#shiv roy oneshot

[wambsgansshoelaces]

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

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

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

Girls Get Girls

Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader

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

btw I literally love you anon keep requesting

im so gay

Word Count: 2.893k

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

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

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

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

Intimidating, but also hot. Just for yourself.

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

“Come in,” you call back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kendall.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost shyly, she asks, “May I?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

“So like Shiv?”

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

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

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

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

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

Do it yourself.

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

She doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I come?”

“Yeah. You can.”

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

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

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

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

"I'd hope it didn't."

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

"Me?"

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. “Were they?”

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

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

“I was drooling, too,” she admits.

“Can we stop talking about saliva?”

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

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

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

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

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

[romeulusroy]

Eve (Shiv Roy × Matsson!Reader)

Character/s: Shiv

Word Count: 1,262

Requested: may i have some shiv x fem!reader in these trying times? maybe meeting some younger, sarcastic chick who shiv thinks she can just dominate but then the tables turn ;) love ur succession writing btw! don’t listen to that anon, they could only wish that they could write as good as you &lt;3 - anon

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: I took some creative liberties with this request, I hope you don't mind!! I try to make everything gender natural as well so its gn!reader instead :) Thank you for such kind words my love!! I really hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

She couldn’t take her eyes off you. There was something about forbidden fruit that had always enticed her. Eve was right in bitting into that apple, in taking what she wanted when she saw it, she wanted to do the same to you. You looked radiant, everyone took notice. You were an intern, someone who ran coffee orders and took notes from meetings, to be seen but not heard, but tonight? Tonight you were something else entirely. Your finest attire hugging your body in all the right places. Your eyes bright, gleaming, knowing. You kissed your glass every so often, knowing how these kinds of events went, how handsy some of the guests could get with just a drop of alcohol in their system. Tonight they were supposed to be on their best behavior, but since when had you played by the rules? You were surrounded by some of the most powerful people in the country, in the world and yet all she could focus on was you. Someone was speaking to her, talking terms, but she couldn’t hear a word. Someone, an associate from Sweden, slipped their hand around your waist, whispering something in your ear, making you smirk. Jealousy overcame her. She was seeing red. You laughed. You looked up, matching her gaze. You patted their shoulder, excusing yourself, refilling you glass. You swept past her, your hands brushed, slowed just a moment to whisper: Du är den enda för mig, min älskade. You are the only one for me, my love. She didn’t have to understand it to make it make her blush. Her cheeks resembled apples, crimson glowing. 

 She undressed you with her eyes, you could feel it, and you leaned into it, giving her knowing looks over your glass of wine. You’re such a tease, you can already hear her whine. Yes, but you love it, you’d whisper in her ear, pushing her over the edge. Everyone suspected there was something going on, but not between you. You were an afterthought, the younger sibling, the intern to your brothers company, his wealth and fame. You were nothing. A plus one he brought to events. Only she could see that you were dangerous, a weapon of mass destruction. You were watchful, observant, holding on to secrets until it wasn’t necessary anymore. They all suspected it was Lukas, his brains, but you worked behind the scenes, giving him a little push, a bit of encouragement, when he needed it.. Between her and him. The calls, the texts, the shared smiles. If only they knew what you two got up to when no one was looking. Your brother was flirt, you’d give him that, but he was like that with everyone. He still wasn’t over Ebba, either, hung up on the past. Shiv was too good for him. Too smart, too precious, too cut throat. You could match her energy. You knew exactly what to say and how to say it to make her melt. 

The time she spent in Sweden, and you in the States, was limited. Anything more looked suspicious. Still, you made it work. Shiv had never felt like this with anyone, certainly not Nate or Tom. You were younger than her, sarcastic, funny, never letting anything get to you. Not when you were talked down to. Not when you were underestimated. Not when you were discarded. You knew better than that, than to be reactive. Everyone would get what was coming to them, every single one of them, even your brother. He could flirt all he wanted, but she was yours. You never wasted a moment together. Every second was crucial, important. You love was secret, but it did not mean it was small. No, it was powerful. Locked doors, locked eyes, discarded clothing, calling out one another's names. She thought you were docile, passive, but you proved her wrong every time. That was the act you put on. You played the part well, too well. Even your idiot brother believed it, wanting to set you up with Roman or Kendall, insisting you’d been alone for far too long. You only had eyes for one Roy. He’d even gone so far as to set you up with Oskar, a blind date you had no choice but to go along lest you let your secret get out. You’d excused yourself to the bathroom halfway through and left. Neither Lukas nor Oskar ever brought it up again, though you had a few choice words for your brother. Tror du verkligen att du kunde sätta upp mig med en gris och jag skulle inte märka det! After that, he never pushed the subject again. You’d later laugh about it with her one night in bed, the whole thing an embarrassing disaster. Jag vill aldrig vara med någon annan än dig. I never want to be with anyone but you. 

You found your way to the balcony, the cool air a welcomed feeling on your warm cheeks. Too many bodies in there, too many people, too much power. She drifts towards you, trapped in conversation, in Paradise. Somehow she escapes with smiles and nods, needing to be near you, to smell you, to hold you. She didn’t need a serpent in her ear telling her how precious you were, a gift, she could do that on her own. Was it dangerous? Of course, but importance never came without risk. Was it stupid? Probably. A lot was on the line with this deal. Everything she was was on the line. And yet, when she saw you standing there, nothing else mattered. It hadn’t been that long since you’d last seen one another. The getaway in Norway was full of all kinds of fun, but it wasn’t long lived. She needed to be close to you like she needed oxygen. Her arms found their way around you. She smelled sweet, warm, like vanilla. There were no lights on, just the glow of the apartment behind you. Back lit. You let your head fall to the side, her skin hot on your face. Jag har saknat dig. I’ve missed you. Her Swedish was getting better every time you saw her. I had no idea, you laugh, holding her hands. You could feel her roll her eyes, wondering why she ever put up with you, being reminded of her love for you seconds later when you bring her hands to your mouth missing her knuckles softly. 

Your brother was calling your name, his voice loud and feigning upset through the quiet. Something had happened. Something had set him off. Vi lämnar utan dig! He threatened. Your moment was gone. Torn apart yet again by reality. Shiv stepped back ,letting you go, not before you turned around and kissed her, desperate for her. She leaned into you, into the moment, feeling free. When you were done, you kissed her cheek, sliding the door shut behind you, cursing him in your mother tongue before leaving. You never looked back. You didn’t need to. Her face was flushed, left breathless, yearning, wanting more. Wishing thighs were different, wishing there wasn’t so much distance between you. Her phone buzzed, her expression lit up by the screen. A number without a name. No constant image either. Just a short message, eight words. Reading it over and over again, feeling giddy, like a teenager in love. She can’t hide the grin she wears from ear to ear, nor can she hide her excitement as a car down below honks twice. A final goodbye. I can’t wait to see you again.

[starsandsugars]

You roll like thunder

PAIRING: shiv roy x reader

SUMMARY: after the gala ends, shiv needs somewhere to let our her frustration. she knows just who to call to get her sense of control back. (NSFW - 18+)

TAGS: friends to lovers, friends with benefits, dom/sub undertones, degradation + praise

Notes: I want shiv to be mean to me <3 enjoy and please send in requests!

-

Shiv Roy walked into your life like a storm rolling through in the middle of a drought. She was dangerous and every breath felt like a promise that she was going to come through your life and change everything.

She knew it too, she must. No woman walks with that level of confidence or speaks with that level of ease if she doesn't know just how powerful she is.

That's what everything is about for Shiv- power.

Maybe that's why you let her come over when she calls you in the middle of the night after the stupid Waystar Gala.

She always goes to these events and comes crawling to you once they rattle her sense of control. She gets around her family for too long and they always find a way to take that spark away from her, stomping it out with a fierceness that manages to shock you no matter how many times it happens.

It's been true since you met Shiv her first year as a political consultant on the hill. You were working in a nonprofit nearby at the time, and your paths crossed on many occasions. At first you just nodded politely at each other but as the years went by and you both climbed the ranks you became more friendly to each other.

You met for lunch to discuss business and eventually that morphed into talking about your personal lives. You knew she was dating a man named Tom who she loved, but worried wanted her to settle down to quickly. You told her about your then recent breakup with your ex girlfriend that caused you to have to move all your stuff into a new apartment.

That somehow turned into you showing her your apartment. During your tour one of you seems to have let your resolve slip because before you know if her hands around your throat and your neighbors are banging against the wall for you two to shut up causing you both to dissolve in breathless laughter.

You agreed it was a one time thing.. then a two time thing, then a three time thing until you both stopped deluding yourself by trying to label it.

Shiv was your friend and you had sex from time to time when she wanted to blow off steam without scaring away her boyfriend. It was perfectly normal and for that point in your life it was good. You were too busy for attachments and even your best solo efforts don't come close to make you feel as good at Shiv does.

As long as you didn't think about the fact that she was technically cheating or that you were maybe definitely beginning to get real feelings for her it was perfect.

When you moved to New York for work it stopped being an after work drink and a hookup and turned into butterfly inducing texts telling you she wanted to come over while she was in town.

You knew it was wrong but you opened the door with a smile and your best underwear on every time anyway.

When she moved to New York it stayed relatively the same. You thought they would get more frequent but it seemed being a newlywed kept her more occupied than you had imagined. You can pretend it doesn't bother you as long as you don't look at the ring.

But no matter how busy she seemed to be with work or her husband or whatever new trainwreck her family had caused- she always came crawling back in times like these.

Maybe crawling is the wrong word. Prowling seems like a better descriptor.

She shows up at your door with that cocky grin, usually toting some little gift or a bottle of wine. She walks in, acting entirely innocent as she tells you to get glasses or meet her in your living room. From the moment she enters it's about making sure you both know she's in charge.

Tonight when you open the door, your eyes widen. You knew it was a gala but you hadn't been prepared for just how good Shiv would look in the gown. It hugs her curves just right, her updo bringing out the shape of her face and the glimmer in her eyes. Your voice catches in her throat as she walks past you effortlessly.

"It's late." You comment, trying to pretend like you wouldn't let her come over at any time for any reason. It's bullshit and you both know it, but she humors you anyway.

"And yet you let me in." She says, grinning at you as she slides her eyes over your pajama clad figure. You felt a little underdressed even though you knew that was silly. She has a way of doing that, of entering a room and setting the new norm.

"What, did you have plans?" Her voice lilts as she talks, almost like she's mocking you. "Don't tell me I'm interrupting a very important booty call."

She walks into your living room, leaving you no choice but to follow her as she settles comfortably on your couch. She crosses her legs as you sit across from her.

You raise an eyebrow at her, not surprised anymore by this kind of game and instead all too happy to play back.

"Why, are you jealous?."

She laughs at that, seemingly delighted by your testing her.

"Jealous?" She repeats, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. "Please. Can you even cum without me there to help you?"

She's trying to rile you up, reminding you of the time you confessed your then boyfriend couldn't make you cum and neither could your vibrator. She had taken all too much pride in that and you're pretty sure you climaxed five different times that night.

You just shake your head at her affectionately. She's trying to get a rise out of you and you enjoy making her work for it.

"I take it the gala went well then?" You say after a moment hoping she will admit her reasons for coming over.

You stand and approach your bar cart in the corner of the room. As you pour each of you a glass of red wine she sighs.

"They're idiots, all of them." She grumbled, watching you as you approached her once more. She looked at you with that expression that told you she was getting impatient, her fingers tracing over her lips in a clear effort to rile you up.

It works, and your stomach clenched at the sight.

You sat beside her, handing her the glass of wine which she takes with a smile.

"Thanks, sweetheart." She says, swirling it around before taking a sip. "You always know just what I need, huh?"

