#he has a cock ring I’m unwell

[watchyourbuck]

I was just forced to remember the fact that Buck has a ring cutter for other purposes and I’m going rabid inside the walls of my enclosure

[sh1-n0bu]

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 30: choking with il dottore from genshin impact

warnings: choking, slapping, usage of aphrodisiac, dottore is a masochist, cockstepping, foot humping, degrading, cumming untouched, reader is a harbinger

notes: can you guys just tell that i fucking despise this rat????

as harbingers of the tsaritsa and a group of very unlovable, twisted, evil and just genuinely not-so-good people, disturbance at workplace was common. of course, said disturbance ranges from a simple hiss of “i fucking hate you. i hope your next mission goes so unwell that the only casualty will be your tattered corpse” to whatever this is. this could have easily been called as something that most people would call as ‘hate sex’ if only the both of you were not fully clothed.

so technically, this would be counted as ‘hate masturbating’? ah, fuck the labels or those things. right now, the only focus on your mind was to put this annoying bastard in his place.

he really thought he was the shit, didn’t he? the absolute galls of this motherfucker to even dare to put you down and insult you in front of your own subordinates. not just that, he went ahead and put aphrodisiacs into your coffee and his own like the absolute lunatic he was.

how badly you wanted to crush his windpipes in. that would oh so easy with your current position of your hand wrapped nicely around his neck like those beautiful chokers you see on some certain accessory shops. or even one that resembles a collar that is bound tightly around the neck of a rabies infested animal. but with a deranged doctor like dottore, the latter description seem to fit well with how he was moaning and wheezing, clothed cock humping your boots as he panted like a dog.

“you really are a detestable creature, you know that?” you hiss in sheer and utter anger, your other hand joining the other to wrap around his throat more forcefully. both hands on his neck, ready to crush his windpipes in if you wanted.

you had the power. a harbinger who’s currently in the position of tenth may be considered weak amongst fellow harbingers but even then, the tenth fatui harbinger is more than capable to shake an entire nation and to be seen as a threat to an archon.

and that tenth harbinger is you.

so even if dottore may be the second, one of the few who has the capacity to rival a god, right now he was nothing more than a pathetic dog who was humping your shoe. panting and whining loudly with his tongue stuck out, the mad doctor only focuses on the feeling of your hands choking him and the hardened leather of your shoes.

“y-yes.. yes yessshh yesyesyesyesyes oh archons, yes. i am. i’m a detestable creature. your detestable creature” dottore chokes on his spit, a wheezing shrill moan escaping his open mouth as his drool drips down his chin. he seems to like being degraded like this, the movements of his humping becoming more and more frantic on your shoe.

red eyes rolling to the back of his skull, sharp gasps and squeals following until he swore he could see black dots in his vision. he didn’t wanted to have the black spots dancing in his vision! because if so, how was he going to see you? he wanted to see you. that look of just pure anger on your face as you choke the daylights out of him and let him hump you like a dog in heat. no, he needed to see you.

“aaANGH—! kyuuck hhang♡︎♡︎ gck! ♡︎♡︎” a loud intake of breath is heard as your hands let go of the position around his neck, allowing him to breathe for a moment. not too long after, without even allowing him to catch a full breath, his head lolls to the side with a stinging feeling on the side of his cheek. did you just…?

“eyes on me. who said you could go around tearing your gaze away from me, rat” he could briefly hear your voice hiss through the ringing in his ears. muffled, faint, hard to tell if the voice was truly falling from your lips or if it was one of his manic episode voices talking.

either way, it was still your voice that was blessing his ears. it was your shoe that was now stepping on his clothed, weeping cock and he was thankful. maniac and downright insane but dottore knows a holy being when he sees and hears one. he may have not worshipped any of the archons, but for you? the mad doctor would gladly kiss the soles of your shoes over and over. hell, he would even thank you just for being in the same room as you.

call him unstable as much as you would like and he knows that. he even revels in the title and he would gladly wear that title for his entire life if he could be with you. dottore always had this odd obsession with you. since your titling of becoming the tenth fatui harbinger, he had developed this odd sense of fascination.

fascination to dottore, but unhealthy obsession to others.

not like the doctor cares. he had long since gave up trying to reason with other beings and had lost almost all contact with social interaction if not for the harbingers gathering or his experiments with his lab rats. until you joined his ranks.

“i said eyes on me, doctor” you grunt, slapping him across his face again. on the other cheek this time. that seemed to have done the work to catch his attention successfully as his hazy blood eyes focus on you. his cheeks were the same shade of red as his eyes, however it was hard to tell whether it was from your forceful hits or his blushing.

“ougck—! yess.. ye-es yes yesyesyesyes, eyes on you♡︎eyes solely on you♡︎” the blue haired man nods frantically, slight twitch and wince in his eyes showing that the added pressure to his cock was just a tad bit painful for him. even a masochist has their limits. but did he care? no. no he absolutely did not care. if anything, the crazy doctor wanted it to hurt since it was you who was delivering these delicious cocktail of pleasure and pain. he wanted it to hurt. he wanted it to feel good.

with another slap to his cheek for his continued disobedience — for constantly trying to look down at where your shoe was stepping on his stained pants — the doctor lets out a choked noise akin to a mewl before his entire body spasms. thighs shaking and twitching before a strangled noise is let out as the stain in his pants become darker and darker. the stain moving and spreading, some of it even seeping through the fabrics of his clothes as it drips onto the floor below.

“did you… just cum untouched?” you ask, doing a double take as you lift up your shoe to stare at the white translucent juice drip down onto the floor, leaving a tiny puddle. dottore only giggles, almost as if he was in a drunken haze, as he slowly lifts up his face to stare at you. he looked positively fucked up.

“do that again, pleaasshee♡︎?” dottore drawls out.

[artificialbreezy]

I am actually so unwell rn that I'm abt to ask you for more Matt piss kink content on main all the shame in my body evaporated w that last post abt it 💀

ya know? i am SO glad you asked. this has been bubbling all day.

cw: piss, cum, Matt (he needs his own warning)

it was a lazy day, a no pants, fairy lights, kinda lazy day. so, you were in his lap, legs spread, his hand on your thigh. you were halfway through yet another lord of the rings directors cut. you start to wiggle, trying to get up. when his arms tighten around you.

