blunt ends and uneven thickness. Nothing a professional haircut can’t fix. ‘Trust me, I’m very wise.’

He hums, unconvinced, but you can see the lines around his eyes crease in amusement. ‘If you say so.’

You wink at him in the mirror. ‘When I’m done with you, Tess will have the hardest time keeping her hands to herself.’

‘What makes you think she doesn’t already?’

It takes you a moment to unfreeze, stunned by his retort. At his arched eyebrow, you burst into laughter. ‘You’re a sassy one, aren’t you, Joel?’

He huffs, half-amused, and shakes his head. ‘It’s a haircut, not a miracle.’

You squeeze his shoulder, grinning when he doesn’t jump at the contact. ‘Trust me, I’m just that good at my job.’

More notes: If you enjoyed this oneshot, I wrote a series of drabbles of Shiv giving other Pedro boys haircuts - you can find them in the Grays masterlist 🩶 I may write more for this universe and some point if inspiration strikes again, thank you for reading!

And if you wanted an inspo shot of Joel's hair, here you go ❤️

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

#seams x grays #fuckyeahgrays #fuckyeahseams #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #joel miller fanfiction

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hughiecampbelle · 2 years ago

Text

Harm (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman, Lukas

Word Count: 1,645

Warning/s: abusive relationship mention/warning

A/N: This whole scene was a masterpiece, no one can tell me otherwise. Angry Roman is a gem, I love!!! I think Lukas would be a shitty boyfriend and Roman would come to their rescue. That is all :P Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Your lip was split. The bruise across your cheek yellowed in it’s melancholy hue. Across your body, your skin is painted in purple splotches, dipped in blue and red, the mark of an angry soul. They ache with every breathe, every beat. Your eyes are red around the edges, bloodshot and glossy. Your hands were shaking, unable to steady them. You had nothing. You left with nothing. The clothes on your back, your slippers caked in mud, still spongy from the Swedish rainfall. You didn’t stop running. You didn’t stop until now, halted by, of all things, a locked door. You’d been pounding, palm flat, ready to scream, to collapse, constantly looking behind you. Certain shadows resembled his shape. Please, your thoughts begged, please let me in. Roman, please. When the door opened, you fought to catch your breath, shrinking as the harsh light of the morning opened wide in front of you, at you, assaulting you. He stood there, taking you in. Taking in the crime scene. The brown of his eyes golden in the light, shocked. Wild, wide with fear, worry, with recognition. All he could do was back away, letting you in. He didn’t move, instead watching you slam the door shut, acting quickly, locking every lock. The silence between you was palpable, heavy. Immediately you slid down, your back against the wood, choking on sobs. Tears streamed down your cheeks. A guttural, animalistic, infantile whine left your lips before you were too embarrassed to stop yourself. Your hands hovered around your face, unsteady, unsure of how to comfort yourself in this moment. Everything hurt. Every little movement, every second of existence, hurt. Killed.

Carefully, he lead you to the bathroom, scared to touch you, unsure of where to put his hands. He ran the water, a warm bath, setting you on the edge of the tub. You didn’t say a thing, instead slumped over, watching him work. Here’s the fuckin- you know and, and a towel here, too. Do you need clothes? Of course you do. S, stay here, I’ll get some. Fuck. He cursed himself, not you. Never you, not like this. He wasn’t prepared for this. Was anyone? The emotions, the feelings, the heartbreak. He didn’t know how to soothe anyone, anything. He’d never been taught. He skimmed through his drawers, his closet, for a pair of pajamas. Not soft enough. There was no blood, but parts of your skin looked broken, gaping wounds, puncture marks. What the fuck happened? Finally he found something that couldn’t possibly do anymore damage, finding his way back to you. You hadn’t moved a muscle, the heaviness of the day, the past few days, weighing you down. I’ll be right outside, okay? You call me if you need anything, okay? All you could do was nod. Quietly, slowly, he shut the door, not wanting to scare you. God knows how long he sat there for, waiting for something to happen. Digging his nails into his palms, trying to take control of the situation. Was there anyone he could call? Shiv would know what to do, so would Gerri. Connor, maybe? Hell, he’d even give Kendall a chance if it meant someone telling him to do the right thing. The last time he’d seen you you were with that prick, happy, so happy, in a better condition than this. Much better. The last time he left you, you were in one piece. He knocked a few times, wanting to know if you were still okay. Your voice came out small and strained, exhausted, but at least you were speaking. That was one step in the right direction, right? In the end, he calls no one. He doesn’t even know where his phone is. You went to him for a reason. Alone. If he said anything to someone else, he knew, deep down, that would fracture the trust you had. He felt ill prepared, but it was you and him. He could do this. He could help you.