"I try." You respond, leaning in until your thighs are touching. "I like to make you feel good."

She raises a hand to gently card through your hair, brushing the hair back away from your face from a moment. She seems to be almost admiring you, and she leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

When she pulls back her grip in your hair tightens minutely.

"How about you get on your knees for me then, pretty girl?" She releases you and leans back against the couch, legs spreading wider.

Your heart speeds up in your chest as you nod, placing your glass on the table before sinking to your knees in front of her.

You slide your hands up under her dress, resting on her thighs as you look obediently up at her. She looks like a goddess from this angle, already beautiful face shining with a kind of power that made your stomach turn.

You knew the two of you were equals where it mattered but in the twilight hours when she spoke to you in that commandeering tone all you could think to do was obey.

"Good." She says, reaching down to pull the plush fabric of her dress up until it's resting around her hips. It's not lost on you that she's still got her high heels and gown on while you're sporting your pajamas. It's also not lost on you that she's wearing simple, lacy panties that match her dress.

"You wear these for me?" You tease as you slide your thumb under the waist band of them, watching the way the touch makes her flush just slightly.

"No. But you're going to take them off anyway." She says, taking a sip of her wine as she watches you easily.

You comply immediately, tugging them down her legs and draping them on the rug before running your hands back up her legs.

You begin to press kisses up the sensitive skin on the inside of her leg, feeling her shudder as you finally reach where she wants you. She wastes no time, putting her hand in your hair once more and pressing your forward.

You don't hesitate to give in, greedily licking at her clit until you feel the slight quiver in her legs. That's your queue to double down, urging her closer to that sweet spot. You move your fingers up, teasing along her folds until you can press one of your fingers in just as you flatten your tongue against her sensitive button.

She groans at that, the noise sounding like a siren song to your ears.

"Yes, just like that." She purrs, twisting her hand further in your hair while her other hand moves to pull your shirt down so your breasts are exposed.

You continue your ministrations, speeding up your tongue as you add another finger. You speed up and it begins to pull those high pitched noises from her as expletives stream from her mouth.

"Right there. Don't stop." She says, hips beginning to react in time with your movements.

When she cums it's like your world stops rotating. The sounds she only makes when she's truly vulnerable like this, the whimpers and moans and the way your name rolls off her tongue like a prayer- that's what you live for. You help her ride through it, feeling the same pride you always do at having made her feel good.

Once she's satisfied she pulls you away by your hair and just looks down at you. You can't do anything but look up at her with big eyes and a rapidly beating heart. She seems to find solace in whatever she sees in your expression.

"Come here." She says, pulling you up until you're straddling her lap. She takes your chin in her hands, turning your face side to side so she can see the way her slick glistens on your face. She hums, satisfied, and you get a little satisfaction from seeing she is still struggling to catch her breath.

"You look so pretty like this." She says, stroking her thumb over your lips and slowly pressing into your mouth as a show of dominance. "Bet you'll look even better when it's your turn to cum, huh?" She asks, free hand trailing down to grab at your ass. She pulls the fabric of your shorts down roughly, sliding her hand over your panties to tease you.

"Do you think you can handle that?" She prods.

"Yes." You respond immediately, much less concerned with your pride than you are getting rid of the desperation between your legs. "Yes, Shiv."

She grins at you, slipping her finger under the fabric to just barely brush at your clit.

"Beg for it then." She says, as dominant and demanding as always. You knew she wasn't going to make it easy, but you couldn't help but whimper anyway.

"Please. Please, I need you."

She seems satisfied with this, and pressing a finger into you. You moan immediately, starting to move your hips against her. She wastes no time in picking up the pace, adding another finger and fucking you quickly before you can even adjust.

Before you know it you're a shaking, whining mess on her lap. Her mouth moves from your neck to your nipples, giving you the attention you always crave from her. You know you're just a pawn in her life but when she touches you like this you feel like the center of her world. By the time she's worked you up to an orgasm, you feel like the center of the universe.

"You're so wet." She laughs against your skin. "Bet you've been dripping since I texted you. Even though it was the middle of the night bet you were practically shaking with how bad you wanted me. God, you act like you're so innocent but really you're the biggest slut I've ever met."

She says, dropping her other hand to circle your clit as she curls her fingers in you. She must feel you tighten or maybe she just sees the look on your face but she begins to try to talk you over the edge.

"Come on, cum. I know you can. I want you to, be good and do it for me." She urges and with a bite at your neck you do, spilling over the edge and into the hazy area where you feel like you can hardly steady yourself. You pant and shake as she finishes plastering kisses all over you, pulling down to look at you. She slips her fingers in your mouth so you can lick the cum off before pulling away and smiling at you.

"This was fun." She says, quickly downing the rest of her wine and standing up to readjust herself. You can hardly think straight but you stand on wobbly legs anyway, attempting to right you're close enough that you have some semblance of self respect.

"Leaving so soon?" You ask, even though you know this is her way. She gives you everything you could possibly want except even a sliver of real intimacy. She must see the disappointment in your eyes as she returns and runs her hands over her arms.

"You know I'm busy, dove." She says, using the pet name she only ever uses when she knows she's getting away with something. As if to distract her from this she presses a searing kiss to your lips before stepping back.

"I'll see you around, okay?" She said, and then as soon as she came she's gone with the door shutting solidly behind her.

You sigh as you sink back onto the couch, enjoying the feeling of warmth from where she was sitting. It's not her, but it's close enough.

Shiv Roy rolls like thunder. If you want to be with her, you have to accept that the storm leaves just as suddenly as it rolls in. It moves on from town to town while you're left trying to soak in what's left of the rain.

[velaryqns]

Velaryqn's Masterlist

Hello! Welcome to my new Masterlist, this contains all of the fics I have written as well as the fandoms I will write for and rules, please make sure to look closely before sending requests at what I will write for!!

Fandoms Include/Masterlist:

Criminal Minds

House MD

ASOIAF

Harry Potter

How to Get Away With Murder

Succession

911

Marvel

I will not write...

Smut

Child Loss

Professor x Student (or anything that creates an illegal age gap)

Physical, Mental, or any other kind of abuse

Incestuous relationships

Characters I will not write for... (these reasons are either because I do not like these characters, they're overhyped, etc.)

Aegon Targaryen II

Aemond Targaryen

Bucky Barnes

James Potter

Sirius Black

Tony Stark

Wanda Maximoff

Alicent Hightower

Criston Cole

There's more I cannot think of, but do not be afraid to ask if I will write for someone or not!

[cloud-based-and-rainpilled]

Using all my bisexual powers to write a tomshiv/tomgreg oneshot smut fic with a reference to Temple Grandin; talk about Succ Sundays!

[whoblewboobear]

I’m gonna live in my little fantasy world of shiv being a mother that is half decent. Like it’s the only thing she has left with substance and she’ll make parenthood her own in spite of Logan and Caroline. Which just creates a different kind of fucked up pressure for a kid that didn’t ask for any of it. There would be a long train of stumbles and fuck ups but I still think she’d try and get help without telling anyone so she can pretend she became mother of the year all on her own.

[gwilymz]

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.”

[jeniffercheck]

hairline fracture (is it me that you'd run after?)

shivlina oneshot: argestes, but have roman and shiv switch places -- set during 2x06 (argestes), shivlina are established affair partners, closely follows the canon of s2. CWs below the cut.

words: 9k

for @shivvroys as part of the shivcord winter fic exchange xx

read here or on ao3

cw for domestic violence & implied/referenced domestic violence. It is a prevalent theme throughout the entire fic & injuries are described quite a few times but it does not get graphic. the shown domestic violence does not stray from canon. please let me know if you think i've missed anything!

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Karolina grips her glass loosely, a lousy mix of the worst 2000s house beats and party guests shouting over the music reverberating through her ears. Shiv stares at Tom across the room, her eyes turning into something more of a scowl compared to Karolina’s entertainment.

“You’d think he’d have a little more tact than trying to get with a competitor,” Shiv says.

Shiv is obviously using a loose definition of the word competitor, the woman being some executive from a privately owned firm that Karolina can’t recall ever being involved in news or theme parks, but she laughs quietly at the comment, unable to ignore the irony in the complaint.

“The fact that he’d even consider speaking to another woman in public in a way that could even hint at a business deal—” Karolina says. “It’s horrifying.”

“Whatever,” Shiv says, taking a sip of her drink. “We’re different.”

“Because…” Karolina lets the word hang in a question, not one that she really needs an answer to, but one she’d like to indulge in anyway.

“Because, I don’t trust them,” Shiv says, finally tearing her eyes away from Tom. It’s the unsaid that Karolina revels in when she pokes and prods, this time around being that Shiv trusts her.

“Although—” Shiv starts.

“Here we go,” Karolina sighs, bracing her arms on the table for impact.

“At least Tom has the decency to laugh at everything she says,” Shiv looks over at the pair again, and Karolina follows her gaze, an animated Tom laughing obnoxiously at whatever the woman has just told him.

Karolina leans closer to Shiv and whispers delicately in her ear, “Maybe she’s just funnier than you.”

She bites back a smirk as Shiv looks at her again, eyes sharp and eyebrow quirked.

“You think I’m jealous,” she states.

Karolina shrugs. “Are you?”

“No,” Shiv says immediately. She rests an elbow on the table and leans her head into her hand, an insufferable smugness taking over her features. “There are more pressing matters in front of me.”

Karolina lets her hair fall in front of her face, if only to hide the growing redness from the eyes of the surrounding crowd. If anyone were to ask, she’d say it was the alcohol. If anyone were to know, well, they’d know that Shiv Roy has Karolina Novotney wrapped around her fucking finger; annoying conversations about her husband be damned.

“Glad you came?” Shiv asks.

While glad is certainly not the word that Karolina would use for her last-minute attendance at the Billionaire Boys Club annual reunion—waking up to the news that her employer has hundreds of accounts of heinous crimes and illegal cover-ups headed right to the press is really not her preferred way to start the work week—it’s always nice to spend time with Shiv in a place that doesn���t feel so shrouded in secrecy. Still, there’s work to do, whether she wants to have that conversation or not.

“I’ll be glad if we can make it through this panel in one piece,” she admits.

“Well,” Shiv says, suddenly agitated. “Take that up with Kendall and Roman.”

“I’ll be taking it up with all three of you tomorrow,” Karolina says. “I need you all on your best behavior.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Shiv says. “Regret, responsibility, and remedy. Condemn and move on. Are we missing anything? Maybe, daughter and doormat?”

Karolina frowns. She’d assumed Shiv’s being here was something she wanted—a strategy to stay in the game, not another instance of being walked over. Karolina lowers her voice, suddenly conscious of their position in the room, a pit of wandering eyes and ears.

“Shiv, I won’t let them make you the face for this, you know that, right?” she asks. “If it all goes crashing down—”

“You wouldn’t,” Shiv says, her expression softening. “But I can think of about ten other faces who would.”

“Every one of those faces would have to go through me,” Karolina affirms.

Shiv is weary in her silence, and despite her instincts, Karolina grabs her hand from underneath the table.

“It’ll be fine,” she says. “All of them know how integral it is to have a female voice on the panel tomorrow. We can’t have Rocket Man and Rape Me fronting a situation like this, can we?”

Shiv looks down, worrying her lip slightly.

“What is it?” Karolina asks.

“It just—” Shiv shakes her head, “It feels like I’m losing favor. This can’t go wrong.”

Although Karolina’s entire job is influencing public response—she’s not entirely clairvoyant. She can’t know what people are going to think about Shiv Roy stepping into the role of the spokesperson for a company she doesn’t work for without it looking entirely pandered, and she doesn’t know how it’s going to look internally—despite the fact that nobody’s opinion below the executive floor matters much anyway—but, she does know that this is a huge deal, and huge favor, and the people who really matter shouldn’t take it lightly. Shouldn’t is always the keyword.