“no, where are you going?” eyebrows scrunched up, eyes still on the film.

“Matty, i gotta pee. i’ll be back i promise.” you whispered.

he laughs a little, “in a minute.”

soon that minute turns into 10, then 15. it’s getting a little harder to hold in. “Matty, gotta go. please.”

his hands move up to settle on your lower stomach, pushing softly. “Matt! i’m gonna pee on you, if you don’t stop.”

“no you aren’t. you’re gonna sit here, and hold it until i let you go.” he spoke way more seriously than he did earlier.

squirming around, confused why your center ached. “i really need to go!”

“oh, you really need to go?” he mocked your panic tone.

you can feel his smirk against your ear, growing wider each time he feels you squirm down against him. “i’m gonna pump you full of my cum, then i’ll let you go, okay?”

nodding at the man behind you. his hands gripping your hips, lifting you up just enough he can pull his cock out, and push himself into you.

you don't even have to beg for him to be quick, he's nearly there. with you squirming on his lap, and clenching down, and you're just letting him control your body this way. makes him fucking crazy. he groans into your ear, “you’re clenching real hard baby. scared of letting it go? too embarrassed?”

you don’t have to answer, he knows. he knows you’re trying with everything inside of you to hold out for him. to wait for him to fill you up. he feels your body start to relax a little bit. “hold it. almost done baby.” he groans, biting down on your shoulder.

you feel so full.

[mostlyvoid-partiallyflowers]

Okay I just speedran The Sunshine Court in like 12 hours. I will be rereading it soonly and giving more coherent thoughts but here’s my main takeaways:

- Thought #1: Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck this book exists. I am on the floor I’m so fucking excited.

Spoilers below the cut

- I absolutely love that we get both Jean and Jeremy POVs. It’s great especially because Jean is an oblivious and traumatized and if we just see things through his eyes we would never get to see Jeremy PINING like an absolute icon. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it’s about the pining, the waiting, the yearning. I’m simple man, I like my books gay, angsty, and with tension you could cut with a knife. This delivers on all accounts.

- I love getting to see the end of tkm from Jean’s perspective. Getting to see him watch the Foxes v Ravens game was incredible. I’m a very big fan.

- Renee and Jean time! Renee giving Jean her cross necklace. I’m in tears, I’m dead, I’m on the floor. It’s not the right time for us 😭. Excuse me? I’m unwell.

- Kevin Day, queen of my heart! Getting to see how someone other than Neil canonically sees Kevin is an absolute treat for me. Jean’s weakness for beautiful men has become known. Me too Jean, me too.

- Jeremy, light of my life, I can’t believe you’re rich. At least your family sucks because I don’t think I could take it if your family was wealthy and nice.

- Jeremy + Jean meeting for the first time. Jeremy trying and failing to play with a yo-yo. I’d die for you. They are ADHD 🤝 Autism solidarity me thinks.

- Montana has a pro Exy team which is not at all plausible but I’ll let it slide because one Montana mention for the win and two the team is called the Rustics which is absolutely what we’d call a pro sports team if we had one. The only reason Montanan’s at large would commit to indoor lacrosse is that Kayleigh Day was Irish and so solidarity.

- Laila and Cat, my beloveds. The description of their apartment has me yearning for the same. They have a bay window with a window seat okay. That’s like in my top three desires for a home.

- Carboard cutout dog with a classic Nora pet name. I’ll love Mister B forever. I love how Jeremy keeps moving him around. I love how Jean hates it.

- Trans characters! Poly characters! Nonbinary characters! Nora, my birthday has come a little late but damn this was a gift!

- I am absolutely pronouncing Jean wrong in my head probably 70% of the time.

- I’m so fucking angry at the Ravens. My blood is boiling and I want to cry. Jean deserved better, Kevin deserved better, Riko deserved better. All the Ravens deserved better. I want to put Tetsugi Moriyama into a blender and feed him to the crows.

- Jean was 16. I’m absolutely incandescent with rage.

- Jeremy is so patient with Jean and I will forever love him for that.

- This book was a lot shorter time frame than I was expecting, mainly because I keep forgetting there’s going to be another one.

- The food control but is driving me crazy. It makes me so fucking mad. Let my boy eat. I want him to be happy.

- Jeremy has seen Jean looking 👀 ummmmmm hello? “More exclusively than you do, I think.” I’m on the floor.

- Laila buying Jean a sex toy?!? Oh my god. What would she even get him? I feel like he deserves a vibrating cock ring or something fun like that. That way service top™️ Jeremy Knox can use it on him when they finally get together.

- I love seeing Neil from Jean’s perspective. It’s funny how different he is from my perspective and Jean’s/everyone else’s. I’ve spent so much time thinking about him from Andrew’s pov that it’s weird seeing him through anyone else’s. Everyone is like this scrappy irritating son of bitch is gonna get what’s coming to him, and Andrew is like, well I can’t not fuck him.

- The second Jean mentions Drake to Neil. And then Neil immediately calls a hit out on Gr@yson. Neil, you will always be famous to me.

- Jean-Yves! I hope he starts using his full name again at some point.

- Elodie :(((((( I can imagine what Jean’s going through and I am so afraid for him. If he keeps pushing all these feelings down he’s going to break sooner or later, but probably sooner.

- Jeremy’s unconditional support of Jean has my whole heart. Jean has friends now. I’m crying.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Of Kings and Beasts  -  Three

Pairing: King!Bucky X Princess!Reader X King!Steve

Summary: Born a bastard of the King of Orlen, you’re thrusted to the West to marry the Kings. However, the greeting you get is anything but warm, and your life with the King is far from enjoyable. He knows it isn’t your fault his husband is gone, but that fact alone won’t prevent him from taking it out on you.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Smut, NonCon, Language, Kinda Slow Burn, Cruel!Bucky, Injuries, Violence, TRIGGER WARNING FOR NON CONSENSUAL SEX, fluff??? Maybe?? Can you call it that????

Word Count: 3.6K

A/n: I'm making soup right now!!!! It won’t be done until maybe eleven thirty (It’s ten thirty rn) and I work at 4 tomorrow morning so RIP me. Um... I hope to post the next part of In a Heartbeat soon (Tonight or tomorrow) but we’ll see. I hope you guys are all having a lovely evening and I love you all very much!!