Roman hadn’t noticed the bags under your eyes, too distracted by the bruises before. Deep, dark, painful looking. When was the last time you’d slept? You looked funny in his clothes. Not funny, that’s not the right word. They seemed strange on you. In all the years you’d known one another, practically from childhood, he’d never expected to be the person you ran to when you were in trouble. You came out of the steamy room smelling of vanilla and lavender, unsure of what to do next. Roman, at an equal loss, lead you to his bedroom. The sun had just come up, surpassing golden hour, but you needed rest and he needed to buy himself a few hours. Cancel everything he had planned for the day. He wasn’t going to leave you. He pulled the blankets over you, tucking you in softly, wondering if he was dreaming. Having a terrible, horrible, awful bad dream. Any minute he’d wake up and none of this would be real. The look on your face though, the pain, the humiliation, it was all too real. Your eyes were closing before you could stop them, curled into a little ball, as if you were still trying to protect yourself. He thought you had everything. A perfect relationship, a devoted boyfriend, an escape from your real life. Everything. He didn’t love it, or even like it, biting back jealousy since the beginning, but he never expected it to go like this. Matsson had always been a dick, someone who expected to get his way whenever he wanted, but he’d assumed there was a line in the sand between business and life. There had to be. Roman paced the floors of his apartment, wondering where it all went wrong. . . .

Bits and pieces have come to light over the past few months. Your skin has healed, your mind taking a little longer. That’s okay, he was patient. Gentle. You ran away, in the middle of the night. A private jet, your family’s. He could track you if you used his. Things weren’t good, hadn’t been for a long time. You didn’t know how to leave, how to get out. One night you couldn’t take it anymore. Why did you go to him, you were both wondering. To this day, you’re not sure. You couldn’t go to your family. They were, they’d make a spectacle out of it. Run his name through the mud. You couldn’t stand to look at him, let alone say his name, tell the public every detail of your twisted relationship. They wouldn’t have been there for you, rather the story. You didn’t have many friends left. He’d alienated you from them. The Roys seemed like the safest option. They knew him, knew how he could be, but they also knew you, have known you for years now. Roman felt like the safest option. He still was. He held you when you had nightmares. At first scared to touch you, to speak, then you felt his arms tight around you, his voice breaking, dripping in worry. Hey, hey it’s just me. It’s just me, you’re okay. You’re okay. Every night, he’d comfort you, find his way back to you. He ended up sleeping beside you, so he’d be there always. Over time, the space between you grew smaller, until you were falling asleep in his arms. Those were the nights when your dreams remained sweet. Safe at last. He never pushed the subject, not those first days, where you mostly slept, and not now. If someone on his team angered him, if someone said something, he’d take it out on you. You left your phone, your wallet, everything. Roman took care of it all once he realized, made some calls, saved your finances, got you a new phone with a new number. He helped you make painful, generalized calls to your mother, father, family. No mom, no it just didn’t work out. Please don’t call him, we need out time apart. It ended in tears. It always did. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you. He knew the weeks leading up to this inevitable would be hard, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He’d have to leave soon, group therapy, or playing gladiator, depending on how it went. A retreat in Norway to seal the deal. Roman had been asked to go and though he would have loved to tell him to fuck off, you insisted he play nice. Pretend nothing happened. You could barely look at yourself those first months, avoiding mirrors, avoiding reflective surfaces. How could anyone do that to a person? How could he let him get away with it? Play nice, please. For me. Every time he closed his eyes he saw your blood in the sheets, heard the sharp inhale as every bruise felt pushed, the whimper you made in your sleep. You froze every time his face was on the television, unable to turn away, your arms reflexively wrapping around yourself, holding yourself. For you, and only you, he would play nice. He would put on a smile. He would make the deal and win and come home to you and tell you all about how he fucked him. You were supposed to be married, last week. The last bit of information you’d been keeping from him. You were engaged and the wedding was supposed to be the week before. And yet, Matsson picked the date like nothing happened, as if he knew what Roman knew. Instigating him. Taunting him. Holding it over your head, causing even more harm. What kind of husband would do that? What kind of a man does that? Don’t say anything. Not to your family, not to him. Pretend you know nothing. I promise. As soon as he saw him though, all he could see was red.

#writing #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #lukas matsson #lukas matsson imagine #lukas matsson x reader #roman roy fic #lukas matsson fic #succession #succession imagine #succession x reader #succession fic

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zweiginator · 2 years ago

Text

i wanna be your mantra--kendall roy x reader

heyy here i am with my kendall x reader oneshot as promised... i hope at least someone enjoys xoxo thank you!

pairing: kendall roy x reader

synopsis: you are kendall’s assistant, but your dynamic is unconventional, and toeing the line of toxic. so, when he interrupts your night to ask a favor of you, it’s hard to say no, and neither of you expect it to end with him on top of you in the back of the company limo.

p.s. based on this ask, so thank you for the inspo!

word count: 5.8k (sry)

warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (?), dirty talk, praise/degradation kink, oral (F receiving), etc. etc.