“You’re ready,” Karolina says. “We’re going to murder board the hell out of you three tomorrow. You’ll have a response to everything. Just stick to the script.”

“Stick to the script,” Shiv says. She leans in closer, suddenly smirking, “Got any other scripts you want to show me?”

Karolina squeezes her hand and then drops it, biting back a smile as Shiv shifts in impatience.

“If this panel goes well, I might just think of something.”

If.

“You sure there aren’t any we can workshop right now?” Shiv asks. She lowers her voice. “I’d really like to see that murder board you mentioned.”

“No,” Karolina says, though she knows she doesn’t sound confident. “We’re getting up early tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on,” Shiv says. “You really want to spend the rest of the night watching Tom cockblock himself?”

“And here I thought I was in the clear of hearing about him for the rest of the night.”

“You know he’s been talking about buying a vineyard?” Shiv asks.

Karolina downs the rest of her drink.

“If I take you to my room, can we please stop talking about Tom?”

Shiv can’t hide her smile.

“Only one way to find out.”

—

Karolina isn’t sure how it starts.

From her perspective, the panel goes well. It’s not entirely what they planned, what, with three conflicting personalities sharing one stage, but it worked. They got the message across: Waystar is taking the matter seriously, and they’re not leaving it in the hands of the same kinds of people who buried it under the rug all those years ago. Simple, effective. Condemn and move on. Except, if there’s one thing about the Roy family, it’s that none of them know how to fucking move on.

She’s in the corner of the room with a few members of her team, working on their rapid response plan for once word of the panel inevitably gets out. She’s only half-listening when the siblings re-enter, unsurprisingly still arguing about the events onstage. It’s the usual, Kendall mad at Shiv, and Shiv mad at Kendall, and Roman instigating so it seems like he did anything at all, the conversation not grabbing Karolina’s attention when Marcia’s voice peaks out from the group, a scolding for Shiv, of all people.

Karolina makes her way to the other side of the room, but there’s a building chaos in the short walk and she knows she’s too late to calm any of them with positive public response or statistics. It’s several voices escalating in volume until Logan’s rises above them all, and then there’s a loud crack, and suddenly Roman’s holding Kendall back, a jumble of “Don’t fucking touch her!” and “What the hell, Dad?” and Gerri’s eyes are flitting between Logan’s and Karolina’s, a frantic sort of resolve seeping out of her as she asks, “It played well, right Karolina? They’re saying it played well.”

“It played well,” Karolina automatically confirms, her heart pulsing through her throat as she shifts her eyes on Shiv, hunched over and gripping the side of her face. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands as Kendall and Tom attempt to inspect the wound, a futile effort anyway as Shiv finally regains some composure.

“It’s fine—I’m fine,” Shiv says, dodging the flurry of worried arms and voices as she escapes the room. “Someone get him a fucking Quaalude.”

Broken bits of Shiv’s, now fallen, champagne glass crackle under Tom’s steps as he trails behind her, and it’s only a few seconds between the door slamming shut and Gerri taking charge. Marcia takes Logan away—where to, Karolina doesn’t want to know—and Karolina feels a light tugging on her elbow, and suddenly Gerri’s pulling her into a corner. Gerri looks annoyed, and Karolina wonders if it’s at all similar to the seething sort of rage that’s simmering around in her at what they were just forced to witness, or if it’s closer to inconvenience—another tally on Gerri’s shit-list that she’ll never actually do anything about.

Gerri searches her eyes and under the scrutiny, Karolina crosses her arms, if only to hide the light tremble that she knows is coursing through her hands. Gerri, knowing her better than anyone, knows this as well, reaching out and gripping Karolina’s forearm. She rubs her thumb soothingly up and down, a peace offering before the barking of orders.

“I need you here,” Gerri says softly. Karolina clears her throat.

“I’m here,” she says. Gerri looks guilty for a moment after she’s said it, and Karolina can imagine why, because this isn’t the first time they’ve been in this situation—Karolina troubled by the Logan of it all and Gerri silently pleading with her to keep it together for just another hour—and it’s not unlike the other times Gerri’s sent her the same apologetic regret, as if Karolina’s career at Waystar is something she should’ve stopped all those years ago rather than encouraged. She didn’t always understand it, Gerri’s self-imposed debt felt owed to Karolina, but she thinks she’s starting to now.

Shiv never would’ve been here today if it weren’t for her. She never would’ve been on that stage, saying those things, pissing Logan off enough to do that, if it weren’t for decisions that Karolina had made, had said were good, foolproof even. She’s at fault, a backhand by proxy that she can almost feel pulsing in her own knuckles—an apology she’ll never be able to fulfill, a regret she will never live down.

“I’m here,” she says again, if only to ground herself, and Gerri looks wary, but she nods anyway.

“Okay,” Gerri says, sighing. “Okay, just—go see if Tom needs any help. He still has appearances to make if it can be helped, so—”

“I’ve got it, Gerri,” Karolina says. “Comms will get started on Logan’s statement regarding the panel, if asked. Once that’s briefed, we need everyone on the same page.”

Gerri’s visibly relieved at Karolina’s assertiveness, and she uses that reaction to anchor herself further as Gerri squeezes her arm once more and returns to the leftover crowd, giving everyone firm orders as Karolina leaves the room.

She spots Tom a few halls down, knocking repeatedly on a door that’s clearly not going to be opened.

“Tom,” Karolina says, his worried gaze meeting hers. She doesn’t know what he knows, doesn’t know what he suspects, but he doesn’t look at her with the same kind of threatening contempt he usually does. Right now, it’s just concern. Karolina speaks low, not wanting to be heard through the door. “She say anything?”

Tom shakes his head. “Hasn’t said a word.”

“Okay,” Karolina sighs. “Look—obviously this is, extenuating, but Gerri is requesting that continue the conference as planned—”

“Karolina—”

“Tom—”

“I’m her husband,” he hisses, and they both freeze. Karolina doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t have to say what she is to Shiv, because it’s her hesitation and his response to it—that flash of recognition that if it were Tom, Shiv wanted, he would’ve been through that door already. She’d almost feel bad for him if he wasn’t actively keeping her from getting Shiv help. “Just—keep me in the loop.”

She waits until he’s gone to knock on the door.

“Shiv?” she calls out. “It’s just me.”

It’s a little while before the lock clicks, and Karolina opens the door carefully, unsure of what she’ll find. It’s not entirely unexpected—bloodied towels on the counter, a disheveled Shiv going back and forth between rinsing out her mouth and attempting to apply pressure—but Karolina doesn’t think any amount of bracing could’ve prepared her for the sight anyway. She locks the door behind her.

“Here to serve the gag order?” Shiv asks, and Karolina has enough humility left in her to feel ashamed that it’s not out of the realm of possibility. Still, she doesn’t dignify the comment with a response.

“To check on you,” she corrects. Shiv pauses in front of the sink, her hands resting on the porcelain bowl. The injured side of her face is hidden from Karolina’s view, and if it weren’t for the splotchy mascara and the red tint of Shiv’s nose, Karolina might not have known anything was wrong at all.

“He meant to hit Roman,” Shiv says, as if it makes the situation any better. Karolina’s not so sure it does, but Shiv sounds sure of it, as if the knowledge that the backhand was meant for someone else can somehow absolve her of experiencing it like she’s the one who got hit. But she was.

“Okay,” Karolina says, even though she doesn’t believe her, and she’s certain Shiv doesn’t either as she turns on the faucet, eyes focused fervently on her hands as she scrubs at imaginary filth. The blood is already gone, so it must be the feeling.

Karolina makes it about fifteen seconds into Shiv’s erratic scrubbing until she can’t watch any longer.

“Shiv,” she says calmly, placing a hand on Shiv’s back. Shiv falters slightly, tensing under Karolina’s touch but not stopping, scrubbing at her nail beds as if she’d spent the entire day digging. Sometimes it’s all Shiv seems to know how to do; dig until her fingertips are raw and her head’s gone too far under far too quickly for Karolina to keep up. By the time Karolina gets there, the hole’s been filled. Whatever Shiv has buried is deep, and whatever Karolina hopes to find will take a lengthy excavation of her own, but that’s usually. This time around, Karolina doesn’t have to search for what Shiv’s trying to bury. It’s red and it’s angry and it’s in the shape of a human hand across the side of Shiv’s face, and Karolina saw it happen. Shiv knows she saw it happen.

Karolina shuts off the faucet before she even really thinks about it, and Shiv pauses, her hands still hovering in the sink. Karolina reaches around her and grabs a clean towel, drying Shiv’s hands wordlessly. She’s surprised that Shiv lets her, surprised that Shiv hasn’t run off already, adamant that she doesn’t need this, that she doesn’t need Karolina, and she’s surprised when Shiv turns around, her arms crossed and thousand-yard stare piercing the entirety of Karolina’s gut. She can see the wound in full now, harsh on Shiv’s pale skin and only getting worse by the second.

And what can she say? I’m sorry he did that. I’m sorry he used you in the face of scandal and then got mad when you tried to make it better. I’m sorry that you were only doing what you were told. I’m sorry that I’m a part of it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

How many times can she apologize for the things she can’t control? How many times will she have to look Shiv in the eye and apologize for being a bystander to it all anyway?

“Can I look?” she asks. She doesn’t think she has to; the sound of it was enough to know that the hit would leave a mark, and though it’s not a lot of blood, she wasn’t expecting as much as there actually is.

“Please?” she tries again, like Shiv would be doing her a favor. She thinks Shiv would be, because it’s Karolina at fault here—Karolina’s fault they said yes to the panel, her fault they even let Shiv on that stage—and Shiv lets out a deep, uneven breath and turns slightly, allowing Karolina access to the injury. She winces as Karolina pokes and prods, opens her jaw when Karolina asks her to open it, closes it when she asks her to close it. She discovers the main source of the blood—a loose molar and a chunk of skin missing from the inside of Shiv’s cheek, both of which feel terrible to call lucky, so she doesn’t call them anything at all.

She grabs the wet towel, slowly dabbing at Shiv’s face to clean the lingering mascara and blood, and Shiv closes her eyes, letting Karolina work.

“You did everything right,” Karolina eventually says, because she can’t bear to bring up blame.

“Doesn’t fucking feel like it,” Shiv mumbles.

“I know,” Karolina says. She sets the towel down, her hand coming to rest on the unharmed side of Shiv’s face, thumb grazing the soft skin lightly. Shiv opens her eyes, narrow and distant in the name of resolve, and it’s only a moment before the weight of it all catches up to her and takes her down. She drops her head into the crook of Karolina’s neck, her cries coming out like silent pleas to just make it fucking better, and Karolina doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to start helping beyond the logistical mess of it all.

If they started driving now, how fast could they get back to the city? Should they charter a helicopter instead? How long before the pain sets in Shiv’s brain catches up to the loose molar? How soon could they get something heftier than extra-strength aspirin? Should she take something non-drowsy? What if she has a concussion? Can she take a fucking horse tranquilizer? Is there something that can make her forget? Something that can send them back in time and do everything differently, change whatever’s allowed them to make it to this point?

She holds Shiv tighter, like maybe the more of her that’s touching Shiv, the better she can absorb all of the hurt and replace it with something else. Dull it, at the very least. She’s still unsure of what to say, the right things all seemingly evading her. The simple ones come to the forefront, like what you’d ask a child with a freshly skinned knee, screaming their head off in the middle of the street. Are you injured or are you shocked? But Karolina’s not a mother, and nobody ever bandaged up her scrapes and bruises. It’s a level of comfort she dreads being asked of, something she and Shiv had successfully avoided throughout their entire entanglement, but Shiv didn’t ask for this, and Karolina doesn’t think she’s ever really had anyone to bandage up her bumps and bruises either, so if Karolina is the person Shiv’s letting through that locked door, she’s going to do what needs to be done.

