#shiv being surprisingly good

[kithtaehyung]

this is like... prob my 5th time revisiting 3tan in the span of 2 weeks 🥺 i love the entire series and 3tan yoongi sooo much

one thing that's got me thinking is beach volleyball in 3tanverse!

Fifth time?! Oh my gosh babe what a compliment I’m glad you’re really enjoying it🥺🥺 I love them all too and think about them literally every single day😭

BEACH VOLLEY, HUH……. That sounds like a really fun idea!

[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

141 & Rabbit Headcanons [IKYLHT]

Series Masterlist | Prev: Personnel Files | Next: Chapter One

Please Note: This is my attempt at a spoiler-free introduction to the characters and their dynamics. This is meant to be read before the first chapter, and thus must be vague at points. THIS DOES CONTAIN SOME MW3 SPOILERS

-

141 + Rabbit Dynamics:

Soap:

Rabbit's ride or die right here, twin flame type of energy

First person she actually enjoyed the company of at the UK base while on assignment alongside the rest of the Demon Dogs

Subsequently the first to worm his way into her heart- sinks his hooks into her side and refuses to leave (not to worry, you'd have to pry her off of him, anyways)

Runs into her coming out of the mess hall, sees 'Highwater' stitched into her uniform and realizes this was the soldier Sparks had told him about

Oh yeah, that month long prank war with Shane 'Shitbag' Sparks (yes, she'd come up with that one herself) that the rest of the Demon Dogs decided to join in on? He made sure to tell Soap, because why not recruit the demolitions expert in his task of torturing his sister-in-arms?

Soap immediately decides on implementing her rename. 'Oh, you already have a callsign that half the base refers to you by? One that acknowledges your military expertise and the nine grueling years you've dedicated to the service? That's weird, cuz your name is Rabbit now and that's that' type mentality

She knew the reference immediately, hands twitching with the urge to unsheathe her spare knife because there was only one person that'd broadcast the story

Goddammit, Sparks, I will shiv you

"Excuse me? Where'd you hear that from, Sergeant?"

"A good friend never tells. I could always think of calling you somethin' worse?"

"Call me something worse and I'll have you written up for disrespecting a superior officer"

"Understood, Rabbit" said with a fucking grin

Despite being the one to rename her, literally never uses her callsign once he declares them best friends

Calls her Bunny or Bun, which surprisingly did help his efforts in gaining her [platonic] love and affection

Spent damn near every waking moment with her, which unsurprisingly did help his efforts in gaining her [romantic] love and affection

Sparring? Let me wrap your hands

Going out? Here, I'll zip your coat

Smoking? C'mon Bun, tell me what's bothering you, I can help

It was the little, everyday acts of love kindness from Soap that had her hooked on the feeling of being in his presence

So you can imagine how devastating it'd felt for the both of them when the special unit had been called back to the states

Even with promises to call and text and facetime, the feeling of his heart sinking to his stomach made him realize there were feelings he harbored towards Rabbit that went beyond the typical bond between soldiers

But orders are orders, and he'd been sure to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek before ushering her up the ramp and onto the heli waiting to rip her away from him

Not that either admitted it to the other at the time, but they'd both been teased to no end about their 'special friendship' by the rest of their units, cheeks warming yet refusing to deny the accusations

Like true friends, though, they did kept their promise

If it wasn't hours of texting it was calls, only skipping days when on mission but always sure to inform the other of their departure beforehand

It was hard most days. Seeing the other come back from days or even weeks of no-contact with new cuts and bruises

It was especially hard, though, after Verdansk

Soap had beaten himself up pretty hard after the whole ordeal with Makarov- the guilt of not being able to save those people in the airport, the shame of losing his cool in front of his superiors, the regret of not just avenging those people by shooting the man and facing the consequences later- he'd talked through his entire range of emotions with her despite the distance

Then, because the universe always yearned for cruelty, she got the assignment

Covert operation

Ciudad Victoria

Two days, wheels up at 0400

Now her home base had been Pendleton since basic, and if there's one thing the San Diego base requires, it's soldiers willing to cross the border and sweat their asses off for hours on end scouting some target for shit pay and no reward

She'd done it before, six months turned into twelve turned into eighteen until eventually she'd been volunteering to go, years under her belt and quickly moving up the ranks, Mexico now a second home in her mind. Anything to get away from that place

But Victoria? That was a city she'd only seen on mission reports, only heard of by way of interrogation

But orders are orders, and he'd been sure to tell her he'd miss her before ushering her to dump her phone in her locker and get onto the heli waiting to rip her away from him again

Soap didn't get a call for quite a while after that

His first contact, actually, hadn't even been Rabbit

It was Sparks

Locker pried open with permission from Griggs (not that he waited even a second to be granted it), he'd charged her phone and called the one person he thought deserved to know

"MacTavish? It's Sparks. Highwater, she's... she's MIA. Entire task force was found slaughtered. An ambush, I think. We don't- we're not entirely sure yet. Griggs can't get a straight answer. The whole things fucked, we can't- the area's got it's own governing body. They haven't... they've searched but they haven't found a body. We're not calling it until they do. I'm sorry, kid."

Two months

Two months Soap cried until his lungs spasmed

Two months Soap cried until his head ached and eyes burned

Two months Soap cried to his mother about the woman he loved

Two months until he got the call that damn near restarted his heart

"Soap? Soap, we found her. We have her, she's being taken to medical. We found her, kid."

Johnny's not sure he remembers a time he'd cried harder. He'd like to say it was when Sparks had first called him, but even then, he held onto some hope she'd made it out 'like you always do'

That'd been their promise to each other, and he vividly recalls telling Price that as he sobbed over the man's shoulder in relief

She'd been put on medical leave, forced to wave goodbye to her family as they flew off to Urzikstan without her

It was at that point- hearing her cry over the phone about how useless she'd felt being left behind, how she'd failed the only family that had ever truly cared about her- that he realized a trip to the states was in dire need

Entered the U.S. friends, exited the U.S. partners

Johnny's a man that focuses on the positives

He doesn't talk about those two months. Not to his therapist, not to his ma, not to Price

He focuses on the fact that his torment is over, he focuses on the woman laying her head on his shoulder and tapping her boot against his on the shaky helicarrier

Because that's all that matters to him. The little moments between missions where they can focus on something other than saving the world for a moment

It's a type of love, a type of dynamic the man had never experienced before

'Intimate' is the best word to describe it

Will 'accidentally' detonate an old grenade taken into the training grounds to 'see if it still worked', just to see the other's eyes light up in a sort of pyromaniac excitement

Will also take up an entire couch quietly lounging, arms wrapped around each other under a shared blanket because 'it's a low energy type of day'

It's all or nothing- completely feral, unhinged 'I'll request the jailcell across from you' behavior or soft, domestic bliss

No words need be exchanged for that energy to shift- just a subtle glance and soft smile, a type of telepathy easily mastered after four years of being together

And Johnny wouldn't have it any other way

Ghost:

Initially doesn't even want to address her by Rabbit

He couldn't take the callsign seriously, especially after realizing this was the woman Soap had been babbling about in Verdansk

He knew more about her personal life than he did her military career, and he'd read her file back to front twice. Well, what hadn't been redacted, anyways

Decides he'll stick to Gun, as requested, but only when necessary. Better than Rabbit, at least

But after Soap's little confession while her comms are down in Las Almas? Now Gun just won't do. Decides to stick with Darling until he's figured out a better one. Knows she won't mind, anyways

Calls her Lovie a small handful of times, blink and you'll miss it, and it's only in a NSFW context ;) soft!dom Ghost supremacy

Settles on Tapeti once the dust settles and he knows he's wormed his way into her heart the same way Soap had

They're close in a way he can't say about anyone else

Does he love his team? Of course

Would he lay his life down for any one of them the second the opportunity presented itself? Also yes

But there's something about shared trauma that bonds the soul

Neither talk about it much

It's honestly easier to use Soap as the go-between on a lot of things

She's already told him, already bared her soul for him to see in that deserted apartment, and Simon's grateful Johnny omits certain heart wrenching details when he runs his hands over her scarred back, runs his hands over the raised tattoos that cover the remnants of Victoria

He doesn't yearn to know the specifics, most days he's not sure he wants to know at all

He'd made peace with his demons a long time ago, had to in order to survive, but he knew it wouldn't be so easy forgiving what'd been done to her

It wasn't hard to infer, anyway

They have a calendar, a pocket sized one with a little magnet attached that hangs on their fridge

It was Ghost's idea, after one of those days when the shakes were debilitating and she couldn't keep her food down

He'd set the container of soup from the deli across their flat on the counter, pulling Soap away from her curled up side and showing him the dollar store purchase

He didn't explain, just scribbled out a few dates and passed the calendar over

So Johnny took the pen and started scratching out days

He didn't explain all of them, only murmured the easy ones like 'her mother's birthday' or 'her comrades death date' or 'Victoria'

There's a deeper understanding there, between the three of them, and if there's one thing Simon can attest to while stomping out the butt of his cigarette onto Grave's false tombstone, it's his appreciation for the man's betrayal in Las Almas that lead him into the couple's outstretched arms

Gaz:

Best boy, here

The baby of the group, a few years younger than Rabbit who shares a birthyear with Soap

Uses that to his advantage

Calls her Officer Hopps on more than one occasion, not afraid to more commonly shorten it down to just 'Hopps'

Always in a playful loving manner, not that it matters when Rabbit's glare quickly follows

Also thinks it's funny to call her 'Gunnery Hopps' when in the presence of other soldiers, tries to play it off as a genuine tongue slip despite his wide grin proving otherwise

Again, uses his baby privilege to his advantage, whipping out the puppy eyes and small kisses that has Rabbit's glare melting into a soft smile

Typically sticks with Love- partially because he's a true Birmingham boy and the term of endearment comes naturally to him- mainly because it keeps her wound around his finger

Starts a fight by betting Price 20 quid he could cut a chunk out of Soap's mohawk? He's running to hide behind her, basking in her warmth and sticking a tongue out at Johnny over her shoulder

Smug as all hell, knows he's been deemed the favorite and is sure to remind the other men of it constantly

He'll tell them it's 'just because she loves me more, mate' but they all know the real reason

It's his calm, level-headed personality and natural ability to lead that endears him to her so easily

She never questions his judgement because what he lacks in years he makes up for in everything else by tenfold

And he looks up to Rabbit immensely- he may not initially know the finer details of her military experience, just general war stories Sparks and the rest of the Demon Dogs had told him in Urzikstan when she'd been out on medical leave, but he does know what being a 0251 MOS entails, knows he'll never come across a better Gunnery Sergeant even if he retires at 80

Aims to become a GySgt after seeing her serve as their unit's operations chief, working with superior officers on training, operations, and tactical advising

Asks a million questions and- though he'd never admit it- keeps a log of their answers in his notes app. He's just organized like that

She noticed anyways, what with his trusting nature and big heart (he gladly passed over his phone passcode within the first week of them being official), and it was actually that notes app list of all the little throw away tidbits about her role on the team that led her to write his letter of recommendation

That’s just the dynamic they have, they bring out the best in each other in every way, even when they don’t think it’s possible given the circumstances

He's only two years younger, and yet he feels so lacking in experience when they're thrown into red-stained chairs with threadbare bags over their heads

"You been tortured before, Gaz?"

"No."

"That's good. Let's keep it that way. Stay quiet and keep your eyes forward."

He remembers blanching at her nonchalant tone, the way she talked as if she'd done this a hundred times before.

She has, he realizes, and he feels a sort of naive embarrassment wash over him when he really thinks about it

Interrogation and Debrief Specialist, he thought, you don't earn that title by just sitting and reading about it

He didn't have much time to sit and process that thought before the men were reentering the dark room

He's unable to fathom how she'd kept her breathing so calm, refrained from letting out a single yell or grunt or sniffle until the men had slammed the metal door on their exit

It was hard for him, returning to base after what had transpired

It didn't sit right with him- the fact that he'd allowed himself to sit there and let the woman he'd been falling in love with be beaten within an inch of her life

But she'd comforted him, face swollen and leg wrapped, knocking her boot into his with a smile

He'd knocked his boot back into hers, and decided from there on out she'd know exactly how much she meant to him

Price:

The only member of the 141 to actually refer to her by her callsign. Captain's professionalism and all that.

