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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 · 7 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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fr3sh-tragedies · 9 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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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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jeniffercheck · 4 months ago

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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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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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codedredalert · 5 years ago

Text

and in freedom, we find

drakelaw || oneshot || 1907 words

A month after Drake leaves the marines, Trafalgar Law comes asking questions.

Warnings: alcohol, enemy lovers with petty antagonism as flirting, bad jokes

A/N: for @noswordstyle and @rocketspurs, thanks for your contributions to the lawkins cause. thanks @narramin for being the funniest beta ever.

(On Ao3.)

===/\===

The booze Drake first learned to drink as a marine was cheap as dirt and startlingly similar to lighter fluid. Yet, somehow, the kinds of places that were willing to serve wanted men had even shittier booze, for ten times the price. That had to be a crime of some sort.

It did the job though. The world was muted, and there was a slight ringing in his ears, along with heat radiating from his face. Everything was pleasantly numb. The drink took away the pressure of his huge undertaking and the isolation from his brother marines. It had been a full month since his staged dishonourable discharge and effective exile, he was allowed to be a little homesick. He was…

A touch called his attention.

There was a hand gripping his arm, over his sleeve. Drake stared at it, stared at the tattoos across the fingers, black ink on dark skin in a dimly lit bar. He blinked and the letters came into focus, D E A T— the thumb wrapped under, he couldn't see the last letter.

He blinked again, followed the curve of the long fingers up to a faded yellow sleeve, and further up to a familiar face, with an almost friendly smile.

"That stuff will take your eyes out, if you keep drinking it," said Trafalgar Law, Surgeon of Death.

Drake jerked away, too slow. He reached up for his axe handle, feeling like he was moving through water. Trafalgar moved faster, and there was a flicker of blue before the strap of his axe holster split, cut with clean precision and it fell to the ground with a loud thud. Drake cursed and tried to dive for it, but Trafalgar was in the way, and there was only yellow, yellow and a grinning jolly roger swallowing up his entire field of vision.

Those hands appeared again, uncomfortably close to Drake's face. There was the tell-tale sound of a shotgun being cocked somewhere behind him. Even comfortably drunk, Drake could tell this was Not Good.

Drake froze.

"The owner is about to shoot us, commodore-ya," warned Trafalgar. "Turn slowly."

Drake looked straight into the double barrel of a sawed off shotgun. He looked past it to the decidedly grizzled old lady who ran the bar. She was built like a bear.

"If ya gonna fight, pay up, an' get out," she ordered with the dead monotone of an employee who has been with an establishment for too long and was not paid enough for this bullshit.

"We’re just talking," Trafalgar assured her, and his hand was on Drake’s shoulder again.

Bullshit, thought Drake. He’d cleave Trafalgar in two if he only had his damn axe. Between the shotgun and Trafalgar Law, Drake knew who he'd rather keep his eyes on.

He turned back to look at Trafalgar, whose nasty little smile hadn't budged an inch.

"I don't dislike a turncoat, commodore-ya," said Trafalgar, voice smooth and slow and disturbingly comforting. "I'd buy you a drink but the methanol in what they sell here could quite literally blind you."

"Why are you here?" Drake heard himself say before his brain had quite finished processing the words and the oddly nice tone behind them. "Why me?"

Trafalgar laughed, face turned up slightly. The light hit his face where it wasn't obscured by his hat. In that split second, he looked like a decent person, and Drake could almost forget this was the face of a murderer.

"Why me," Trafalgar repeated, something heavy and suddenly tired in his tone despite the upward corners of his mouth. "Good one. Let me know if you ever get the answer to that."

There was a long pause. Trafalgar realised he still had his hand on Drake's shoulder and removed it. Drake sat back heavily on the bar stool.

"What d'you want," complained Drake. "'M not chasing you anymore, and you come find me? Stupid crazy pirate."

Trafalgar took the seat beside Drake without being invited to sit, and he focused on Drake, as if trying to see into him and take him apart.

"You loved the marines. Like family, you said. They raised you. So I came to find out— what was your offence, that they'd burn you like this? What was their offence, that a loyal fool like you would do anything that would scare them into this? I thought—" Trafalgar broke his sentence for a small, dark laugh, an aside to himself. "I thought maybe there's hope for the clever commodore-ya after all."

There was a hint of sympathy there, though Drake had the unmistakable impression that Trafalgar was laughing at least a little bit at his expense. Still, the little spiel gave Drake pause.

"You sound like—" Drake frowned and stopped as the thought slipped away from him. Trafalgar leaned forward, interested.

"I sound like?" he prompted, head tilted slightly.

"...you care."

It wasn't the most eloquent or delicate way to put it. And there was no immediate reply from Trafalgar.

Drake blinked away the alcoholic haze and leaned down slightly to see under the brim of the hat. Trafalgar's mirth had dropped completely. His expression was altogether more restrained, and full of hate. Hate wasn't a wild thing, it focused like a blade, and it sharpened every bone in Trafalgar's body. What was it that Trafalgar hated so much anyway? And did he know it made him even more desirable? Oceans blue, as if the man wasn't pretty enough just wild and angry and mad, he had to have a civilised side too.

"Thanks." That was definitely amusement returning to Trafalgar's voice. The nasty little smile was back.

Oh, shit. He'd said that out loud?

"More mumbled than said, but yes."

"Fuck you, Trafalgar," Drake hissed. He glanced at the bar but the bartender had already cleared his almost-full glass.

"If you're offering…"

Drake paused, the unexpected response startling him. Almost involuntarily, he looked at the man right in front of him. The heavy material of Trafalgar's hoodie folded in against his body where he held his longsword in the crook of his arm, suggesting a thin waist. Signature fitted jeans advertised long legs, spread where he straddled the bar stool. Small wrists, Drake could fit both in one hand and pin them above Trafalgar's head easily. He made very sure not to say that aloud but he could feel heat rush to his face and… elsewhere.

"Well. One head of yours seems to have voted yes."

Drake swore and looked down in alarm and back up to Trafalgar. The asshole was grinning openly now, smug.

"I don't have to stand for this," Drake declared, standing. The floor heaved under him and he found himself clinging to the bar counter. There was a hand on his arm, holding him up. Despite its thin elegance, there was strength in the grip.

"Commodore-ya, it looks like you can't stand at all," gloated Trafalgar.

Drake glared at him.

"I. Can." He wrenched his arm out of Trafalgar's grip. The floor pitched again like a ship in a storm and he found himself chest to chest with Trafalgar, clinging to the smaller man to keep upright.

"Do you want my help?" asked Trafalgar. From this close, his eyes were true gold instead of the strange grey-hazel of his file photo or the dead slate-white of his wanted poster.

"No!"

Trafalgar shrugged. Drake could feel the movement of it where their bodies pressed against each other, but any effort to push Trafalgar away was like trying to fight gravity.

"I could sober you up," Trafalgar offered again, lowly. "With… you know."

The fucking Ope-Ope. Yeah, Drake knew.

"No," he growled, and tried to push away again. Failed.

"Do you want to get shivved right out the door?" argued Trafalgar. He was doing that thing again in his voice, that small tweak in his tone where it almost sounded like he cared. Tricky bastard. "Be sensible, commodore-ya. Better the enemy you know."

… he's dangerous. Even if he played nice now, that hasn't stopped being true. A blight upon the North Blue and the Surgeon of Death, a madman who grinned in a suspended whirlwind of dismembered soldiers.

"I… No.”

"Fine," sighed Trafalgar. "I'll just get you somewhere safer. You can thank me once you're sober."

He leaned Drake against the counter and retrieved the fallen axe. He put the strap over Drake's chest again, and another pale blue flash joined the seams of the strap back as if they'd never been cut.

"I should truss you up and leave you out there for them," muttered Drake as Trafalgar pulled Drake's weight away from the counter. The axe made his balance better, and the weight of it was comforting on his back.

"You like your old friends in the marines that much?" asked Trafalgar as they walked out of the bar. The midnight chill hit Drake like a bucket of ice, sobering as it stripped the heat from his face.

What's it to you, Drake wanted to ask, but the cold wind snatched his words away.

"You sure are a good dog, aren't you," Trafalgar continued. "Abandoned on the street in winter but still whimpering for your master. Stupid marines. You all never think."

Trafalgar nudged them into an alleyway, out of the wind. Drake stumbled over something in the shadows, and Trafalgar pivoted them so they wouldn't fall. Drake's axe clanged against the brick wall.

A thin hand settled against the bare skin of Drake's chest where the cut of his shirt opened. Trafalgar's fingers were cold against Drake's burning skin, even colder than the wind somehow. So cold they burned right through to Drake's lungs and left him breathless.