“Does it hurt?” she asks once it seems Shiv’s calmed down a little. She’ll do the job; she just never said it wouldn’t be done poorly.

“What do you think?” Shiv says, pulling away.

Karolina sighs, pulling out her phone. “We need to get you to a dentist.”

“No,” Shiv immediately says. “No—I’m not going to some fucking hokey emergency dentist out here in Bumfuck. I’ll go to my dentist in the morning.”

Karolina doesn’t have to do the math to know that’s far too long to sit with a loose tooth without any medical intervention. Beyond the possible concussion, or jaw injury, or infection risk—

“We need to get you checked out, Shiv,” Karolina says. She must sound serious, because it’s enough for Shiv to lock eyes with her, and it takes all of Karolina’s resolve to stay calm as the tears begin to pool in Shiv’s eyes again. Somehow, she holds her gaze, ignoring the light drum in her stomach when Shiv huffs, her eyes moving to the ceiling.

“As if this isn’t already humiliating enough,” Shiv mumbles. She looks back at Karolina, a wordless sort of pleading that Karolina doesn’t know how to say no to. “I just want to go, Karolina.”

Karolina grips her phone, swallowing down her concerns. She nods, knowing it’s not the time to pick a fight.

“Do you want to see Tom first?” Karolina asks. Normally, she’d be thrilled by Shiv's response. Right now, it’s just sad.

“No,” Shiv says.

“Shiv—”

“It’s fucking embarrassing,” Shiv whispers. “Okay? I just—I just want to leave.”

It’s the unsaid that Karolina clings onto, that somehow Karolina has positioned herself in a place where Shiv is comfortable, a place where the embarrassment is dulled and she’s free to feel, despite Karolina’s perceptions of herself, despite her job, despite her role in all of this, and she won’t let Shiv down. Helicopter, she’s decided.

“I’ll go talk to him and get the flight situated,” she says, but then she stops at the door.

“Shiv—” Shiv looks at her, and Karolina doesn’t know if this is the first time this has happened, if every strike that was meant for Roman actually went to him, or if this is just another occurrence on an itemized list of occurrences, but words sit at the tip of Karolina’s tongue, things she wishes someone had been around to tell her all those years ago, things she wishes she could have understood sooner, first time or not. “It’s not humiliating. It feels that way, but—they all care about you. They do, and they don’t think any less of you.”

Karolina leaves before Shiv has to come up with a response, and she’s grateful that their exile goes smoothly. In some twist of fate, Tom still has to show face at the conference, so she lets him feel useful by having him call in an emergency fill of a narcotic for the ride. She’s hedging her bets on no concussion, supported by the fact that Shiv hasn’t had any claim of a headache and by her refusal to even stop by the summit’s medical staff for a quick check-up. Shiv’s out by the time the helicopter is in the air, and Karolina tries multiple times to get some rest herself with no success, her eyes continuously drawn to the sleeping bundle of red hair on her shoulder, not in her lap because she dazedly agreed to at least wear the seatbelt on the flight if she was going to make Karolina commit fifty other acts of negligence in one night.

Shiv wakes drowsily when they land, and she gets her way in the car when Karolina lets her forgo the seatbelt in favor of resting her head in Karolina’s lap. Karolina spends the duration of the ride brushing her fingers through Shiv’s hair, careful not to touch the swollen skin as it stares up at her. She has the driver go straight to her apartment, because she doesn’t know where to go, but Karolina’s place seems like the safer option, away from prying eyes, away from Tom.

Karolina knows they’ve been distant lately, half of her conversations with Shiv filled with verbose rants over him. If she were Tom, she’d feel pretty shitty right now, but she can’t blame Shiv. It’s hard to seek comfort from someone who’s got one hand in yours and the other in the one that hit you. She’s not entirely sure what makes her different from Tom in this case; they both know that if what happened tonight leaks it’ll be Karolina crafting the narrative, it’ll be Karolina reminding the world that Logan Roy is a tremendous father and while he’s been recovering smoothly, we’d all do well to remember what a strain the past year has been on Mr. Roy’s health.

A confused old man accidentally hits his daughter. It’s a tale so old she actually thinks it might be better for the Roy family if it did leak, tugging on the heartstrings of the American public in the midst of a scandal. See? They’re victims too. All of them. Then, the car runs over a hefty pothole just a block down from Karolina’s building and Shiv winces deeply in her half-slumber, the pads of her fingers digging lightly into Karolina’s thigh, and Karolina regrets thinking it at all.

Maybe that’s the difference; if Karolina were to dig deep, she’d be one hand in Shiv’s and one hand adjacent to Logan’s, and right now, the hand that’s adjacent to Logan is full of a shaking kind of vitriol that she doesn’t think Tom could ever stomach holding over him. Condemn and move on. How can Karolina move on from this? The thing that isn’t, finally in front of their faces, and splattered across Shiv’s in shitty red splotches.

When they pull up in front of Karolina’s building, she drags her feet waking Shiv up. Her doorman gets their bags, and she waits until she imagines he’s about halfway to her front door when she starts kneading her hand into Shiv’s arm, murmuring a soft, “We’re here,” as she does so. Shiv stirs slowly, and Karolina instantaneously feels bad as Shiv’s brows furrow, her whole body tensing up in Karolina’s lap. That means it hurts, and there’s not much else they can do about it at this hour.

“Can you make it up?” Karolina asks, silently hoping that the answer is yes, because the only other alternative is Karolina tipping her doorman to carry Shiv up, and she isn’t so sure which one of them would hate that more.

“Yeah,” Shiv says, her voice nearly sick with pain as she slowly rises from Karolina’s lap.

Karolina steps out of the car first, relieved when the change in lighting seems to have no effect on Shiv. She holds out a hand and Shiv takes it, eyes hanging low as they make their way up to Karolina’s apartment. When they get in, Shiv’s got the bathroom first, Karolina digging around in her medicine cabinet for anything they can mix with what Shiv’s already taken.

Her mind wanders to how normal it is, Shiv’s toothbrush hidden in a drawer, Shiv’s extra clothes with their own shelf in Karolina’s closet, the side of Karolina’s bed that grows colder every night she spends alone. It feels normal, except Karolina’s rummaging around in her medicine cabinet to find a suitable secondary painkiller so Shiv doesn’t spend the entire night writhing in pain because her father nearly knocked her teeth out. Karolina takes a deep breath as she pours out a dose. Her phone lights up out of the corner of her eye every few minutes, likely texts from Gerri and emails from her assistant, and she puts it in her pocket without glancing at the screen, taking the pills and a cup of water to the bathroom.

She finds Shiv with a clean face, inspecting the damage under the harsh light. She sets the water and the pills on the counter, engulfing Shiv in a hug from behind. Shiv instinctively closes her eyes, leaning some of her weight against Karolina as they stand there. Karolina finally has a better look at the fully bloomed wound as well, Shiv’s skin a myriad of different colors trailing from her jawline toward her cheekbone. The worst is on the lower half, swollen slightly, no doubt in part due to the loose tooth. Karolina wishes she were good for anything more than damage control, better at anything other than closing doors and sweeping under rugs, but reasons that’s maybe what Shiv does need—someone to help her clean up the mess.

“Take these,” Karolina says, holding the pills in front of Shiv. Shiv sighs as she grabs them from Karolina, not meeting her eyes through the mirror, and she washes them down with a wince that Karolina assumes is downplayed based on the fact that Shiv didn’t even open her jaw wide enough to let anything more than the pills in. Karolina tries not to dwell on it. She kisses Shiv’s unharmed cheek lightly, and Shiv squeezes one of Karolina’s hands before escaping the embrace to go into the bedroom.

Karolina takes her time as she cleans up, somewhat selfishly she feels as she listens to Shiv rummaging through drawers all alone in her bedroom. It’s not the violence itself that’s still making her hands a little too clammy and her heart beat a little too fast, maybe more so the reminder. It’s like you’d ask a child, are you injured or are you shocked? Karolina would venture to say shocked. Fathers hitting their daughters, a tale as old as time, but it’s not so much a tale when it’s right in front of her. And now it’s in her home. It’s snuck its way under her door frame and into her bed, and it feels somewhat like the first time, a ripe eight-years-old and powerless as her mother cries, so confused as to why any of this is happening at all and terrified to so much as make a move, might she make it all worse somehow. In this case, the only thing she can do is keep moving, keep going forward in the event that something she does can make it better.

Shiv is already in bed by the time she returns to the bedroom, drowning in one of Karolina’s old sleep shirts, and she shakes off the feeling of yet another thing being tainted—her bed, her mirror, her shirt, her pillow, her Shiv. It doesn’t feel fair to say, because Shiv has always been wounded and it’s never changed much. She’s always walked around with a gaping hole in her chest whether she ever wanted anyone to notice or not, but the difference now is that she can’t hide it, and Karolina can’t choose to not look at it.

She climbs in bed next to Shiv, careful not to disturb her too much as she settles down, unsure of how close she’s wanted, but Shiv immediately leans back into Karolina and she assumes she’s wanted plenty, dropping a light kiss to the crown of Shiv’s head.

“How does it feel?” she asks.

“It’s bearable,” Shiv says, and bearable doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt, so Karolina just smooths Shiv’s hair, waiting for Shiv to fall asleep.

—

Shiv doesn’t talk about it. Not really. She wakes up the next morning and she makes an emergency dentist appointment, and she doesn’t even ask Karolina to go with, not in those words entirely, but she does say they’ll likely have to put her under, and Karolina doesn’t have to think twice before saying that she’ll call the driver and go with, just in case.

It’s a uniquely infuriating kind of feeling, having Shiv curled up on her couch with perpetually teary eyes and an ice pack hiding a mess of bruising that had only gotten worse overnight. Karolina had felt sick when she woke up and saw it, as if she’d been tricking herself into believing it wasn’t as hard of a hit as it actually was, a lighter bruising even pooling under her eye.

Karolina’s grateful that it’s a scheduled travel day for the executive team, hoping the pseudo-day off will give her the time to figure out how she’s going to face Logan when she returns to the office. How she’s going to pretend that Shiv doesn’t mean anything to her this time around, that her loyalty is to Waystar and by extension Logan, and that his image her top priority even though every time she thinks about him the only thing she can see is her own father’s backhand racing down for a strike. She knows it’s a mess of her own making. No one gave her the handbook, but she saw the signs, and she stayed. She welcomed it into her life and made herself a part of it. She tricks herself. She lets Logan yell at her until her legs feel like Jell-O and her tongue is crawling down the inside of her own throat and then an hour later, she laughs about it by the coffee cart as if it’s just all just some small misunderstanding. They all do it, they downplay and they pretend, because it’s easier than dealing with the truth.

Even now, molar hanging on by a literal thread, any emotion Shiv’s carried over from the night previous has been replaced with an it’s fine, it’s not that bad, and Karolina knows that’s what Shiv is accustomed to. Knows that Shiv shutting her eyes tight and talking as normally as she can through a tight and swollen jaw while on the phone with Tom is all she knows how to do. To satiate everyone else completely. Forget that it’s a big deal, just move on.

Karolina doesn’t understand how not to make this a big deal, but she doesn’t want to make it more difficult for Shiv. She doesn’t shove another ice pack in Shiv’s face when she gets off the phone, doesn’t question why the pills she left out are sitting untouched on the nightstand, doesn’t even bother to tease Shiv over wearing another item of clothing from Karolina’s closet like she normally would; she barely wants to breathe, afraid to mess up whatever semblance of equilibrium is left in Shiv’s orbit in case anything at all turns out to be the last straw.