Spoiler(ish) A/n 2: So this chapter is very dark BUT the next chapter will not be as dark so you have that to look forward to.

THIS SERIES CONTAINS SMUT AND VERY DARK THEMES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME AUDIENCES!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

PART ONE

PART TWO

~*~

“No breakfast again this morning, Your Majesty?” You shake your head at your guard, turning your back to her and motioning for her to tie up your corset.

She starts tying, apologizing every now and again when you inhale sharply at the tightness.

“Natalia, I would appreciate it if my name were not one you said to the king. With every mention of me, he becomes more agitated. He is entitled to do whatever it is that he pleases to me, for I belong to him now. I fear you getting involved in any way will only make matters worse for me.”

She wonders what James might've done when he last saw you to have you saying this, but she knows better than to ask.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I ask you forgive me for speaking so plainly without permission.”

It’s been weeks since the king left, and the Kingdom has started growing cold with the coming winter.

“Today, if you will allow it, I would like to take you to the stables. You have been here for well over a month and have yet to meet your horse.” You cock your head to the side. You didn’t even know you had a horse here.

“I have a horse?” She nods, draping a cloak over your shoulders. “You have whatever you want here. This is your home. Your kingdom. Anything you wish for will be brought to you. All you need do is ask.”

“I suppose you’re correct. Forgive me for being so blunt, but I have not felt very welcomed in my new home.” She nods, opening the door for you and walking you down the hall.

“I know it has been said many times, but the King is simply under a fair amount of stress. He knows not how his words affect you. You mustn’t think you are the cause of his anger. He is wrong to take it out on you. I know it isn’t my place, but before Steven was taken, the two kings were greatly looking forward to meeting you and marrying you. However, without his husband, I fear James has become a shell of a man.”

You hum, her words making sense when you think back to the way the King treated you and some of the things he said.

“It’s comical. The King fears I am trying to replace his husband when I have not even spoken his name. I have not said a word about King Steven and yet His Majesty treats me as if I am the one who lost him in the first place.” You stop in your tracks, horror filling you at what you’ve said.

“I am too bold, for I know not what I am saying. Please forgive me, Natalia. I did not mean anything by it.” She smiles gently at you.

“You do not need to be afraid of speaking freely in front of me. I will not breathe a word of it to the King. What is said in my presence stays with me and only me.” You smile gratefully at her but say nothing more, not knowing how much you can trust the woman beside you.

~*~

The days go by in blurs of grey. You rarely leave your chambers unless coaxed by Nat or Wanda, and even then it is only for brief moments.

Your appetite has shrunk and you hardly sleep more than a few hours a night, something both women are starting to become worried about.

Natalia was asked to take care of you, and she feels horrid for doing such a terrible job. But she isn’t sure what else she can do.

“We should hear from the King soon. It’s been nearly two months since his departure,” Wanda says from beside the bathtub. You’re laying in the warm water, eyes closed in a pathetic attempt at ignoring the world around yourself.

Something about what she says clicks in your mind and you peel your eyes open.

“How long did you say?” You ask, voice scratchy from lack of use.

“It’s been nearly two months since he left.” She repeats, smiling gently at you. You nod, teeth grinding together as butterflies fill your belly.

“Wanda, could you fetch the doctor? I am feeling unwell.” She nods, jumping up from her spot and hurrying to the door. While she’s gone you climb out of the bathtub and quickly dry off, heart in your throat as you get dressed.

You’re pulling on a plain beige dress when Wanda re-enters the room, a doctor following close behind.

“Your Majesty.” He bows then stands back up quickly, pushing his spectacles up higher on his nose.

“Please excuse us, Wanda.” She nods, disappointment in her eyes, but leaves nonetheless.

You wait until you’re sure she’s away from the door before speaking.

“I have not bled since arriving here,” you say bluntly, wanting to know now if what you think is actually true.

He raises his eyebrows and nods, licking his lips.

“When was your last bleed before arriving?” You take a deep breath, trying hard to remember. “Probably about a week... maybe two before I arrived.” He nods, pulling a small notepad out of his jacket and jotting something down.

“The days add up. I would not be surprised if you were with child. I’d like to do a few inspections, just to be sure, but I am fairly confident that you are.” He pulls the stethoscope from around his neck and puts the earpieces in his ears.

He presses the flat part against your chest, listening intently before nodding and jotting a few more things down.

When he crouches down and presses the flat part to your lower belly you feel like you may throw up.

It’s dead silent in the room, you holding your breath, and him listening carefully.

A smile breaks out across his face and he stands up.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty. I can hear two healthy heartbeats.”

You’re going to faint.

He must see you start to sway because he grabs your arms and hurries you to your bed, laying you down.

“I’ll send for Lady Wanda. Have her bring some water.” You nod, clenching your jaw as you try to fight both tears and dizziness.

You’re pregnant.

You’re going to have a baby.

You dread having to tell the King.

~*~

Two weeks after finding out the news and you’ve told no one. The Doctor, (Doctor Banner as you found out later) is the only other person who knows and you’ve sworn him to secrecy.

Two weeks after finding out you’re carrying the future of Acadia and that is news you’ve kept to yourself. Who can you tell? Your husband still hasn’t sent word, and there’s been no sign of him.

You sit in your chambers, picking at a piece of bread more than eating it.

“Majesty, you’ve lost weight. You need to eat, please,” Wanda begs. You look over at her then back down to your almost untouched plate of food.

After a moment of staring at the food you sigh, one hand coming to your stomach.

“Wanda, where do your loyalties lie?” She furrows her brows in confusion at your question.

“I don’t think I understand what you mean, your Majesty.” You sigh and look at her. “Could you keep a secret from the King if I requested you to do as such?” She nods without hesitation. “You are my queen and I am your lady. You are my top priority, before the kings.” You nod, absentmindedly drawing patterns on your stomach.

“I’m with child,” you tell her, eyes focused on the pristine walls.

She takes a sharp breath in, hurrying to your side and looking into your eyes.

“Is this confirmed?” You nod, placing a hand on your tiny bump.

“I have not told his majesty yet, because I have no way of contacting him. I can only hope that after he is made aware of my pregnancy... I hope he is kinder.” She nods, smiling gently at you.