"Don't like the cold, commodore-ya?" teased Trafalgar. His icy cold touch dragged even further down Drake's chest, and Drake's lungs squeezed out the last bit of air he didn't even know he still had.

Trafalgar took Drake's hand and placed it on his waist. The hoodie fabric gave in further than expected. Damn, his waist was small, just as Drake had guessed. He really should remove his hand, but he doesn’t.

"Why are you doing this?" he murmured. His other hand reached for Trafalgar of its own volition, gloved fingers curling into the hood. The weight of it pulled at the fabric and exposed a little more of Trafalgar’s neck. He drew Trafalgar flush against him.

"No reason." Trafalgar paused, tilting his head as he re-thought his answer. He shrugged and pressed forward. The hand on his waist slipped down to his hip. "Though you should know, it's one of the benefits of leaving."

"What benefits?" The obvious one when he had his hand on someone's ass echoed in his head. "Sex?"

"Freedom," breathed Trafalgar. His breath formed a pale mist, and he said the word with almost-reverence. For a long moment, his expression was the gentlest Drake had ever seen it, then it sharpened back to smug. "But that too. If you want."

"Freedom?" asked Drake incredulously. What freedom could there be for a wanted man, unable to go anywhere without the ever-present threat of pursuit and arrest? What freedom could there be with murders on your conscience? What freedom could Trafalgar Law possibly have to preach to him?

Trafalgar just laughed, a bit too much teeth and white in his eyes.

"Yeah. Welcome to freedom," he said, and his cold hands pulled Drake’s face in for a kiss.

===/END\===

(On Ao3.)

#drakelaw #x drake #trafalgar law #one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanfic #opfanfic #op fanfiction #op fanfic #op #my writing #mine #for friends #i know he was a rear admiral but commodore ya is cuter okay dont come for me #im just gonna post and see if i regret this in the morning #alcohol

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vibe-cheque · 5 years ago

Text

The GED (1.1k words)

@itsforeverromance

-Prompt 6: "Honey, I hate to be the one to break it to you but, you are so stupid its unbelievable."

-From this prompt list

-Gallavich prison oneshot

-Soft prison husbands being in love

-Ian calls Mickey Honey and Baby, Mickey calls Ian Cherry and Bitch

-----------

The small clock on the far corner of the library ticked away, the only sound being Mickeys furious pencil on paper.

"Time's up, pass me your paper," Mickeys eyebrows moved rapidly on his face as he scribbled numbers onto the question paper,

"One fucking minute, Jesus," Ian's hands reached across the table to take the practice exam from Mickey's iron grip, "gimme one second, just one more," Mickey mumbled moving away.

"They wont give you this time during the exam, c'mon Mick, just give me it."

Mickey put his pencil down, giving the paper a once over with concern in his eyes, "none of these are right, I can feel it," his tattooed hands clenched into fists as Ian snatched the quiz from him,

"You'll do fine Mickey, you've been studying for weeks now," he glanced at the paper with a nonchalant face, not giving anything away,

"Yeah but no GED, no job. No job, no money. No money, no nothin'," Mickey said in a hushed whisper, obviously stressed, "no GED means I won't get out of this shithole prison anywhere near the same time as you." Ians right he has been studying for weeks on end, but weeks aint enough if you barely even finished freshman year of high school. The dejected look painting Mickey's face broke practically Ian's heart, both very aware of the weight the GED has on Mickey's sentence.

Ian's red pen was rapidly marking the paper, his expression almost unreadable aside from his eyebrows which were steadily creeping up his face. The pair went silent as the pen scribbled all over the page, Mickey chewed on a hang nail and shifted in his uncomfortable orange jumpsuit, he watched like a hawk as Ian's hand moved across the page. The math portion was the most difficult part for Mickey, you wouldn't think after the years of drug dealing, illegal cash counting and gambling that went on in the Milkovich house since he was young. Yet apparently drug money and algebra are on different planets.

Mickey let out a breath as Ian put his pen down after only five minutes.

"Honey, I hate to be the one to break it to you but," Mickey leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, preparing for the worst, "you are so stupid it's kinda unbelievable,"

"But I only need like, what?" Mickey spoke trying to shove the lump in his throat down, "45% to pass right? That's not many, thats like less than half, I can't have done that badly? Have I?" Ian's face was one of sympathy as he placed the paper on the table.

The neat red writing a contrast to Mickeys barely legible scrawl was a big fat 12%.

"You have to be fucking joking!" Mickey stood knocking his chair over behind him, "what the fuck, how? I've been studying for months!" A guard standing by told them to shut up,

"I know this is disappointing Mick, but I just don't think academics are for you," Ian's voice lowered and he reached his pale hand out to clasp Mickeys tattooed one, "everything's going to work out, okay?"

"Yeah it will work out, once I get out three years after you're long gone and have to gett back onto the Milkovich run and become another fucking Terry, while you run off with a rich northsider who doesn't have a GED but a high school deploma and a PhD or some other fancy college shit, and he gets what I should get just because I'm going to fail this fucking bullshit exam!" Mickey's eyes were glassy and Ian moved around the table to sit with him,

"Babe," Ian started, unable to finish because Mickey had turned to face him with his eyes threatening to spill tears, leaving Ian's mouth dry,

"You're right I am good at alot of things, alot of illegal and shady shit. I want to learn how to be a normal couple, I want to learn how to have a normal family, and a normal domestic life with a white fence and a golden fucking retriever or some shit, and I want to do it with you. I want that to be our life, my life and yours. I want so much with you and not getting this fucking exam will ruin all that shit, the shit that I have wanted since we were teenagers, the shit I want with you." Tears were flowing freely down the Gingers face, turning his pale skin red around the cheeks.

"I want that with you aswell, I want all of that. I will wait for you mickey no matter how long it takes, I will wait for you." Ian rested his hand on Mickey's cheek, solemn, before a smile creeped onto his face, "even if it turns out you're dumb."

Mickey laughed at that, maybe a little delirious from the emotions running through him, "shut the fuck up, ya don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he wiped the tears from Ian's cheeks, still refusing to let his own spill, "thankyou though, for everything."

Ian nodded a small smile blossoming on his freckled face, "I love you Honey, even if you aren't the sharpest shiv in the drawer,"

"Yeah, I love you too, Cherry."

"Rec time's over boys, back to the cells." Some random guard shouted from the door, the couple wiped away their tears and gathered their paper from the desk and started making their way back.

-----

Ian and Mickey moved mostly silently around eachother in the cell, not really speaking or touching until lights out and last call. The second the guard walked passed their cell, shining light moving past the bars, Ian was in Mickeys bunk with his lips resting on the back of the dark haired mans head.

"I just want to do well for you, for us ,Cherry," Mickey whispered into the darkness, turning to face Ian in the dark, "I just want to do the best I can for us,"

"I know baby," Ian whispered back as Mickey buried his face into Ians pale neck, "I just want you to be happy,"

"I'm my happiest when I'm with you," Mickey mumbled, sounding drowsy, as he leaned up to leave a soft kiss on Ian's lips, "I really do love you."

Ian ran his hand through Mickeys hair, "so what's the equation of a straight line?" Mickey groaned and hit his arm, rolling over and grumbling,

"I dont fuckin' know Gallagher, shut the fuck up and sleep, bitch."

#gallavich #gallavich fic #oneshot #prompt #prison oneshot #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #mickey calls ian cherry #my heart #request

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 10 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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wambsgansshoelaces · 10 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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wambsgansshoelaces · 11 months ago

Note

Hi there! How are you doing? I just recently found your account and LOVE it! Thank you for sharing all your stories! I particularly loved the head cannons for clingy Roman and comforting Roman!

After reading the comforting Roman one, I had an idea for some more head cannons or a story (truly whichever you prefer if you want to write this idea). But maybe something along the lines of standing up to Logan somehow and defending Roman? Seeing him so hurt and vulnerable because of what his father said broke my heart and I definitely think he needs someone in his corner, privately and publicly!

Thank you so much if you do write something around this idea, but please don’t feel pressured to if it doesn’t spark any ideas. I hope you have a fabulous day/night! 💛

In My Corner

Roman Roy x Reader

Oneshot

this is literally the sweetest request I’ve ever gotten so it went to the top of my priority list. I’m doing okay, thank you so much for asking!! I hope you’re amazing <3 you don’t understand how much it means to me that you enjoy what I write and that you love it!!! it makes me so happy!!! any request or idea you have, I promise, will give me ideas. I’m so grateful I have people like you enjoying and reading my work!! It’s one in the morning for me, so I’m sorry I can’t make it longer… but enjoy! I love you rita, thank you for requesting xx

also just a general psa, if there’s never any specific pronoun/reader gender detail in the request, I’ll default to fem/female unless I can access your profile, to which then I’ll just use the requester’s pronouns/gender. enjoy!