She briefly wonders if it’s worse this way, dancing around the hard truth that Shiv Roy is a human, not immune to having pierceable skin and breakable bones, but she figures this is how Shiv wants it; downplayed. If Shiv doesn’t take a pill, then Karolina doesn’t have to know that it hurts.

The only thing is that Karolina does know that it hurts. She can feel the sharp pain that splinters from the hinge of her jaw to the base of her neck. Understands the earache, the weary, tired eyes, the persistent taste of iron in her mouth, and the way that everything seems to move a little slower, feel a little less real. She knows so much yet so little, because she’s not inside Shiv’s mind and she can’t tell what Shiv’s thinking, so she doesn’t hover. She just does what she’s asked, and she does what she can, and she doesn’t pressure Shiv into doing what she can’t.

She ignores the too-pale hands that clutch around her arm on the way down to the car, doesn’t pull out her phone when it buzzes a dozen different times because she doesn’t want Shiv to see all the names of the people who have let her down in the last thirty-two years as they come up on her caller-id, and puts on her most dazzling smile inside the dentist’s office as Shiv recounts the story that’s caused her ailment; an embarrassing tumble during some turbulence on the private jet. I should’ve listened to the stewardess—guess it’s one way to make time for the dentist, right?

Karolina makes sure to write the cover story down in her notes. It’s not the first she’s ever had on file for a Roy, and it’s not even the first that’s left her feeling wrong and wondering if she’s ever had any morals to begin with, but it is the first that she can’t reason with. She can’t decipher a why she’s doing it at all, the only lingering explanation is that it’s for Shiv. She’s doing what Shiv wants. What Shiv needs. She recalls Shiv’s quiet confidence walking into the examination room with the dentist, like she hadn’t been squeezing Karolina’s hand up to the very point that the car door opened outside the building, and she wonders what else she’s missed, how many other things she’s allowed Shiv to shrug off without question.

She swallows down the thought, settling into the private waiting room that she imagines the hokey dentist in Bumfuck wouldn’t have had. She pulls out her phone, searching for one voice on the other end of the line.

“Prognosis?” Gerri asks. Karolina’s relieved to hear her voice, relieved to hear anything beyond Shiv’s pain-induced silence and her own racing thoughts. She can hear fading voices in the background of Gerri’s end, meaning they’re likely not on the road yet.

“That we don’t get paid enough,” Karolina can’t stop herself from saying, even though she knows deep down that at this point, there’s no world where her debt with Shiv requires any payment at all. Because wasn’t it just a few weeks ago that she was wiping blood from Kendall’s nose? Getting him blow because even though they all know he should be the last person contacting shareholders, she did it anyway? She’s a cacophony of transactions, but she’s losing sight of a number that excuses any of it. Gerri sighs on the other end.

“Negotiations are off,” she says.

Karolina knows it’s wrong that her immediate reaction is satisfaction, because she also knows how much this is going to impact the shitstorm that’s already clouding each of them, but she can’t help it. It feels like some sort of check and balance in the name of a restorative justice that will never be served, and she holds onto it. It’s something.

“And the article?” Karolina asks. Gerri makes no note of the fact that it’s Karolina’s job to know.

“We’re moving to internal investigations,” Gerri says. “We’ll be outsourcing a firm—no word yet on who our lucky match will be.”

“Great,” Karolina says, and even though it’s a private room, she still speaks lower. “Your bases are covered, right?”

“Blindsided by the article,” Gerri feigns. It’s another painful reminder of who they are and what they do, and though Karolina was blindsided, a part of her always knew. The rumors about cruises were inescapable in the PR department and there are no rumors at Waystar that come without basis.

“I don’t know when I’ll be in the office, but there’s no official communication that doesn’t go through me,” Karolina says. “We have enough messes.”

She hates to refer to her current predicament as a mess, because it’s nothing she feels burdened to clean up. Nobody’s forcing her to sit in this dentist's office, and certainly nobody’s forcing her to open her apartment doors, and her bed sheets, and her top left dresser drawer, but she can’t say that. Not even to Gerri.

“How’s our archeologist?” Gerri asks.

“Undergoing a root canal,” Karolina says. “They can save the tooth, so, some good news, I guess.”

“Good,” Gerri says. Karolina can hear papers shuffling in the background, and she’s dreading the amount of catch-up she’s going to have to do just from missing one day in the office. “Where’s her head at?”

“I think she’d like to pretend it never happened,” Karolina admits. Shiv hasn’t said it yet, but she can’t imagine this being the hill that Shiv Roy would choose to die on. Gerri hums on the other end, and Karolina can guess how the rest of the trip is going. She can only hope someone did actually get Logan a fucking Quaalude.

“Logan would be pleased with that,” Gerri says, and even though she says it sarcastically, the sentiment alone is enough to crack Karolina’s outward indifference.

“Well, as long as Logan’s pleased,” she snipes. Gerri’s silent on the other end for a moment and Karolina waits for the usual lecture, that Karolina cares too much and you’re not their babysitter, Karolina, just do what’s in your purview and nothing more, which is always cheap talk coming from Gerri anyway, but it doesn’t come.

“And how’s your head?” Gerri asks.

Karolina sighs, running a hand over her eyes. They both know this call was never about business. “Haven’t had any complaints, Ger.”

“Very funny,” Gerri says, and Karolina can’t find it in herself to be too satisfied, but she can picture the look of fond disdain in Gerri’s silence, and she finds a little bit of comfort in the image. “Seriously, Karolina…if you need the cavalry to step in—"

“It’s fine, Gerri,” Karolina says. “I’m fine.”

Because Gerri knows. She’s heard the stories and she’s seen the remnants herself. She’s the first pair of eyes on Karolina the second Logan’s a little too aggressive and the first voice in her ear when she thinks Karolina’s about to crack, but it’s different this time. It’s not about her, it’s about being there for Shiv.

“She’s not your responsibility,” Gerri finally says. It’s an act of protection, Karolina knows this, and she can rationalize Gerri’s point of view—Karolina inserting herself into a ticking time bomb of a family, putting herself right at the center of something she’s spent her entire adult life trying to escape—but Karolina had never done anything to earn Gerri’s protection. It was something Gerri decided on, something she felt she could give, and it shouldn’t be any different for Karolina. Gerri’s right, Shiv isn’t her responsibility, but Karolina still owes her something. There’s a sense of security that Shiv is now cashing in. If Karolina were to break that, what would it make her?

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Karolina replies.

Gerri doesn’t have anything to say to that.

—

Karolina’s created an entire action plan for monitoring news about cruises and drafted up about four different press releases by the time Shiv gets out (her favorite is the one where she’s announcing Hugo’s retirement).

Shiv seems to be in a lot less pain after the procedure, hunkering down on Karolina’s couch as soon as they get back to the apartment. Karolina’s still trying her best not to hover, but there’s also a part of her that can’t settle down, so she compromises by sitting on the couch adjacent to Shiv and opens her laptop for the first time in over twenty-four hours. She forwards the action plan to her team for review and does a few indirect searches regarding Waystar and the news. It’s not as bad as she was fearing. There’s a bit of a rocky perception from the conference that’s mostly shrouded in inconsistent messaging, but it’s nothing she can’t work with.

It’s a while before Shiv stirs, and Karolina doesn’t take the time for granted, ordering soft groceries and panic-searching everything she can about root canals and molar splinting and if there’s somehow still a risk of concussion even though it’s been a full twenty-four hours and Shiv has never even once complained about a headache.

She left a pair of pills out on the coffee table, a light prescription from the dentist should Shiv need it, and she pretends not to watch when Shiv finally sits up and analyzes the display as Karolina types away. Shiv takes them, Karolina glad that she’s no longer participating in whatever emotionally charged abstinence she was displaying earlier in the day. Shiv leaves the room wordlessly, and Karolina distracts herself with work while she waits for Shiv to return, careful to listen out for any signs that might make her needed. She’s about to give in and check on Shiv when she appears back in the living room, a pillow from Karolina’s bed in her hand, and she lays down right up against Karolina. Karolina instinctively drops a hand in Shiv’s hair, scratching lightly as Shiv gets comfortable again.

“You need anything?” Karolina asks.

“Just this,” Shiv says quietly. “And to not have wires poking my cheeks like I’m fucking fourteen.”

“I can only help with one of those things, unfortunately,” Karolina says, brushing back a lock of hair.

“Really?” Shiv hums. “You’re supposed to be a fixer.”

It’s not meant to be a jab, but Karolina can’t help the way it hits her. Fixing something like this is out of her depth, no matter how much she wishes it wasn’t.

“How’s the rest of it?” Karolina asks. The dentist checked out Shiv’s jaw, figuring it was most likely just sore from the hit, but did refer Shiv to a specialist in case there are any lasting issues. Karolina, naturally, is on edge about the possibility of another complication, but Shiv doesn’t need that from her. She needs reassurance, a strong hand to hold. Not shaky.

“Hurts,” Shiv says. “Maybe Dad’s true calling was the ring.”

Shiv can’t see Karolina, so she doesn’t even attempt feigned amusement. She doesn’t think that’s what Shiv was going for anyway, what, with the deadpan tone and the fully deepened bruise. It’s then, that Shiv’s phone rings from the coffee table. They both look at it, Dad, popping up in big bright letters on the caller ID. Shiv’s knuckles pale as her hand clenches into a tight fist, her thumbnail worrying itself into the skin of her fingers.

“You don’t have to answer it,” Karolina reassures. Shiv nods, digging a hand into her eyes. She must hit her bad eye the wrong way, because she yelps out in pain before her entire body goes rigid under Karolina’s hand.

“What is it?” Karolina asks worriedly, sitting up. Shiv exhales slowly, her body releasing some of the tension as she does so, but her face still clearly expressing the discomfort she must be feeling as she attempts to breathe through the pain.

“I just—moved too fast,” Shiv says.

“Okay,” Karolina says. “That’s okay, let’s just take it easy. I’m going to get some ice.”

Shiv nods and Karolina carefully gets up, once again pushing back the immediate concern that comes with Shiv not denying care. She returns to the living room with the ice pack and kneels in front of the couch, brushing a thumb across Shiv’s forehead as she hands it over. Shiv hesitantly holds it against the side of her face, and Karolina continues to brush Shiv’s hair, waiting patiently for her breathing to return to a normal pattern, and she’s relieved when it does.

“Why don’t we get comfortable in bed?” Karolina asks, and Shiv shakes her head lightly right away.

“No,” Shiv says. “Can we—will you stay here?”

“Of course,” Karolina says. It’s not often Shiv asks her for anything—she’s barely asked anything of Karolina throughout this entire ordeal—and even if she did, Karolina would never say no. “I’m wherever you want me.”

She gets back on the couch, and Shiv settles against her once more. Karolina draws light patterns along her side, only pausing when her laptop dings with an email, and she closes it before they have to hear any more.

“I’m sorry,” Shiv says, her voice thick with exhaustion.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Karolina says. “And you don’t have to talk to me right now, either.”

“It’s fine, I just—forgot about my eye,” Shiv says. Forgot. As in, Shiv’s not used to having shiners that she has to be careful not to touch, and she shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t even have one to be careful with in the first place. Karolina tries not to dwell on that part of the conversation, doesn’t want her anger to seep through the comfort that she’s supposed to be supplying.

“Just, don’t push it, Shiv,” she ends up saying.

“That’s my big skill, Kay,” Shiv says. Karolina’s heart lurches at the nickname, Shiv’s voice far too frail and far too defeated.

“You did what was asked of you,” Karolina says. What I asked of you. “You tried to make things better.”

“I don’t even know why I did,” Shiv says. “I should’ve just let Kendall have his fucking moment.”