“I’m sure he will be. He and King Steven spoke so fondly of having children. Of having you. When they come back I am positive King James will make up for all he has done to you. Now, you must eat. I will not leave this spot until you eat half of what is here. If not for your sake then for that of your child.” You purse your lips then nod, picking up a scrap of bread and bringing it to your lips.

She smiles encouragingly, watching with warmth in her eyes as you eat the food on your plate.

~*~

You’re falling into light sleep when there’s a sudden commotion outside of your chambers.

“He’s returned?” A muffled voice asks.

James.

You bolt upright, stumbling out of your bed and rushing over to your window. Sure enough, the group of riders is back. But one is missing from the King’s horse.

“He was unsuccessful. We could not find Steve. He... he is not taking it well.” That’s Samuel's voice.

You open your door, smiling at Nat and Sam.

“He is back?” You ask. Sam nods then scratches the nape of his neck.

“He is... not in good spirits right now, Your Majesty. It would be unwise to see him until he has calmed down.”

You take a deep breath, Wanda’s words ringing in your head. He needs to know this. If only to spare yourself some pain.

“I need to speak to him and I need to do so now. This has waited long enough. I do not care if he is not in good spirits. I have waited far too long to tell him.” The two nod and Sam points you in the direction of where the King is.

Your heart is racing in your ears and you hold your stomach, beyond nervous for the King’s reaction.

When you get to the throne room you find the door open, the King having his back to you.

“Your Majesty?” You call, only becoming more nervous when you see the way his shoulders tighten at the sound of your voice.

“I asked to be left alone,” he growls, his voice low and full of anger. You take a deep breath and nod, stepping into the throne room.

“I realize that, Your Majesty, and I apologize for intruding, but I mist speak with you.” He chuckles, turning around slowly to look at you.

He’s dirty and there’s dried blood on the side of his face. His eyes are red and blood-shot and you realize that he must’ve been crying.

“What could you possibly have to say that would lead you to believe it is important enough for me to hear?” Your mouth drops open in shock and he scoffs.

“You waste my time, you stupid girl. I want nothing of you, do you not understand that?!”

“Believe me, Your Majesty, I understand that plenty. You think I do not know of your resentment but I do. I am not here by my own free will, might I remind you. I am not the one who chose to come here. If my memory serves me correctly, it was you and King Steven who chose me.”

You hardly register what happens next. One moment you’re standing up facing the king, the next you’re on the ground, cheek stinging and the taste of blood in your mouth while the sound of a slap rings in your ears.

“You will not speak to your King in that manner! It is a privilege to be here, and it is time you realized that. You were chosen, yes. Chosen to bear the children of the great Kings of the West. However, that does not make you irreplaceable! You can easily be beheaded and another woman brought in your place.” He eyes you for a moment, his anger and sorrow consuming him.

“It seems my words are not enough to remind you what you are meant for. Perhaps my cock will do a better job?” You shake your head, scrambling back, but it’s too late. He’s already on top of you, shoving your legs apart and pushing your skirts up past your hips.

“No! Your Majesty, please! I-I’m sorry! Please, don’t!” He smacks you again, successfully silencing your pleads for him to stop. Tears leak from your eyes and you feel whatever fight you had left in you be drained.

Your mind goes blank and it’s as if all your senses have been turned off.

You can’t feel anything. Not his hands on your hips, nor his manhood tearing you apart. You can’t hear his angry grunts or the choked sobs he’s trying so desperately to contain.

You simply lie beneath him, tears trailing down your cheeks and eyes focused on a stain on the wall across from where you are.

Hot tears splatter against your face, adding to your own, and somewhere through your hazy mind you realize he’s crying. Why he could possibly be crying when he’s the one causing pain is beyond you, but you don’t care anymore. Not about him, nor his husband, nor his kingdom. The heir you carry... you’re hardly sure if you care about it anymore either.

When he’s finished he doesn’t look at you. He can’t. He can’t face what he’s done. Instead, he fixes your skirts, gets up, and leaves you on the floor.

You have no strength left inside of you. Your body is stuck on the ground, tears still flowing down your cheeks and dripping into a puddle on the floor.

Alone on the floor you lie, not sure for how long. Minutes, hours, days. You have no idea. You hardly hear the feet running to you, nor do you process the hands pulling you into a seated position, fingers on your neck checking for a pulse.

A woman’s voice shouting for the doctor while strong arms pick you up.

You’re carried through the halls, each one looking so much like the last, and then you’re on your bed again.

There are people speaking, voices all muffled together that you can’t hear and you wish would go away.

And then you’re jolted back to reality by a spray of cold water.

You gasp, arms coming around your body and hugging yourself as shivers wrack your frame.

“There you are, Your Majesty,” Doctor Banner says, his eyes moving from your face down to your stomach.

“Everyone out. I need to inspect the Queen in privacy.” You don’t look to see who else is in the room. You don’t care.

You keep your gaze locked forward, trembling as the cold water seeps into your bones.

“It was the only method I could think of to pull you from your shock, Your Majesty. I do hope you’ll forgive me.” You don’t reply and the Doctor sighs.

“Lady Wanda, run a hot bath for her. And have someone fetch some of the tea I asked for.” You’re assuming Wanda does as asked because you can hear the water filling up the tub.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Doctor Banner asks. You say nothing.

“Are you hurt?” You shrug.

“Can I examine you?” You nod. He lays you down and presses the stethoscope to your stomach, nodding once then sitting between your legs. He flips your skirts up and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I will need to have a word with his Majesty. He cannot be so rough while you are with child.” You shake your head, pushing yourself onto your elbows.

The doctor raises his eyebrows in confusion.

“You don’t want me to tell him?” You nod. He sighs but agrees.

“You must rest though, Your Majesty. I can only imagine how much pain you are in.” When you still say nothing he sighs and rises to his feet.

“From what I gathered, all is well with the child. It will take a few days for you to heal properly, and I recommend you eat more and add more meats and cheeses to your diet. You need to gain weight and sleep more. Both you and your child require that. I will inform the chefs of your change in meal schedule. I expect you to follow it this time.” You simply nod and the doctor leaves without another word.

Wanda is at your side before you can fall back into the abyss of numbness, helping you to the bathtub and pulling your soiled dress from your body.

“I’ll have it disposed of. You spend as much time as you’d like in the tub. I sent Nat and Sam to fetch tea and soup for you. No one has seen the King since...” She trails off, a frown on her lips at the way you make no sign of having even heard her.