Word Count: 2.181k

Married life was all you could’ve ever dreamed it would be. It was more.

Roman had surprised you with how quickly he’d committed to you and you solely. He’d told you, the night of your wedding, he knew you were it for him from your first official date. That even if you dumped him, hated him, threw him out, he’d be yours. He’d never remarry, he’d never even look at another woman.

You’re the only thing that brings light to his life. You radiate warmth into him. Being around you is being by a fire in the dead of winter up on Mount Everest. In quiet conversations in the middle of the night, the two of you tangled together in bed, he’d admitted he’d kill for you. Lie for you, commit crime for you, it was all the same to him. You are what brings meaning to his life. You’re an absolute in his world of probabilities. His anchor, his rock, the love of his fucking life.

Neither of you ever take off your rings. You’d both made sure to get metals that wouldn’t rust with water and had high durability just so you were never without them. If Roman was a shell of a man before he’d met you, he’s a god now.

Late nights at the office, he has a thing of chocolate for you clutched in his hands as an apology. Untoward women flirting with him despite his very obvious marriage (he endlessly speaks of you to anyone and everyone), his hand is on your hip, his lips on yours. You’re sick? He’s taken the day off to stay with you so you’re not suffering on your own.

On the off chance you both have days off and the energy, you’re out and about. Arcades, carnivals, anything so he can see you laughing and smiling and so fucking glowy. If you’re happy, he’s happy. You’re the most important thing in his life. In between your occasional excursions, he’s Googling how to beat carnival games, he’s practicing Flappy Bird, just so that when you do go out, and your eyes catch on a particularly cute plushie, he can get it for you and watch your face light up and feel the universe grace him with heaven.

If there was anything that came with being married that you didn’t like, it was his family. Maybe not Kendall, nor Shiv. Both were kind to you, and Connor didn’t come round anymore. You couldn’t blame him.

Roman’s your husband. You know him, you know what upsets him. And nine times out of ten, when he’s crying, it’s because of his father.

Usually so bubbly and relaxed, when he was upset, he was upset. He was unable to function. He ran to you like a moth drawn to light. He’d gone so long not knowing how to cope; you were only just now helping him learn how.

“Roman, where’s that cream sweater of yours?” you call out to him. He was washing his face in the bathroom, the two of you getting ready for dinner with his family. Waystar shenanigans, as he’d put it. But you knew that truthfully, it was deeper than that. More terse.

“Hell if I know,” he calls back.

“Then what’re you going to wear?”

“No clue.”

You tsk, instead crossing over to your side of the closet to pick out an outfit. “Just no weird color combinations, for fuck’s sake.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he says, not bothered, strolling into the closet. He pinches the small of your back as he slides past you, going to look through his clothing. “What color are you wearing?”

“It’s going to be really cold, so I was thinking cable knit. Or should I just wear a turtleneck and slap a jacket over it?” You hold both options up, turning to face him. This was routine for you both. Strangely enough, he loved matching with you, and you both regularly help each other dress.

“You’re already shivering. Wear the sweater.” He comes to you, plants a kiss on your lips, then turns back and tugs his shirt off over his head. He manages to find another sweater, slipping it on. It’s the same color as yours, and even though he’s done this countless times before, your heart warms. Once you’re both ready, you’re in the car that was sent for you. You grip the bridge of your nose with your fingers, taking a deep breath as the car gently jostles you as you’re driven. Roman scoots over in the back seat, where you both are, so that your sides are pressed together. His hand slides over your thigh, rubbing gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say truthfully, dropping your hand and looking over at him. You smile, meeting his eyes. You adore him. It’s evident in your gaze, and it’s mirrored in his. “Just bracing myself.”

He leans over, kissing your cheek.

Roman grips your hand tightly as you go up in the elevator.

You stick a fake smile on your face and step out into the light to greet Marcia. She air kisses both your cheeks, then Roman’s, greeting you both. You both make your rounds, hugging, kissing cheeks. You pretend to steal Iverson’s nose, to his delight, and he runs to his father, tattling on you with a massive grin on his face. Kendall just smiles at the both of you, the exhaustion slightly lifting from his features.

You go say hello to Greg, who’s happy to see you. Out of all the Roys, save for your husband, Greg’s the one you got on with the most. You were both in the same situation. You were both considered outsiders, yet still apart of the inner circle, still concerned with all the plotting and scheming and drama.

He gives you a hug, and you duly note that Roman’s being taken aside by his dad. You turn your attention back to Greg, making sure to keep an ear strained for anything that might go wrong. You chat idly for a bit, and you get the sense that everyone in the room is doing the same thing you are. You can feel the tension slowly spreading. Something’s wrong. And if it’s not, it will be very soon.

It doesn’t take very long.

Logan’s voice is booming through the townhouse, and everyone gathered quickly silences.

“What do you fucking want me to do, then, Roman? Roll over and let you fuck me?”

You and Greg wince in unison. “Are they still arguing over whether they should sell?” he asks you quietly. Frown starting on your face, you nod.

Waystar wasn’t the only company the Roys had control over. There were conglomerates on conglomerates of other companies, the most problematic of the bunch causing massive monetary issues- among others. It was an ethical disaster, and the lawsuits were beginning to pile up on top of each other.

While the general consensus was that the company should be sold, and quickly, Logan was stuck in his ways and took it as personal offence. Specifically with Roman. You couldn’t even begin to make up some lame reason as to why. They’d gotten into countless arguments over it, Roman doing his best to convince his father that if this one company went down, it was going to take a lot down with it.

You give Kendall a look, and he pushes himself up from his seat on the sofa and follows the direction of their voices. Shiv follows shortly after.

At dinner, everyone is white knuckling their silverware. Under the table, you let your leg press up against Roman’s. His entire body’s taut, and he’s staring down into his plate. You eat silently, the chatter around you awkward. You and Shiv murmur to each other about a new restaurant opening up down the street, making unofficial plans to go together when you could.

Of course, the moment you’re feeling at ease again, Logan decides to ruin it.

“Roman, you want to tell the table how willing you are to stab your own father in the back? We can’t just not talk about it.” He chews before speaking again, voice ringing. “Don’t you think your wife ought to keep her eyes open?”

You bite down a retort, Roman bristling. “Come on, Dad. Don’t bring her into this.”

You’re silently hoping that Shiv, Kendall, anyone steps in. Points out how wrong this is. How hypocritical, just how fucking ridiculous it all is.

“You know what, Romulus? I’ve let you do as you please for far too long.” You look up from your plate, on the brink of shock. You just can’t fathom the idiocy. “It’s time the world knew that you’re a cheat, you’re a liar, and you’re fucking rotten to the core. It’s time you stopped showing your face around here, like your brother.”

Your husband opens his mouth, then closes it, flabbergasted. You can see the tears rushing to his tear ducts, you can practically feel the tightening in his chest.

That’s it. You can’t. You can’t fucking handle this anymore. You get up abruptly, your chair making a garish, grating noise against the marble floor. “He’s right. We shouldn’t come here anymore,” you say, voice steady and clear. Your voice is raised, your tone firm. “It’s time we left, Roman."

Logan drops his utensils, the silver clattering against the table. “What’s the hurry? At least finish up with dinner.”

The heat immediately rushes to your face, and you can’t suppress the anger anymore. “Are you fucking senile?” you yell, Roman quietly getting up to stand beside you. “Enough is enough. Stupid fucking Pyros and it’s stupid fucking issues! You run it like a prison, your profit is nonexistent, and it’s being sued by every law firm under the sun. There’s a right decision you can make, but your head is too far up your ass for you to even see it. Go ahead, let shit hit the fan! Let the entire fucking family fortune get snatched away from you because of one measly company! And by all means, bully Roman over it, despite the fucking fact that every single person in this room agrees with what we’re saying.” You’re the one bristling now, the words spilling out of your mouth. “We’re not coming back. I’m going to the press first thing in the morning. You’ve been doing too much for too long. You’re nothing more than a piece of shit, Logan. You wouldn’t know a good son if he fucking punched you. Fuck off. You don’t deserve someone like Roman.”

Roman’s out the door before you are. Face still flushed and adrenaline still pumping through your veins, Roman helps you into your coat, you grab your purse, and you’re out in the chilly New York air, waving your arm for a taxi.

The ride home is silent, his head leaning on your shoulder.