Throws it out the window the second he deems necessary- which is quite often- resorts to Sweetheart

He knows more about her than anyone else, Johnny the only exception, and that isn't something he takes lightly

He'd read the reports. The redacted ones. He knew what happened after Victoria, he'd been the one to okay her transfer, to accept doing a favor for the Demon Dogs after their good work in Urzikstan and promising he'd 'keep an eye on her'

He understands the vulnerability in that fact, and is sure to do everything in his power to prove to her he's someone she can trust, even after she's told him time and time again he's done more than enough to prove his loyalty

Fortunately, years of hearing about each other via Soap and the Demon Dogs proved useful once they'd finally met at the top of that wall guarding Alejandro's base, easily falling into a sort of mutual understanding of each other

It helped that he was a natural patriarch, the glue holding the team together, ensuring they worked as a well oiled machine both on and off base

Soap vouched for Price and that was all the convincing Rabbit needed. So when Price vouched for Ghost and Gaz? It felt instinctual to trust the men wholeheartedly

Scary as it was initially, Price just knew. Simple as that, he knew what the team needed and exactly how to go about it, and she trusted that

He was arguably the most experienced in navigating trauma, and that definitely lent a hand to the comfortability of the team

He’s perfected the art of understanding each of the members of the task force and it’s something Rabbit didn’t realize she yearned for until she had it

He’s become the physical embodiment of her safe space in a way she never thought was possible. She breathes easier when he’s in eyesight, the tension drops from her shoulders when he’s near

Despite being one who only rarely accepted physical affection from anyone other than Soap, Rabbit named Price 'Seat of the Year', and that's meant quite literally

Cuddles are mandatory team bonding. He doesn't make the rules (yes he does)

Arguably the most giving partner on the face of the planet

Is happy to lean back in his chair and cut off the blood supply to his legs if it means Rabbit is soothed by the way his hands run over her arms and scratch at her scalp, perched on his lap and quickly drifting off to sleep as he presses light kisses onto the junction between her neck and shoulder

His brain is constantly alerting his body of his need to protect and provide. It'd still happen even if he'd never approved her transfer, that's just the kind of man he is, but he wouldn't have been nearly as emboldened without her there

Gaz yawns in the midst of completing a mission report? He's already tossing the man over his shoulder and forcing him to rest for once

Soap lets out the quietest sigh of pain when that one muscle in his shoulder starts twinging again? He's already pushing the man to sit and rounding the couch to dig his strong hands into the stubborn muscle

Ghost's stomach lets out singular growl? Guess that stack of paperwork can be finished tomorrow, it's now his personal mission to ensure the man has eaten a nutritious meal that checks off every micro and macro nutrient possibly needed to ensure health and prosperity in that beefy body

Perfectly content to love and love and love for absolutely nothing in return besides seeing his team happy and healthy

Unbeknownst to him, he very quickly charms his way into her heart with his thick thighs caring nature, dilf energy warm smiles, and ofc the boonie hat

-

General Character Headcanons:

Rabbit:

-As mentioned in the Personnel Files, Rabbit is a Gunnery Sergeant and a 0251 MOS [Interrogator/Debrief Specialist]

-Gunnery Sergeant is her rank- serving as her unit's operations chief, working with superior officers on training, operations, and tactical advising

-0251 is her job code [MOS]. 0251 specifically means being an Interrogator/Debriefer in the US Marine Corps. This job involves collecting information/intelligence from human sources by means of interrogation, debriefing, and screening. Typical duties are the screening and interrogation of enemy POWs, line crossers, refugees, and other displaced persons, exploiting foreign language documents, and participating in noncombatant evacuation operations

-A common requirement for this job is being at the very least bilingual, and it's canon here that Rabbit speaks Spanish alongside English. With that said, many apologies to those reading this that speak Spanish because I'm using translation websites (yes I disappoint my Mexican grandparents every day)

-Rabbit is a Demon Dog, but was not in Urzikstan due to medical leave. She has direct permission from the US Marine Corps, SAS, and Price to be stationed in the UK base 'on loan' as a Demon Dog since they are part of the Coalition, led by the CIA's best Station Chief Kate Laswell :D

-Again, as shown in the Personnel Files, Rabbit does not have many character descriptors listed. I'm trying my best to make her as inclusive as I possibly can while still flushing out her character. I don't like the self-insert '[h/c] [e/c]' format, so I just avoid it all together

-Rabbit is an only child

-Also it's not really about Rabbit per say but in my story Griggs is a Captain. He leads the Demon Dogs and therefore holds a higher rank that Rabbit. It makes sense to me in this story that he'd be of similar age and rank as Price

Soap:

-I’ve seen a few people say based on his accent Soap is likely from Glasgow but unfortunately I’ve only been to Edinburgh so we’re using our creative liberty here and saying that's where he's from plz and thank u <3

-Johnny is the baby of the family with 3 older sisters. His poor mother was pregnant for damn near four years straight

-He's close with his entire family, but especially his mother and youngest sister

-Also I'm not killing him in this story. I wrote a good portion of it pre-MW3 and that campaign sucked so I'm ignoring it :)

Ghost:

-Simon is from Manchester. Yeah yeah yeah ik there’s a whole thing ab his accent and yada ya but my first London pub-watch rugby game was Leeds vs Wigan, so we’re sticking with canon here

-Wigan is in Greater Manchester so I like the headcanon that Ghost’s father was a ManUnited football fan so teen!Simon said ‘oh fuck that’ and instead chose to take the 45 minute train to go watch rugby in another city

-I'm basing a lot of his character off of both the comics and game, however there is one thing to note. In the comics, 'Sparks' is one of the soldiers that assists in getting Simon's family killed. This is not the same Sparks I refer to in this story. Shane Sparks is a Demon Dog, and I'm writing in his character for specific plot devices. He'll likely be completely OC since I just grabbed his basic profile off the character wiki.

Gaz:

-Haven’t heard any confirmation on where Gaz is from but my love Elliot Knight is from Birmingham so ding ding ding, we have a winner

-Only child, the absolute pride and joy of his parent's life. He's a total mama's boy and it was largely her good morals and outlook on life that steered him in the direction of wanting to better the world

Price:

-Liverpool. Again, I’m not sure if there’s confirmation as to where Price is from but my love ( yes I can have two >:| ) Barry Sloane is from Livahpewl soooooo

-Semi-sad headcanon for Price here. Idk why but I feel a strong pull to the idea that his parents have passed, despite him only being 36 in my story, putting them somewhere in their 60's

-On a happier note, I also like the idea that John is an older brother, so we're going with that

-

<3

[irlplasticlamb]

post s4 kendall: goes through regular circles of MASSIVE relapses full of partying and insane spending (he once bought thirty ponies for sophie because he felt really bad about being a bad dad just to realise sophie’s allergic to ponies) and becoming a vegan monk who meditates all day and hugs trees to feel better. a complete mess of a human being. never gets better. gets engaged with naomi two times and six times with stewy. stewy just rolls with it because he’s got a disease called “being a kendoll for life”.

post s4 roman: gets hospitalised for his ed every three years. becomes a successful AND insufferable twitch streamer. mencken’s personal rent boy. probably had a breakdown when gerri and karolina married. gets a cat and names her ravioli. ravioli and connor are probably his best friends. keeps in touch with ken, doesn’t realise so does shiv.

post s4 shiv: incredibly miserable in her marriage but refuses to get divorced. poster child for postpartum depression. becomes surprisingly good friends with willa, they later have a very messy affair. pretends she doesn’t watch roman’s streams, she does. she hates them but hearing rome’s voice calms her down a bit. she burnt tom’s shoe collection once. reaches out to ken after his second engagement to stewy and keeps in touch since.

post s4 connor: leads an unsurprisingly uneventful but comfortable life. moves back to his ranch after a year of living in logan’s old house. gets very into breeding horses. knows willa cheats on him, is okay with it, maybe even gets a boyfriend or two for a brief period of time. sends kendall a “care package” once a year. the care package is just a bottle of very bad homemade wine and some veg from his ranch.

[holycartoonwarrior]

I feel like Twitter and TikTok’s obsession w “proving” shiv is the smartest and goodest roy sibling is so dumb. It’s misogynistic in itself. In a show like this the likability of the girl character should NOT be hinged on morality or intelligence. No one puts that pressure on Ken or Roman. She’s a piece of shit and kinda dumb. That’s okay. I love her for HER PERSONALITY AND NUANCE!!!!

I’ve seen ppl accuse the writers of making her progressively more incompetent. She’s ALWAYS BEEN INCOMPETENT. That’s a core trait of hers. That while she’s more perceptive than her brothers, much like how she’s more “moral”, that’s like being the best turd in a toilet. She’s still surprisingly naive and earnest. Thinking she can somehow trick capitalism so that she can benefit from systems of exploitation without having to face that pesky misogyny. Rhea put it aptly herself “she thinks she’s smarter than she actually is”. That’s A GOOD TRAIT. That’s GOOD WRITING. Why r u MAD????

[cringelock]

the writing in this ep was incredible. it’s hard to have three back to back monologues without feeling just run over by all the dialogue, but they were all so so so good. ewan being appropriately honest and angry but surprisingly gracious in his way because even tho he spent years hating what logan had become he’s also grieving the brother that he loved. kendall falling back on his frankly extremely polished public speaking skills to try and marry the idea of the father that abused him with the man that he idolized, and who he’s still trying to become. and shiv, the baby daughter, reminding her audience that’s waiting to judge them (especially roman who showed weakness, and doesn’t she know what it’s like to be unfairly judged as weak) that they were just kids who loved and feared and were in awe of their father, who seemed so large. wow. wow wow wow

[pynkhues]

Oh you know I need your dream cast for a Succession prequel, Sophie

(x)

Okay okay okay, SO first thing's first, my dream Succession prequel is set against the 80s clusterfuck expansion into parks because every little bit of canon we got about that era just cooks. You've got Logan meeting Frank (and probably Gerri), Logan's whirlwind romance then toxic marriage to Caroline, Logan starting to have the golden trio and reconnecting with Connor and dealing with the aftermath of what happened to, and with, Connor's mother! Plus Ewan may or may not be still involved in the company? (I choose to think he is!)

As a result, a lot of my casting is partially determined by the age the characters would be then, which means I've had to change some actual dream casting (Romola Garai as 40yo Gerri, my beloved), but it's also a pretty fun era to think about so that's fine.

Anyway, let David Tennant as Young(er) Ewan invite you in:

I really love the Snr. Roy's being from Scotland, and their backstory feels so entwined with Scottish WWII history, so I wanted to honour that a bit in the fancasting, but all the same, I think I probably would've cast David Tennant anyway. I think he can sell that simultaneous moral superiority and absolute hypocrisy in a way that Ewan needs, and honestly, I just love the idea of him reading Jesse Armstrong's dialogue, haha.

Was Karl working for Logan in the 80s? I choose to believe yes, because I love him. Jack Lowden's been one of those actors who's popped up in a few things I've watched lately - Fighting with My Family, Small Axe and Slow Horses in particular, and I've been consistently pretty impressed with him? I think he's got a good handle of comedic timing (important for anyone taking up the Karl mantle) but also is a compelling dramatic actor and I think he could kill it opposite...

David Rysdahl as Young Frank! I've always figured Frank would've been a bit younger than Logan, and I love that little glimpse we got in canon of Frank having been brought in to advise on the parks acquisition and then Logan basically making him an offer to stay. There's something extra crunchy there for me if Frank's a little wide-eyed at the time and Logan oozes that charm that we know that he can turn on when he wants to. I like the psychosexual drama, and I also like the idea of Frank having this weird sort of connection to Caroline and Kendall because he met them while he was still impressionable / in the midst of being swept up.

But yes, haha, David Rysdahl I think is a bit of an up-and-comer, which is kinda funny given he's been in a lot of stuff. I've liked him though in the newest season of Fargo, and lowkey think he looks a bit like a young Peter Friedman.

Honestly, I just loved her in Swallow a lot, and she played the smart, unhappy, unhinged, WASP-y wife there to such perfection that I think she'd be ideal for a young Gerri who's still better known as Baird's wife than as counsel. There's such an attitude and vulnerability to Haley too which I think would match J's quite well, plus they have a bit of a similar look too which works for me? I want to see her claw her way in! And I also want to see her toxic relationship with Caroline which leads to her being Shiv's godmother.

Speaking of...

Honestly, I went through a few people for Caroline and she was surprisingly hard to cast. A lot of actresses who felt like they might fit the bill - Michelle Dockery and Claire Foy were two that sprung to mind - didn't really work as I didn't think they could quite balance the acidity with the blunt charm and playfulness that Harriet Walter just does so well (and honestly is a testament to what an actress she is). But then! Jessie Buckley! I've loved Jessie in everything I've seen her in, from Women Talking to The Lost Daughter, but it was actually thinking about her turn in Misbehaviour which made me think of her for this, exactly because of how she can play, well playfulness.

Plus I think she'd be a lot of fun opposite...

I did say I''d go with a Scotsman! Ewan McGregor's been in a few mmm, less good things lately, which makes a turn in a role like Logan Roy could potentially be pretty great. He's always been a remarkable actor, and one who, I think, can find the heart in any role, which is arguably what any actor playing Logan needs. Plus I always tend to think Ewan has chemistry with everyone he acts opposite, and I think he could really sell Logan's naked charisma in this era in a way that would make sense given he's making some pretty questionable choices across the board in the 80s. Plus, y'know, to the point of the post that inspired this one, I think him playing Logan would do a lot of psychic damage to people who could only ever see Logan as perpetrator of abuse and never as product or victim.

[silvandar]

BG3 Durge run: casualty list, sunmary etc. Durge spoilers.

I absolutely loved this run. Durge is like playing a completely different game! The plot is fantastic, and the dialogues are hilarious and very clever.

My Durge looks almost exactly like this! Love this tattoo design.

Party: Durge fighter, Astarion, Shart, random hireling sorcerer. Picking Duergar was a Choice, their movement is dogshit and they keep getting stuck on jumps 😭

Act 1

Gale: maimed, presumed dead. Unless Mystra took pity on him.

The Grove: bloodbath. Stole everything that wasn't nailed down.

Wyll: dead

Goblin leaders: dead. Minthara tried to shiv me when i picked Astarion over her, should have rerolled just to see her romance scene but it was late and I was tired.

Karlach: dead. Attacked me on sight yelling about the Grove massacre, which was weird but cool. How did she knowwwwww.

Laezel: dead, because she tried to shiv me when i was sick. Otherwise we were besties 😭

Act 2

Oliver: squished

He Who Was: openly likes me, headcanon dating.

Last Light Inn: bloodbath

Jahira: dead

Isobel: dead

Yurgir: freed from contract because i couldn’t trick him into yeeting himself

Nightsong: dead

Shart: Dark Justiciar mode.

Durge plot: think I'm figuring it out. Orin is getting slapped later.

Daddy Thorm: dead. Surprisingly easy to kill when everyone has misty step and range.

Githyanki plot: pretty much ignored.

Romances: dating Astarion, flirting with Shart.

Durge has slayer form which everyone else in the camp thinks is gross, but Durge absolutely loves it.

Act 3

Picking and choosing quests is fun! I'm already level 8 so can easily ignore stuff that feels too "good" to be of interest.

Somehow my general terribleness has made me Chronically Single. So I had to bang drow beef without the offer of a foursome. Sigh. Choosing the "kinky" options was hilarious.

Kissed and made up with Gortash. He's a good guy really, very swauve. Looking forward to killing him later.