A knock on the door pulls her from her worries momentarily and she hurries to open it.  

Nat comes in, a tray in her hand, and Sam is standing guard at the door, under strict order from the redhead not to let the King anywhere near your chambers.

“How is she?” Nat asks. Wanda shakes her head, sighing heavily. “She hasn’t spoken a word. Not even to Doctor Banner. I fear he may have done damage that cannot be healed.” Nat nods, her eyes on you.

“Your Majesty? I’ve brought you some soup and tea. Doctor Banner has said that you need to eat more.” She sits on the padded vanity stool after tugging it to the bathtub and sets the tray down on the floor beside her.

She picks up the soup and offers you the bowl, at which you simply stare. She sighs and raises a spoonful of it to her mouth, blowing on it gently before offering it to you. You open your mouth and allow her to spoon-feed you the warm soup.

It takes both women to get you out of the tub and into bed, but once you’re in bed you never want to move.

Wanda blows out the few candles you had in your chambers and her and Nat quietly leave.

~*~

“She’s been up for several hours. She lit a fire a few hours ago and has been sitting in front of it ever since,” Nat whispers, looking at the brunette with sad eyes.

“The King has destroyed her spirit,” Wanda whispers back. You sit perfectly poised in front of the fire, your back facing the two women.

“Has she spoken yet?” Wanda asks, to which Nat replies with a sad shake of her head.

Your fingers poke at your stomach, hatred in your heart for the life growing within you.

A plate of fruit and nuts sits in front of you, one you’ve been nibbling at since the early hours of the morning.

You’re not meaning to be silent, you simply have nothing left to say to anyone, no fight in you and nothing left to give. You’re tired and absolutely done with this life that you’re living.

“Nat?” The two watch you carefully for any reaction to the King’s voice.

“You should be beaten for all that you’ve done to her,” Nat says matter-of-factly. The King sighs and you hear his footsteps slow as he approaches your door.

“I came to talk to her. To apologize and explain.” The redhead snorts. “It’s a little bit late for that, Your Majesty. She hasn’t spoken a word since we found her yesterday. I doubt she wants anything to do with you.” You couldn’t care less at this point.

“Please?” The redhead sighs but steps aside, allowing her King access to his wife.

“(Y/n)?” You don’t move, eyes focused on the flames in front of you. He sits himself down beside you, eyes on the side of your face.

You’ve lost weight. Your face is slimmer, less lively than last he saw it. The bags under your eyes have only grown and you look... exhausted.

“May I have a moment alone with her? Please?” The two women exchange glances before slowly nodding.

“We will be just beyond the door if you need anything from us, Your Majesty.” He knows they’re not talking to him. As soon as the door is closed he sighs, shoulders slumping forward.

“I will never be able to apologize for all that I have done to you. You... you have endured far more than you should have and I have treated you unfairly. I have... I have brutalized you and broken you down. I take full responsibility for my actions.”

He sighs heavily before continuing, his voice quiet and broken.

“I miss my husband. And although that is no excuse, it is my explanation. I have never been one to love easily, and loving him... it was hard to accept for the longest time. And then I opened myself up to a love I have never experienced before, only to have him ripped from my grasp.

“We chose you specifically. Your beauty and wit... we knew you would make a wonderful queen. He would talk about you at night, we would discuss what having you would be like. And now every time I look at you I see him and it pains me. Because you are a dream that he and I were meant to share. It is wrong for me to take that out on you and I will never ever be deserving of your forgiveness.”

When you still say nothing he sighs.

“I... I would like for us to be civil, at the very least. And I know you have tried and I have not been open to this before, but I would like to start over if you’ll allow it.”

Even if you didn’t want to be civil with him, his word trumps yours.

“Join me for dinner tonight? I will have the cooks prepare whatever you would like to eat.”

You don’t want to eat a single damn thing. But do you really have a choice?

[couchpotatoaniki]

One Year ❣︎ Seven: Never Ask Friends for Help

Chapter Summary: As San expected, he caught a cold after your little prance through the storm in Hallim Park the previous day. Luckily, you're fine, which gives you the wonderful opportunity to look after him and the even more wonderful opportunity to let your chaotic nature shine.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, (this chapter is pure fluff and crack) Word count: 3.2k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter Six For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

Silence filled your room when you woke up the next morning. It was strange, since San had said he would be waking you up, and there you were, still lying in bed by the time noon rolled around.

It wasn’t as if you were waiting for him to come and get you, but you just wanted to take advantage of the time in such a warm blanket. Yeosang often joked about how you became a cold-blooded reptile whenever you felt sleepy, body temperature dropping and your tongue sharp like that of a snake.

Basically, it was his long-winded way of calling you a cranky, heat-stealing bitch.

Not that you minded at all, since Yeosang was a cranky bitch himself when sleepy.

But then half an hour passed, and there was still no sign of San. Throwing the blanket off your form, you slipped on a pair of slippers and got ready for the day, finding him becoming the very next thing on your agenda.

And the state you found him in was certainly laughable--to you anyway.

“Did you seriously get sick after a little storm?” you chuckled, eyes taking in San wrapped in the covers as if he was a baby, sniffling every few seconds.

“Oh, shut it,” he glared at you, speaking with a nasally voice.

You took a step into his room, one looking fairly similar to yours, with little pictures or much personalisation in general. Must not have stayed here often then, or had many memories he wanted to keep.

That thought... it made you feel a little sad.

Once you reached the edge of his bed, you sat down beside him, noticing just how sickly-looking he was. Skin paler, hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, flush cheeks and nose, uneven breathing, soft whimpering.

Your smile faded slightly. “How long have you been like this?”

“Since last night,” he coughed, brushing away your hand as you reached out to check his temperature. “Don’t touch me, I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Clicked your tongue at his response and did so anyway. “Holy shit, you’re burning up. More than you should be. Has anyone seen to you yet?” Instantly, you brushed the hair from his eyes, simultaneously wiping away the sweat. Was pretty gross, but you didn’t mind at all.

San relaxed under your gentle touch, finding it cool and soothing against his muddled senses. “N-No. I texted Hongjoong to tell everyone to leave me alone. Clearly didn’t do a good enough job if you’re here.”

Lightly hitting his chest over the blanket, you scoffed. “You’re happy I’m here, don’t lie.”