“With that plausible deniability bullshit?” Karolina asks. “You said some hard truths, Shiv. That isn’t a crime.”

And the punishment certainly didn’t fit the bill.

“Still, I should’ve known better,” Shiv argues lightly.

“Should’ves won’t get you anywhere,” Karolina says. “You could’ve read a script Logan had written himself, and this still would’ve happened.”

Shiv is silent as she mulls over the words. They both know Karolina’s right, that nothing is good enough for Logan Roy unless it’s his words coming out of his own mouth. Shiv removes the ice pack and Karolina reaches out to put it on the table for her. She intertwines their hands, shivering slightly at how cold Shiv’s is.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” Shiv eventually says. “What to say to him.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Karolina tells her. “This isn’t your mistake to fix.”

“You don’t know what it’s like with him. Everything is our fucking fault.”

“I know what it’s like—”

“To work for him,” Shiv interrupts. “Not to have him as a dad.”

Karolina brings Shiv’s hand to her lips gently. Shiv’s skin still smells like the lavender body wash she likes to steal out of Karolina’s bathroom, and it’s nothing like blood, or sweat, or angry fathers.

“I had my own dad, Shiv,” Karolina says. “Nothing was ever good enough for him, either.”

Shiv stills, her fingers fidgeting in Karolina’s hand.

“I mean, but did he…” Her voice trails off, but Karolina doesn’t have to work very hard to figure out what the question is supposed to be.

“He did,” Karolina says quietly. “And thinking about everything that I should’ve done—it never made anything better. There’s no world where he wanted to be anything other than what he was. It took me a long time to accept that.”

Shiv sits up and Karolina meets her troubled eyes with a calm gaze. Shiv looks her up and down as if she’s inspecting her, like she can’t quite imagine the Karolina she knows ever having any man-made imperfections. Karolina knows when a light scar catches Shiv’s eye, remnants of a thinly split brow in ’98, one that’s difficult to notice unless you’re searching. It was a humiliating affair that left her facing reality for the first time when she was a doe-eyed intern at Waystar and a certain member of the legal department who’d taken her on as some sort of mentee inquired why she came back from the Thanksgiving holiday roughed up. Karolina said she had brothers; her background check didn’t add up.

(Then came a small note on the inside of her planner reading that she’d have to get better at cover-ups if she wanted a future in PR. The next half was an address, and an open invitation for the winter holiday should she choose not to spend it with her brothers.)

Shiv brushes her thumb across the scar, faded and not Karolina’s biggest takeaway from that period of her life, and Karolina grabs the hand, bringing Shiv’s knuckles to her lips once more. Shiv’s eyebrows are furrowed in a pitiful sort of sadness that she doesn’t mind too much coming from Shiv. Coming from someone who understands.

“What are you thinking?” Karolina asks.

Shiv shakes her head lightly and sniffs. “That I’m tired of this bullshit,” she says, attempting to keep the tears at bay. “That I don’t know if I can walk away.”

Karolina takes a deep breath, attempting to not let the conversation get to her the way it feels like it is, poking and prodding at her gut.

“You don’t have to,” Karolina says. “You don’t have to do anything. All of it, it’s your choice.”

“But you walked away?” Shiv asks, as if Karolina has the right answer. She wishes she did.

“Shiv, my father…there was no room for conversation,” Karolina says, unable to control the slight shake in her voice. “If I kept going back—”

She doesn’t like to think about it, the way his anger kept building the less it seemed she needed him. Just like she doesn’t indulge in should’ves, she doesn’t like to think about the what ifs. Staying just wasn’t an option.

Logan seems to carry the same propensity for rage, but with a level of regret that sucks everyone back in. She doesn’t know what she would do in Shiv’s position either; it’s not hard to go back to someone who understands that they’re supposed to say sorry. And maybe that’s why she’s put up with Logan for so long herself. It’s nice to imagine a father who knows what he does is wrong, even if that doesn’t make it right.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Shiv says, but the words sound wrong coming out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry, too,” Karolina says. Then a nagging question appears on her tongue, one that’s been eating away at her from the moment she stepped into that bathroom. “You said—that he meant to hit Roman?”

Shiv looks away then, as if guilty of something.

“He wouldn’t—I mean, it wasn’t often, but he—” Shiv stumbles through her words. “I mean, we were kids. It wasn’t like this. It wasn’t me.”

Her voice cracks at the end, and Karolina gently pulls Shiv into her, holding her tightly. She can imagine how confusing it must be, to go your whole life feeling some sort of distance from the violence, even if it was occasional. It’s not like Shiv has been spared any of Logan’s mind games, but even then, there’s a level of comfortability that she most likely reached in it. Whatever her normal was with Logan, he destroyed that.

“Have they just been carrying this with them their entire lives?” Shiv asks.

It’s a loaded question, one Shiv deserves an honest answer to. Karolina doesn’t like to believe it’s something she’s always carrying. It’s there, and it affects her in ways she wishes it didn’t, but she doesn’t think it has total control. She laughs, and she cries, and she still can’t stand the scent of Lucky Strike Reds without it making her skin itch a little, but she loves the scent of the Marlboros Shiv loves to pull out at the end of a long and drunken night at a Waystar event. It’s give and take, things come and go, but she’s still her, regardless of what she’s carrying and how much.

“Shiv, it all fucking sucks. Whether he’s spitting your name or spitting in your face,” Karolina says. She rubs a comforting thumb along Shiv’s arm. “Haven’t you already been carrying things your entire life, too?”

The question brings a discomfort to Shiv that she can Karolina immediately. It’s not normally her place to point out the flaws in Shiv’s upbringing, and it’s not a topic they’ve ever broached until tonight, but it needed to be pointed out. Shiv thinks this is the first time she’s suffered under Logan’s hand. Karolina would argue that Shiv doesn’t know what it’s like to not suffer under him.

“What do you think I should do?” Shiv asks, ignoring Karolina’s question. Karolina hates when Shiv does this, when she looks at Karolina like she has all the answers. Like whatever thing she’s about to say is an absolute that Shiv will let herself be ruled by, despite acting like she doesn’t ever really want anyone’s input at all. That’s where her responsibility lies, in being honest with Shiv. She thinks Shiv knows that, or at least, Karolina hopes she does.

“I think that wounds heal and scars fade,” Karolina says, piecing together her thoughts. “I think…that your father isn’t someone who’s going to change, but I think he might say that he’s sorry. It’s not a bad thing, if you’re willing to let it go. It’s not a bad thing if you can’t forget it, either.”

“I’m tired of being terrified of him,” Shiv whispers through a teary breath.

“I know,” Karolina says.

“If—if I walk away,” Shiv swallows, “What happens to this?”

This. Karolina’s not even sure she can define what this is in the current moment, but she can still recall her life without Shiv in it, and Karolina knows one thing is certain.

“Absolutely nothing will change.”

[shivvroys]

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

shivlina oneshot | severance au

cw: suicide attempt, some mildly dubious consent

around 9k words

read below or on ao3

this phantom life sharpens like an image

but it sharpens like a knife

-

“Hi, Rose.”

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

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

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

“No. I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

Have you accommodated to the working conditions?

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

What does a working day look like for you?

Do you get along with your colleagues?

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

Sighing, she rearranges her notes.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan nods, two sides of the same cruel coin.

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

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

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

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

“I’ll handle it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

“Hello, Rose.”

The woman wearily takes in the room.

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

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

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

“Are these real?”

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

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

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

“Rip a bit off. See if it’s real.”

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

“Won’t it wilt?”

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

“It’s real.”

“Hm.” the woman nods. “Pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would it be?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice handwriting.” she murmurs.

“Thank you.”

-

“What’s it like up there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You work for them, too, right?”

Karolina nods. “Yes, I do.”

“And they pay you?”

“They do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“God, I fucking hate that constant buzzing.”

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

Were those the only animals she’d ever seen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Real music?”

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

“Your pick.”

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

“I don’t know any of these.”

“Just pick whatever looks interesting.”

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

“Here, let me.”

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

Let fate and malicious algorithms decide.

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

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

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

“No, leave it.”

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

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

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

“You like it?”

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

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

A very hard bargain.

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

-

It all starts to fall apart on a Friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t, Shiv, there’s glass—”

“Shiv?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll tell them.”

“What?” Karolina frowns.

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

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

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

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

“It’s Siobhan. Your—her name.”

-

“Is she planning a coup or something?”

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you fucking her?”

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

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

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

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Karolina.”

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

-

Goddamn self-fulfilling prophecy.

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

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

“Rose, we can’t.”

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

“Says who?” she whispers.

“It’s not right. Siobhan—”

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

“I can’t—” Karolina sighs.

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Rose.”

What a terribly small world to live in.

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

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

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

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

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

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

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

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

Karolina leans forward. 

-

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Siobhan...”

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

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

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

-

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

“Greg, what are you talking about?”

He blinks, gawking at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

Shiv smiles, shrugging almost playfully.

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

“Come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shiv frowns, breathing out a cruel laugh.

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

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

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

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

Shiv shakes her head. “That’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna see it?” she whispers.

She looks up, daring Karolina.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Siobhan.” she admonishes.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“Must be talking to an angel…”

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

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

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

Karolina takes a step towards her. “Shiv?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“How do you feel?”

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

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

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

“Siobhan…”

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

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

“It felt that way.” she finally says.

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

“Sorry for your loss, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh. Well, sorry if I—”

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

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

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

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

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

“It would.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[secondhand-snow]

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

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

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

[thefudge]

What do you think the relationships between the siblings are like post Succession final? Do you think they ever meaningfully speak to each other again? I'm particularly interested in hearing any thoughts you wanna share about Kendall and Shiv!

it's kind of incredibly sad because the scene in their mom's kitchen tells me that a) there will always be a part of them that's just...the three of them, being silly kids together, and b) that night was their last hurrah as siblings. because everything coming after this will be tainted, at least for kendall. but there's still the possibility of reconnection. it's just that it will never be like it was in that kitchen.

i think roman and shiv will be okay, but ken/shiv? hooo man. (i am already picturing a juicy, hateful oneshot). kendall/roman is also a lot more fraught post-finale, i mean roman's comments about bloodlines. iiiish. those will stick. even in death, logan managed one more win because he kind of fucked up his kids' relationship for life. but that was to be expected. what i think tarnishes logan's win is the fact that, despite everything, the kids still love each other, even if their father has made it so much harder. even ken still probably loves shiv, it's just that the love will manifest as hate for a while. lol...the roy way, after all.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

hiiii can you write one where reader is always serving as a waitress at the waystar parties and become fuck buddies with shiv but when shiv catch feelings when they're several months later doing this she finds out that reader is a single mom (she has a daughter) and they have a huge fight and "breakup". I need all the drama that comes with it 🙏 ik with shiv being a mess and being mean as hell things will escalate quickly 😂

-🫀

Mind, Body, Soul

Siobhan Roy x single mom!Reader

Oneshot

Summary: what originally was purely physical takes becomes something better.

okay anon I had to change your plot a bit to make everything work but I really hope I pulled through this time!! Idk why I’m not too sure about this one, I just feel like it’s one of my sloppier works. Regardless, I hope you enjoy x, thank you so much for your request, I love you <3

Word Count: 2.987k

Life was unpredictable.

That’s how you’d ended up with your daughter. You love her to bits, and she’s absolutely your world, but she wasn’t exactly planned. Because of that, her father had exited your life as soon as he’d entered it. You didn’t feel too bad about it; the way you saw it, you’d dodged a massive bullet.

She’s four now, and finally able to go to daycare without issue. You finally have more time to yourself. Thankfully, your job wasn’t that demanding, but it paid you well. You were content with what you had. Your daughter, a good job. You feel like you don’t really need anything else.