Ascended Astarion. Went at level 10, fight was surprisingly easy now I know the mechanics of the power boosts. Also having Turn Undead is big and clever. Watching Cazador scuttle like a cockroach was very cathartic.

Murder tribunal: Met Saravok, he was fun! Chatted about the old days, killed an elephant, bathed in some blood. Good times.

Nightsong redux: Robbed Lorroakan while he sulked about the Nightsong being dead. Astarion can now summon Ghouls. (Genuinely, just hopped on downstairs and cleaned out the vault. Not a single combat reaction from anyone. Bugged? Or just wizarding hubris? Didn't try to take anything from the main tower tho as I didn't need the robes or staff.)

House of Grief: Shart turned about 1/4 of the adds to our side, so it was a surprisingly easy fight. Shart is now God's Extra Special Princess.

Orin: died in 3 turns, just went Slayer on her and ripped her apart. Fun! Astarion has a new sword.

Saravok redux: Durge has a nice new sword and hat. Although he did one-shot me at one point. Don't know why I expected anything other than a fight, honestly.

Gortash: roasted by the Netherbrain. Saves me killing him I guess. Bit annoyed that I couldn't loot him.

Ignored Raphael and Orpheus completely. Gave the Emperor the Netherstones. Pretty much zero Githyanki plot on this run, as it seemed pointless with Laezel dead.

Netherbrain: much harder with only 2 sets of allies! Blinding the dragon helped, and for some reason the mage got stuck and glitched, so I consider the fight Cheesed By Accident.

Ending: murdered the Emperor, dominated the Netherbrain, turned my party into thralls, ruled the world as Bhaal's Chosen. Epic end scene, absolutely brilliant. IN BHAAL'S NAME!

[twinge-of-cosmicangst]

K so Tom and Greg’s last ever scene is at the gay art gallery. They kiss, it’s a very romantic kiss, surprisingly tender. They walk out hand in hand and Tom’s never been happier but then oh no! Tom gets arrested over the cruises cover up! Turns out that Greg helped the Roy sibs make Tom the scapegoat for the whole thing, every single crime that’s ever happened at Waystar, Tom gets the blame for, they even managed to frame Kendall’s vehicular manslaugter on him, he’s looking at 10+ years in prison. Greg feels super bad because he didn’t know that Tom was a surprisingly good kisser at the time of betraying him, he wished Shiv had told him that 😩 But its ok because Nick says in interviews after, that Greg visits Tom, and Matthew confirms that Tom forgives Greg almost immediately and that they have regular conjugal visits. Succ girlies make tomgreg fancams using Stonehouse clips of Matthew in jail (Tom experiments with curlers in prison) fandom is surprisingly satisfied despite Tom being sent to super jail immediately after coming out #Incarcerate you gays! Briefly trends on Twitter.

[shivvroys]

lord, don't let me break this

shivlina oneshot

shiv and karolina, at the RECNY ball

you can also read it on ao3

a/n: surprise bitch, i bet u thought you'd have to wait another month for more shivlina crumbs!! This was initially meant to be a part of my other shivlina fic (you don't have to read that one first, but it would be cool if u did) as a reunion of sorts after Shiv's return from Sweden, but I decided to take that fic in another direction, so I'm just posting this as a oneshot.

Enjoy, muahhh! :XX

-

lord, don’t let me break this, let me hold it lightly

give me arms to pray with, instead of ones that hold too tightly

-

“I read the statement. Good one, plausible everything.” Karolina smirks.

“Yeah, Tom’s publicist tried to get us to do a sit down interview, but I told her I’d blow my brains out on live television if I had to smile holding an ATN branded onesie.” she pauses, narrowing her eyes. “That wasn’t you, by the way, was it?” 

She smiles at Karolina’s scoff of indignation. On stage, some bottle blonde with long, glistening legs is droning on about the importance of nurturing freedom of self-expression in our youth, while the group of kids dressed in beige rags waiting just in the shadow of the backstage area are sniggering and elbowing each other. She can see them expressing themselves just fine.

“God, no. Fluff pieces are probably the worst part of this job, if I’m being honest.” she replies.

Not the white-collar crime cover-ups? Shiv doesn’t say it out loud. She doesn’t want to put a damper on an otherwise enjoyable night. A surprisingly fun night. The onstage entertainment is typical RECNY bullshit, the same recycled speeches lapped up by uppity cunts patting themselves on the back for throwing crumbs to the poor pathetic art-school students and their future careers. God knows, there are only so many cafés looking for baristas in New York. The world needs improv groups, too! Shiv isn’t paying much attention to the stage, anyway. The lights are just dim enough to feel like she’s getting away with something, and Karolina is warm and loose at her side. Karolina’s only on her second glass of prosecco, but her face is slowly losing its reserved detachment, and her arm brushes firmly against Shiv’s whenever she laughs at one of Shiv’s inappropriate comments.

Turning to the other woman, Shiv finds her quietly contemplating. She looks like she’s deciding whether she can make some bad news go away by not speaking it into existence. Shiv nudges her. Spit it out. Karolina takes a deep breath, rolling her eyes slightly.

“I was just going to say-. Well, just that it wouldn’t have been the smartest option, anyway. Doing the interview.” Shiv frowns. Karolina’s suddenly grown quiet, like she’s steeling herself to get yelled at.

“And why is that?” Shiv asks.

The crowd erupts in applause, and the lights grow dimmer. Some bland electronic instrumental starts playing, as the kids make their way to the stage, all blank faces and languid steps. Shiv doesn’t pretend to be interested in whatever abstract emotion they’re trying to portray as they start flailing their bodies awkwardly. Kendall would eat it up. She focuses her attention back on Karolina, the other woman’s expression now harder to make out in the dark. 

“It’s nothing, sorry. I’m crossing the line, forget I said anything.” she watches Karolina take a sip of wine and pretend to immerse herself in the performance on the stage. A scrawny kid with a shitty fade and ear gauges is staring up at the light projectors and flapping his arms. Riveting. Shiv’s not letting her get out of this one.

“I wasn’t aware there was a line. Come on, Novotney, say it with your entire chest.” Shiv doesn’t realize she’d raised her voice until a couple of people turn back to look at them in condescending disapproval. She’d flip them off, but the silent scolding gives her an excuse to huddle closer to Karolina, so she lets it slide, and angles her body towards the other woman. They share a soft chuckle, like school girls caught trading notes during class. Shiv raises a pointed eyebrow, reminding Karolina she was very much still on the hook. 

“Well-.” she pauses. Shiv can’t remember the last time she’d seen her struggle so hard to find her words. “Well, purely from a PR perspective, a general representative statement is less…” she trails off. “Binding. Compared to a direct quote.” Karolina turns her head swiftly away from Shiv, a trail of perfume punctuating the end of her sentence. It’s something dark and ambery that briefly sends Shiv’s head spinning. It takes her a minute to process what Karolina’s actually said.

“Uh huh. So what you’re saying is, it would make us look stupid when we have to announce the divorce?”

Karolina had grown accustomed to Shiv’s particular knack for feather ruffling, but she still looks very uncomfortable to be broaching this particular topic. The Tom of it all. They hadn’t done anything, and whatever this was between them, this weird codependent clinging of each other, had been nothing but Christian. The longest Shiv’s held something between her hands without the urge to see it shatter. But still, they had an unspoken agreement that whatever it was, it would remain theirs. Nothing in, nothing out. They could make fun of Frank’s heavy breathing, and Matsson’s latest attempt at rebranding himself by trying to grow out a goatee, they could even share a silent laugh during meetings at Tom’s uncomfortable pep talks. But her marriage remained firmly outside of their thing. This rip in reality, their tiny cave at the edge of the world. And if Karolina was seeing someone, or seeking out someone to see, that stayed out too. Schrödinger's commitments.

If she said i love you in the middle of the night, but there was no one there to hear it, was she breaking a promise?

“I apologize, that was very inappropriate. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

The performance is done, and the lights get turned up a bit. A man with broad shoulders and an arrogant gait makes his way across the stage, the projector lights following him like prey animals. By the look of her, however, the lights might as well have been pointed right at Karolina. She’s gripping the wine flute, and pointedly refusing to look Shiv in the eyes. The dig at her sham of a marriage hadn’t hurt Shiv. If anything, she’s glad to have a chance to drag that elephant out of its corner and pelt it with rocks for a change. No, it’s not the reminder of its failure that bothers Shiv, but the reminder of its existence. That fact that the moment she is in right now is the temporary one out of the two.

She’s holding the thing, like a big shiny marble, and she can feel it slipping away from her grasp, can hear it shattering against the cold floor. Say something.

The man at the podium has a ridiculously wide tie and his teeth shine fluorescent as he laughs at the jokes that have been written for him. Shiv pins him down with her stare, urging him to finish speaking, urging the lights to dim yet again and Karolina to brush her arm against hers again.

 “You know, it’s fine.” Karolina’s still refusing to look her way. Shiv leans closer. She can see the tension gathered along the column of Karolina’s throat. “Besides, you’ve got a point.” She watches Karolina swallow. “I appreciate you trying to keep me an honest woman, Novotney. Rotten work, though.” 

Karolina finally turns to look at her. She opens her mouth, but doesn’t dare let any thought pass through. Shiv is frozen in her spot, trapped under Karolina’s gaze and hollowed out by the other woman’s perfume. If she moves, she’ll do something they’d both regret. The lights are too fucking bright. Suddenly, Shiv can hear every fucking person in the room breathing. Can hear them shifting in their seats, scraping their forks against their plates, dragging their chairs across the carpeted floor. Can feel her mouth dry out, and the underwire of her bra digging into her chest. She wills it to break skin. The world comes back into view with violent clarity. The thing sits cradled between her palms like a cool, shiny marble, and Shiv’s fingers are twitching.

If she kissed Karolina in a room full of strangers, but she didn’t say i love you, would the fire be worth the burn?

But she can’t do that. Not to Karolina. An honest woman.

So, she pulls back. Grabs her own glass and sips it like communion wine. Sins all cleansed and mortal flesh left unindulged in, she turns to the other woman like she’s suddenly remembered something she’d been meaning to say.

“Hey, you know that on the day of the wedding my mother was going around asking people how long they’d give it? The fucking nerve!” her voice rings hollow, but Karolina gracefully accepts the distraction.

“God, that’s awful.” Karolina laughs. Her arms doesn’t brush Shiv’s this time, but she shakes her head, sending another waft of her perfume to tickle Shiv’s nose.

“Yeah, she is” she says fondly. Then, she leans in conspiratorially. “How would you have answered?”

“Hmm.” Karolina mulls it over for a bit. Once she seems satisfied with the wording, she says: “For as long as you’re both happy.” She doesn’t avert her gaze this time.

Up on the stage, a new presenter is giving the same speech.

Shiv looks down at the marble in her hands, turns it round and round, watches the way the light bounces off of it. She watches Karolina roll her eyes at the presenter’s speech, and feels her grip tighten around the marble.

[cthoniaverse]

Siobhan “Shiv” Dagdammach

Artwork for Shiv and Torc done by @nathanaelwhale who can be found here on Tumblr and on his Instagram.

This is my “first draft” of my main character, Shiv, for my writing/world building project.

Born to two Kyolander wanderers in the Ring City of Crucible, Shiv is a short tempered young woman who works for the Dowser’s Guild. She lives with her father, Finvara a mushroom farmer and retired adventurer, just outside of the city proper.

Her work involves finding, investigating, and fixing magical anomalies around the city, often as a result of misuse of magic or negligent magical practice. Her innate magical ability allows her to create brambles, which prove surprisingly useful in a variety of situations from imparting knowledge on the local soil/environment to offense and defense using her thorns.

She learned basic magical principles by attending Crucible’s (only) mage’s college, Grimlock’s Arcane University, before graduating and finding work with the Dowsers. The daughter of two seasoned adventurers, she is also well versed in using her innate magical energy to make herself tougher, stronger, and faster than a typical human.

Her hobbies include drinking at the local pub, pipe grass, working out, reading adventure stories, and gardening.

She loves and is very close to her father, but can be embarrassed by him and his behavior. She maintains a similar relationship with his familiar, a large mountain boar named Torc. She does not like to talk about her mother, who she hasn’t seen in her memory.

In her own words Shiv is “not good at making friends,” but has some drinking buddies from her days at GAU she meets up with every now and then.

Shiv is not pleased with the state of the city, she feels more could be done to help the average citizen, and that a lot of the worst aspects of Crucible are, intentionally or not, caused by the nobility and their disregard for others. The chip she seems to carry on her shoulder is born out of a dissatisfaction with the state of the world, and an insistence that things could be better, or at least more fair, for more folk. Unsurprisingly she has a disdain for the rich, and even more for those born into it.

Siobhan is a small moving part in a much larger world I am creating. While I have fun fleshing out the realm of Cthonia, the central story set here is about Shiv, her life being thrown into disarray, and the choices she makes afterwards.

Stick around if you enjoy text blurbs and occasional artwork for worldbuilding/writing projects!

[i-merani]

Okayy favorite/interesting moments from the first episode:

1. Logan having horrible time at his own birthday because he so obviously wants his kids to be there

2. Whatever the fuck was going on with Tom and Greg

3. Logan's monologue when he went outside with Colin talking about the economy of people and just life generally - I feel like this is one of those few moments where we see clearly how Logan's mind operates

4. Logan calling Shiv Tom's wife ("call your wife") instead of just Shiv - distancing himself from his kids even further

5. Greg once again choosing the worst moment to talk to Logan

6. Alsoo when Logan wanted someone to roast him once again, because he misses his children and he missed being challenged by them - they were the only ones giving him a real headache and the only ones he doesn't really know how to handle

7. Kendall is doing surprisingly good like in terms of his mental health and all (which is actually concerning)

8. Tom still wanting to make it work with Shiv but Shiv being so emotionally unavailable that she just can't handle to have that conversation but still being very much hurt by the whole situation

[erisunoaakaibu]

Spiraltown - Chapter 2: The robot

Ren gently traced her finger around the rim of the teacup, feeling the energy from the tea leaves inside, letting the images form in her mind.