Grinning, he sighed. “Can’t hide anything from you, now can I, Hun?”

“Nope,” you huffed as you got up. “Now, I’m going to prepare something for you to eat since you probably haven’t had anything since yesterday.” On cue, his stomach grumbled painfully loudly, making the man visibly cringe as he was about to decline your offer so you would stay with him for a little bit longer. “Looks like Mister Tummy’s already answered for you.”

“Mister Tummy doesn’t know shit.”

“Mister Tummy knows more shit than you do. In fact, it processes all of your shit for you.”

“Gross.”

“I know. Mister Tummy’s gross. But full of wisdom.”

“You know what, just go. Leave me be for a bit.”

Evil chuckling reached his ears. “Now that you’ve said it, I’ll just be here to annoy you as much as I can. But before we do that, keep yourself bundled up and make sure you’re sweating buckets. It’s the most effective way to break a nasty fever like that.” You began wrapping him up in the thick blanket like he was a burrito.

With that, you left for the kitchen, calling Seonghwa’s number. As the ringing continued, you looked around, noticing how there were few guards and servants around the place. Not even Wooyoung, Jongho, or Hongjoong could be seen in your trek to make food.

“What do you want, troll?”

“You’ve got to stop calling me that. Whatever happened to ‘hello’? Too mainstream for you?”

“...Hello, troll. What do you want?”

Narrowing your eyes ahead of you, smirk pressing against your lips, you tried to look around for the chef. Not there either. “Much better. Now, can you give me a recipe for that soup with ‘magical healing properties’ you used to give me?”

“Bone broth?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m on adventure to nurse a sociopathic cuddle-demon back to health, now are you going to give me the recipe or am I going to get Yunho to drag it out of you? Because I know very well that he will.”

Seonghwa’s sigh was loud enough to be audible through the phone.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Just text me the recipe, thank you, love you, byeeeeee.” Immediately ended the call, looking in all the cupboards, the pantry, the fridge, and the freezer. This place was stocked to the brim.

Shortly after, your phone began buzzing, Seonghwa requesting to video call you. Swiping the green button, you were met with a (slightly laggy) picture of Seonghwa’s chin, hearing him yell off screen. “--UNHO. MINGI. I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU BETTER PUT THAT DOWN BEFORE I SHOVE IT UP BOTH YOUR ASSES.”

You could make out the response, “Hehe, kinky.” Most likely Mingi from the very nature of the comment.

“What do you want, troll?” you echoed his words back to him, catching his attention--the other boys most likely long gone into the depth of the house.

“Well, well, well, how the tables have turned,” he smirked, moving the camera so you could see him better.

“It’s ‘how the turntables’.”

He looked at you with an unimpressed expression, not pleased with your Office reference, and carried on to ignore it. “So there is no way in hell I’m sending you the recipe through text, since people can easily hack that--”

“And by people, you mean--”

“Yeosang, yes, who else? Little rat bastard keeps trying to steal my recipes.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

“As if he hasn’t heard it already about a million times.”

You chuckled in response, knowing how true it was. “Fair enough. Now spill your secrets and bless me with the ability to cook.”

One word to describe the last hour of your life would be... Well, you couldn’t really think of a word. It was purely of Seonghwa screaming over the phone and you screaming back. And panicking. Both of you definitely panicked.

But all in all, the bone broth was made and tasted fairly decent--a worry you had after fucking up so many times in making a simple recipe.

With a pale and dreary look upon his face, Seonghwa looked at you through the phone, narrowing his eyes on you pouring some of the hot mixture in to a bowl. “You’re actually gonna feed him that? Sure you’re trying to nurse him, or was this a master plan to kill him after that ordeal? Because if it’s the latter, then there were much easier ways of doing so.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, whispering prayers in your head that it would actually help San’s fever. “And goodbye.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Is that it? You’re gonna use me and then lea--”

You hand pulled away from the phone screen, after having pressed the red button. Chuckled to yourself with your comedic timing, completely forgetting the earful you’d get of the elder the next time you call him.

Gathering a tray, you placed the bowl of bone broth on top of it, as well as a packet of painkillers, a glass of water, and some turmeric tea; why San has it, you have no idea, since he seems to be a hot coffee-kind of person.

Would’ve added a flower, because you felt like being extra, but that would seem more like a romantic thing than a... well, whatever the hell you two were right now.

This situation wasn’t exactly common enough for it to be given a name.

Wafting away the thought, you grabbed the tray and walked quickly to the mobster’s bedroom. Didn’t need to worry about any spillage since you’ve had years of practice being quick and precise with movement.

Holding one hand beneath the tray (feeling a little heavy, but again, you’ve had practice), you used the other to open the door, finding San still swaddled in his blanket, sweating like a pig.

“Y/N...” he whimpered, an eye opening at the sound of you entering. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state was different to how he usually was--and you weren’t sure if you liked it.

“I’m right here, San,” you replied in a soft tone, brushing back his hair once more as soon as you placed the tray on the bedside-table beside you. “Brought you some food too. Can you sit up for me?”

Letting out soft whines, he tried to lift his body up, but was too weak and too caged in to get his back even a centimetre off the mattress. You saw the issue, and pulled the covers apart slightly so he could move a little more, both hands pulling gently at his shoulders so he could sit up properly.

Never had you seen someone this unwell from a simple fever. Sure, you’ve felt like shit before, but San’s condition was a little worrying. “Is there some private doctor I can call?”

“What,” he huffed, a smile etching onto his face as he looked into your eyes, “makes you think I have a private doctor?”

“Oh, I dunno, you’re a rich asshole?”

Chuckling, he let his head flop to the side, neck suddenly too weak to hold it up properly. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Annoying, but funny, but sarcastic, but beautiful.”

“Okay, do you wanna continue with that word vomit or are you gonna eat?” You cocked your brow, head tilting to match his posture. “Also, you’re not gonna flatter me by calling me beautiful. That shit doesn’t work on me anymore.”

It had slightly upset San knowing that you had said ‘anymore’--upset him knowing that there were others complimenting what his. But he couldn’t blame them. You really were beautiful in his eyes, even if he hadn’t thought so when he initially laid eyes on you.

“Don’t wanna eat.”

Sighing, you fixed yourself and picked up the bowl, mixing it as you blew to cool it down a little. “You’re not well, you gotta.”

