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fiachairecht) wrote2020-02-07 08:59 pm
fiachairecht) wrote2020-02-07 08:59 pm
Entry tags:
succession fics
Signed up for femflash because all the best people were requesting all the best Succession ships, spilt feelings about Shiv and her nuclear-level mommy issues everywhere. I live here now, all I write is Shiv ill-advisedly fucking older women, because, well, we all need coping mechanisms in our lives. Someone talk to me about how Shiv is extremely into fucking her brothers' and/or father's girlfriends.
Title: uninvited
Characters/Ships: Marcia/Shiv
Rating: Teen
Summary: Shiv and Marcia, closer to the beginning.
Marcia becomes an inevitability on the jet the same way she became a part of the household: silently, and with alarming speed. Sometimes Shiv doesn't even figure out she's there til they're well past cruising altitude - just looks up and suddenly Marcia's sitting in the chair across from her, wanders through the galley in search of more coffee and almost trips over her, standing there with tea and a small collection of fancy French flavour syrups that Shiv wants to smash over her feet.
"You know," she says, one of the first times - one of those days when Marcia's face is still a little bit open, like she thinks affection can be bought with affection. "I almost wonder what you did to buy your place up here."
Marcia's mask flickers, just the smallest bit, but her hands remain steady as she fixes the kettle. "Really, Siobhan," she says. "I may not be your mother, but I am your father's wife."
And, Jesus, Shiv's never hated her more than she has in that moment, because there's no way the woman could possibly be that stupid. "And? I'm his daughter. You think that automatically got me on the family plane?"
Marcia's silent for just long enough to tell Shiv that yeah, she absolutely did believe that Logan Roy's children were just as much fixtures on his plane as they were in his speeches, his photos, whatever else he needed to prove to the watching world, or maybe just to himself, that they were a family.
"Yeah," Shiv says. Forces the words out past the memory of dinnertime debates and interview prep. "I don't care if you earned it on your knees or with your wallet, but don't pretend you're better than me."
Marcia's eyebrows climb, and Shiv can't fucking read her expression but she knows she wants to slap it off her face. Kiss it off. Fuck it off. Whatever. "Are you calling me a slut?"
Shiv crowds forward a little further into her space, trails a finger across the neckline of her blouse towards her cleavage and is gratified to see Marcia's gaze follow her. "Are you denying it?"
She's fucked plenty of peoples' girlfriends, kissed nearly as many peoples' wives. She's not sure whether she wants Marcia to give her an excuse to add to that number, and that too makes her angry.
"I thought you were smart enough that you wouldn't feel the need to say it."
And that tone, that one she doesn't need any help reading: disappointment, like she's heard from so many people who matter more. "Guess you'll just have to live with that."
But Marcia doesn't say anything when Shiv steals a kiss, hard and close-lipped and with their noses bumping together not close enough to the edge of pain to be fun. When Shiv pulls back, Marcia's mask is there again, impenetrable.
Maybe she's made a fool of herself. As she grabs a wine bottle and heads back to the couches, she can't bring herself to care.
Title: hold back the melancholy (it's a crime)
Characters/Ships: Gerri/Shiv
Rating: Mature
Summary: On post-coital conversations and hate.
"You know," Shiv says, chin propped on Gerri's thigh and lips still slick with Gerri's orgasm, "I don't hate you."
"Thanks," Gerri says dryly, shifting to ease her leg off Shiv's shoulder. She's getting too old for this, or, at the very least, she's magnificently improperly dressed for this. "I think I figured that one out when you offered to eat me out under my desk."
Shiv smirks, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and her hand on the carpet. "It was really more of a threat."
Shiv's very good at lying, when she wants to be, and Gerri doesn't even need to have spent the better part of forty years with the Roys to know that this lie is more out of habit than anything. Whether Shiv's noticed - well.
Gerri's an asshole, but she tries not to be that kind of asshole unless it's really necessary, so she doesn't point it out. "And how does it feel, having carried it out?"
Shiv shrugs, one-shouldered, and her hair ripples with the movement, redder than ever in the sunset light filtering through the mostly-closed blinds. Fifty floors up, Gerri still knows from discretion, even though Shiv hadn't given the open ones a glance when she first sank between Gerri's knees like a weapon.
And Gerri would be lying herself if she said she didn't feel a little more reckless around Shiv, a little more free of Waystar and a little thrilled by the possibilities.
"Really, a shrug?" Gerri peers over the top of her glasses and Shiv purses her lips, suddenly looking five years younger.
"It feels good," she says, finally and a little reluctantly. "Obviously," and Gerri's not sure what shred of professionalism Shiv's still clinging on to to not roll her eyes with the words, but she appreciates it.
"Long live small mercies," Gerri says, with less malice than Shiv probably deserves, and, "Fuck you," Shiv rejoins with absolutely no heat behind it, because deserving hasn't meant a thing to either of them in decades, if it ever had to Shiv.
Gerri reaches down, covers Shiv's mouth with a hand and gets a bite for her trouble. It's good, sharp - a distraction from the leather of her chair still sticky against her bare cunt and the blush high across Shiv's cheekbones that's setting her eyes to sparkling. "Watch your mouth, missy."
Shiv prises Gerri's hand away, her fingers still warm and damp and Gerri fights the urge to close her eyes against the sensation. The reminder of what they've done. "Or you'll watch it for me? Is that what fairy godmothers do, these days?"
"Deliberate obtuseness doesn't look good on you, Siobhan." And then, because she's apparently constitutionally incapable of following her own good advice when it comes to the Roys, adds, "What did you get out of this, anyway?"