Back at home, you kick off your shoes at the door, your stomach still in knots. “I’m sorry,” you manage, watching him shuck his jacket off and toss it into the coat closet. “I should’ve… I should’ve kept my temper in control.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” He comes over to you, his hands going to cup your hips and pull you close to him. “You’re the only one that’s been in my corner. Ever. My entire fucking life. You deserve a fucking medal.”

You kiss him gently, quickly. “It just made me angry.”

“I’m going to quit,” he tells you lowly, hand coming up to your jaw. He strokes your bottom lip as he gazes at you. “I’m going to quit and we’re going to run off to whatever place is the farthest from here.”

You steal another kiss from him before responding. “Let me ruin his fucking life first, okay? Pretty please?”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. “Oh, only since you asked so nicely.”

You’re both giggling as you collapse on the couch together, the dinner already forgotten. That’s how you know he was meant for you. Nothing mattered but him. The world could be burning around you, and Roman Roy could be smiling, and everything’d be fine because he was happy. That meant all was right in the world.

You cuddle up to him, his arm coming to drape over your shoulders. You hook your arms around his waist, tucking your face into his chest.

“You know,” he begins, “with corners and stuff, that’d make you a boxer. Or a wrestler.”

“Wasn’t that your analogy?” you ask, laughing lightly.

“Well, yeah. Doesn’t stop you from being a fuckin’ champion.” His voice wavers, the way it does when he’s on the brink of sleep.

“Fucking cheese ball. Go to bed.”

You both share a long, loud, laugh. It’s far too late at night for this. Apparently, his father was fucking nocturnal and only had meals past ten.

“You know you love it. You love me,” he murmurs groggily, barely still clinging on to consciousness.

“Yeah. I do.”

#roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy oneshot #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #succession x reader #wambsgansshoelaces #anon ask #requests open

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wambsgansshoelaces · 11 months ago

Note

heyy love, i love your fics so muchhh!! if ur requests are open, i was wondering if you could write this fun lil oneshot i thought of<3

(didn't really think much of the details but i imagined something like the episode with the pierce family, or u could change to what feels nice to u)

reader is like super hot/crazy attractive and the siblings are instantly interested. kendall and roman, being their idiot selves, start competing for her attention and trying to get her to accept going out etc. turns out, at the end of the day, shiv gets the girl, as she was the one reader wanted all along (gagged them)

Girls Get Girls

Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader

not gonna lie anon I feel like I didn’t do this too well so I’m so so sorry :( I still hope you enjoy even though I don’t really deliver x

btw I literally love you anon keep requesting

im so gay

Word Count: 2.893k

Mergers, acquisitions, stock, trade, liquidation. You couldn’t give a shit about any of it.

You’re not in the financial field at all, much to your parents’ disappointment. It’d brought you out of favor with them, brought your siblings closer to each other.

You usually don’t come to these things, but tonight it talk of selling the entire company. Leaving it all behind, cashing in the lotto, and fucking off. Your family had convinced you to come- despite your clear dislike for everything finance and business, you still hold stock and stake in the company. You were also going to get a pretty penny from your inheritance, so it would be wise to judge your potential buyer alongside your family.

You’re getting ready in your childhood bedroom, pacing the carpet as you put the finishing touches on your outfit. Your father had made it very clear: your job was to root out intention, then act accordingly. Regardless of whether you thought the Roys were worthy of the company or not is irrelevant at this moment. You need to be intimidating.

Intimidating, but also hot. Just for yourself.

A soft knock sounds at your door. “It’s me,” your cousin calls from the hall.

“Come in,” you call back.

She waltzes in, her blouse billowing behind her as she deposits herself on your bed. “Dad’s going to have an aneurysm.”

Even though you already know the answer, you ask, “Why?” You lean against your desk, facing her.

She snorts, knowing you’re trying to push her buttons. “He wants the company, dipshit. I still think all if this is to get on our nerves.”

“A chimp would do better as CEO than any of you,” you say, scoffing. What had started out as what you thought was joking was turning into something else.

“So why won’t you do it, then?” she asks, bitterly. “I don’t see why it has to be either you or someone out of the family entirely.”

“I’m not doing it because I don’t want to. My siblings also just… have no interest. We’re all off to bigger, better things.”

The two of you stare at each other until your father’s yelling draws you both from your trance.

“Up and at ’em,” he’s saying, pretty much to himself, once you’re downstairs. You brush imaginary dust from your sleeves as you make the awkward walk to the helipad. You and your brother share an exasperated look. Despite the fact that you’d been wedged apart over the years, you and your siblings share a lot of the same views and opinions.

“All this peacocking is fucking insane,” he mutters to you once you’re stopped a safe distance away from the pad.

“Just wait until you see them,” you mutter back.

Even though you weren’t involved in the business side of the company, you’d still been involved. You’d gone to dinners, conferences, galas. You were a bit of an outside source, as you held no real position in the company, but you knew you were vital.

At almost every event where someone with your last name was required to attend, there was also a Roy. You’d only ever seen them, never spoken to them

You hear the helicopter before you see it. Sunglasses perched on your nose, you look up. As it descends, your hair and jacket are blown vigorously back, and your hand goes to your scalp. The generated wind is aggressive, slicing over your skin, your clothing. The sound is now deafening, and you notice your sister clamping her hands over her ears. Your father gives her a look, something along the lines of don’t look weak, and your sister rolls her eyes in response, mouthing fuck you.

You have to suppress your smile. The helicopter’s landed, and people are starting to pile out.

“Logan, old friend,” your dad bellows jovially. While the two families had never met, never been close, you know your father and Logan Roy were actually the best of friends. You don’t know how they met. Your father spoke of Logan from as far back as undergrad university.

Your father steps forward, meeting Logan halfway as he leads the rest of his family towards yours. They envelope each other in a hug, and your brother snorts. He’s the only one who’s ever interacted with the Roys.

“It’s like he has a multiple personality disorder,” he’d told you the other day, talking about the enigma that was the head of the other family. “One second he’s laughing, then the minute Dad’s out the room, the guy’s raging over his kids or the people not doing enough work or whatever the fuck else is wrong with that stupid fucking company.”

He turns from your father to your mother, murmuring a warm greeting, then to the row of you, your sister, and your brother.

“Oh, look at the three of you! All grown and radiant,” he says heartily. So far, he doesn’t seem like the demon your younger brother had described him to be. But you know well enough that looks can be deceiving. He opens his arms out to you first, since you’re the eldest of the three. You give him an awkward hug, his hand clapping over your back in a friendly manner. “If only any of my children had the sense to get with you,” he mutters conspiratorially, earning a chuckle from you. He pats your shoulder, before moving on to your brother.

Logan’s wife is next. “Marcia,” she murmurs softly to you, taking you by the shoulders and air-kissing both your cheeks. You return the gesture as she does it, making sure to stay smiling. It’s all a flurry of names you’re sure you’re going to forget the second you need them. Connor, Gerri, Willa, Frank, Rhea. It’s really all just a bunch of letters bouncing around in your head.

Who you’re sure you will remember, though, are the siblings. The younger three. The important ones, your dad liked to call them.

As all of the ‘adults’ convened to chat amongst themselves, like they did when you were children, you and your sister are having a quiet conversation about your work. She’s in the middle of asking you to come out to her office to help you with something when you feel a hand settle on your shoulder. You turn, coming eye to eye with Kendall Roy.

“Hi,” he says carefully, small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think we’ve met?”

“No, we haven’t,” you say back. “Y/N.” You offer him your hand to shake, like your father expects you to do with everyone.

“Kendall.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say awkwardly. He manages a laugh, withdrawing his hand, his eyes flitting over your face.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, then, to, uh, put your name to your face.”

You’re not really sure what he means, but you don’t think you care that much.

“Move over, Kendall, you’re boring the shit out of her.” His brother comes over, bumping him with his hip. You have to stifle a laugh. “Roman.” You shake hands, offering him a polite smile. “He’s right, though. You’re a bit of a mystery to everyone.”

“Am I?” you ask, laughter seeping into your voice.

“Not to me.” Her voice is firm, clear. “I’m Shiv. I was at the conference you gave the Ethics presentation to. I know your work. My brothers are just stupid.”

You laugh for real this time. “Nice to meet you, Shiv. I’m familiar with your work, too. I’m just not so deep into the political sphere like you are.”

“I can help with that, you know,” she says, expression surprisingly soft. “I’ve been looking for someone that shares my opinions and… moral compass to work with. You need your rock, you know?”

The conglomerate of people slowly transitions inside. Roman and Kendall get roped into other conversations, your sister disappearing off to who knows where. You mill about in the dimly lit sitting room, watching everyone interact. Shiv’s still by your side.