He looked at you with big wide eyes and a small pout--and you couldn’t help but think it was a little cute. “Don’t wanna... unless you feed me?”

Okay, maybe it was a little less cute.

You exhaled, still stirring. “If I do, then you’ll have it all?” He put his hand over his heart, nodding with a sincere look on his face. “Fine then.” You lifted a spoon full of the bone broth to his lips, which he look into his mouth promptly--eyes glued to yours as he did so.

San hummed earnestly. “It’s...actually pretty good.”

Eye twitching, you lightly pushed him. “Why? Did you expect it to be shit?”

“I mean, I heard faint screaming and what I assume was swearing, which could have only come from you because I let everyone have a day off for today. So, yes, forgive my assumption that it would murder me,” he chuckled, opening his mouth once more, in which you carefully put more broth in.

“Be happy that I’m doing this much for you.”

“Because you feel guilty for getting me ill?” 

“No, it was your fault for not taking a hot shower when we came back, like I told you to--and your immune system for being so shit.”

“Okay, first of all, I can’t help it if my immune system wants to act out. I usually don’t get this ill.” You sent him a ludicrous look, continuing to feed him. “What? I really don’t!”

“Tell that to the rain.”

“I-- nevermind. But the second thing is that I offered to take a shower, but you said no!”

“That’s because you wanted to shower with me. No way in hell I was gonna let that happen!”

“You have the shower room for it!”

″Yeah, and I've already passed on my grievances to you yesterday about that hell-room!”

“Well, at least with me with you, you don’t have to worry about--what did you call it? Oh yeah--’Casper the fuckin’ Perverted Ghost’.”

“I’d take a ghost over you any day.”

“You won’t be saying that in a year.”

“Bold of you to assume that I won’t be choosing Casper over you. After all, I’ll be spending time with him as well.”

San scoffed, slightly amused but annoyed at the same time. “Are you actually trying to get me jealous of something that doesn’t exist?”

“Who said Casper doesn’t exist?”

“‘Cause ghosts don’t exist.”

“Tell that to Casper. You’ll find him in my shower room.”

Amidst the conversation, neither of you had noticed how the bowl and cup was now empty, their contents now residing in San’s stomach. But when you did, you got up--ready to walk to the kitchen and put everything away--until his very warm hands wrapped around your elbow gently.

“Please don’t go. You can put all that stuff away later. Just... stay with me.”

Sighing, you decided to listen to him for once an put the tray down before tightening the covers around him again--making him whine. “Noooooo, I wanna hold you.”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?”

“I’m ill, stop taking my muddled brain so seriously.”

Your brow cocked up, amused while you looked over his flushed face. “So you’d be willing get me sick too?”

Another pout formed on his face. “Of course not,” he mumbled. “You know what, you’re right. You can go.”

He avoided looking at you, instead fixing his saddened gaze at the window. Your natural scepticism told you that he was just faking it, only putting on an act to get your attention and affection. Yet, for the first time in a while, doubt began to seep in.

Maybe... maybe you could give in. Just this once.

Sighing, you slipped off your slippers and lay down beside him, an arm and leg wrapping around his body to bring him closer to you. A stronger tint of red covered his face as he looked at you, flabbergasted, as he tried to wriggle out of your touch. “What are you doing, you’ll get sick--”

“My immune system is much stronger than yours, I’ll live. Besides, you look cosy,” you muttered, nestling your face into the soft blanket. Even his blanket smelled like a garden in the rain, despite the amount of sweat that’s probably seeped into it.

Truly, he did, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted to hug the human burrito.

San had, instead, found you cute, cheek squished against the fabric surrounding him. Let his mind wonder to the image of you pressed against him--without the covers coming between you two.

Again.

Would you look this peaceful, sleeping on his chest, on a regular day--he thought.

“Are you just going to stare at me or are you gonna get some rest?” San could feel your voice vibrating through the covers despite the thickness of it.

“Hard not to stare at you, ya know?” he relaxed himself, despite feeling like he was baking beneath the blanket, and let his head rest on the pillow, cheek pressed against your forehead.

“Goddamn, you’re hot. Did you take any medicine while I was cooking?”

“Oh, Hun, there’s no cure for sexiness,” he coughed, a smirk pulling at his lips from the joke he made.

Another sigh was pulled from your throat as you got up to look for any painkillers he could take. Sane began to whine once more, rolling over since he could barely had enough energy to move with his arms when he was this tired--a full belly of warm broth and tea not helping what so ever.

“No--wait. Come back...”

“You need painkillers.”

With a straight face, he stared deep into your eyes, slightly glossy and sparkling under the dim sunlight coming into the room. “But you’re my painkiller.”

“Yeah, I’m going to get you some meds,” you deadpanned, scooping up the tray to leave the grown-ass mafia boss whining and rolling around, throwing a tantrum.

After some hard thinking and remembering that Wooyoung had given you his number, you called him up as you stood in the doorway, looking at San’s calm state of sleeping.

“My dear sister,” you heard a voice finally say over the phone, “what requires my assistance?”

“...Wooyoung?”

“Yes, dear sister?”

“What in the world has possessed you call me your ‘dear sister’?”

“Because you’re gonna be my friend’s wife some day, so I need to get used to seeing you as my sister-from-another-mister.”

Rubbing the bridge of your nose, you decided to not comment on his outlandish claims. “San’s not feeling well.”

“Is that why he sent us all away?” he laughed, somehow finding this situation amusing--since this is what his best friend tends to do; finds his weakened state as vulnerability, and if there was one thing San hated, it was feeling vulnerable.

But if he truly hated that, then why pursue this why you--when he know that it would force him to bring his guard down?

“I think so. No one was here when I came out of my room. Not the cooks or the maids or even the guards,” you said, taking another gander as if there might be someone roaming the halls to disprove your statement.

There wasn’t.

“Okay then. You want me to give you our private doctor’s number?”

Chuckling to yourself because you knew you were right (immediately confusing Wooyoung), you hummed, “yeah, that would be great.”

“O-Okay. Lemme text it to you. But do you need anything else? I know from experience San can get a little clingy when he’s not in his right mind,” he said, a boisterous giggle passing his lips.

“Nah, it’s fine.” You let your gaze brush over your captor’s figure. “Just send me the number and I’ll take it from there.”

“Okie dokie then, dear sister. I’ll leave you to deal with that enigma.”