Shiv gets to her feet, a smile that almost looks real pulling at the corner of her mouth as Gerri has to tip her head back to look her in the eye. "Like I said. I don't hate you."
She leaves Gerri with that, and it feels, Gerri thinks, like it means more than it should.
Title: uninvited
Characters/Ships: Marcia/Shiv
Rating: Teen
Summary: Shiv and Marcia, closer to the beginning.
Marcia becomes an inevitability on the jet the same way she became a part of the household: silently, and with alarming speed. Sometimes Shiv doesn't even figure out she's there til they're well past cruising altitude - just looks up and suddenly Marcia's sitting in the chair across from her, wanders through the galley in search of more coffee and almost trips over her, standing there with tea and a small collection of fancy French flavour syrups that Shiv wants to smash over her feet.
"You know," she says, one of the first times - one of those days when Marcia's face is still a little bit open, like she thinks affection can be bought with affection. "I almost wonder what you did to buy your place up here."
Marcia's mask flickers, just the smallest bit, but her hands remain steady as she fixes the kettle. "Really, Siobhan," she says. "I may not be your mother, but I am your father's wife."
And, Jesus, Shiv's never hated her more than she has in that moment, because there's no way the woman could possibly be that stupid. "And? I'm his daughter. You think that automatically got me on the family plane?"
Marcia's silent for just long enough to tell Shiv that yeah, she absolutely did believe that Logan Roy's children were just as much fixtures on his plane as they were in his speeches, his photos, whatever else he needed to prove to the watching world, or maybe just to himself, that they were a family.
"Yeah," Shiv says. Forces the words out past the memory of dinnertime debates and interview prep. "I don't care if you earned it on your knees or with your wallet, but don't pretend you're better than me."
Marcia's eyebrows climb, and Shiv can't fucking read her expression but she knows she wants to slap it off her face. Kiss it off. Fuck it off. Whatever. "Are you calling me a slut?"
Shiv crowds forward a little further into her space, trails a finger across the neckline of her blouse towards her cleavage and is gratified to see Marcia's gaze follow her. "Are you denying it?"
She's fucked plenty of peoples' girlfriends, kissed nearly as many peoples' wives. She's not sure whether she wants Marcia to give her an excuse to add to that number, and that too makes her angry.
"I thought you were smart enough that you wouldn't feel the need to say it."
And that tone, that one she doesn't need any help reading: disappointment, like she's heard from so many people who matter more. "Guess you'll just have to live with that."
But Marcia doesn't say anything when Shiv steals a kiss, hard and close-lipped and with their noses bumping together not close enough to the edge of pain to be fun. When Shiv pulls back, Marcia's mask is there again, impenetrable.
Maybe she's made a fool of herself. As she grabs a wine bottle and heads back to the couches, she can't bring herself to care.
Title: hold back the melancholy (it's a crime)
Characters/Ships: Gerri/Shiv
Rating: Mature
Summary: On post-coital conversations and hate.
"You know," Shiv says, chin propped on Gerri's thigh and lips still slick with Gerri's orgasm, "I don't hate you."
"Thanks," Gerri says dryly, shifting to ease her leg off Shiv's shoulder. She's getting too old for this, or, at the very least, she's magnificently improperly dressed for this. "I think I figured that one out when you offered to eat me out under my desk."
Shiv smirks, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and her hand on the carpet. "It was really more of a threat."
Shiv's very good at lying, when she wants to be, and Gerri doesn't even need to have spent the better part of forty years with the Roys to know that this lie is more out of habit than anything. Whether Shiv's noticed - well.
Gerri's an asshole, but she tries not to be that kind of asshole unless it's really necessary, so she doesn't point it out. "And how does it feel, having carried it out?"
Shiv shrugs, one-shouldered, and her hair ripples with the movement, redder than ever in the sunset light filtering through the mostly-closed blinds. Fifty floors up, Gerri still knows from discretion, even though Shiv hadn't given the open ones a glance when she first sank between Gerri's knees like a weapon.
And Gerri would be lying herself if she said she didn't feel a little more reckless around Shiv, a little more free of Waystar and a little thrilled by the possibilities.
"Really, a shrug?" Gerri peers over the top of her glasses and Shiv purses her lips, suddenly looking five years younger.
"It feels good," she says, finally and a little reluctantly. "Obviously," and Gerri's not sure what shred of professionalism Shiv's still clinging on to to not roll her eyes with the words, but she appreciates it.
"Long live small mercies," Gerri says, with less malice than Shiv probably deserves, and, "Fuck you," Shiv rejoins with absolutely no heat behind it, because deserving hasn't meant a thing to either of them in decades, if it ever had to Shiv.
Gerri reaches down, covers Shiv's mouth with a hand and gets a bite for her trouble. It's good, sharp - a distraction from the leather of her chair still sticky against her bare cunt and the blush high across Shiv's cheekbones that's setting her eyes to sparkling. "Watch your mouth, missy."
Shiv prises Gerri's hand away, her fingers still warm and damp and Gerri fights the urge to close her eyes against the sensation. The reminder of what they've done. "Or you'll watch it for me? Is that what fairy godmothers do, these days?"
"Deliberate obtuseness doesn't look good on you, Siobhan." And then, because she's apparently constitutionally incapable of following her own good advice when it comes to the Roys, adds, "What did you get out of this, anyway?"
Shiv gets to her feet, a smile that almost looks real pulling at the corner of her mouth as Gerri has to tip her head back to look her in the eye. "Like I said. I don't hate you."
She leaves Gerri with that, and it feels, Gerri thinks, like it means more than it should.
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