“No offense, but I hate these things,” she says quietly, coming closer to you so you can hear.

You laugh lightly. “None taken.” You glance over at her to find that her eyes are already glued to you. You feel your face heat, her gaze flickering down your body before coming back up to your face. She has a sly smile on, but it’s quickly melting into one of real, soft emotion. You open your mouth to offer her something you’ll probably regret later, but are interrupted by your father clapping his hands together and waving everyone into the dining room. Instead, you give her an exasperated smile and follow the crowd.

Your father eyes you and your siblings as you all slip into your strategically chosen seats, making it so you’d all be surrounded by Roys. Your brother makes a face at you from the other side of the table. You ignore him, instead looking up at Shiv, who hovers by the chair at your left hand.

Almost shyly, she asks, “May I?”

“Please.”

A giddy smile spreads across her face as she sits, and you can’t help but mirror her expression. You look down into your plate, catching your sister’s gaze on you. Kendall takes the seat on your other side, Logan sitting directly across from you, right by your dad.

Roman and your brother are laughing over something as you get served the appetizer, your sister staring off into space while Connor talks at her rather than to her. Your mother speaks quietly with Marcia, and of course, your father and Logan are the loudest at the table, laughing and gesturing around.

Your cousin is on Kendall’s other side, overly-focused on her food. The conversation suddenly involves the entire table, Logan leaving forward. “What is it you do again, Y/N?”

You shrug lightly. “I work in media and risk analysis. Dabble a bit in economics.”

“So like Shiv?”

“Not really,” you and her say at the same time. You gesture with your fork, letting her continue.

“Our work certainly overlaps, and I’m glad it does,” she says, “but I’m more… political, she’s more… corporate.”

“If you dabbled in economics,” your cousin manages through gritted teeth, “we wouldn’t be here.”

“Neither would we if you did,” you retort calmly.

She scoffs. “I still don’t see why all of this is happening,” she says back, barely loud enough for everyone to hear. You look to your father, praying he’ll deal with it himself before she goes on some tirade, scaring off the buyer, but he makes no move. He simply glances at you, his gaze loaded.

Do it yourself.

You wait for a few moments, letting the tension strain the room. Maybe she’ll back off.

She doesn’t.

“The company is leaving family hands because of you, Y/N. It’s going to crash and burn because you refuse to fucking see what’s sitting in front of you.”

Logan’s lips press together into a thin line, and you know you have to recover. “I don’t want the company. Neither of my siblings want it. Don’t you think it’s a little telling you’re the only one lusting after it so loudly?”

“I don’t see what that has to say about me.”

“You want it, and you’re not getting it,” you say firmly. “You’re incompetent. The Roy name is not.”

Dinner is only silent for so much longer. Your brother, at his breaking point, asks loudly, “Why are you even here? You blew the Pierce deal. Fuck off.” Your father hisses something into your brother’s ear. He scoffs in response. “I’m sick of it, Dad. The three of us bust our asses to get this to go well for you and she gets to waltz in, do whatever the fuck she wants whenever the fuck she wants.” He quickly pushes back his chair from the table and makes his way out of the dining room.

Clearly, this is deeper than one stupid comment made at the dinner table. You throw a questioning glance at your sister. She gives a minute shake of her head. She doesn’t know.

Dramatically, your cousin follows your brother out. Roman is trying not to laugh, and all of a sudden, your father and Logan aren’t in the mood they were before.

You turn to Shiv, exasperated. She’s also stuffing a laugh down, and it’s contagious. “Is my juvenile family drama amusing to you?” you murmur to her questioningly, the soft clink of silverware and terse chatter filling the room.

“Yeah,” she says, nearly choking on a laugh. “This is so fucking stupid. How do you deal with it?”

“I never stay home.” You down the rest of the water in your glass.

“Hey, uh, Y/N,” Kendall begins, leaning towards you as you turn to face him. “I just wanted to say, I get how it feels.” He gestures vaguely around. “So if you want to, um, get some air after, I’d love to join you.”

You thank him sincerely, giving him a soft smile. Dessert finally comes out. You’re almost there. You turn back to Shiv, but she’s conversing with whoever’s on her other side, to your disappointment. You eat your cheesecake in silence, Roman catching your eye and giving you a wink. You didn’t know people actually did that, but he pulled it off nicely, you think.

When your father finally gets up, ushering everyone into the sitting room for drinks and chatter, you heave a sigh of relief. You trail behind the crowd, hoping to be able to slip away on your own.

You succeed. You sigh up at the high vaulted ceiling, padding towards the grand staircase up to your room.

“Hey, where’re you going?” comes a soft voice. You turn, Shiv, hurrying after you.

“Escaping,” you say jokingly, pausing on the stairs, letting her catch up to you.

“Can I come?”

“Yeah. You can.”

The sight of her sitting cross-legged on your bed does something to you. It sucks all the air from your body. But maybe that was just the sight of her.

"Your brother okay?" she asks, looking up at you.

"He'll be fine. Everyone's just a bit tense."

"Just so you know, your cousin's temper tantrum doesn't change anything."

"I'd hope it didn't."

"What would change things though," she tells you, "is whether you want to come on once we buy the company."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I was serious when I was talking about how I need someone in my corner."

"What do you mean?"

"It's me. The company gets handed to me."

"Congratulations, Shiv. But really, I want nothing to do with it."

"I'd be running things. You'd just be my right hand woman. The very attractive right hand woman that I see every day."

You laugh, unable to suppress the grin splitting your face.

“My cousin’ll murder me,” you manage to say.

“So? Let her try. Not like you’ll go down or anything.” She smiles up at you. “I think that’s hot. You’re hot.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, both of you grinning at each other.

“You’re really pretty,” you breathe, believing she followed you for a reason.

“I’m glad you think so.” Her hands come to cup your jaw in the few instances it takes you to cross the room, slide onto your bed, and kiss her. “God, you’re so… so fucking gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” you ask against her lips, peppering gentle kisses onto them. “Stay the night.”

“I told everyone I went home,” she says, giggling.

Your hand flits to her hip, rubbing soothingly. Your kisses are slow, tender. You’re both enjoying yourselves. It feels so real. It feels like something more.

You slide off of her, off the bed, eliciting a whine from her pretty mouth. “Just locking the door, baby.”

You wake up, head buried in her chest. She’d borrowed some pajamas of yours, the shirt a soft cotton. Her breathing is light and airy, and it’s music to your ears. Her fingers are threaded in the hair at your scalp, her arm thrown over your back.

You drift in and out of consciousness until she wakes up, pressing kisses along your forehead. Shiv sits up, letting you stay settled in her lap. You press a hot kiss to her bare thigh, shorts hiked up her legs.

“You know,” she says, after a short while of silence, “Ken and Roman were drooling over you all night.”

You snort. “Were they?”

“I know them. They were. And here I am,” she says, satisfied with herself.

You let out an airy laugh. “Here you are.”

“I was drooling, too,” she admits.

“Can we stop talking about saliva?”

She pinches your ass, to which you don’t dignify with a reaction, instead smiling into her thigh. “I wanna keep seeing you.”

“I have to fly out to Italy for some work. Maybe I want you to come with me.”

“God, I love women.” Her hand cards through your hair. “Mind if I take a picture? I want to send it to my brothers.”

“Perv,” you mutter, but nod anyway. You smile at the camera from her thigh, pressing a searing kiss to the place where her leg meets her hip the moment she hits the button.

It captures her beautiful face in an ecstatic smile, yours in soft affection as you look up at her, not the camera.

#shiv roy #siobhan roy #shiv roy x you #shiv roy x reader #shiv roy x fem!reader #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #wambsgansshoelaces #succession x reader #anon ask #shiv roy oneshot #shiv roy fluff

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wambsgansshoelaces · 11 months ago

Note

i loveee you work! i was wondering if you’d be willing to write a roman x reader fic that’s kinda anyone but you vibes where she’s in shiv’s wedding party and her and roman hate each but have to pretend to get along for the weekend. this is so random but i’ve been stuck on this idea lately.

also for music recs i’d totally recommend eliza mclamb, i love her stuff and she has a new album coming out this friday.

xoxo!

Baby’s Breath

Roman Roy x Reader

oneshot

ahh I’m so so sorry this is extremely late!! I promise I’ll do better anons waiting. I hope you like it, though!! I honestly do not have the patience to slowburn but I hope I still wrote what you wanted. thank you so much for requesting, I love you anon <33

I’m also really sorry i haven’t been posting fics recently!! I’m getting to it all haah. I really hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think xxx

also, I listen to eliza mclamb now…

Word Count: 2.557k

“Roman and Y/N, you’re walking together.”