This has always been how she was able to perceive the world. Despite being physically blind, Ren has the ability to “see” with her third eye. The third eye allows her to see things beyond human vision, such as energy, auras, spirits, etc. You see, everything produces some kind of vibration that’s distinctive from each other. Here I’ll put some simple illustrations to show what Ren’s “vision” might look like.

On the left is how other people see Igor, and on the right is how Ren “sees” him. It is a combination of Igor’s soul, aura and emitted energy. Note that Ren doesn’t see the background in black, it’s just how I draw so that the image can be more visible.

The same logic can be used towards living beings and inanimate objects. The stronger the aura/energy, the clearer and brighter/darker the images will be.

That’s enough lore explanation for now. I don’t want to stray far from the story. Now, let’s get back to where we were.

Upon seeing the divination result, the tall lady’s blank expression changed slightly, for the worse. Something was coming, and it seemed to be unfavorable for the blind diviner.

* * *

And then, that fateful day finally came. Nah, just saying that for extra fancy, it’s actually the following day.

It’s a rather average Saturday. Igor was chilling on his couch, playing video games with headphones covering his ears. On the table was a Donu(t) in a paper box and a cup of Deca(f) coffee, the most favored food and drink combo in town, and also Igor’s favorite thing to buy. And of course, our angry guy was so focused on his games, that he couldn’t see what was going on. Not even when his neighbor, Solanine, came over.

Solanine stood behind Igor, watching him play video games. Clearly he didn’t know that she was behind him. Well, how about a little jumpscare? Just as that thought crossed her mind, she took out a shiv in her pocket, and pressed it against the guy’s neck. “AAAAARGH!!!” Igor screamed and took off his headphones immediately, just as expected. “I knew this was the only way to make you stop.” Solanine put the shiv away. “Damn it, why are you always pulling those f*cking pranks!?! You’re going to give me a f*cking heart attack!!!” “Cuz you were too focused on the game. Anyway, I got you something, take a look.” 

Behind Solanine was a huge carton box. Apparently it’s a housekeeping robot of the Roomba brand. “No way, a limited-edition Roomba? Has a built-in AI model? Can recharge itself? This is awesome! Damn, how did you get it?” “I asked an acquaintance. You always make a mess out of everything when you’re mad so I think you need an assistant. Don’t worry about the price, you know I am paid well. But still, it’s cheaper than I thought, and I’m not sure why…”

So both of them opened the carton box and started assembling the robot just as the instruction said. And then they turned it on. “Hello.” The robot spoke. It looked around, and stopped at the Donu on the table.

* * *

On the other hand, Ren was scrolling down the street. The street was surprisingly empty, without anyone around for some reason. But then, an angry scream was heard from across the street. The blind lady’s sharp ears recognized Igor’s voice immediately. Sparks of red appeared in Ren’s aura, as she darted towards Igor’s house with an astounding speed, paying no attention to the surroundings. And just as she arrived and the red in her aura died out, she noticed that the gates were open. Igor was still screaming. The blind lady slowly approached the door and gave it a few knocks. And of course, the one answering was Solanine, who was holding her phone.

“Thank goodness Ren, you’re here! Come in, you’ll understand what is going on.” Solanine tried to contact someone, but to no avail. Ren turned towards Igor, and he was yelling… a robot?

“I said: Give me back my Donu! And go clean the house!!!” “No. By the way, the Donu is delicious.” The robot replied, then consumed the rest of the Donu. Wait, it didn’t have a mouth, how did it…?

Solanine turned to the robot, and looked at her phone again, while letting out a sigh. “I knew it, I’ve been scammed. They don’t answer my calls.” Igor was furious. He started mumbling. “Damn it… this stupid robot, it’s broken! This Roomba robot… no, Roomba your *ss, it’s supposed to be a Doomba! Yes, your name is Doomba!! You stupid Doomba!!!” “Good name. I like it.” The robot replied, much to the guy’s anger. Then it turned towards Ren, waving its arm. “Hello! I am Doomba.”

Solanine started explaining. Basically she bought this housekeeping robot for Igor, but the robot seemed to suffer from some hardware damage. They thought it was just some minor damage and there would be no big deal, until they realized that the robot had become sentient, with its own emotions and thoughts. And it refused to do the housework, which it was supposed to do.

Ren observed the robot for a while. “I believe I have foreseen this in our tea leaf readings.” Her voice remained calm and even. “The huge and chaotic change in our lives.”

Well, things are becoming more and more interesting…

* * *

Author’s notes:

So I actually used a bit of Fraymakers reference here. In the scene where Ren’s aura sparked some red, it is equivalent to the Watcher using her Wrath stance. In Fraymakers, the Watcher’s Wrath stance increases her movement speed and damage output, as well as the damage she takes. So I decided to incorporate that into this chapter. There were no enemies, so the movement speed increase was the only thing taking effect here.

Also I’d like to imagine that Ren’s “vision” becomes blurry in this Wrath stance-equivalent state, only her target remains clear.

[kithtaehyung]

sundress season (3tan) | myg

drabble: sundress season | chapter: post-anytime pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime  rating/genre: m (18+) ; fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: you’re wearing a what.   warnings: language, his texts might need their own warning, yoongi on the phone, mentions of sexual acts, this gd outfit note: this takes place between 3tan8 and the upcoming 3tan9. if you haven’t read anytime or any of the three tangerines series yet, i highly recommend reading those first! it will make so much more sense lol note 2: again..... this literally happened bc of this post so it’s everyone’s fault lmaooo.. but since the goal was p big, i didn’t wanna slack on this one, so that’s why it took a bit longer to finish. i hope y’all know how much ily ! starting off the bday month with a bang. mood: wet dreamz - j. cole (sry lol i had to)  word count: 4.8k  release date: august 13th, 2022, 2:47pm est

-

-

“No, dude. Outta your league.”

“Fuck you, Chim.”

“I’m just saying.”

“What do you even mean? Hey, Yoong, look at this.”

Barely having paid attention, Yoongi only gets a bright screen shoved into his face before he retreats with a squint. “The fuck? What.”

“Shit, sorry.” His friend lowers the light before showing at a more acceptable distance, the only thing visible a photo of someone with her friends. “The one in the middle. I got a chance, right?” 

It only takes one good look to see that he probably doesn’t. “No.”

“Wow. Both of y’all can fuck off.”

“You asked,” Yoongi points out before taking a sip from his glass, the sounds of multiple conversations bustling around their table. 

It’s surprisingly busy for a Monday night, especially on this side of town. But who knows. Maybe this is their normal; he doesn’t come around here often. 

Besides, he’s only doing what he was told. Upscale hasn’t really been Yoongi’s thing, but Jimin’s newest way of cheering people up is to drag them to high-end, expensive as fuck restaurants. A bit different from inviting them over for drinks and a smoke. 

Tae probably has something to do with this.

Whatever. He’ll deal. Not like he has to eat anything. Frankly, he’ll shock himself if he ends up getting anything other than an overpriced cocktail. “If you really wanna know, just find out on your own.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Beside him, Jimin shrugs. “He’s right, Shiv.” 

“That’s because you both—People just—Look. This shit isn’t easy for me.” 

As soon as Yoongi says “we know” in tandem with Jimin, he huffs into his drink hearing the latter’s laughter. But this dude has been striking out lately, so he decides to soften the blows. “Just chill. You’ve been trying too hard.” 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just been rough since we split up.” There’s a big swig before Shiv continues. “Like if being myself caused that, then—”

“Nah, fuck that.” The thick leather of his chair pushes against him as he leans back. “Don’t let that get to you.”

“Just because she left doesn’t mean it was all you,” Jimin tacks on, bottle limp in a few fingers. “Especially when she dipped out of nowhere.”

True.

Yoongi stares into his glass, unblinking as he peers through the dark amber liquid inside. “Exactly. She’s been wanting out for a minute.”

A scoff is all they get. “Is this your way of cheering me up because…” Shiv’s words fade out, but it isn’t until he says something else that his attention is given

“I fucking love summer.”

Huh.

The hell is he looking at?

When Yoongi turns to look, all boredom and sense leaves his body. And everything else leaves his brain.

Because he spots you. Draped in a dress that feeds every goddamn fantasy he’s had since last week—maybe even longer than that.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What are you doing here? Was he always clutching his drink this hard? Shouldn’t he not be looking this long? Why does he frankly not give a fuck if he is or not?

You have to know how attractive you look right now. There’s no way you walked outta that house thinking anything else. 

And to think he almost stayed home.

Although, Yoongi’s a little regretful that he didn’t. Because seeing you without being able to do anything else has him on the brink. The edge. An edge he’s fucking close to ignoring because your ass looks even better than he imagined it would. 

Goddamn.

You aren’t even doing anything. All you’re doing is waiting to be seated, your entire party talking and occasionally roping you into their conversation. 

And he can only stare. Knowing damn well he shouldn’t.

So damn beau—

“Oh, wait. That’s…” His friend that’s still very much present cuts into his thoughts. “Damn. Wait, that’s her? She looks a lot different now.”

Before Yoongi says anything he’d regret, Jimin goads, “Yeah? Different how?”

“Hot.”

The dark, inward laugh that threatens to spill out of Yoongi’s mouth is potent, his tongue shoving all thoughts and responses into his cheek. 

Yeah, you’ve certainly matured. And sure, you look hot as fuck right now. 

But he guarantees that, above all, it’s your confidence that’s drawing everyone in. 

Calm. Unbothered. Staring right at everyone’s eyes as if they’re the most important people in the room.

You’re gonna be someone someday. 

And it terrifies him.

Suddenly, Yoongi hears your name leave his best friend’s lips, and it’s taking all of him to hope that you don’t hear him fuck you heard him. So damn loud…

But he laughs to himself in the end.

Because after all this time, you’re still so cute, with your looks of shock that are admittedly some of his favorites. 

Especially when he knows the main reason for them. It’s too easy to get a reaction out of you, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t fucking love it.

The only thing is: he can’t do anything. Absolutely nothing as you make your way to their table hold up why are you walking over? What the hell are you looking at—

Fucking Park. 

Of course.

“Hi,” you address in a sweep, looking even better up close. 

To Yoongi’s despair, it’s much easier to see how you accessorized yourself. And how well you fill that damn sundress that he still can’t believe you’re wearing. 

Of all the things to see you out in… 

Is there someone out to get him? Is this karma for all the shit he’s thought about? Or the way he had you on the phone last night?

He needs to not think about that, either. Not when he’s already dealing with you in the present. There’s no way he can handle both at the same time, especially since he’s already forcing himself to stay the fuck in his seat. 

At least he gets you tomorrow.

Wait, isn’t your interview tomorrow? Don’t you have work early, too?

Jimin’s compliment cuts through his realizations as it floats above the table, “You look nice.”

“Thank you!” 

“Hello.”

Yoongi gives Shiv a once-over as you turn to greet him, and when you thank the guy for saying you look pretty, he hopes that you don’t face him next.

But you do.

And you give him a greeting that’s much to shy, for his heart does something stupid before he offers his own.

“Didn’t expect to see y’all here,” you comment, thankfully sparking conversation around him instead of with him. 

Which is for the best. He probably shouldn’t stare while thinking about how those nails would feel digging into his back. Or how you would react if he pulled you into a stall, one palm clamped over your mouth while the other can’t decide where to start. 

Another sinful laugh threatens to spill. 

Fuck, how he would ruin you if you let him.

Feigning nonchalance, he takes a slow sip from his glass while his eyes inevitably linger, finally tuning back in when you observe,

“It’s so busy right now.”

“Happy hour. It’s why we’re here,” Jimin responds before pointing at Shiv. “Cheering this guy up.”

“Excuse you?”

God, he can’t do this. Your small, innocent pout is enough to break him down, which should never, ever be the case. 

If you ever pull one of those on him… 

Nope. He doesn’t wanna know.

In a dumb attempt, Yoongi fishes out his phone as you turn to add your own encouragement. Because of course you would. 

“You okay?“

“Yeah. Just a breakup.”

“Oh, damn. I hope you feel better.”

“It’s nothing, sweetheart.”

He pauses.

What did Shiv call you?

The look on your face says it all. Yoongi has to fight his lips from spreading any wider, your sorry attempt to hide your expression way too adorable to ignore.

He’s definitely gonna give you shit for that.

“Well, umm. That’s good,” you offer before looking over a shoulder he wants to kiss. “I should go.”

And Yoongi offers a bye along with the others, clenching his jaw when you walk off because what the fuck.

He might damn near groan.

Forget tomorrow. You need to be bent over his couch right fucking now. 

If he were younger, and if you were anyone else, there’s no telling what he would’ve done to you in those bathrooms near the back. Or in his car after he swerved off the road.

But on the same token, there’s another emotion lingering in his chest. Something deeper, fuller, more important than the outright attraction he’s hoping to god isn’t so obvious.

Pride.

How can he have that in someone that isn’t his?

Is that normal? How he feels watching you walk with your chin up and a new sway to your hips?

He’s seen that same walk hundreds—thousands—of times. So why does it seem fresh and brand new when it’s you?

He huffs from his nose before staring into his glass.

Showing you off would be too easy. 

Whoever gets to do that better do it right, and often.

“Was that too much again?”

Yoongi lowers his eyes to his phone before scrolling in his lap. “Sounded fine to me,” he lies.

There’s a tinkle of laughs while the guy laments, “I knew it. I’m so bad at this now.” 

“You wouldn’t’ve gotten that one anyway,” Jimin chides with one more chuckle. “Let’s keep going.”

Yoongi officially checks out when they discuss other potential matches. Because he may or may not have noticed that your table is easily visible, and he may or may not have decided to not leave you alone just yet.

Not like he’s going anywhere soon.

He can’t even stand up if he needed to anyway.

Tonight is supposed to be a fun, celebratory party for Dom. You put on a nice, comfortable dress, and freshened up more than you have in a long time. Feeling great is an understatement.