———

Your and Kendall's relationship could be explained in three words: complicated, tense, obsessive.

You worked for him--under him, technically. But not literally. Unfortunately. The job was exhausting: late nights in the city without the fun, lavish dinners paid for by exploitation, and fueled by passive aggression. For the Roy's, relationships were strictly transactional, and you had grown to suppress your sensitivities around them. You had become good at the facade; the veneer that you were confident, and that nothing, no matter how vile and vicious, could ever make you cry. And, after a couple of years, you had surprisingly never cried in front of the Roys: that was saved for corners, the bathroom, anywhere they couldn’t find your vulnerability.

But, after working for Kendall for almost two and a half years, it was inevitable that the shiny copper exterior of your personalities would erode, to show the more aged complexion of who you were, a rusty mint that wasn’t quite ugly, but instead just real, genuine.

There had been a dozen or so nights when the professionalism of your relationship with Kendall had been challenged. Especially when Kendall was deep in the throes of his substance abuse, there were months when it seemed like every night Kendall would tell you to come over, that he needed someone--anybody--to be with him.

And, it would’ve been easy to oblige, to leave the house in lip gloss and not realize the symbolism behind your applying it. But you always said no, mostly because him saying he would be willing to invite anyone over made it seem like you weren’t the antidote, but just a temporary distraction, somebody who just probably had nothing better to do.

And sometimes, work was odd with him. He had never outright flirted with you, but the air would change when you would casually mention a date to him; he would roll his eyes and bite his lip so hard it turned a stark white, different from the warm pink you were so used to looking at. So keen on looking at.

And sometimes you did the same. If Roman or Shiv or anyone joked about a past--or current--hookup of Kendall’s, you would become bitchy, short, immeasurably immature. It was completely unprofessional to give your boss the cold shoulder, but that was the relationship you had. It was inexplicably unconventional, full of a tension that made others avoid entering a room when its cloud would loom over, daunting and unpredictable.

Kendall often thought about how much you fucking annoyed him, too. He told it to everyone and anyone who would listen, but most of the time, he told it to you, explicitly, without care for your feelings. Maybe he should have felt bad, guilty–but something deep within him loved it. Loved the power he had over you, how sometimes your big eyes would look into his, brows furrowed with bewilderment, holding your tongue because you knew Kendall didn’t really particularly enjoy being interrupted.

“Y/N, what the fuck is your problem?” Kendall slammed the door of his office, holding his phone flush to his ear, his free arm leaned against the wall. “I told you to tell Johnston we can wait on the meeting, not to fucking tell him it's off--I swear to God if this--,”

You rushed to get a word in, interrupting him. “Listen, I did tell him that--”

“Don’t fucking interrupt me. I’m not finished.”

“Okay, my bad.” You backtracked. You were on your way to the office, a tray of cappuccinos in hand, balancing them as you pressed the button to the elevator.

“I need you to figure this out. I’m not fucking dealing with this. If this deal with him is out, I never want to fucking see you again.”

Kendall been vicious like this a lot--he had pushed papers off desks, slammed doors, even smashed a laptop or two, but his words always hurt the most. Sharp and venomous, they pierced you, pushing their poison into your veins, making it so hard to forget their presence--they would literally pump through you, repeating themselves, a mantra of your shortcomings.

The tears came without your permission--usually you could choke them back, attribute them to something else, or feign your way to freedom, but it was difficult, as you reached Kendall’s office, to get away with any of these tactics.

You left one of the coffees on his desk, opting to call Johnston--the owner of a small social-media start up--to fix your mistake. As you dialed, slowly closing the cold glass door of Kendall’s office, he gestured for you to hang up.

“No, don’t call,” he shook his head, taking a sip from the to-go cup. It was tiny in his hand; you could see his veins pulsing, a tell-tale sign he was upset, riddled with stress.

“You just told me--”

“I know I did.” He interrupted. “I figured if I want this done right, I should probably do it myself.”

Again, with the words--they always hurt. You didn’t know where the gall came from. “Picking up quotes, are we?”

“Excuse me?” He questioned, leaning against his desk.

“I’m just sure you hear that a lot, after all your fucks, you know.”

The silence hung in the air, ballooning with unspoken expletives, insults, the incessant odor of years’ old sexual tension.

He motioned for you to come over to him, pulling his suit jacket off and throwing it across his chair. When you were close enough, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you, so he could whisper into your ear.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that. Are we clear?” He dropped your wrist. “Look at me. Are we fucking clear?”

You nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

Kendall tilted your chin up, looking into your eyes firmly, with a dominance that made your knees feel weak and your throat dry with a germinating anxiety. “Why don’t you take the day off? We obviously aren’t seeing eye to eye today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You furrowed your brows, confused. A day off and Kendall weren’t words that meshed together. “But–”

“No.” He was firm, ushering you out of the door. “I’ll fucking see you tomorrow. A day won’t kill you. We don’t even like each other. Obviously.”

And then the door was shut, the wind pushing your hair back with a malicious force. He was punishing you; he knew you were a workaholic–that’s why he hired you. Even the salary didn’t keep people around for long; Kendall was intense, problematic, a true Roy in every sense of its connotation. But you were clever, a perfectionist, and addicted to the one thing that didn’t come by all too often: being praised by Kendall.

The feeling of his unbridled appreciation–a laugh at your jokes, a term of ownership, the subtle she works for me–was euphoric. And their scarcity was what made them so coveted to you, a reward more valuable than your biweekly check.

You left, annoyed. Tired of matching quality with quantity and never receiving more than a “Alright, I need you to do this now.” You were spreading yourself exceptionally thin, so thin that your feelings had become transparent and incompatible with the opaque front of your usual robotic, emotionless facade.

Maybe the day off wasn’t a bad idea, and maybe you needed a drink, and maybe you needed someone to take your mind off of how fucking annoying your boss was.

So there you were, hours later, in a taut green dress and black heels across from a friend of your friend’s boyfriend. You feigned interest in his job, laughed a little too hard at his jokes, and looked to him for affection–any kind of fleeting admiration, just a tinge of longing. Even if it expired the next morning and grew sour and curdled, you were desperate, searching for his placeholder. But you didn’t want to admit to yourself just who you were referring to. So you didn’t. You pretended like Kendall didn’t bother you–until he literally bothered you again.

“I thought I said we would see each other tomorrow,” Kendall placed his hands on your shoulders, making steady eye contact with your date. You couldn’t see him, but you knew his look was lethal; as easily as his eyes could reflect deject and sorrow, they could also emanate a concentrated hatred that had to have taken decades of practice–or mirroring his father. You felt the grip on the back of your chair tighten. “It’s only been a few hours.”

You turned around, setting your drink down as quietly as possible–as if the consistent pumping of a generic, bassy tempo wouldn’t already drown its subtle clink. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you raised your eyebrows. “So you’re following me now?”

“Following, no. I thought you wouldn’t be here, you know, uh, since you always have a fuckin’ stick up your ass.”

Your date butted in, thoroughly confused. “Uh, who is this?”

“My boss.” You answered, nonchalantly. As if that wouldn’t raise more questions, such as why his hands had migrated to your shoulders, and why your legs visibly squeezed together at initial contact, an involuntary reflex.

“Speaking of,” Kendall moved both of his hands to one shoulder, squeezing tighter. “We should talk about Johnston. I, uh, changed my mind about a few things.”

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?” You quipped through gritted teeth.

“It can’t.” He gave your date–if you could even call it that–a tight-lipped smile. “Come on, now.” His hands pressed down on your shoulders harder; it felt like all the strength you had left had been channeled into him. You were weak around him, unable to stand up without having pathetically wobbly knees that you attributed to your heels.

Once you had stood up, Kendall’s hand was on your lower back, leading you to a back corner. It was dark; the soft, ambient lighting of the rest of the bar had stopped sharply, leaving you and Kendall obscured, the only source of sight the periodic opening and closing of the nearby bathroom door.

“How did you know I was here?” You asked, throwing his hand away from you. Your eyebrow twitched, angry at how the only consistent thing about Kendall was the sheer power he had over you to make you do whatever the fuck he wanted.

“I didn’t.” Kendall deadpanned. Even in the dark, it was obvious he was looking at your physique in the dress you had worn, an olive green silk slip that hugged your torso. Slightly promiscuous, but classy, elegant.

“Bullshit.”

Kendall pulled you closer as the door to the bathroom swung open. You looked like a bickering couple, and that made your heart palpitate, a shallow longing piercing the skin of your chest. “Fine, Greg told me.”

“How the fuck does Greg know where I am?” You knit your brows together, confused.

Kendall squeezed your shoulder, one of his rare, toothy grins emerging through the beacon of light from the cracked door next to him. “You fuckin’ recommended this place to him or something. I thought you there was a slim chance you might be here if you weren’t home.”

“And you knew I wasn’t home?”

“You didn’t answer your phone. Usually means you’re at work or out somewhere. I don’t fuckin’ know. Shot in the dark.” Kendall took a deep breath, his eyes following a waitress taking a few flutes of bronze champagne to a table across the room. “Listen, I actually do need something of you. And I’m actually going to get on my knees and fucking beg you.”

Kendall actually began to drop, until you intercepted, pulling him up by his elbow. “Jesus Christ,” You whispered. “What do you need? I’m off the clock right now.”