Immediately, the two of you exchange a strained look. You and Shiv are long time friends, having met in elementary school and been attached at the hip ever since. At some point in your life, you were spending more time at the Roy household with Shiv and her siblings then you were with your actual family. You and Kendall got along just fine- he was too quiet for your liking, anyway, and would just listen when you spoke. He’d give you advice in that soft way of his, and to this day you don’t think you’ve ever heard him raise his voice.

Roman, on the other hand?

Every conversation you’ve ever had with him had ended in some sort of argument. It’s not that you necessarily had opposing viewpoints, but rather you both wanted to be heard, almost always at the same time. The two of you have been clashing since the first time you’d gone over to their house, when you’d bickered over who got the pink Wii remote.

You weren’t going to argue over this, though. It was Shiv’s big day, and you were going to make sure it goes exactly how she wants it to. You weren’t going to be the reason she gets stressed out on her wedding day.

She continues on, giving the rundown on the rehearsal dinner. Everyone’s expected to be there at five p.m. sharp, in their places at five thirty.

She and her fiance decided that their wedding was going to be abroad, and your flight out to Athens is tonight. Shiv had gotten the entire bridal and groom’s party together just to go over everything beforehand.

She’d finished speaking a while ago, and you’re now sat scrolling through your notes app making sure you have everything at home ready to take with you to Greece. You were helping Shiv move a few of her things, like a few suitcases of clothing for her honeymoon, and were also bringing a gift for the couple.

You’re absorbed in your mental check listing, but you still feel the couch under you bow a little with the weight of someone sitting down next to you.

“We can get along for the next two weeks, can’t we?”

“I’d hope so, Roman.”

“As long as you don’t instigate anything,” he amends, looking up to meet your gaze.

“If I don’t instigate anything?”

“There you go, instigating.” You suppress a sigh, pressing your lips together, causing him to crack a smile. “So much better.”

“I’m only doing this for Shiv,” you remind him. “As soon as this is all over, I’m going back to praying you get clotheslined.”

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to do the matchy thing.”

“Don’t we have to?”

“I mean, yeah, but I was thinking I get you a corsage, you know? And I put matching flowers in my breast pocket. Maid of honor and best man and everything. So that we look good in photos.” His face pinkens as he speaks, and he’s suddenly unable to look you in the eye.

“I think that’d be cute,” you say honestly. The bridesmaid dresses were a muted lavender, the groomsmen’s suits a deep black. You knew they all had pocket squares to match, but Roman’s suggestion is strangely thoughtful. You like it.

“Okay. Great. I’ll text you,” he manages, pausing a bit to look over at you before getting up and leaving.

And he does.

You’re swaddled in bed, invigorating face mask on before you have to fly nine hours. He’s sent you a screenshot of a Google search on his phone.

help, he sends after it.

The search is just ‘pretty purple flower’.

look into baby’s breath, you send back.

what the fuck

is that a fucking flower

yes

what a godawful name

There’s a short pause as he presumably searches it up. He sends you another screenshot, this time of rows of photos of the flower.

yeah, those

can i find them here?

You don’t know why he’s asking you, but you respond.

probably

you’re already in athens?

but what if i can’t?

yeah, flew out after shiv’s town hall

then order fake ones online

god, you’re not very helpful

You think he’s done texting, but he sends you another five minutes later.

fuck you

You have to get to the airport bright and early the next morning. You can barely blink the sleep away from your eyes as you shuffle to your terminal, having checked your obscene amount of luggage with the help of a scary looking driver the Roys employ.

You’re bored out of your mind as you wait impatiently in line to board the plane. Shiv had gotten you a first-class ticket, so you at least had that to look forward to.

You’re delighted when you get on the plane and find a massive, plush seat waiting for you. You stick your carry-on into the overhead compartment and relax.

You sleep through the entire flight. Your seat converted into a bed, and you were provided with the softest pillow and blanket you’ve ever touched. You fell asleep the minute your eyes shut.

You don’t realize something’s wrong until you’re inside the airport.

Since you’d spent almost your whole life in close orbit of the Roys, you weren’t unfamiliar with the press. They knew who you were, you knew who they were. They endlessly pissed Shiv off. She’d done her best to keep her spouse-to-be out of the spotlight, to give them both as normal of a life as possible. The press was overly invasive, and when it came to her family in specific, destructive.

Which is why you suppose the press is targeting you.

A few flashes go off, and immediately, reporters are in your face. You don’t know how they were let in to the terminals, how they were allowed to get so close. You feel the heat creep up your neck. You don’t like the attention- especially not this kind.

You try to push through, but you can’t. They’re incessant, and all you have in your hands is your sweater and your suitcase. You have your headphones on, and you do your best to keep your eyes averted. Despite the fact that you can’t hear anything, you just know they’re demanding comments on Shiv’s marriage and her relationships.

Before you give up entirely, the crowd is shouldered apart by a built man you recognize as employed by the Roys. He’s immediately at your side, arm closing around your shoulder, and helping you bulldoze through the crowd.

You’re frazzled, trying to stamp down the anxiety swirling in your chest. You make a mental note to thank Shiv for thinking ahead. You’re guided out into a private parking garage and pointed to a car. You’re then told that all of the luggage you’d brought would be retrieved, as it was all tagged, and you’d be off the moment you could.

You climb into the backseat of the car, just to find Roman waiting for you.

He’s worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, but he visibly relaxes once you slide into the seat next to him. Neither of you say anything until he glances sideways at you.

“I saw your face on an article online an hour ago. Someone posted your flight details. I was worried,” he offers lamely.

You blanch. “How do they even get that information?” you ask, voice cracking.

“I, uh, don’t know, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you got hurt.”

Neither of you say anything the entire way to the hotel.

It all feels wrong. The caring, the thoughtfulness. It feels like it shouldn’t be happening. But you like it. You like this side of him. It makes you happy.

All of your bickering had always been pointless, anyway. It’s not like you have some real vendetta against him. You hope he looks at you the same way.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, breaking the silence. “Thank you for thinking about me.” Shiv hadn’t. ๋࣭ ⭑

The day of the wedding, you’re rushing around, getting things done for Shiv. You’re running here and there, making sure the vendors know what they’re doing, making sure not a single hair is out of place. The entire day needs to be perfect. She deserves as much.

Your dress is on, your makeup is done, your hair is up. You’re all ready, and now you just need to make sure everyone else is, too. You aren’t about to let anything go wrong.

The makeup artist starts on Shiv, and you run over to the groom’s suite to check on them. You knock softly, and Roman slips out to meet you. He’s just in a plain cotton shirt and sweats.

“Are you not getting ready? Pictures are in an hour,” you tell him.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine. They’re all pre-gaming.” They all were. You can tell Roman is not.

“Can we take this seriously? We can’t have anybody be late. If we have to wait for anybody, then the entire schedule gets fucked up.”

“Fuckin’… calm down. We’ll be fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Miffed, but not in the mood to argue any further, you give him a look. “If you’re not all ready within the hour, I’ll kill all the groomsmen and then myself. Fucking hurry, Roman.”

You turn to leave, but he catches your elbow. “What asshole did up your dress?” he asks, annoyance seeping into his voice. He tugs you back to him, and you feel his hands smooth over your back, hunting for the string edges that controlled your corset. “Tell me if I go too tight.”

He pulls, slowly and softly, as to not disturb you. He stops when your dress sits snugly on your body, as it’s supposed to, and ties it tightly. He takes a half-step back, admiring his handiwork, hands ghosting over the curves of your hips.

“That feels a lot better,” you tell him.

His eyes flit up and down your body. “Looks a lot better, too. Whoever did that is trying to see you fail.” He trails off, but it looks like he wants to say something else. He’s in a sort of a daze, stare at you. He can’t seem to look away. He snaps out of it soon enough, and you come to realize it’d given you a rush of satisfaction to see him eyeing you like that. You liked it. “Fuck off. I have to get ready.”

So you do.

You make your way down to the ceremony space, inspecting everything. Thankfully, all is well, and nothing is out of place. Everything’s calm, quiet, and nearing perfection.

The time comes for you to help Shiv into her dress, and you’re both emotional, on the brink of tears. You tell her she looks beautiful, because she does, and you help lead her to her first look, where all of the couple’s portraits will be taken before the entire group gets together.

After you step out of the room, leaving them to it, Roman’s making his way up the hallway, this time dressed in a crisp black tuxedo, lavender pocket square tucked neatly.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re here. I have something to give to you,” he says, and you notice the small box gripped in his hand. You have to admit, he looks good in black tie dress. You could get used to the sight of him like this, every bit of clothing tailored exactly to his measurements. Not that you exactly found him unappealing other times, though. Because you certainly found him appealing.