You’ve been single for a really, really long time. After your last heartbreak, you weren’t exactly out and about, seeking anything out. Deep down, you craved something real. Something actually substantial; that feeling that you’re with the one.

You’d met her at a work dinner. She radiated opulence, something that usually repelled you. Not this time. Maybe it was something else about her. Something in your subconscious, the work of an alternate universe, just something pulling the two of you together.

She’d sidled up to you, sly smile spread on her face.

The rest was history.

Rather to your disappointment, she’d kept you after your first time together and told you you were strictly fuck buddies. Nothing more. Despite being let down, you thought it best.

Time passed. You started off slow, seeing each other every so often. Then, you’d see her whenever physically possible. Not just to enjoy yourselves, but you spend time with each other. You found yourselves curled together, cuddling on the couch while she went through emails.

She’d admitted that she’d just come out of a messy relationship, much like you. You find that you’re both extremely similar; you’re both driven, ambitious. You feel at home with her. You feel so relaxed. You hope she feels the same, but you know she doesn’t. You’re strictly a fling to her- nothing more.

At least, you thought so.

You have one of these conversations when you’re sprawled out on her couch, her leaning against the doorway to her bedroom.

“Listen,” she begins, arms crossed over her chest.

“What is it, Siobhan?” you ask, smirk playing on your lips. She huffs, a cute pout developing on her face. “Ants in your pants?”

“What… What does that even mean? Never mind that. Fucking weirdo,” she mutters, before continuing. “I just want to make something clear. You and I aren’t an item. I’m free to see other people, same as you. No hard feelings or anything. I’m just living, you know?”

You shrug. “We’ve had this conversation before.” From your perspective, it looks like she’s trying to put distance between the two of you. “If you don’t want to see me anymore, just say so. Like you keep saying, no hard feelings.”

Shiv’s nose wrinkles. “What? No, I still want to see you. You’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”

You laugh. “I’m strictly pleasure, huh?”

She opens her mouth to say something, then presses her lips together. “Yeah, you are.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever you say.” You push yourself into an upright position. “You know you like me more than that.”

Shiv turns away from you, flipping you off over her shoulder.

One night, your daughter’s staying the night with a relative. You go to see Shiv, and to your surprise, she invited you to stay the night.

You’re curled together in bed, rather domestically, you think, her head tucked into the crook of your neck. She lightly presses kisses along your skin, leaving spots wet and red. Not that you minded at all.

“We should do something tomorrow,” she mumurs to you.

“Like what? Fuck again?” you ask, feeling her fingers trace up your hip, up your side.

“I dunno. Maybe. But something else. Something fun. I need a break from work, and I want good company.”

“What happened to strictly pleasure?” you tease, shifting so that she’s draped on top of you.

“Nothing,” she mumbles. “We can still have fun outside of fucking.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Mhm,” she hums into your neck, leg coming around your waist. Bare skin on bare skin- you feel like you’re in heaven. Your hand finds her ass, helping her adjust and get comfortably. You also can’t stop yourself from giving it a small squeeze, eliciting a rare giggle from Shiv.

“Can’t. My girl has a birthday party tomorrow. It’s a whole fucking dusk-til-dawn ordeal.”

Abruptly, she sits up, squinting at you.

“You’re seeing someone else?” she asks incredulously, brow furrowing.

“What? No, my daughter. Didn’t I tell you?”

She pulls herself off of you completely. “A daughter? Like, a human child?”

You nod slowly. “She’s four.”

“You didn’t fucking tell me that!”

Now you’re also sitting up. “What, is that going to change things?”

Shiv slides off the bed, pulling a robe on. “Yes, it changes things!”

You scoff. “Does it really?”

“You kept something so massive from me! How can I keep seeing you? What else would you be hiding?”

“You’re serious? You’re being serious?” When she gives no response, making her way into the bathroom, you pull your previously strewn clothes on from off the floor. “What’s your fucking deal? You do nothing but insist you can never see me than more than sex, so what’s the problem?” you shout bitterly.

“Fuck off!” is the only response.

You let her do whatever it is she’s doing in the bathroom and gather your things. She’s being ridiculous, and any sort of feelings you’d caught for her are painfully ripped from your chest. You call an Uber, and before you know it, you’re back home.

You’re angry, confused, upset.

Your phone pings with a message.

where’d you go?

fucked off, like you asked.

wtf?

why wouldn’t you tell me something like that?

i thought i did

besides, what’s it matter to you? you want nothing to do with me outside of being your fuck buddy

that’s not something you keep from people

you’re being fucking insane

Shiv doesn’t respond to you after.

You can’t harp on it for long. You have shit to do. Your daughter gets dropped off the next morning, and you greet her with a kiss and a hug. When you smile at her over the counter while you scramble eggs, she frowns.

She sees the smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Why’s Mommy sad?” She rests her head on her little hands, glancing up at you, doe eyes soft and concerned.

“Oh, nothing.”

Her frown deepens. “Why won’t you tell me? I want to help Mommy.”

You sigh, scraping eggs into her tiny bowl before setting it in front of her with a fork. She begins eating, cautious to chew with her mouth close like you so often remind her. “Well,” you say carefully, “Mommy’s having issues with a friend.”

“Is It making you sad?” she asks around a mouthful of egg.

“Chew with your mouth shut, you little piggy,” you say playfully, reaching over to pinch her cheek. “And it does,” you add a moment later, rather deflated.

Your daughter wriggles out of her chair, small feet pattering against your hardwood floors as she rounds the counter to wrap your arms around you where she could reach. Your hand immediately goes to her head and strokes gently, and you can’t help but smile.

“It’s sad when my friends don’t want to play. I’ll play with you instead!”

You lean down to plant a kiss on her hairline. “Thank you, cutie. You’re such a sweet girl.” She grins up at you, arms stretching up above her head. Getting the point, you stoop over and hoist her up into your arms, her giggling all the while.

𖥔 ݁ ˖

Siobhan Roy could only take two days away from you. To be clear, you’d never actually had her over at your place. It just felt inappropriate, what with your daughter and all.

She does, however, know where you work.

You can’t remember how it came up in conversation, but it did, and you were sure it did because she was standing outside your office, hands clasped behind her back. You wave her in, trying to not let anything show on your face.

Wordlessly, she sets a square, velvet box onto your desk in front of you.

“I remember you talking about how your favorite bracelet broke,” Shiv says quietly, almost ashamed. “It’s not the same, but it’s something.”

Hesitantly, you reach for the box and thumb off the lid. The bracelet is gorgeous- she’s noticed which metal you wore and got you an awfully expensive, much nicer, much more durable version of the bracelet you’d accidentally snapped when it snagged on a zipper of your daughter’s clothing.

“What’s this for?” you ask nonchalantly. You don’t plan on accepting it after the pointless argument you’d had. She’d made it painfully clear that the two of you would never actually be anything serious. Any reminder of her just made your chest hurt. It’s a deep rooted issue of yours, and you know it. You’d been so agonizingly lonely all your life. You yearned for connection, something real, something pure. Everything you tried, every relationship attempted, it all ended the exact same way. They found someone better, they discarded you, you went back home broken hearted.

“Um, for you.”

“Mm.” You’re not really paying attention, but you catch her shutting the blind to the door in your periphery. You’ve never really seen her like this before, all jittery and nervous. She sits in one of the chairs facing your desk and folds her hands into her lap. “Can I help?” you ask stiffly.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” she blurts, pausing before she continues. “I really, really want you. Not just physically. Fuck, that’s not what this is about. I’m sorry that that’s what we keep making this about.”

“What you keep making this about,” you correct, leaning back into your chair. She bites back a retort, you can tell. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”

Shiv takes a steadying breath, and for a moment, you feel a bit bad for pushing her buttons. “I… I want to commit. To you.”

“Where’d this come from?”

Her gaze flickers from you to her lap then back to you again. “I don’t… I don’t know. It’s just, some nights you’d leave, and I wouldn’t feel detached. I’d miss you. I do miss you. You… you make everything around me better, you make it brighter.” She looks back down, fiddling with her own fingers. “I was just too stupid and self absorbed to see it. And scared. Fucking horrified.”

You don’t know what to say for a while. “You’re suspiciously self-aware,” you say hoarsely, not quite believing what you’d heard.

She can tell. “I’m so fucking serious. I’m past the point of just wanting you for your body.”

You reach back for the box, feeling up the delicate bracelet. “So how do you want to do this? We have shit to sort out if we want this to work,” you reply.

Shiv shrugs. “Just let me try.”

“If we do this, I want you to take this seriously,” you say lowly. “I won’t fucking stand for it if I catch you still going out with other people. If we’re together, we’re together.”

She laughs, an airy, mirthless sound. “I stopped seeing other people the fourth time you came over. I’m yours, already. Mind, body, soul. I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re just so..,” she trails off, gesturing vaguely at you.

“Can I ask you something?”

She looks up at you attentively. “Always. I’m an open book.”

“Why’d you overreact?”

She pauses. “I don’t think I did.”

You sigh. “Nothing’s going to work if you keep going like that.”

“You didn’t tell me,” she insists. “That’s something important.”

“Siobhan, I was under the impression I was just a good fuck. Regardless of if I told you or not, what would that have changed?”

She chews on the inside of her cheek, averting her eyes. She takes a moment to think. “I think I was too in my head,” she admits. “In my head, we’re already the cutest girlfriends. And then you tack on your daughter, and I don’t want to just… ignore her, you know? I guess it was just, you know, reality hitting me. And me realizing that I didn’t really care that you have a kid. I want… I want to be with you, to help with her.”

You can feel the heat rushing to your face, your gaze locked with hers. “I… I don’t know what to say. That’s… a lot, Shiv.”

“Just… promise you’ll think about it?” she asks, uncharacteristically nervous.

You shake your head. “No, no. I already know what I want.”

Abruptly, you push yourself up from your chair and quickly round the desk. You brace your knee on the cushion of Shiv’s chair, right by her thigh, and take her jaw and crash your lips against hers. It’s your first real kiss, one not just thrown around during sex, and it’s rough, needy.

She responds the minute your mouths connect, kissing you back with an equal fervor. You deepen the kiss, your other hand fluttering to her chin to tip her head back. She makes a happy, contented noise, lips working against yours. Her hands are braced on your torso, just above your hips. Her fingers scrabble for purchase on the fabric of your clothing.

When she pulls away, her lips are slightly puffed up. Yours probably look the same, and you can’t help but smile at the thought. Shiv’s hands drift down to your waist, letting her fingers trace mindless patterns into your skin.

“You’re very pretty,” she murmurs up to you. “Especially when you’re all worked up like this.”

Your smile splits into a grin and you push off her chair. “Asshole.”

“What did I say?” she exclaims, expression matching yours. “I was just praising my sweet, gorgeous girl.”

“I never agreed to you calling me that,” you point out, going to perch on the edge of your desk. Her face falls, and you scramble to recover. “I’m just saying,” you amend quickly, “that I want you to ask me. For real.”

Shiv gets out of her seat, trapping you where you sit, planting her hands on either side of yours and keeping her eyes focused on yours. “Will you be my girlfriend? Can I be your girlfriend?”

“On one condition,” you say, smile playing on your lips.

She fakes a pout, her face only inches away from yours. You lean forward, brushing your lips against hers. “No silly shit.”

“Of course not.” She lets out a breath, and you can feel it stutter along your skin. “I’m all for you. I don’t know what it is, I just know I’m all fucking yours.”

𖥔 ݁ ˖

Life is easy after you and Shiv get together.