“That’s why I’m begging.”

“Okay, just spit it out.”

He sighed deeply, pulling the collar of his crisp shirt away from his neck. “There’s the gala tonight–”

“No.” You shrugged. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“I haven’t finished.” He paused. “What’s wrong with a gala?”

“It’s not a gala. It’s a Waystar gala full of fucking Roys.”

Kendall rolled his eyes. “You work for a Roy, I’d watch it.”

“Just–” You rubbed your temples. “Continue.”

“Wow, fuckin’ thank you.” He said facetiously. “There’s the gala tonight, I had a date. I cancelled on her. Called Johnston, and he said that the deal is back on, but he wants to come tonight. To, uh, see the Waystar spirit or some shit?”

You stared at him blankly. “There is no spirit. People who come in with spirit leave with an alarming deficit of fucking spirit.”

Kendall pressed his hands together. “Okay, this is when I literally start begging. I’m going to get on my fucking knees and plead. I’ll, uh, fucking buy you whatever you want.”

Your cheeks flushed; it felt like you were high or drunk or something beyond that. For once, you had the upper hand on Kendall; you held the golden, winning card.

“Please.” Kendall reiterated. A flash of something—vulnerability, guilt—flashed over his features. But it dissipated as quickly as it had appeared.

You thought about it. It wasn’t like the date with the man-whose-name-you-would-never-quite-remember was going well; that within itself proved it. But Kendall’s entitlement, the waltz he always did where he would step into a situation and flip it to favor whatever the fuck he wanted—fucking annoyed you.

“I don’t understand this. You.” You shrugged, opting for a non-answer.

Kendall mirrored your shrug. “What’s there to understand.” He worded it like a statement, like nothing he did ever deserved the hanging of the unknown, the hesitant stamp of a question mark.

“I’m busy. I’m here doing something.” The cocktail you had downed before “running into” Kendall had boosted your confidence, and a newfound lust for this strange feeling to persist settled deep in your belly, an autumn leaf swaying onto the newly dead winter grass. “Why does it fucking matter if I’m there?”

Kendall weaved his fingers together. “I think it would be good for the deal if you came with me. As my date. Just as a business thing. Purely Business. Keep the gala open to everyone, show him it's tight-knit, it's friendly–it’s not just the Roys coming to keep their name on the inheritance check.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. It was cold; a metallic draft of air pinched your exposed skin. “Okay. Not a bad idea. But I work there. It’s gonna seem like everyone was forced.”

“Just–” He began. “It’s low stakes. Just come with me, you can get tipsy on free champagne, ride home in a limo.”

“You’re acting like I even have a choice to decline.”

Kendall checked his watch, leaning into you. “You can decline. But I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“Fear mongering. That’s cute.” You linked your arm in his. “I’ll go. But not because of that.”

“Atta girl.”

—--

The gala was at 9; it was nearing then, but Kendall had ducked you into the limo, insisting you looked perfect for the occasion. You tried not to let those words ring like a mantra; the inside of your head was radio silence after the elusive compliment–no matter how trivial it was to Kendall at the moment. It almost felt like you were actually his date.

As the doors to the limo shut, it was just you and Kendall in the back, engulfed in a silence that was tactile, sticky with tension and apprehension about the gala, the deal, if this was actually about what Kendall said it was.

It was cold outside, and you sat next to each other in the prim limousine, legs flush against his as the limo winded through the twisted back roads, out of the sleepless swarm of the city and into the lazy nook of the suburbs, where willow trees swayed instead of the hands of passersby, yearning for a taxi.

Kendall shifted, not uncomfortable, but perhaps a little bit; he felt odd at how much he fucking burned for you. You looked amazing in the dress. In his mind was you, in that dress on repeat–a silent reel fueled by a lust so obsessive it could only belong to a bereft Kendall Roy. He leaned his head back on the hot leather seat, thinking about how the curve of your hips looked in the taut silk of your dress, your cleavage when you bent over, your ass.

You turned to him, desperate to fill the heavy silence with something. “Should we prepare? Like what we’re going to say to Johnston about the deal?”

Kendall snapped out of his haze, a fuzzy head high that could only be brought on by you. “Oh, um, I was just thinking we would focus more on the moment. I’m not too worried.”

You leaned forward. Kendall’s eyes flitted away from your cleavage. “Kendall, focusing on the moment?”

“Happens every once in a while, usually when I’m–”

“On a coke binge?” You regretted saying it, but Kendall giggled, surprisingly.

“You’re not wrong.” Your necklace dangled as you leaned into him due to the turning of the limo into a cobblestone driveway.