He pops the box open, taking out a delicate corsage made up of purple and white baby’s breath. You have no idea where he got the thing, but it’s gorgeous. You offer your hand when he stretches out his own, and he carefully slips the corsage onto your wrist, adjusting it so that it’s straight. He keeps his eye on it, making sure it’s sitting perfectly on you before pulling away.

“It’s so pretty,” you murmur.

“I’d hoped you’d like it,” he murmurs back. “But, uh, if you don’t mind, I need some help.” He gestures vaguely at his breast pocket, where the pocket square currently sits all by itself. He takes you back to the groomsmen’s suite, beckoning you inside. He goes to root around in his stuff, which is all in a clumped pile in the corner of the massive bedroom. He cautiously takes out a glass tin, a single stem of white baby’s breath identical to the one on your wrist contained inside. “Every time I try putting it in it sticks out weird,” he clarifies, looking up at you, embarrassment tinging his features. “And, uh, you’re the only one who’ll give me the time of day.”

Your heart drops a bit. You feel bad, so you take the tin from him and motion for him to turn and face you. He does.

Roman doesn’t look you in the eyes as your hands smooth out his blazer. Again, these tender moments between the two of you felt like they shouldn’t be happening. It felt so right, though, you felt so at home, letting your hands linger on his chest. You gently tuck the stem of the flower into his breast pocket, letting it peek over and starkly contrast both the color of his suit and the pocket square. You smooth out any wrinkles you can find on his blazer, your hands sliding over the fronts of his shoulders, down his sides, over his stomach.

His face reddens, but he doesn’t stop you.

“You look nice,” you say quietly, straightening out his tie. He catches your hand before it leaves him, keeping it pressed to his chest.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You… you’re handsome.”

“You, uh, you’re always the prettiest out of all of them. All the time. Like, I’ll see other girls, but I… I always know they’ll never hold a torch to you. I always think- I mean, I know I’d just be happier with you.”

Your face heats, and you can’t help the smile that begins to spread over your face. He moves your hand from his chest up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Since when?” you ask, trying to keep yourself together as he turns your hand over and litters kisses along your palm.

“Since forever. I’ve been crushing on you since you yanked the Wii-mote from me then beat my ass in Super Smash Bros.”

You let out an airy giggle. “I’m sorry our relationship’s never been… amicable ’till now.”

Roman lets go of your hand, instead winding his arms around your hips and pulling you flush against him. “Don’t know what that means,” he says simply, fingers going up to brush gently along your jaw. He’s careful not to mess up your makeup or hair. He just wants to touch you. “Just glad you’re here.” His gaze flickers down to your lips. “Can I…?”

You don’t answer, instead leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss. He makes a strangled noise at the contact, hand adjusting to instead cup your jaw, anchoring you to him. He immediately deepens the kiss, and you swear you can taste the universe on his tongue.

#roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #succession x reader #wambsgansshoelaces #anon ask #requests open

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wambsgansshoelaces · 1 year ago

Note

this is kinda random but could you maybe do a fic abiut Tom falling in love with mondales dog sitter? It’s so cliche but adorable. Thanks if you do 💕

Squeaky Toy

Tom Wambsgans x Reader

Oneshot

Summary: Mondale is who you’re here for. You think.

Ahhh happy Golden Globes night!! Matthew Macfadyn, Kieran Culkin, Sarah Snook, and Succession Globes today 🥹

I hope you enjoy x

Word Count: 2.899k

“Mondale, hi!” You laugh as the dog spins around, elated to see you. More specifically, elated to see the leash in your hands.

He barks playfully, getting your attention. He sits, his tail wagging aggressively. You step over his enclosure, clip his leash to his harness, and open the gate to let yourselves out.

Mondale’s practically skipping, if a dog could do that, as you walk through the massive neighborhood. You know you’re the only one who takes him out, or even plays with him during the day. His owners were both in very high places; you recognized both their names when you’d been messaged to hire. They both were never home- neither Tom nor Shiv. You’re worried Mondale might get depressed if this keeps going, but you’ve been dog sitting him for a while now, and he’s just happy to spend time with you.

On your way back to the house, he picks up some scent that triggers him into a jog, and even though you can’t keep up, he’s all but galloping up the driveway. The garage is already open, and you chide yourself. You thought you’d closed it, but apparently not. Your ass was on the line if someone broke in, or if anything got stolen. This job grossly overpaid you, and you weren’t trying to lose it.

Mondale drags you inside, tail wagging. He barks, and you realize you had closed the garage- someone else had just opened it.

Tom turns at Mondale’s sniffing at his ankles. A smile graces his weary features, and you have to admit he looks a little ragged. He stoops over to pet his dog, cooing quietly at him.

“Hi, Y/N. Sorry, I’m not supposed to be here. I just have to find… find some papers,” Tom says, voice raspy. He gets back to his feet and gives you a weak smile. His blazer’s draped on one of the barstools to the kitchen counter, and you find you quite like the way his arms and torso fill out his dress shirt.

“Everything okay?” you ask, in clipping Mondale from his leash. Tom waves you off when you try bringing the dog back to his pen.

“That’s just bullshit Shiv insists on. Let him be, he’s a good dog.”

You do, making sure to give Mondale a good scratch between the ears. Instead of leaving to roam, he plops right down on your feet, rendering you immobile. He rolls over, exposing his belly and demanding you pet him.

“I feel bad I’m never around for him,” Tom murmurs, watching with a faded smile as you give Mondale a belly rub. “Thank you, though. You’re very good at your job.” Mondale barks, as if in agreement, tail still wagging as he looks up at you. “Can we… can we talk, though?”

Your heart sinks in your chest. You know what’s coming. “Of course. What’s up?”

Tom turns to face you, sitting down on a barstool. “It’s still difficult for me to talk about, but Shiv and I are getting a divorce.”

You blink, Mondale having gotten up and weaving between your legs. “Oh, Tom…”

He sighs, a hand coming up to his face to press to his eyes. “It’s nothing. I saw it coming.” He looks back up at you, his gaze flickering from your eyes to track down your body before quickly recovering and looking straight at you. “I don’t want to dump it all on you.”

“I mean, you can, if you like. I’d like to think we’re friends, and I’d be a shitty friend if I wasn’t there for you.”

He sighs. “It’s… I can’t even say it.” He drops his head into his hands, pulling himself together. Mondale trots up to him, straightening out on his hind legs to get closer to Tom, poking his snout in between Tom’s hands, trying to give him a kiss. Reluctantly, Tom brings his hands down to gently stroke his dog’s head, Mondale taking it as a cue to lick all over Tom’s face. He laughs a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “She cheated,” he says quietly. “Multiple times. She framed it differently, so I just took it for a while… but I just can’t keep fucking doing it.”

You go over to him, putting a hand to his arm and giving him an affectionate rub. You don’t know what to say. You’d not know what you can say.

“And I guess she was ahead of me, because she’s already taken all of her stuff out the house and fucked off.” He uses his hand to take yours and gives it a squeeze. “And I’m really sorry to do this, because you’re a great person and Mondale loves you, but you’re not going to be needed here anymore. I’ll have a lot more time on my hands now that I don’t have to run after Siobhan.”

You keep your expression neutral. “Yeah. Okay. I understand.”

Tom lets go of your hand, getting to his feet. He rummages around for something on the cluttered kitchen counter, finding and envelope and turning back to you. “Here’s the money for the rest of the month. And the next two.”

He presses it into your hands, forcing a smile. “Thank you, really,” you say softly. Awkwardly, he gives your shoulder a squeeze before pushing past you to go upstairs.

Mondale goes to follow his owner, but you think he can sense something’s wrong. He hops back down the stairs, padding up to you. You squat down to meet him, his tail still, as always, wagging.

“Oh, buddy…” Despite what you might say to other people, you were physically and emotionally attached to this dog. He’s been your only company for ages, pulling you out of your lonely spiral that you’ve been suffering through for a majority of your life. He has to hear the pain in your voice, he has to, because now you’re both sat on the floor, him licking at your face, quietly whimpering the entire time. “I have to go, okay? I’ll miss you.”

You know he probably doesn’t understand you. It doesn’t matter, though. It hurts leaving Mondale behind, but what can you do?

Glancing over your shoulder before climbing into your car, you can see him sat at the window facing the driveway. You drive off, and the minute your face hits your pillow in bed, you’re asleep.