But seeing Yoongi throws you off in every which way possible and inside you feel like a wreck.

While you’re delighted that he gets to see you done up, you want nothing more than to mount his lap and ride him until he tears you apart.

Because holy fuck, he looks so fine.

It’s decided. You’re sure of it. The universe is testing you and you haven’t studied a single thing.

Did he have to have his hair like that? Did he have to look the most dressed up you’ve ever seen him? Why did he follow this restaurant’s dress code and not opt for a more casual fit instead? 

Just don’t think about it. Any of it. Especially the way his hair would look between your—fuck!

Focus. 

Tonight is for Dom. 

When everyone situates around a multi-table setup, you tell yourself to not be distracted. Yes, there are a bunch of people—most of which you only semi-know—but you still can’t get too sidetracked by his frame in that suit. By the chains on his neck. By the spread of his—

Stop!

Just try to converse. Be social. At least Reia and Yuri are in front of you.

That’s when you feel a vibration.

And you already know who it’s from.

Attempting to appear normal, it’s a wonder you only choke internally when you view what he said.

Yoongi [8:03pm]: Hey sweetheart :)

Goddamn it.

It’s a struggle to not smile like a fool. Admittedly, you didn’t exactly hold back your expression at the stranger’s forthcomingness. Which is exactly why you’re getting this text.

If you weren’t mistaken, you’re also pretty sure you saw Yoongi react. Which was way too attractive in itself, but you don’t wanna give him even more unspoken praise. 

You [8:04pm]: oh my god

You [8:04pm]: was my face that obv

Yoongi [8:05pm]: Lmao

You [8:05pm]: 🥴 

Wait.

Why is he texting you now? Aren’t you both in public? Surrounded by people you know?

Yeah, your brother isn’t here, but Mr. Sweetheart could know him. 

Then again… What does Yoongi have your contact saved as? Is it your name? Something else? Just your number and no name at all? 

There’s still so much you don’t know about him, and it excites you as much as it pains you.

Before you can mull over it more, he keeps the conversation going.

Yoongi [8:07pm]: Afraid he’ll never recover

Well. 

If he’s gonna keep texting… 

Why not lean into it?

You [8:07pm]: damn

A couple minutes go by without anything, and you’re pulled into a discussion. When a few other moments pass with no texts, you assume that’s the end of your thread.

So much for leaning into it. You definitely spoke too soon.

Probably for the best that it’s already over, though. There’s no telling how future texts would go, with the thrill of him being here and looking like sin.

Fuck, he looks handsome.

And quite frankly, you look pretty decent, too. 

Hummingbirds flit about your stomach when you know Yoongi got to see you tonight. Because all the other times he’s seen you, what you’ve worn has mostly been casual. Comfortable. Dalo was the only exception, but you assume neither of you wanna count that night. 

You briefly wonder what he thinks about your dress before a road trip talk materializes.

“I haven’t been on one in awhile,” Reia sighs as she places arms on tablecloth. 

When Yuri agrees before facing you, you already know what she’s gonna suggest. “We should go. It’s summer!”

“I have work,” you groan, frustration pursing your lips. With this interview also hovering over you, there isn’t much thought you can pour into something like that. 

“Boo.”

“No fun!”

“Sorry, y’all.”

Although… You start thinking about how one with—

Another vibration pulses in your lap, and you check to see who it could be. 

Yoongi [8:12pm]: Wdy look so cute for?

What.

Huh?

What is he doing!

The other texts were harmless. What the hell is he thinking sending this?

You [8:12pm]: 😳

You [8:12pm]: be serious

Yoongi [8:12pm]: K

You snort when you see the curt reply, knowing that if it was anyone else, you would’ve been mad as hell. But it’s so him that you can’t help but laugh.

At least he came to his senses quick. Gotta stay safe someho—

Yoongi [8:13pm]: Wdy look so fucking hot for?

Fuck!

Your foot abruptly slides forward, shoe clunking against the middle table leg in your shock. 

Everyone around you doesn’t notice, but Dom eyes you with a cocked brow from the head of the table. How did she know that was you? 

You wave her off before taking a sip of your drink to cool down.

You [8:13pm]: ……..

Yoongi [8:14pm]: :) 

Ass! 

In your haste to just reply and get this over with, you discover that he can make you flounder even over texts. 

You [8:14pm]: don got promoted !!

You [8:15pm]: don*

You [8:15pm]: dom**** fuck

Yoongi [8:16pm]: Lmaooo

Why the hell did you ever respond? 

You don’t know how it’s possible, but just his texts are enough to make you sweat. Beneath your dress, both of your legs slowly shift, your thighs rubbing against each other a bit too often.

If anything, Yoongi certainly knows how to compliment someone.

Distraction comes in the form of servers, getting everyone’s orders and gathering menus. A bit thrown by a potential vibration in your lap, you don’t even remember what you got and you hope to everything that it was a relatively cheap option. 

More conversation sprouts around the table, and you try to listen to what’s happening on either side. Some are talking about work troubles, others are lamenting the down period for sports. But they’re all lively and let you feel included, just like the one that invited them all.

You feel a little bad when you keep checking your phone, but at least they don’t really know you. To them, it would just look like you’re…

What? Talking to someone you like? Someone you may or may not be seeing? 

Where were you going with that?

Glancing down, you do see another text. And its contents affect you just as much as the notification.

Yoongi [8:30pm]: Isn’t your interview tomorrow?

You [8:36pm]: mmhmm. i’m dd🙄

Why are butterflies mingling with the hummingbirds? And why do you feel like smiling like an idiot in front of all these people?

Maybe how last night ended is still staying with you. Because you feel pretty damn good right now, and knowing that you have Yoongi’s attention like this in a public space makes you feel something dangerous. 

There’s another reason why you decided on your outfit today. Since you left that part out, you allow yourself to slide another message up, riding this wave as far as it will go.

You [8:39pm]: but yeah it’s sundress season !

Yoongi [8:39pm]: My favorite :)

You [8:41pm]: ofc it is

Yoongi [8:44pm]: 😊

You [8:45pm]: don’t even 

Yoongi [8:45pm]: Haha

Yoongi [8:50pm]: But I’m serious. You look nice.

That’s where it should end.

A natural close. 

Just say thank you and move on. 

…But what if you do something else?

Be it the thrill of doing this in a public space, or the fact that you want to jump his bones right now, you don’t know. There’s just a tiny flame you see in his words that you want to stoke.

So you do.

You [8:55pm]: how nice

Of course, you sometimes forget who you’re dealing with.

Because your plan completely backfires when his response comes way too quick.

Yoongi [8:56pm]: Meet me in a stall and I’ll tell you

What the fuck!

You can’t even pick at your food. Not when he’s giving you plenty to choke on already.

You [8:56pm]: ???? 

You [8:56pm]: here?(?

He’s not serious, is he? No. 

Even if he was, that would be crossing multiple lines. Texting is already pushing it, but it would be glaringly obvious if the both of you were absent from your tables for too long. 

Yoongi [9:01pm]: I’m kidding 

Yoongi [9:01pm]: But I’d be down

You [9:05pm]: no !!

Yoongi [9:06pm]: You don’t wanna? :((

God.

You hate how much you like this side of him. Or maybe this is just him, and you still can’t believe that you get to witness him in his natural, lethal state.

If you told yourself from a year ago that things would come to this, you wouldn’t have believed it for a second.

But if you also told yourself that you’d grow in ways you didn’t even consider, you wouldn’t have believed that, either.

You [9:10pm]: i do

You [9:10pm]: but i’d rather go home with you..

Looking back, much has changed.

But when you glance over to see him lift his eyes your way, your heartbeat concludes that some things will always stay the same.

You don’t ever think you’ll get over him. 

Which is fine, because you don’t want to.

Yoongi [9:11pm]: You don’t want that lol

Huh.

Of all the responses that he could’ve sent, that certainly wasn’t the choice you were expecting. Cocking a brow at your screen, you respond. 

You [9:12pm]: i do🥺

Yoongi [9:13pm]: Promise you don’t

You [9:13pm]: why not?

What the heck does he—

You hear your name being called, and it takes all of you to not react like you’ve been busted. “Hmm?”

“The party’s this Friday, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“See,” Dom directs to one of her friends. “Busy.” 

A small smile is offered on your end before impatience ropes you back to your phone. You’re sure the song that’s playing above your head is nice, and you can guess that the giggles in front of you are about Rohan. 

But your full attention is on an answer you’re zero percent positive about. 

What the hell does Yoongi mean? And why is he so damn enticing even over texts? 

Yoongi [9:14pm]: Just cus 

Enticing, your ass! 

You [9:15pm]: wow

Yoongi [9:15pm]: :)))

It’s like that, huh… 

This guy is something else. 

Questioning why you started texting him in the first place, you put your phone down to take a few more sips. Because you’re thirsty. Certainly not to cool yourself down. 

Right.

“Damn, where’s our dessert?”

“I was wondering.” 

Now that people mention it, you agree. It’s been quite awhile since you all ordered, and you feel a bit bad that your party is so big. Damn Dominique and her brilliant way of gaining friends and keeping them. 

She looks positively radiant as she tells another work story, and you laugh a little when you know exactly which one it is. 

Not many people can say they had a tough conversation with their CEO and came out unscathed. But when you save your company a bunch of time and money, no one can really do anything except let it slide. 

Well, and promote you. Which is why all of you were invited to a place like this.

What would she tell you to do now? How would she tell you to respond? 

Probably to press the man for an answer. 

Following sound advice that you manufactured, you go back to your device and start typing.

You [9:22pm]: tell me🥺

He probably won’t, given his stupid, short track record. But damn it, you wanna know! 

The only solace you get from minutes of no texts is that you can always hound him tomorrow. You know exactly where to poke him to make him flinch, after all. 

Yoongi [9:27pm]: Can’t. Heading out now :) 

Oh. 

Forget poking.

The both of you are gonna fight.

You [9:29pm]: RUDE???

You [9:30pm]: ok🙄

After you slip your phone back into your bag, you turn just in time to see him walking away with the others. When he playfully shucks Jimin off at the exit, you wonder if it has something to do with you.

You blink.

Why do you feel so… peaceful? Like life is okay and there isn’t anything that can bother you except the man strolling out the door? It’s such a serene feeling that you feel like smiling for no reason.

For the first time in a long while, the sky in your mind is spotless.

Thunderclouds can’t be seen for miles, and there lies an abundance of soft grass and flowers at your toes—a stark difference from the thick, muddy sludge you’ve been trudging through for days. Weeks. Months. 

And something else drapes over you like a warm blanket, a feeling from the night that you kissed under moonlight. Another time Yoongi blatantly disregarded where you were and simply did what he wanted. 

You craft the scene from memory, staring and realizing that those two have no clue what they’ll go through in the coming days. How the uncertainty between them is going to wither and fade, bit by beautiful bit.

And then you leave them alone.

You join the present with newfound tranquility. Everything around you rings clear, from the voices around the table to the clinks of glasses around the restaurant. The summer breeze announces its presence through open windows, and you wonder if it’s been trying to get your attention for awhile now.

Everything’s good.

Observing a decorative clock on the wall you never noticed before, you can’t believe that you’ve been texting Yoongi for over an hour. In public.

If only you could sit next to him next time. Or maybe even… 

A text comes through.

And you figure that things are fine as they are now. 

Yoongi [9:40pm]: So are you 🤕

Shit, you know you’re beaming but you honestly can’t help it. You truly didn’t know he’d like your outfit this much, and this new information makes you feel more than a bit dizzy. 

Suddenly shy, you text back and hope he sees it when not being orbited by his friends.

Dessert finally arrives a couple minutes later, and it isn’t until ten minutes after that when you get a reply.

You [9:42pm]: i wish i knew you liked them. i have a lot.

Yoongi [9:55pm]: Show me sometime 

Ah. 

You intend to. 

You [9:57pm]: if you behave🥴

Yoongi [9:59pm]: Haaaaa

The giggle you let out is the one that gets you caught. 

You raise your eyes to Yuri and Reia, the two of them giving you smug as fuck looks. “Huh.” 

“You’re so gone, dude.”

“I told you!” 

Swatting their comments down, you give them sheepish lips before muttering, “Shut up.” 

“You are!” 

“Why didn’t you invite him!” 

“She wants to keep him to herself, look at her.” 

“Stop!” you playfully grit. “I told you, we aren’t a thing.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“But you’re married?” 

You outright groan through a grin, feeling bashful and elated and giddy all at once as you laugh with them right after. 

“Go on, keep sexting your man.” 

“I’m not!” 

“Sure you aren’t.”

“Uh huh.”

When they mercifully let you go, you chuckle to yourself before texting back your reply, thrums of doves invading your stomach when he immediately responds. 

You [10:05pm]: jk. i will☺️

Yoongi [10:06pm]: Thank fuck

It should be a crime how attracted you are to this man. 

Well, no.

That isn’t the real issue. While attraction and lust are certainly problems, they aren’t the feelings you’re really worried about. 

Yoongi [10:08pm]: Have fun doll

The scarier feelings are the ones you have to sequester to the innermost parts of your heart. Because your finish line seems a bit too much in reach right now, and you don’t wanna trip right before you can cross it. 

You [10:08pm]: see you tomorrow<33

As soon as you click your phone shut, your head shakes with a tiny smile.

Because somehow, seeing him makes you more nervous than your interview does.

And you’re determined to make the most of both.

—

—

—

—

You can’t.

You can’t leave this alone.

What did Yoongi mean? What did he have on his mind?

After everyone’s made their way to the standing bar, you sneak away to lock yourself in a stall. Inhaling, you ring him up, hoping that Jimin or the other guy aren’t around. 

Thankfully, he answers.

“You okay?”

“I wanna know.”

“Huh?”

Your voice comes out in a whisper, even though you know you’re alone. “What you would do. If you could’ve taken me home.”