The bubble of intimacy of the backseat–your bodies pushed together from the cold and unspoken yearning–was popped as the driver opened the back door, letting you and Kendall out. You felt awkward, completely unsure of what to do. You had been to one other Waystar Gala and had promised yourself you would never go to another one for as long as you lived. They were usually chock-full of drama, and every attendee without the shiny Roy name tag was usually a pawn in some dirty Royco scam of theirs. But Kendall in a suit and those hazel eyes–you couldn’t say no even if you fucking wanted to.

You walked towards the venue, a huge country club near the Hamptons, far away from the chaotic, capitalist jungle of Manhattan. Here, it was quiet; you could only hear the faint clink of glasses, feigned laughter, the clicking of overpriced dress shoes against wooden floors.

Kendall was assured in his movements, much more than you were. He strode up to meet your pace, pulling you in by your waist. “You’re freezing, Y/N.” His fingertips grazed your shoulder blade, pricked with goosebumps. “Do you want my jacket?”

You shook your head. “No, no.” You answered. “We’ll be inside in a second.”

This new Kendall–you didn’t know how to feel about him. You had never really seen him before; you were used to the pulsing vein in his neck, a patronizing tone, pacing back and forth and the unmistakably stressful go, go, go attitude that always possessed him. Here, he was calm, soft-spoken, charming, chivalrous.

Weirdly, you missed the Kendall that was rude and entitled, the one who would fuck you over in a second if that meant he got what he wanted.

“You nervous?” Kendall replied. The wooden door opened, a rush of energy seething into your bloodstream, amalgamating with the hours-old alcohol. He could feel the tenseness in your muscles. Whether that was a side effect from his touch, or the looming torture of what the gala would bring–you were unsure.

“A little.” You admitted.

Kendall tapped on his coat pocket. “We could take the edge off.”

You shook your head. “No, Kendall. I’m not–”

“Fucking relax,” Kendall dug in the pocket, pulling out a heavy lighter. “It’s a joint.”

You rolled your eyes, looking around. The coast was clear; Logan and Marcia were talking to Roman and Shiv, not worried about Kendall’s perceived absence. Something you had gleaned about the family dynamic was that due to Kendall’s erratic past, it was more of a silent wish than an expectation that he showed up to most things.

“Fine.” You responded. “I’m only taking a couple hits.”

Kendall shook his head. “No. We’re smoking the whole thing. Halfsies.”

Smoking on the back balcony was a dream. The white smoke haloed around the two of you, tendrils of pungent air pulling the two of you together. You hadn’t spoken much since the ceremonial lighting of the joint, but you didn’t feel like you needed to. It could just be you and him and the ashen remains of marijuana, and it felt okay, peaceful. The problem between you two always just seemed to coincide with work. And talking. And your control issues.

“I have to admit something to you.” Kendall tapped the bud of the joint against the railing of the balcony. “Johnston isn’t here.”

You leaned forward, against the railing, plucking the remains of the joint from Kendall’s grasp. “What are you talking about?”

“He broke the deal off. He said we were ‘fucking suffocating to be around’.”

“What?” You asked, in shock. “Then why am I here?”

Kendall shoved his hands in his pockets, annoyed. “Like it’s so fucking bad.”

“I was on a date, Kendall. And you come in and act like I have an obligation to fucking come here, and then it was a lie, and I’m the bitch for being mad?” You crossed your arms over your chest, and Kendall pinched himself, a deterrent to not look at your breasts.

“Fuck off,” He said. “That wasn’t a date, that dude was an asshole.”

“From the 20 seconds you were near him?”

Kendall shrugged. “He’s a finance guy in Manhattan; pick your poison, do you want gonorrhea or a prenup first?”

“What?” You were delirious from the cold, the weed, his lies.

“He’s sleazy.”

“Why do you fucking care? Why am I here? You had a date–”

“Yes, I had a date, and then I cancelled on her because I would have rather you came. And you did come. And now you’re fucking yelling at me.”

You softened your voice, inhaling deeply. “What was wrong with the other date?”

“Nothing–I don’t know.”

You raised your eyebrows, a silent Okay, and?

“I just feel like–”

You interrupted. “You know what? I feel like this arrangement isn’t really working.”

“What arrangement?”

“Me and you. Working together. I mean, you take me to this gala under false pretenses when in reality I’m just your arm candy slash employee, and it feels like we’re toddlers shoved into those We’re gonna get along shirts. I just don’t understand this. I don’t understand you.”

Kendall swallowed. “Are you quitting?”

Your voice felt inverted, small. “I don’t know.” The bluntness of Kendall’s question confused you; the lack of nuance made it seem like he didn’t care, like it was good riddance to you. Maybe he wanted another assistant, one who gave him what he wanted regardless of her personal qualms, one who said “yes sir,” or “no sir,” and batted her eyelashes and was submissive to his incessant necessity for power.