You decide to do nothing for the next few days. Tom was more than generous, and you’re pretty sure he’d stuffed way more money than he said he did into the envelope. Mondale hadn’t been your only job, even though if it was, you’d be perfectly fine financially. You work remotely, an easy job that pays well, so dog sitting was a perfect add on. You’d lounge around in this massive house that wasn’t yours, doing your work and taking care of Mondale when he wasn’t napping or running laps as if he was on steroids in the enormous backyard.

The days go by easily enough, and even though you aren’t too butt hurt about being let go, the age-old feeling of loneliness re acquaintances itself with you. It happens slowly, but all of a sudden, you’re an eight year old playing by yourself on the playground again.

You just can’t escape it, can you?

You’re making breakfast for yourself one day when your phone begins ringing. Confused, you move the carton of eggs away from the edge of the counter to go pick up. It’s Tom.

“Hello?” you ask tentatively.

“Hi, Y/N, it’s Tom Wambsgans. Mondale's... dog dad. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s just… Mondale’s so sad,” he says. “I think he misses you.”

“Aw, really?”

He hums his confirmation. “He won’t eat, won’t walk far, doesn’t want to play. I thought he was sick, but I went to the vet and all I was told is that he’s depressed. And I think you’re the missing piece.” He pauses. “I know it’s weird, but could you come over? It’d do him good to see you, and with the house empty… nobody’s going to complain.”

“No, it’s not weird at all. Of course I’ll come,” you reply, perhaps a bit too eager. “I just, ah, haven’t eaten yet, so maybe I’ll be there in an hour?”

“I’ll make breakfast. I haven’t eaten, either… I haven’t eaten for a while, really, so I think I’m just asking you to come eat to make sure I actually eat instead of staring into the fridge.”

You take a moment to turn it over in your head, but you’re already putting the carton of eggs back into the fridge. “Yeah. Okay. That’d be nice.”

You find yourself back at his home. What once was his and Shiv’s home. You know the garage code, and you still have your spare key, but you didn’t really want to just let yourself in, so you ring the doorbell.

Almost immediately, Tom’s opening the door for you, ushering you in. He’s dressed casually, and the bags under his eyes are dark and they jump out at you. “It’s good to see you. You look nice.” You feel yourself flush, and thankfully, he doesn’t give you the chance to respond. He’s already shuffled away, into the kitchen. “I have pancakes on the stove,” he says over his shoulder. You follow him inside after kicking off your shoes at the door.

“This is all very kind of you,” you tell him, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him as he slowly goes through the motions of breakfast.

Tom glances back at you, a soft smile playing at his lips. “Yeah. You’re more than kind to me, to Mondale, so it’s the least I can do.” He turns back to the stove, and you can barely hear him when he speaks next. “God knows I could use the company.”

With Tom, it had never felt like he was really your boss, like Shiv had carried herself around you. It had just felt like you were a friend over to help with his dog, and that carried over into your relationship now. He never looked down on you because you were ‘help’, he always treated you with respect, and he was quite frankly a gentleman, which was much, much more than you could say about other men of his stature.

You move closer to him, now only an arm’s length away. You gently nudge him with your elbow, successfully bringing his attention to you. “You alright?”

Before he can answer, you’re interrupted by the patter of Mondale’s paws as he enters the kitchen, having realized who the visitor is. He barks happily, trotting over to you, elated when you bend to give him a good scratch. You press a kiss to his head before standing back up, Tom gazing at you both, emotion clouding his eyes. You open your mouth to ask again, but Mondale’s squeezed himself through between your legs, causing you to lose your footing and fall forward.

Tom catches you before anything embarrassing happens, his hands going to your sides to steady you, your hands braced on his chest. “Mondale’s a bit too excited, huh?” he murmurs, looking away, cheeks pink. You’re right-side-up, and his hands linger for much longer than they should. Yours do, too.

And you find that neither of you really mind.

You awkwardly pull away, a dumb smile on your lips. His fingers drag over your hip as you move, reluctantly letting you go. Mondale has doubled back, like Tom said, extremely excited to see you. He can’t stop moving, so happy to see you. Absentmindedly, you reach for the drawer you keep the treats in taking one into your palm. “Sit.” Tongue lolling out of his mouth, Mondale does. “Good boy.” You let him take the treat from your hand, his tail wagging.

“So that’s where they were,” Tom mutters, gone back to the pancakes. “I felt too bad to ask.”

“You’re welcome to ask whatever you like. I want to help, Tom.” Mondale trots off, satisfied, so you go back to Tom’s side. “You never answered my question, by the way. Are you sure you’re alright?”

He pretends to be focused on flipping the pancake he was currently on. “Just… lonely.”

You give his back a rub. “Well, I’m here.”

“Thank you for that. I’ve been going insane, I think.” The pancake finishes frying, and he offers you a plate already stacked with pancakes. “Enough about me. I shan’t bore you,” he says, melting back into a little bit more of himself.

You smile. “Nobody says that. We’re not small Victorian children,” you tease.

He’s smiling back. “There’s maple syrup in the fridge.” He assembles his own plate, carrying it over along with yours to the dinner table. You get it, then follow him, Mondale galloping around after one of his squeaky toys. He sets your plates across from each other, pulling out your chair for you.

“Tom, you don’t have to do all this.”

“But I am.” He takes the syrup from you, drizzling a bit over his pancakes. He glances at you, holding the syrup over your own plate. When you nod, he tops your own food without another word. Mondale trots over, squeaky toy in his mouth, then drops it at your feet before nudging your leg.

“Hold on, buddy, I have to eat,” you say, laughing, flicking the toy away with your foot for him to run after.

“He doesn’t do anything like that with me,” Tom admits quietly.

“You just need some time,” you reassure him.

“Could you… could you give me some pointers?”

When Mondale returns with his squeaky toy, you push it towards Tom with your foot. He can’t help his smile when he sends the toy flying, Mondale falling over himself running after it.

You both eat in a comfortable silence, every so often glancing up at each other before quickly looking back down, heat rushing to both your faces.

Time passes, and you find yourself at Tom’s more and more often. You help Mondale get comfortable around Tom, and eventually, Tom tells you weeks later Mondale’s quit his constant crying and whining for you.

“But I still want you coming over,” he tells you, voice shaky.

“I want that, too.”

Time keeps slipping away from you, and you and Tom are slowly but steadily getting closer and closer. You’re at his place half the time for no real reason, not that he minds, and he finds more excuses for him to ask you over.

The two of you sit on the couch, just barely touching. His thigh is inches away from yours. Mondale sits on the rug in front of you both, relaxing as you watch some movie. Tom leans back, draping his arm over the back of the sofa. Slowly, you also lean back, and he takes the hint, looping his arm around your shoulders instead. He pulls you together, and now you’re sitting with your sides flush together. You’re smiling to yourself, eyes still trained on the TV.

“I think you’re pretty,” he states bluntly. “And I’m so desperate to see you all the time.” His fingers find your chin, tipping your head back so you’re staring up at him.

“Don’t you think this is a little too soon for you?” you ask, his thumb brushing over your chin.

“Honestly,” he begins, “Siobhan and I started having issues the minute we got married. She stuck me into an open marriage, even though I never really wanted it. I don’t think I’ve been actually into her for a long, long time. I’ve just been… so alone, even though she was right there.”

You feel a pang of relation. He was just like you, wasn’t he?

“Then why’d you stay?”

He shrugs. “My job. I was scared. It’s all bullshit, really.” His hand smooths down your neck, back down to your shoulder, which he squeezes affectionately. “She was the only one who ever… utilized the open marriage thing. It just felt so wrong to me.”

“You’re a good person,” you murmur.

“Am I? This fat crush I have on you started way before I’d gotten divorced.”

You feel the heat rush to your face. “Okay, maybe don’t tell me that.”

Tom chuckles. “You know what? You’re going in the right direction. Why are we talking about my ex-wife? I want to be talking about you.”

“What about me?”

“I just professed my feelings to the most beautiful person in the world. My stomach’s in knots.”

You laugh. “What, do I profess my feelings right back?”

“If Your Royal Highness so desires.”

“Weirdo.” You shift so that your head is tucked away in the crook of his neck. “My weirdo?”

“Come on, I confessed. I need more than that. For the sake of my ego, you confess too.”

“Your ego doesn’t need more inflating,” you say playfully.

“You wound me.”

“Oh, shut up.” You pull back, taking his jaw in your hand, and pull him in for a soft, tender, kiss. “I have a big ol’ crush on you, too.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, and you can feel his smile.

A little while later, he dozes off, head on your shoulder. You eventually do, too, head on his, the quiet squeaking of Mondale ripping his toy to shreds filling the room.

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