Your ridiculous fight is forgotten, and she’s the most perfect, most attentive lover. The first half-year is a dream. She brings you gifts, invites you over if your daughter is with other family, texts you day in and day out. When she’s not working, she’s pacing your office, talking your ear off about a show she’d begrudgingly watched without you, catching you up to speed so you could watch together the minute you could.

As time continues to leak away from you, the flowers and jewelry keep arriving to your doorstep. She adores spoiling you rotten- she never lets you say anything about it.

But then, the gifts start coming in pairs. One for you, one for your daughter.

A toy kitchenette, a play vanity, princess dresses and heels, play makeup. Shiv hasn’t met her yet, but it doesn’t stop her. As you near and suddenly pass your one year anniversary, you realize you’re so head over heels for Siobhan and you see no future without her in it.

For the first time in your relationship, you bring her home with you.

She hovers behind you as you unlock the door. “What happens if she doesn’t like me?” she asks nervously, voice barely below a whisper.

“Baby, once she realizes you’re the one pay rolling her fantasy Barbie world, she’d kill me in exchange for you.” Before you open the door, you look over your shoulder at her. “Besides, she’d love you regardless.”

Since your daughter is five now, she’s finally started school. It hurt you physically watching her grow and having her leave every day. Shiv had been by your side every single day, wiping away your tears and helping with errands even though you were perfectly capable.

“The bus comes at one?” she asks, following you inside.

You hum your yes, going to make your daughter her afternoon snack as Shiv tentatively sits on the couch, crossing her socked feet under her.

Before you know it, the place is filled with both their giggles as Siobhan Roy whirls your daughter around as if she were an airplane.

𖥔 ݁ ˖

You watch as Shiv sits, cross legged, threading flowers into your daughter’s hair. “You’ll be the prettiest flower girl to walk the aisle,” she murmurs, eliciting a giddy laugh from your daughter.

You’d both forgone the entire first look thing. You want to get ready together, spend time together. It felt more intimate, it brought you even closer together. Once your daughter’s hair was done and she’d ran out of the bridal suite, gone out to play, Shiv comes over to you, silk robe clinging to her body.

“I know I’m not supposed to give you this yet,” she says, turning a beautiful, dainty ring with her fingers. “But I wanted to show you it. I’m just so proud.”

She takes your hand, stroking your knuckles, and holds the ring so you can see an engravement on it’s inner part.

Mind, body, soul.

[romeulusroy]

Succession Masterlist

Connor Roy

Kendall Roy

Shiv Roy

Roman Roy

Logan Roy

Lukas Matsson

Tom Wambsgans

Greg Hirsch

Jeryd Mencken

Gossamer Pt. 1 (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Gossamer Pt. 2 (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Dependence (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 1

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 2

Pig (Roy!Sibling x Lukas Matsson)

Cicatrix (Kendall Roy Oneshot)

Tenderness (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Harm (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Succession Preference: Taking Care of You When You're Sick

Fucking Married (Roy! Sibling x Lukas Matsson)

Dating Connor Roy Would Include:

Irresistible (Shiv Roy x Tattoo!Reader)

Dependence Pt. 2 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Succession Preference: Seeing S/O With a Kid

Succession Preference: Having a S/O Wear Their Clothes

Being the Smartest Roy Would Include:

Jollity (Roman Roy x Pierce!Reader)

Dependence Pt. 3 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Arrangement (Roy!Sibling x Lukas Matsson)

Succession Preference: Having a Partner With Bipolar Disorder

Hard To Love (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Roman Roy Aesthetic

No One Knows The Violence It Took To Become This Gentle (Connor Roy Oneshot)

Being Connors Favorite Sibling Would Include:

Succession Ships

Survivors Guilt (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Succession Preference: Meeting S/O Family

Succession Preference: Their Love Language

Eve (Shiv Roy x Matsson!Reader)

Kendall Roy Aesthetic

Shiv Roy Aesthetic

Connor Roy Aesthetic

Succession Preference: Having A S/O With Chronic Illness

Good Mourning (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Dependence Pt. 4 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Succession Preference: Helping You Dye Your Hair

Succession Preference: Dating A Gamer

Petals (Roy!Sibling x Connor Roy)

Succession Preference: Youngest Sibling Fainting

Persecution (Roy!Sibling x Roman Roy)

Parting Pt. 1 (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

Parting Pt. 2 (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

Succession Preference: Tattooed Baby Sibling

Succession Preference: Running Away From Home

Succession Preference: Baby Being A Happy Drunk

Succession Preference: Being Their Kid

Heed (Mencken!Reader x Roman Roy)

Being Shiv's Twin With Depression Would Include:

Succession Preference: S/O Being A Famous Actor

Succession Preference: Baby Listens To Screamo

Summer Storm (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Venom (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Your Relationship As Logans Youngest Would Include:

Succession Preference: Baby Introducing Their First Date

Dependence Pt. 5 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Succession Preference: Relationship With Non-Roys

Being Roman's Favorite Sibling Would Include:

Succession Preference: Baby Roy Taking The Hit

Succession Preference: Dating A Political Figure

Baby!Roy Daying Lukas Matsson Would Include:

Random Baby Roy Headcanons:

Sever (Kendall Roy Oneshot)

Succession Preference: Handmade Gift From S/O

Having Kendall's Child Would Include:

Succession Preference: Them Being Jealous

Pyrexia (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy

Numen (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Succession Preference: Baby Roy Wanting Kids

72 Hours (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Gossamer Pt. 3 (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Succession Preference: Their Marriage Proposal

Succession Preference: Baby Roy Having Panic Attacks

Succession Preference: Dating A Pro Athlete

Baby Roy Becoming A Singer Would Include:

Imagine your fiance Lukas getting jealous over your past relationship with Roman:

Keloid (Roy!Sibling x Roman Roy)

Succession Preference: Baby Roy Being Estranged

Imagine being a long-time Waystar employee and having a complicated relationship with Roman:

Imagine being Shiv's twin and a writer:

Succession Preference: Giving Them The Silent Treatment

Succession Preference: Dating Baby Matsson

Succession Preference: Dating A Famous Singer

Roman Roy Icons

Imagine making sure your family behaves at your wedding:

Imagine standing up for your husband Kendall:

Imagine your wife Shiv worrying when you're in an accident:

Imagine going skinny dipping with Shiv as teenagers:

Imagine Roman taking care of you when you're drink pt. 1:

Imagine being introduced to Connor at a party:

Imagine a quiet moment with Roman:

Updated: 6/30/23

[shivroyspantsuit]

characters I’m going to write for!!!

(please keep in mind that I will only write female or nonmen readers, I will also write smut (It wont be a masterpiece though) fluff and angst, i’ll also write drabbles, oneshots, series and probably whatever else there is)

succession

Shiv Roy

Tom Wambsgans

Gerri Kellman

Stewy Hosseini

Kendall Roy

Roman Roy

+ most other characters

Greys Anatomy

Cristina Yang

Izzie Stevens

Callie Torres

Lexie Grey

Alex Karev

Addison Montgomery

Mark Sloan

Glee

•Quinn Fabray

•Mike Chang

•Tina Cohen-Chang

•Sam Evans

•Mercedes Jones

•Rachel Berry

Its always sunny

Dee Reynolds

Dennis Reynolds

Charlie Kelly

Misc

Jason Todd

Roy Harper

Dick Grayson

Bruce Wayne

Dina Lance

Diana Prince

Star fire

Wally West <3!

I might also write some star wars fics (the og 6 movies) so request those if u want!!!

also please keep in mind that I may not be the best writer as I am only just starting :)!

[kloethewriter]

My Succession Fics Masterlist

This isn’t all of them but these are my currently updating or oneshots! I’ll add more when I post more!

The 80th birthday T, 7k

Summary: The Roy family gets ready for Logan’s “Surprise” 80th birthday party. Greg travels all the way to New York for his uncle’s brithday, even though he hasn’t met this side of his family since he was younger than 7. Kendall sturggles to close a business deal. Tom has a gay crisis meeting Shiv’s cousin. This is turning out to be one hell of a brithday.

TLDR: The Roy family but Logan isn’t an asshole to his children and they actually get along quite well!

The hospital T, 6k

Summary: Logan's incapacitation brings the family back together and sets off some heated descesions. Greg starts to make some connections to the Roy family. Shiv tries to set Greg and Tom up. Roman and Gerri talk about their relationship. The Hospital seems to become a family therapy center for the Roy Family for 24 hours.

TLDR: Shit show at the fuck factory in an AU where Logan isn’t an asshole to his childern.

This is the second book in the series. You don’t have to read the first one but it would make a lot more sense if you did.

You're in the wind, I'm in the water G, 1k

Summary: Connor's thoughts on Caroline being pregnant and how his thoughts change when baby Kendall arrives.

Late night conversation T, 97

Summary: Kendall and Roman talk after there first time meeting Tom.

++++

“Kendall and Roman spent hours shit talking him when they first got together. To be fair he basically kissed thier asses the whole time.” - Chapter 1, Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce Too many bowls of that green, no Lucky Charms.

[kinnbig]

tagged by @kissporsche and @aikinn thank you ✨

fave colour: yellow or pastel pink 💛🌸

currently reading: omgg technically less by andrew sean greer but i started it in august before the dissertation dread kicked in and still haven’t finished it :( which sucks cause it’s good

last song: lil nas x tales of dominica (one of my favourites from this album! also one of my favourites in general)

last series: the eclipse finale! it was pretty good!

last movie: i genuinely don’t remember the last time i watched a movie lol

currently working on: my gd dissertation… i don’t even want a masters any more at this point i’m so done 😭 this shit is never ending.

…perhaps it would be ending faster if i wasn’t also actively working on multiple fanfics lol:

huuge fic lovingly working-titled ‘the Big-centric pain and sadness compilation’ - canon-compliant Big and Ken backstory spanning from several years pre-canon up to the events of episode 10. ft lots of pining and manipulation and kind of fucked up smut (rated E, 10+ chapters, first chapter nearly ready to post (and multiple completely random chapters complete… why was chapter 7 the first one I wrote?!))

multi-chapter third part to my RamKing series ‘silence and patience’ which is just gonna be several chapters of early relationship fluff and smut and is also basically a KingRam manifesto (rated E, 5 chapters(?), first chapter probably 80% complete)

anOther RamKing fic set in early canon, where bisexual icon King takes his friends to a gay bar and sees Ram flirting with some guy. he can’t believe Ram would give a stranger so much attention but ignore him most of the time and decides the solution is to scare the guy away and aggressively flirt with Ram himself. i’m sure u can guess where it’s going. (rated E, oneshot, 40% complete)

also on the back burner:

BigKen friends with benefits fic (E, oneshot)

some very pre-canon KinnBig smut (E, oneshot)

Porsche and Chay 5+1 - 18-year-old Porsche realises 13-year-old Chay is gay but hasn’t talked to Porsche about it. 5 times where, over the years, Porsche goes out of his way to be the ultimate most supportive ally ever to make sure Chay knows he can tell him, and 1 time Porsche talks to Chay about his own bisexuality. (T, oneshot)

Share 10 different favourite characters from ten different pieces of media in no particular order, then tag 10 people 🎥🎬📺:

Big (KinnPorsche)

Ram (the RamKing show/My Engineer)

Shiv Roy (Succession)

Zuko (Avatar: the Last Airbender)

Klaus Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy)

Michelle Mallon (Derry Girls)

Sayid Jarrah (Lost)

Paula Proctor (Crazy Ex Girlfriend)

Eric Effiong (Sex Education)

Ianto Jones (Torchwood) (a throwback to one of my earliest blorbos lmao)

tell me why i immediately forgot every piece of media i’ve ever enjoyed in my life…

i’m doing this quite late (sorry) so i’m not sure who has already done this/been tagged so! If you see this and want to do it then consider yourself tagged

😎✌️