Kendall took another drag from the joint; it was ashen, deteriorating in his grasp. It felt symbolic. “You shouldn’t quit. I think you should stay at Waystar. With me.”

“With you. That’s an interesting way to word it.” You quipped.

“I agree.” Kendall stepped closer to you, the heels of his leather shoes clacking against the ground. “Do you know how many times my dad or Shiv or Tom–and Roman especially– have told me to get rid of you?”

You were taken aback, hurt. “Wh-what?”

“Not because they don’t like you,” Kendall began. He leaned against the balcony, looking down at the limo parked in the middle of the cobblestone driveway. The license plate glimmered against the sliver of the moon, hanging in the sky like a pendant. “It’s because they see that I’m weaker when I’m around you. I’m fucking erratic and I act nineteen.”

You looked at his profile, but he averted eye contact.

“Like, I’m an asshole to you, but you don’t just take it and I like that. But you also have this fucking hold over me that I can’t explain.”

“Can you try to explain?”

Kendall chuckled. “I mean, like, when I saw you on that date. Pure coincidence that you were there, by the way; I was going to meet my date to this thing there. But then I saw you and I kind of just ghosted her.”

You joined him at the balcony, looking below. Another limousine had pulled up; a group of older businessmen and their wives in high neck silk dresses flooded out. “Oh,” was all you could muster.

“And I felt this deep anger when I saw you with that guy,” Kendall turned to you. “I was jealous and fucking protective.”

“Jealous?” The limo driver turned the engine off, leaving the keys on the front seat. As if blinking tiredly, the headlights fizzled out, and the driveway was empty, serene.

“Yes, I’m so fucking jealous.”

You looked at him, and finally, he turned to you. The silence allowed you to hear each other’s pulses thumping with the anticipation of the lust you both shared; it was ripened, sweet to the point of almost being rotten.

Breaking the silence, Kendall had an idea. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Kendall pulled your hand into his, and then you were running down the spiral staircase, past the other guests who wanted to speak with the fleeting Roy who was breathless, high, and for once, didn’t fucking care about Waystar, or meetings or finances.

He ran to the limo, catching his breath as he reached the one with the keys still perched on the driver’s seat. “Let’s hope they’re not locked in.”

“Ken, where are we going?” You smiled, dizzy from the change of pace, how he gleamed around you.

“Wherever the fuck you want.”

And then you were in the front seat. The heat was on and so was the engine, but Kendall sat, faced forward. A look of determination was etched into his face.

“What?” You asked.

Kendall spoke up. “I have to tell you–you look fucking perfect in that dress.” His hand held the back of your head and your heart leapt; it felt like it had jumped to the other side of your chest.

You didn’t know what to do; there were only two choices, what a shitty choose-your-own-adventure. But it was always important to go with your gut, even if it was spoiled by butterflies and the most overgrown lust you had ever had for anyone in your fucking life.

You closed the gap, pulling him in by his tie as his hands found your waist, pulling you on top of him. The horn honked, and Kendall smiled against you as he palmed your ass, his tongue swiping across your teeth. You opened your mouth, moaning into him.

“I fucking need you.” He said. “I fucking hate how much I need you.” He slid your core against his clothed cock, his head falling back at the feeling of the friction.

And then you were in the backseat, and he was on top of you. He pulled your heels off as you undid his tie. Kendall pushed your wrists together and held them above your head as he kissed your neck, pulling the straps of your dress down with his teeth.

“Kendall,” You moaned, arching into him. The moment was heated, of course, but also tinged with anger, a vicious hatred of how fucked up your dynamic was and how you were just about to fuck it up some more.

His mouth latched to your nipple as he palmed your other breast, letting go of your wrists, your hands quickly finding his head. You ground your hips against his, desperate for him. Any of him. You were soaked; you had been since he took that first drag of the joint, and you despised how easy you were for him, how willing. One cheap compliment and here you were, aching for him, his clothed cock nestled between your legs. It belonged there, and you knew it.

Kendall groaned into you as a trail of wet kisses led him back to your awaiting mouth. They were kisses that broke the rubber band of years worth of tension, of pent-up hatred that had metamorphized into something possibly akin to love.

He hiked your dress up around your waist, and pushed his hand against your cunt. You were shaking for him, wet and needy.

“Is this okay?” He asked. His thumb rubbed lazy circles on your clit, and you moaned out, bucking into his touch. Of course it was.

“Yes, fuck, Kendall.” You were flustered, so frustrated at how much you had to have him, at how you were letting him–your boss–take you at a company gala in the fucking company limo. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?” You hissed as he took his fingers away, yanking your thong down and putting your legs over his shoulder as he licked a thick stripe over your folds. He kissed your outer lips, so soft with his ministrations that it made you want to rip his hair out.