The soft chuckle on the line makes you weak.

“You’re in the bathroom, huh.”

“Maybe so.”

“Adorable.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Maybe so.”

“Yoo—” 

Suddenly, some people walk through the door, the sounds of the restaurant a lot louder for a few seconds. After perking up, you realize it’s some of Dom’s friends. 

Do you think they’ll care? Would they even know who you’re talking to? 

Have any of them been with Yoongi before? 

It’s that one stupid question that convinces you to keep quiet. 

“Mm. Can’t talk?”

“I—” Your voice is hushed. “Yeah.” 

“Poor baby.”

Ugh! 

You almost think about hanging up on him, but the deep, knowing laugh that strokes your ear renders you useless.

“I’d blow your fuckin’ back out, doll.”

Fuck.

Breaths turn ragged in a second. Vision is somehow blurred.

You weren’t ready. Fucking hell, you were not prepared. 

“Make you sit on my face until you come.”

You almost moan his name, and you have to press a palm against your mouth to keep it in. 

“Is that what the baby girl wants?”

“Yes,” you whisper, impossibly small and undoubtedly hoarse. 

”What was that?”

“I said fuck you,” you grit a tad louder, lowering your phone volume when Yoongi outright laughs through your speaker. 

“Please do. But get your pretty ass back out there.”

Why the fuck is he so perfect? 

Sighing, you shudder out before obliging. “Okay.”

“And good luck tomorrow.”

It’s not the interview you’re worried about anymore. While you feel prepared for that, you don’t feel ready for what’s to come after it in the slightest. “I’m more nervous to see you.”

For some reason, Yoongi chuckles again. And you don’t have a damn clue know why. 

“Don’t say that.”

Why not? “It’s true.”

“Always so cute.”

Well, you figure you’ll find out either way tomorrow. 

Maybe you’ll think of some preemptive revenge, as well. 

“Bye, babe.”

“See you soon.”

Everything goes silent again, only the ambiance of the bar and the music in the speakers accommodating the space. 

When you stare at your dark screen, you realize a few things. 

One, you’re alone again. Two, you call him babe way too easily. 

And three? 

Whether in secret or not.

You’re seeing someone. 

For real. 

And it’s Min fucking Yoongi.

-

-

-

tbc. 

-

A/N: DID YALL SEE HIS SELFIES TODAY?? HOW TF DID HE KNOW HE’D LOOK FANCY.. anyways, i dunno what else i can say other than this is hopefully a part that was worth waiting for! i’m just glad i could swing it between anytime and 3tan9. did i expect for it to be this big? no lol. but i figured that i would spoil y’all. it’s bday month! i’m feeling pretty good, what can i say skfjlshf but seriously, i love you all so much and i hope this was okay! A/N 2: this is not the end of sundress scenarios >:))) so stay ready  ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

[zweiginator]

i wanna be your mantra--kendall roy x reader

heyy here i am with my kendall x reader oneshot as promised... i hope at least someone enjoys xoxo thank you!

pairing: kendall roy x reader

synopsis: you are kendall’s assistant, but your dynamic is unconventional, and toeing the line of toxic. so, when he interrupts your night to ask a favor of you, it’s hard to say no, and neither of you expect it to end with him on top of you in the back of the company limo.

p.s. based on this ask, so thank you for the inspo!

word count: 5.8k (sry)

warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (?), dirty talk, praise/degradation kink, oral (F receiving), etc. etc.

———

Your and Kendall's relationship could be explained in three words: complicated, tense, obsessive.

You worked for him--under him, technically. But not literally. Unfortunately. The job was exhausting: late nights in the city without the fun, lavish dinners paid for by exploitation, and fueled by passive aggression. For the Roy's, relationships were strictly transactional, and you had grown to suppress your sensitivities around them. You had become good at the facade; the veneer that you were confident, and that nothing, no matter how vile and vicious, could ever make you cry. And, after a couple of years, you had surprisingly never cried in front of the Roys: that was saved for corners, the bathroom, anywhere they couldn’t find your vulnerability.  

But, after working for Kendall for almost two and a half years, it was inevitable that the shiny copper exterior of your personalities would erode, to show the more aged complexion of who you were, a rusty mint that wasn’t quite ugly, but instead just real, genuine. 

There had been a dozen or so nights when the professionalism of your relationship with Kendall had been challenged. Especially when Kendall was deep in the throes of his substance abuse, there were months when it seemed like every night Kendall would tell you to come over, that he needed someone--anybody--to be with him. 

And, it would’ve been easy to oblige, to leave the house in lip gloss and not realize the symbolism behind your applying it. But you always said no, mostly because him saying he would be willing to invite anyone over made it seem like you weren’t the antidote, but just a temporary distraction, somebody who just probably had nothing better to do.

And sometimes, work was odd with him. He had never outright flirted with you, but the air would change when you would casually mention a date to him; he would roll his eyes and bite his lip so hard it turned a stark white, different from the warm pink you were so used to looking at. So keen on looking at. 

And sometimes you did the same. If Roman or Shiv or anyone joked about a past--or current--hookup of Kendall’s, you would become bitchy, short, immeasurably immature. It was completely unprofessional to give your boss the cold shoulder, but that was the relationship you had. It was inexplicably unconventional, full of a tension that made others avoid entering a room when its cloud would loom over, daunting and unpredictable. 

Kendall often thought about how much you fucking annoyed him, too. He told it to everyone and anyone who would listen, but most of the time, he told it to you, explicitly, without care for your feelings. Maybe he should have felt bad, guilty–but something deep within him loved it. Loved the power he had over you, how sometimes your big eyes would look into his, brows furrowed with bewilderment, holding your tongue because you knew Kendall didn’t really particularly enjoy being interrupted. 

“Y/N, what the fuck is your problem?” Kendall slammed the door of his office, holding his phone flush to his ear, his free arm leaned against the wall. “I told you to tell Johnston we can wait on the meeting, not to fucking tell him it's off--I swear to God if this--,”

You rushed to get a word in, interrupting him. “Listen, I did tell him that--”

“Don’t fucking interrupt me. I’m not finished.”

“Okay, my bad.” You backtracked. You were on your way to the office, a tray of cappuccinos in hand, balancing them as you pressed the button to the elevator. 

“I need you to figure this out. I’m not fucking dealing with this. If this deal with him is out, I never want to fucking see you again.”

Kendall been vicious like this a lot--he had pushed papers off desks, slammed doors, even smashed a laptop or two, but his words always hurt the most. Sharp and venomous, they pierced you, pushing their poison into your veins, making it so hard to forget their presence--they would literally pump through you, repeating themselves, a mantra of your shortcomings. 

The tears came without your permission--usually you could choke them back, attribute them to something else, or feign your way to freedom, but it was difficult, as you reached Kendall’s office, to get away with any of these tactics. 

You left one of the coffees on his desk, opting to call Johnston--the owner of a small social-media start up--to fix your mistake. As you dialed, slowly closing the cold glass door of Kendall’s office, he gestured for you to hang up.

“No, don’t call,” he shook his head, taking a sip from the to-go cup. It was tiny in his hand; you could see his veins pulsing, a tell-tale sign he was upset, riddled with stress.

“You just told me--”

“I know I did.” He interrupted. “I figured if I want this done right, I should probably do it myself.”

Again, with the words--they always hurt. You didn’t know where the gall came from. “Picking up quotes, are we?”

“Excuse me?” He questioned, leaning against his desk. 

“I’m just sure you hear that a lot, after all your fucks, you know.” 

The silence hung in the air, ballooning with unspoken expletives, insults, the incessant odor of years’ old sexual tension. 

He motioned for you to come over to him, pulling his suit jacket off and throwing it across his chair. When you were close enough, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you, so he could whisper into your ear. 

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that. Are we clear?” He dropped your wrist. “Look at me. Are we fucking clear?” 

You nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

Kendall tilted your chin up, looking into your eyes firmly, with a dominance that made your knees feel weak and your throat dry with a germinating anxiety. “Why don’t you take the day off? We obviously aren’t seeing eye to eye today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You furrowed your brows, confused. A day off and Kendall weren’t words that meshed together. “But–”

“No.” He was firm, ushering you out of the door. “I’ll fucking see you tomorrow. A day won’t kill you. We don’t even like each other. Obviously.”

And then the door was shut, the wind pushing your hair back with a malicious force. He was punishing you; he knew you were a workaholic–that’s why he hired you. Even the salary didn’t keep people around for long; Kendall was intense, problematic, a true Roy in every sense of its connotation. But you were clever, a perfectionist, and addicted to the one thing that didn’t come by all too often: being praised by Kendall.

The feeling of his unbridled appreciation–a laugh at your jokes, a term of ownership, the subtle she works for me–was euphoric. And their scarcity was what made them so coveted to you, a reward more valuable than your biweekly check. 

You left, annoyed. Tired of matching quality with quantity and never receiving more than a “Alright, I need you to do this now.” You were spreading yourself exceptionally thin, so thin that your feelings had become transparent and incompatible with the opaque front of your usual robotic, emotionless facade. 

Maybe the day off wasn’t a bad idea, and maybe you needed a drink, and maybe you needed someone to take your mind off of how fucking annoying your boss was. 

So there you were, hours later, in a taut green dress and black heels across from a friend of your friend’s boyfriend. You feigned interest in his job, laughed a little too hard at his jokes, and looked to him for affection–any kind of fleeting admiration, just a tinge of longing. Even if it expired the next morning and grew sour and curdled, you were desperate, searching for his placeholder. But you didn’t want to admit to yourself just who you were referring to. So you didn’t. You pretended like Kendall didn’t bother you–until he literally bothered you again. 

“I thought I said we would see each other tomorrow,” Kendall placed his hands on your shoulders, making steady eye contact with your date. You couldn’t see him, but you knew his look was lethal; as easily as his eyes could reflect deject and sorrow, they could also emanate a concentrated hatred that had to have taken decades of practice–or mirroring his father. You felt the grip on the back of your chair tighten. “It’s only been a few hours.”

You turned around, setting your drink down as quietly as possible–as if the consistent pumping of a generic, bassy tempo wouldn’t already drown its subtle clink. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you raised your eyebrows. “So you’re following me now?”

“Following, no. I thought you wouldn’t be here, you know, uh, since you always have a fuckin’ stick up your ass.”

Your date butted in, thoroughly confused. “Uh, who is this?”

“My boss.” You answered, nonchalantly. As if that wouldn’t raise more questions, such as why his hands had migrated to your shoulders, and why your legs visibly squeezed together at initial contact, an involuntary reflex. 

“Speaking of,” Kendall moved both of his hands to one shoulder, squeezing tighter. “We should talk about Johnston. I, uh, changed my mind about a few things.”

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?” You quipped through gritted teeth. 

“It can’t.” He gave your date–if you could even call it that–a tight-lipped smile. “Come on, now.” His hands pressed down on your shoulders harder; it felt like all the strength you had left had been channeled into him. You were weak around him, unable to stand up without having pathetically wobbly knees that you attributed to your heels. 

Once you had stood up, Kendall’s hand was on your lower back, leading you to a back corner. It was dark; the soft, ambient lighting of the rest of the bar had stopped sharply, leaving you and Kendall obscured, the only source of sight the periodic opening and closing of the nearby bathroom door. 

“How did you know I was here?” You asked, throwing his hand away from you. Your eyebrow twitched, angry at how the only consistent thing about Kendall was the sheer power he had over you to make you do whatever the fuck he wanted. 

“I didn’t.” Kendall deadpanned. Even in the dark, it was obvious he was looking at your physique in the dress you had worn, an olive green silk slip that hugged your torso. Slightly promiscuous, but classy, elegant. 

“Bullshit.”

Kendall pulled you closer as the door to the bathroom swung open. You looked like a bickering couple, and that made your heart palpitate, a shallow longing piercing the skin of your chest. “Fine, Greg told me.”

“How the fuck does Greg know where I am?” You knit your brows together, confused. 

Kendall squeezed your shoulder, one of his rare, toothy grins emerging through the beacon of light from the cracked door next to him. “You fuckin’ recommended this place to him or something. I thought you there was a slim chance you might be here if you weren’t home.”

“And you knew I wasn’t home?”

“You didn’t answer your phone. Usually means you’re at work or out somewhere. I don’t fuckin’ know. Shot in the dark.” Kendall took a deep breath, his eyes following a waitress taking a few flutes of bronze champagne to a table across the room. “Listen, I actually do need something of you. And I’m actually going to get on my knees and fucking beg you.”

Kendall actually began to drop, until you intercepted, pulling him up by his elbow. “Jesus Christ,” You whispered. “What do you need? I’m off the clock right now.”

“That’s why I’m begging.” 

“Okay, just spit it out.”

He sighed deeply, pulling the collar of his crisp shirt away from his neck. “There’s the gala tonight–”

“No.” You shrugged. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“I haven’t finished.” He paused. “What’s wrong with a gala?”

“It’s not a gala. It’s a Waystar gala full of fucking Roys.”

Kendall rolled his eyes. “You work for a Roy, I’d watch it.”

“Just–” You rubbed your temples. “Continue.”

“Wow, fuckin’ thank you.” He said facetiously. “There’s the gala tonight, I had a date. I cancelled on her. Called Johnston, and he said that the deal is back on, but he wants to come tonight. To, uh, see the Waystar spirit or some shit?”

You stared at him blankly. “There is no spirit. People who come in with spirit leave with an alarming deficit of fucking spirit.”

Kendall pressed his hands together. “Okay, this is when I literally start begging. I’m going to get on my fucking knees and plead. I’ll, uh, fucking buy you whatever you want.”

Your cheeks flushed; it felt like you were high or drunk or something beyond that. For once, you had the upper hand on Kendall; you held the golden, winning card. 

“Please.” Kendall reiterated. A flash of something—vulnerability, guilt—flashed over his features. But it dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. 

You thought about it. It wasn’t like the date with the man-whose-name-you-would-never-quite-remember was going well; that within itself proved it. But Kendall’s entitlement, the waltz he always did where he would step into a situation and flip it to favor whatever the fuck he wanted—fucking annoyed you. 

“I don’t understand this. You.” You shrugged, opting for a non-answer. 

Kendall mirrored your shrug. “What’s there to understand.” He worded it like a statement, like nothing he did ever deserved the hanging of the unknown, the hesitant stamp of a question mark. 

“I’m busy. I’m here doing something.” The cocktail you had downed before “running into” Kendall had boosted your confidence, and a newfound lust for this strange feeling to persist settled deep in your belly, an autumn leaf swaying onto the newly dead winter grass. “Why does it fucking matter if I’m there?”

Kendall weaved his fingers together. “I think it would be good for the deal if you came with me. As my date. Just as a business thing. Purely Business. Keep the gala open to everyone,  show him it's tight-knit, it's friendly–it’s not just the Roys coming to keep their name on the inheritance check.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. It was cold; a metallic draft of air pinched your exposed skin. “Okay. Not a bad idea. But I work there. It’s gonna seem like everyone was forced.”

“Just–” He began. “It’s low stakes. Just come with me, you can get tipsy on free champagne, ride home in a limo.”

“You’re acting like I even have a choice to decline.”

Kendall checked his watch, leaning into you. “You can decline. But I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“Fear mongering. That’s cute.” You linked your arm in his. “I’ll go. But not because of that.”

“Atta girl.” 

—--

The gala was at 9; it was nearing then, but Kendall had ducked you into the limo, insisting you looked perfect for the occasion. You tried not to let those words ring like a mantra; the inside of your head was radio silence after the elusive compliment–no matter how trivial it was to Kendall at the moment. It almost felt like you were actually his date. 

As the doors to the limo shut, it was just you and Kendall in the back, engulfed in a silence that was tactile, sticky with tension and apprehension about the gala, the deal, if this was actually about what Kendall said it was. 

It was cold outside, and you sat next to each other in the prim limousine, legs flush against his as the limo winded through the twisted back roads, out of the sleepless swarm of the city and into the lazy nook of the suburbs, where willow trees swayed instead of the hands of passersby, yearning for a taxi. 

Kendall shifted, not uncomfortable, but perhaps a little bit; he felt odd at how much he fucking burned for you. You looked amazing in the dress. In his mind was you, in that dress on repeat–a silent reel fueled by a lust so obsessive it could only belong to a bereft Kendall Roy. He leaned his head back on the hot leather seat, thinking about how the curve of your hips looked in the taut silk of your dress, your cleavage when you bent over, your ass. 

You turned to him, desperate to fill the heavy silence with something. “Should we prepare? Like what we’re going to say to Johnston about the deal?”

Kendall snapped out of his haze, a fuzzy head high that could only be brought on by you. “Oh, um, I was just thinking we would focus more on the moment. I’m not too worried.”

You leaned forward. Kendall’s eyes flitted away from your cleavage. “Kendall, focusing on the moment?”

“Happens every once in a while, usually when I’m–”

“On a coke binge?” You regretted saying it, but Kendall giggled, surprisingly. 

“You’re not wrong.” Your necklace dangled as you leaned into him due to the turning of the limo into a cobblestone driveway. 

The bubble of intimacy of the backseat–your bodies pushed together from the cold and unspoken yearning–was popped as the driver opened the back door, letting you and Kendall out. You felt awkward, completely unsure of what to do. You had been to one other Waystar Gala and had promised yourself you would never go to another one for as long as you lived. They were usually chock-full of drama, and every attendee without the shiny Roy name tag was usually a pawn in some dirty Royco scam of theirs. But Kendall in a suit and those hazel eyes–you couldn’t say no even if you fucking wanted to. 

You walked towards the venue, a huge country club near the Hamptons, far away from the chaotic, capitalist jungle of Manhattan. Here, it was quiet; you could only hear the faint clink of glasses, feigned laughter, the clicking of overpriced dress shoes against wooden floors. 

Kendall was assured in his movements, much more than you were. He strode up to meet your pace, pulling you in by your waist. “You’re freezing, Y/N.” His fingertips grazed your shoulder blade, pricked with goosebumps. “Do you want my jacket?”

You shook your head. “No, no.” You answered. “We’ll be inside in a second.”

This new Kendall–you didn’t know how to feel about him. You had never really seen him before; you were used to the pulsing vein in his neck, a patronizing tone, pacing back and forth and the unmistakably stressful go, go, go attitude that always possessed him. Here, he was calm, soft-spoken, charming, chivalrous. 

Weirdly, you missed the Kendall that was rude and entitled, the one who would fuck you over in a second if that meant he got what he wanted.

“You nervous?” Kendall replied. The wooden door opened, a rush of energy seething into your bloodstream, amalgamating with the hours-old alcohol. He could feel the tenseness in your muscles. Whether that was a side effect from his touch, or the looming torture of what the gala would bring–you were unsure. 

“A little.” You admitted. 

Kendall tapped on his coat pocket. “We could take the edge off.”

You shook your head. “No, Kendall. I’m not–”

“Fucking relax,” Kendall dug in the pocket, pulling out a heavy lighter. “It’s a joint.”

You rolled your eyes, looking around. The coast was clear; Logan and Marcia were talking to Roman and Shiv, not worried about Kendall’s perceived absence. Something you had gleaned about the family dynamic was that due to Kendall’s erratic past, it was more of a silent wish than an expectation that he showed up to most things.

“Fine.” You responded. “I’m only taking a couple hits.”

Kendall shook his head. “No. We’re smoking the whole thing. Halfsies.”

Smoking on the back balcony was a dream. The white smoke haloed around the two of you, tendrils of pungent air pulling the two of you together. You hadn’t spoken much since the ceremonial lighting of the joint, but you didn’t feel like you needed to. It could just be you and him and the ashen remains of marijuana, and it felt okay, peaceful. The problem between you two always just seemed to coincide with work. And talking. And your control issues. 

“I have to admit something to you.” Kendall tapped the bud of the joint against the railing of the balcony. “Johnston isn’t here.”

You leaned forward, against the railing, plucking the remains of the joint from Kendall’s grasp. “What are you talking about?”

“He broke the deal off. He said we were ‘fucking suffocating to be around’.”

“What?” You asked, in shock. “Then why am I here?”

Kendall shoved his hands in his pockets, annoyed. “Like it’s so fucking bad.”

“I was on a date, Kendall. And you come in and act like I have an obligation to fucking come here, and then it was a lie, and I’m the bitch for being mad?” You crossed your arms over your chest, and Kendall pinched himself, a deterrent to not look at your breasts. 

“Fuck off,” He said. “That wasn’t a date, that dude was an asshole.”

“From the 20 seconds you were near him?”

Kendall shrugged. “He’s a finance guy in Manhattan; pick your poison, do you want gonorrhea or a prenup first?”

“What?” You were delirious from the cold, the weed, his lies. 

“He’s sleazy.”

“Why do you fucking care? Why am I here? You had a date–”

“Yes, I had a date, and then I cancelled on her because I would have rather you came. And you did come. And now you’re fucking yelling at me.”

You softened your voice, inhaling deeply. “What was wrong with the other date?”

“Nothing–I don’t know.”

You raised your eyebrows, a silent Okay, and?

“I just feel like–”

You interrupted. “You know what? I feel like this arrangement isn’t really working.”

“What arrangement?”

“Me and you. Working together. I mean, you take me to this gala under false pretenses when in reality I’m just your arm candy slash employee, and it feels like we’re toddlers shoved into those We’re gonna get along shirts. I just don’t understand this. I don’t understand you.”

Kendall swallowed. “Are you quitting?”

Your voice felt inverted, small. “I don’t know.” The bluntness of Kendall’s question confused you; the lack of nuance made it seem like he didn’t care, like it was good riddance to you. Maybe he wanted another assistant, one who gave him what he wanted regardless of her personal qualms, one who said “yes sir,” or “no sir,” and batted her eyelashes and was submissive to his incessant necessity for power. 

Kendall took another drag from the joint; it was ashen, deteriorating in his grasp. It felt symbolic. “You shouldn’t quit. I think you should stay at Waystar. With me.”

“With you. That’s an interesting way to word it.” You quipped. 

“I agree.” Kendall stepped closer to you, the heels of his leather shoes clacking against the ground. “Do you know how many times my dad or Shiv or Tom–and Roman especially– have told me to get rid of you?”

You were taken aback, hurt. “Wh-what?”

“Not because they don’t like you,” Kendall began. He leaned against the balcony, looking down at the limo parked in the middle of the cobblestone driveway. The license plate glimmered against the sliver of the moon, hanging in the sky like a pendant. “It’s because they see that I’m weaker when I’m around you. I’m fucking erratic and I act nineteen.”

You looked at his profile, but he averted eye contact. 

“Like, I’m an asshole to you, but you don’t just take it and I like that. But you also have this fucking hold over me that I can’t explain.”

“Can you try to explain?”

Kendall chuckled. “I mean, like, when I saw you on that date. Pure coincidence that you were there, by the way; I was going to meet my date to this thing there. But then I saw you and I kind of just ghosted her.”

You joined him at the balcony, looking below. Another limousine had pulled up; a group of older businessmen and their wives in high neck silk dresses flooded out. “Oh,” was all you could muster. 

“And I felt this deep anger when I saw you with that guy,” Kendall turned to you. “I was jealous and fucking protective.”

“Jealous?” The limo driver turned the engine off, leaving the keys on the front seat. As if blinking tiredly, the headlights fizzled out, and the driveway was empty, serene. 

“Yes, I’m so fucking jealous.”

You looked at him, and finally, he turned to you. The silence allowed you to hear each other’s pulses thumping with the anticipation of the lust you both shared; it was ripened, sweet to the point of almost being rotten. 

Breaking the silence, Kendall had an idea. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Kendall pulled your hand into his, and then you were running down the spiral staircase, past the other guests who wanted to speak with the fleeting Roy who was breathless, high, and for once, didn’t fucking care about Waystar, or meetings or finances.

He ran to the limo, catching his breath as he reached the one with the keys still perched on the driver’s seat. “Let’s hope they’re not locked in.”

“Ken, where are we going?” You smiled, dizzy from the change of pace, how he gleamed around you. 

“Wherever the fuck you want.” 

And then you were in the front seat. The heat was on and so was the engine, but Kendall sat, faced forward. A look of determination was etched into his face. 

“What?” You asked.

Kendall spoke up. “I have to tell you–you look fucking perfect in that dress.” His hand held the back of your head and your heart leapt; it felt like it had jumped to the other side of your chest. 

You didn’t know what to do; there were only two choices, what a shitty choose-your-own-adventure. But it was always important to go with your gut, even if it was spoiled by butterflies and the most overgrown lust you had ever had for anyone in your fucking life. 

You closed the gap, pulling him in by his tie as his hands found your waist, pulling you on top of him. The horn honked, and Kendall smiled against you as he palmed your ass, his tongue swiping across your teeth. You opened your mouth, moaning into him.

“I fucking need you.” He said. “I fucking hate how much I need you.” He slid your core against his clothed cock, his head falling back at the feeling of the friction.

And then you were in the backseat, and he was on top of you. He pulled your heels off as you undid his tie. Kendall pushed your wrists together and held them above your head as he kissed your neck, pulling the straps of your dress down with his teeth. 

“Kendall,” You moaned, arching into him. The moment was heated, of course, but also tinged with anger, a vicious hatred of how fucked up your dynamic was and how you were just about to fuck it up some more. 

His mouth latched to your nipple as he palmed your other breast, letting go of your wrists, your hands quickly finding his head. You ground your hips against his, desperate for him. Any of him. You were soaked; you had been since he took that first drag of the joint, and you despised how easy you were for him, how willing. One cheap compliment and here you were, aching for him, his clothed cock nestled between your legs. It belonged there, and you knew it.

Kendall groaned into you as a trail of wet kisses led him back to your awaiting mouth. They were kisses that broke the rubber band of years worth of tension, of pent-up hatred that had metamorphized into something possibly akin to love.

He hiked your dress up around your waist, and pushed his hand against your cunt. You were shaking for him, wet and needy. 

“Is this okay?” He asked. His thumb rubbed lazy circles on your clit, and you moaned out, bucking into his touch. Of course it was.

“Yes, fuck, Kendall.” You were flustered, so frustrated at how much you had to have him, at how you were letting him–your boss–take you at a company gala in the fucking company limo. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?” You hissed as he took his fingers away, yanking your thong down and putting your legs over his shoulder as he licked a thick stripe over your folds. He kissed your outer lips, so soft with his ministrations that it made you want to rip his hair out.

He moaned at your taste, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your thighs until his tongue lapped hungrily around your clit, two fingers pushing their way into your cunt. You were soaked for him; you thanked god that the seats were leather. 

Kendall was messy yet precise; his hands gripped your thighs so hard he could feel your pulse. Your hands found his head, and you ground against his tongue as he ate you, starved.

He came up for air, still pumping his fingers into you. “Oh, I’m a fucking asshole?” He grabbed your jaw. “Always teasing me. Always fucking talking back.”

You whimpered when his fingers stopped pumping, begging for more with your eyes, with the rolling of your hips against him. 

“See how it feels?” He pulled his fingers out completely. “Open your mouth for me. No fucking backtalk.” 

You nodded, obliging. Kendall was bent over you, your legs around his waist. One of his hands was braced against the seat, the other holding your face in place, forcing you to look at him. His thumb pulled at your bottom lip as he spit into your mouth, urging you to swallow. 

“Fuck.” He said. Looking down at you, your hair sprawled out on the seat, cheeks flushed and lips red and raw–he realized what he hated about you was that he fucking loved you, and everyone saw it but you. “Do you know how much I’ve thought about fucking you?”

“I have too. All the time.” You said, flustered. “Kendall, please.” 

“Please, what?” He was cocky again.

“Fuck me.” You reached for his belt, and Kendall pressed the lock button on the door. The windows were fogged with steam, your silhouettes obscured by the tinted windows.