He moaned at your taste, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your thighs until his tongue lapped hungrily around your clit, two fingers pushing their way into your cunt. You were soaked for him; you thanked god that the seats were leather.

Kendall was messy yet precise; his hands gripped your thighs so hard he could feel your pulse. Your hands found his head, and you ground against his tongue as he ate you, starved.

He came up for air, still pumping his fingers into you. “Oh, I’m a fucking asshole?” He grabbed your jaw. “Always teasing me. Always fucking talking back.”

You whimpered when his fingers stopped pumping, begging for more with your eyes, with the rolling of your hips against him.

“See how it feels?” He pulled his fingers out completely. “Open your mouth for me. No fucking backtalk.”

You nodded, obliging. Kendall was bent over you, your legs around his waist. One of his hands was braced against the seat, the other holding your face in place, forcing you to look at him. His thumb pulled at your bottom lip as he spit into your mouth, urging you to swallow.

“Fuck.” He said. Looking down at you, your hair sprawled out on the seat, cheeks flushed and lips red and raw–he realized what he hated about you was that he fucking loved you, and everyone saw it but you. “Do you know how much I’ve thought about fucking you?”

“I have too. All the time.” You said, flustered. “Kendall, please.”

“Please, what?” He was cocky again.

“Fuck me.” You reached for his belt, and Kendall pressed the lock button on the door. The windows were fogged with steam, your silhouettes obscured by the tinted windows.

You could hear chatter moving closer to the driveway; the gala was probably ending soon.

Kendall shoved your hands away and unbuckled his belt, shimmying out of his neatly pressed pants as you unbuttoned his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. He tasted like you, like your sweat, your cunt.

“Fuck me, what?” Kendall teased.

“Fuck me, please,” You writhed in his touch as he lined himself up with your entrance. You wanted him and you wanted him raw.

He rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, intent on teasing you, even if it made him ache in the process. Some things never changed. “God, your pussy is so wet.”

You pulled him closer with your legs, and he pushed into you, all at once. He hissed as he bottomed out, emitting a deep groan from the bottom of his throat.

“Fuck you,” He said. “Your cunt’s better than I ever fuckin’ imagined.”

You moaned, urging him to fuck you, to do something. “I’m wet,” You began. “All for you.”

“Yes,” He thrusted. “All for me.”

And then he was pounding into you, holding you to his chest. The sounds were obscene, slapping and wet and filthy, but you didn’t care about the gala outside or the fact that the boss you hated yet loved was fucking you. Deeply.

He hit that spot in you that made you scream, rolling his hips as he kissed you with an animalistic fervor.

“You better shut up,” He whispered in your ear. “Or they’re all gonna know what a fucking slut you’re being for your boss.”

Kendall pushed your legs back, hitting that deep spot that made you shake and squeeze around his cock. As your mouth opened, Kendall latched his hand over it, bending down to talk in your ear.

“Feels so fucking good.” He purred. “Fucking you raw.”

You heard the click of footsteps upon the uneven driveway, the polite farewells exchanged by the gala’s guests.

Kendall went even faster, his cock twitching at how overwhelmed you were, clawing at him, moaning into his neck, begging for more.

He felt himself getting close, the high from the joint intensifying his sensations tenfold.

“I’m gonna cum,” He moaned into your ear, his hands grabbing your tits, your ass–any part of you that he could.

He was about to pull out, but you locked your ankles around his waist, keeping him there, with you.

“Cum in me, I want your cum.” You arched into him.

That’s all it took for his orgasm to spill over, his hips jerking as his cum spurted in hot ropes inside you.

“Take my fucking cum. Be a good girl for once.” He cried.

His thumb rubbed against your clit, using your wetness and his as sufficient lubricant. You were already close, and his cock was still in you, semi-hard and twitching.

“Cum around my cock, sweet girl.” He whispered.

The voices were closer, and it felt harder to let go, until Kendall’s thumb pressed harder against you, his hips moving lazily against you.

His voice was softer now, nicer. “I want you to cum. I want to feel you.”

A few more slow thrusts and him playing with your aching clit was all it took for you to let go, your back bowing as you moaned his name so loud he had to press his hand against your mouth to shut you up.

Your moans were muffled, your legs shaking as Kendall finally pulled out, working you through your high.

“You’re so pretty, it pisses me off.” He grabbed your cheeks and kissed you, biting your lip, grabbing at your exposed ass. You could still feel his cum in you.

Your chest was heaving, and Kendall pulled your dress back up, adjusting your straps and smoothing your hair down with a delicate care you had never seen in him before.

“Are we ever gonna talk about this again?” You asked, putting his tie back on.

Kendall’s heart fluttered at the gesture, but wept at the question. “I think it would be impossible not to, Y/N.” After thinking for a second, he added, “Sex that good doesn’t just happen. It’s made.”

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