You could hear chatter moving closer to the driveway; the gala was probably ending soon. 

Kendall shoved your hands away and unbuckled his belt, shimmying out of his neatly pressed pants as you unbuttoned his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. He tasted like you, like your sweat, your cunt. 

“Fuck me, what?” Kendall teased.

“Fuck me, please,” You writhed in his touch as he lined himself up with your entrance. You wanted him and you wanted him raw. 

He rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, intent on teasing you, even if it made him ache in the process. Some things never changed. “God, your pussy is so wet.”

You pulled him closer with your legs, and he pushed into you, all at once. He hissed as he bottomed out, emitting a deep groan from the bottom of his throat. 

“Fuck you,” He said. “Your cunt’s better than I ever fuckin’ imagined.”

You moaned, urging him to fuck you, to do something. “I’m wet,” You began. “All for you.”

“Yes,” He thrusted. “All for me.”

And then he was pounding into you, holding you to his chest. The sounds were obscene, slapping and wet and filthy, but you didn’t care about the gala outside or the fact that the boss you hated yet loved was fucking you. Deeply. 

He hit that spot in you that made you scream, rolling his hips as he kissed you with an animalistic fervor. 

“You better shut up,” He whispered in your ear. “Or they’re all gonna know what a fucking slut you’re being for your boss.”

Kendall pushed your legs back, hitting that deep spot that made you shake and squeeze around his cock. As your mouth opened, Kendall latched his hand over it, bending down to talk in your ear. 

“Feels so fucking good.” He purred. “Fucking you raw.”

You heard the click of footsteps upon the uneven driveway, the polite farewells exchanged by the gala’s guests. 

Kendall went even faster, his cock twitching at how overwhelmed you were, clawing at him, moaning into his neck, begging for more.

He felt himself getting close, the high from the joint intensifying his sensations tenfold. 

“I’m gonna cum,” He moaned into your ear, his hands grabbing your tits, your ass–any part of you that he could. 

He was about to pull out, but you locked your ankles around his waist, keeping him there, with you. 

“Cum in me, I want your cum.” You arched into him.

That’s all it took for his orgasm to spill over, his hips jerking as his cum spurted in hot ropes inside you. 

“Take my fucking cum. Be a good girl for once.” He cried. 

His thumb rubbed against your clit, using your wetness and his as sufficient lubricant. You were already close, and his cock was still in you, semi-hard and twitching. 

“Cum around my cock, sweet girl.” He whispered. 

The voices were closer, and it felt harder to let go, until Kendall’s thumb pressed harder against you, his hips moving lazily against you. 

His voice was softer now, nicer. “I want you to cum. I want to feel you.” 

A few more slow thrusts and him playing with your aching clit was all it took for you to let go, your back bowing as you moaned his name so loud he had to press his hand against your mouth to shut you up. 

Your moans were muffled, your legs shaking as Kendall finally pulled out, working you through your high. 

“You’re so pretty, it pisses me off.” He grabbed your cheeks and kissed you, biting your lip, grabbing at your exposed ass. You could still feel his cum in you.

Your chest was heaving, and Kendall pulled your dress back up, adjusting your straps and smoothing your hair down with a delicate care you had never seen in him before.

“Are we ever gonna talk about this again?” You asked, putting his tie back on. 

Kendall’s heart fluttered at the gesture, but wept at the question. “I think it would be impossible not to, Y/N.” After thinking for a second, he added, “Sex that good doesn’t just happen. It’s made.”

[breaksomegreggs]

I keep thinking about that beginning scene in 'All the Bells Say', were everyone is sat around playing Monopoly. Maybe I'm over reaching but I can't not focus on the contrast in dynamics between Shiv and Greg.

When Tom gets up to leave, explaining that he has an interview with Forbes regarding how he was able to make ATN profitable, Shiv makes a disparaging comment rather than being supportive or wishing Tom good luck. Greg, meanwhile is a lot more encouraging. He's smiling brightly at Tom as he's leaving and and even calls out, "Talk about me!" Surprisingly, instead of insulting him or questioning why he would talk about Greg in his interview, Tom replies with "Will do," almost as if it was a given that he would. It's like Greg has taken on the role of 'wife'.

Considering how head over heels Tom was with Shiv once upon a time, it doesn't take any stretch of the imagination that he would gush about her in an interview. Instead, while unlikely to do the same with Greg, he's apparently happy to mention Greg who is becoming more and more of replacement for his actual wife. Shiv on the other hand comes across as that asshole friend who rather than congratulating you finds a way to mock and belittle your achievement. Tom defends himself by pointing out that her statement is 'reductive and unfair', but seems otherwise unfazed, which given how eager he's always been for his wife's approval is also surprising.

It's quite clear that by this point that Tom is well aware that Shiv will never support him the way he wants her to, hence his comments several episodes prior about 'pushing her down the stairs and marrying Greg' instead. With Greg he gets the kind of support he doesn't get from Shiv. Even if Tom has to persuade or even bully Greg into going along with what he wants, Greg almost always does. We see this later on in the episode when Tom asks Greg to come with him and despite Greg on his way to securing his dream Parks job and initially reluctant, after some push back and guilt tripping from Tom, agrees, even telling Tom, 'Of course' as if it should be obvious he would.

With Greg in his life, Tom's betrayal of Shiv seems inevitable as Tom has found a replacement 'wife' - one who will both support him and who Tom also has power over, something which he has never had with Shiv. It's also clear how happy and relieved Tom is when he hears the words 'What am I going to do with a soul anyway?' from Greg. With Shiv's reluctance to have a child, Greg's rejection would have been devastating for Tom. Even way back in the safe room episode in season two, Tom practically has mental breakdown when Greg suggests him going somewhere else. Greg refers to it as 'a business open relationship,' quite clearly mirroring the one that Shiv established for them on their wedding night, which Tom reluctantly agrees to for fear of losing her. Of course, unlike with Shiv, Tom has power over Greg to get him to stay with him completely. (or at least until the end of S2 when Greg gives Kendall the papers)

Interestingly, I think if Greg had rejected him, there is the possibility that Tom might not have gone through with his plan of telling Logan what his children were up to. Knowing that Greg was going to be coming with him made Tom feel secure as Greg's support inspires confidence in him. Greg is the only person in the family who has any respect for him and without that anchoring him, Tom would arguably not be as successful at Waystar as he is, or even drown. A need to dominate someone is likely why Tom quickly latches onto Greg. Of course, he ends up quickly developing Feelings™. Tom needs constant reassurance, and Greg is the only one who gives it to him, even if at times Greg may do so to serve his own self interests.

idk I went on a slight tangent there but I think that brief interaction is an interesting precursor to both to Tom's betrayal of Shiv and his 'marriage proposal' to Greg later on in the episode.

Greg/Sporus as Tom/Nero's 'wife' will, at least in Tom's mind, give him the support and fill his emotional needs in a way that he knows that sadly he realises Shiv never will.

[tomwambsmilk]

tell us about your daddy Tom headcanons 👀

Okay so what it boils down to for me is that I think Tom genuinely wants to be a father. I think part of it for him definitely is the checklist of like ✅ high-powered job ✅ beautiful wife ✅ beautiful kids that I think he’s mentally had since he was young. But I also think that as he’s gotten older he does genuinely want to be a dad. Matt Mac has talked about how part of Tom’s affection for Greg is rooted in a desire to be a sort of father-figure to somebody; I think Tom genuinely loves being able to lavish love and affection on people. With Shiv and with Greg it’s complicated by other factors, but kids are a less complicated bc they haven’t yet been battered into cynicism by the forces of the world (hopefully).

(Obviously within the context of succ their are other more strategic factors at play in terms of why he wants to have a baby with Shiv, but I do think he still wants to be a dad regardless.)

So because of all that I think that Tom would actually be an affectionate father. There’s been some discussion over whether a Shiv pregnancy plot line would be a good or bad thing; I see the potential pitfalls but I have faith in Jesse Armstrong handling it well if they went that route. And I would be interested in seeing Tom and Shiv have a kid in confluence with Tom becoming increasingly Logan-esque in the workplace. I don’t think it would necessarily transfer over to his home life bc I think he would be able to compartmentalize in a way Logan never did, but the contrast would be interesting. It also opens the door to the potential of his kids getting older and struggling to reconcile the loving affectionate dad they know with the morally bankrupt abusive boss they discover he is in the workplace.

Aside from that I think if he had kids in any context (tomshiv or tomgreg or any other Tom ship) he would absolutely spoil them. He would buy them all sorts of stuff all the time. He would need his partner to reign him in from actually legitimately turning them into spoiled brats by accident. He would HATE to be the ‘bad guy’ when it came to discipline. If he did have to do it (bc his partner rightfully objected to having to always be the bad guy) I think he would get very morose afterwards.

I also think he would be one of those parents who just. Legitimately believes their child is better than all other children objectively and in every way. Anything his kids are good at he’s gonna absolutely crow to other parents over. Other parents and teachers will all hate him. He’s also going to be SUPER effusive with the praise whenever his kids do even moderately well at something, and it’s not even an act! If little Ariadne brings home a B+ on her math test she’s doing absolutely amazing. If she brings home a C+ it’s probably just that the math was unusually difficult for her brilliant brain. It does have the potential to become a legitimate problem if he doesn’t have a partner who’s more grounded and can flag any actual issues that Tom would overlook.

(If Tom had a special needs kid I think he’d still be the same way. When they got diagnosed I think he’d be 😕 for all of five seconds and then he would go ‘okay but my child is still the best and smartest and most special of all the other children regardless’.)

I also think he’d definitely play with his kids and go all-in. To me he is one of those guys who tries to be all mAsCuLiNe and whatever in the workplace and then he goes home and lets his daughter use him as a pony in her Princess castle who is also the royal advisor in her surprisingly complicated make-believe games of political intrigue. If he’s having a conversation with another adult and Perseus interrupts with some nonsense about the state of centaurs in the magic kingdom Tom treats it with all the seriousness of someone telling him Waystar’s in a brand new PR crisis. One of them gives him a crown they made out of pipe cleaners and he solemnly accepts it and then genuinely forgets to take it off until he goes to bed.

As they get older I think he stays very supportive and engaged in whatever their interests are. I don’t think he would miss a recital or a game unless there was really truly an emergency he absolutely had to deal with. He’s also, unfortunately, the kind of parent that needs to be involved in whatever their kid’s hobby is. If one of his kids is into dance he’s gonna be a dance mom. If it’s theatre he’s gonna be a theatre mom. If it’s little league he’s gonna try and coach from the sidelines. Once again other parents are going to hate him. I do think it reaches the point of being embarrassing for his kids, and every time they complain he backs off for about a week and then goes back to being just as bad as before.

When they host sleepovers (which is very often) Tom needs them to be objectively the best sleepovers. He buys too much junk food, and then he does the whole ‘okay lights out’ routine while fully aware the kids are sneaking out to the living room to watch TV and he lets them so that they can have the thrill of rebellion. When they do eventually fall asleep in front of the TV he goes out and throws blankets over everybody. Then he makes pancakes in the morning and lets them go absolutely hogwild on the whipped cream and candy, and sends them home with a sugar high. Once again. The other parents WILL hate him. (This is a major theme in Tom's life as a parent.) They will keep sending their kids for sleepovers though because he hosts SO often and it's basically free babysitting.

I think in high school when his kids start dating he’s gonna get weird about it. He is gonna be the dad who’s like “no one’s good enough for my little girl” except it’ll go for all his kids regardless of gender. He has obscenely high standards for his kids and no boyfriend or girlfriend is ever going to meet them. He does resign himself to this pretty early, and he doesn’t forbid them from dating because he knows how that ends, but when SOs come over for dinner they always feel kind of like he’s subtly death glaring them. He lets his kids invite their SOs to family vacations, which the kids think is great but the SOs are always mildly afraid he’s gonna murder them. The kids think they’re just being paranoid.

He also gives good, thoughtful advice. Once they hit high school he starts making a deliberate conscious effort to be the kind of parent they feel comfortable going to about tricky or uncomfortable things. He’s not always good at not immediately reacting emotionally if they tell him something upsetting or they’ve gotten into some kind of trouble, but he makes a real effort to be non-judgmental and open, and to take the approach of ‘okay, so that was a bad decision but now I’m gonna help you fix it’, so his kids do feel comfortable going to him, and they know to just wait out the initial emotional reaction until he gets a hold of himself (which he gets better at doing more quickly over time).

Also I think he’s AMAZING at dealing with breakups. When his kids dump or get dumped it’s all-out, ice cream on the couch, a weekend of whatever breakup movies are most gonna help them. He does immediately jump to the ‘I always though you were too good for them anyways’ which is sometimes kind of annoying, but it is well-intentioned so they let it slide.

I think he’s going to try to be super in-contact with his kids as adults. The whole ‘saw a snail today, effervescent’ meme will be him but with his kids. They don’t always answer his texts because he texts them literally all the time, but they will try to do an emoji react or something bc if he thinks they’re ignoring him he will just start texting more. He sends them memes he thinks are funny, or that they’ll find funny. They generally are not funny to them bc they’re very much Gen X memes, but they laugh react anyways. They go home to visit pretty regularly and Tom always makes a production of it, like they haven’t seen each other in AGES, even though actually they saw each other 6 weeks ago at their cousin’s wedding wedding and then 4 weeks before for somebody’s birthday, and also they’re coming back to visit again 3 weeks just because they’re gonna be in town for work reasons.

And finally - he’s gonna cry when they go to college. He’s also going to cry when they graduate. And he’s going to cry at their weddings. And he’s going to cry when they get their first job and on their eighteenth birthdays and if they move out of the state and just. At literally any life event that reminds him that they’re getting older and leaving the nest. Not full on weeping, but definitely the kind of almost-crying we saw during his wedding toast. They all know to just pretend they don’t see it because he gets weird and defensive if you draw any attention to it.