“Alright, Wooyoung. See you tomorrow?”

“Call me ‘dear brother’, then maybe I’ll hang u--”

You shoved your phone into your back pocket after ending the call, thinking that it would take him a few minutes. Proving you wrong, the phone buzzes to life within the next ten seconds, Wooyoung sending you a couple of messages.

Wooyoung: Well that was a rude Wooyoung: No matter, I still love ya, dear sister Wooyoung: Probs should clarify that it’s platonic in case San sees it and gets all jelly Wooyoung: Anyway, here’s the number Wooyoung: XXXXXXXXXX

Y/N: Thanks, bro

Wooyoung: 🥺🥺 You called me ‘bro’

Smiling a little, you called the number--which had indeed taken you to a doctor’s clinic. After hearing of his exact temperature and other symptoms, the woman over the phone had concluded that it was as you first suspected--the common cold.

She told you to keep giving him painkillers and he should be fine within the week. Ending the call with a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, you left to get San more broth and medication, and hopefully you’d lay down with him again.

Which is exactly what you did for the rest of the day, opting to stay with him for the night too in order to make sure he really was okay. Thankfully, the worst of his fever had passed by the time morning came around and he was feeling much better.

You, however, were exhausted after looking after him, deep in your slumber as you shifted closer to San, who had broken free of his blanket prison and wrapped it around the two of you. The sunlight peeking through the window paled in comparison to the faint smile of glee San had adorned when he saw you.

Cheeked pressed up against his shoulder, and arm and a leg draped over his body like a koala clinging to a tree.

Just like he had thought the day before.

☕︎ Tag list: @little-precious-baby​​​​ , @sparklychangbin​​​​ , @shawkneecaps​ If you wanna be tagged, feel free to ask!

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

II

February 3, 2278.

Some of the Brotherhood came over to gawk again. A simple growl made them back off, but it doesn’t stop them from throwing an insult about my skin. Not that it fazes me. I must say, I don’t care. Percy though? If she were awake right now, she would’ve mauled those tin cans.

The doctors put Percy in an induced coma. One of the scribes said that being awake for her now would be painful for her.

It’s been six days since the purifier, and I remember an explosion from inside the chamber knocking me back, the glass flying everywhere. When I came to, I saw her lying there, her armor damaged and glasses shattered from the impact, some of the glass piercing her skin. I hauled her out of there. Didn’t let anyone near her, not even Dr. Li. I must’ve looked like a yao guai refusing to let go of their kill to these Brotherhood bigots.

There are holes in my memory, but I remember seeing blood on the floor when they tried to wrench her away from my grasp. If the blood belonged to me, or to one of the tin cans, I can’t recall. My ears were ringing, but I know someone was shouting, telling the power-armored assholes to give me a wide berth.

It wasn’t until Li told me that my partner would probably die if I didn’t let them administer medical attention that I reluctantly laid her body down on a gurney. I stayed by Percy’s side as they wheeled her to the emergency room. The scribes told me to get lost, but a cock of my shotgun made them cease their pestering.

As they hooked her onto life support, I sat down at the ground near the foot of the bed. I barely moved an inch since. The doctors made blood transfusions, pumped her with RadAway, injected a cocktail of chems to keep her sedated, anything to keep her alive.

The worst part was the seizures. I don’t think I can burn those memories away, watching my partner’s body convulse and thrash against the bed.

From time to time, Dr. Li and a few of the scribes who weren’t bigots would send me food and water as they checked on Percy’s condition. With her father dead, there was no next of kin, but they knew how I stuck by her side, they shared the prognosis with me. They mentioned some terms like leukopenia, hypotension, and other terms I couldn’t understand.

All I know is she’s unwell and I can’t leave her.

Tonight, Li approached me and brought some news. Percy is stable, for now. To my surprise, she sat on the floor beside me, and pressed her hands against her face before letting out a nervous sob.

“I barely got to know her and she could be gone anytime. And to think I tried to push her away. God. Not like this...”

I let her continue mumbling.

“I should have known better than to let her in. I shouldn’t have let myself care for her. But that girl is persistent, isn’t she?”

That, I can agree with. Percy wormed her way into my heart, too.

“You,” she spoke. I look in her direction, but she’s looking straight ahead, her thousand-yard stare familiar. “You got her out of that chamber in the nick of time. A few more seconds inside and she… she could’ve ended up like James.”

I couldn’t stop myself from grimacing.

December 26, 2277.

I was watching Percy’s back as she took care of the intake pipes when the Enclave’s vertibirds came flying in.

“Charon. I have a bad feeling about this,” I remember her saying.

The image of the black machines landing near the memorial stirred a feeling of dread. A pressure on my neck choked me despite the lack of anything constricting it. Before I knew it, the dull pressure in the back of my eyes made me pull what’s little left of my hair. My chest hurt like a bitch and it felt like my rib cage was going to explode.

Percy was quick to notice my distress.

“Hey, hey, I’m here,” she cooed in a soothing manner, placing my ruined hands against her soft cheeks to stop me from hurting myself. “Breathe, Charon. Focus on me,” she continues, squeezing my hands. She leads me through the grate to remove me from the situation and turns on her Pip-Boy light.

“Remember what we did in Megaton? Can we do that?” she asks me; it wasn’t a command. “Yes,” I manage to rasp out. My head was spinning, but I focused on her voice to stop myself from blacking out. I won’t let myself black out. She’ll need me .

“Five things you can see?” she starts, and I comply, trying to speak though it feels like I’m choking on mole rat shit. “I see the metal gate. My hands. My feet. The Pip-Boy light. You.”

“Keep going,” she encouraged me, digging inside her pack. “Four things you can touch.”

“I feel the fabric of my shirt,” I continue, sweating hands palming at myself. “I can feel my shotgun,” I rasp, grasping at the barrel. “Warm, right? Like how you like it?” Percy breathes, and I see that she found a bubble gum wrapper and placed it in my palm, before gently closing her hands around my fist. “Yes. I can feel the bubblegum wrapper,” I continue. “I can feel your skin,” I say at last.

“Three things you can smell.”

Her hands stayed on mine. I unclenched my fists, held them, delicate against mine, and pressed them against my ruined cheeks. Percy draws a little closer, her eyes searching mine.

“I think I can manage now,” I exhale, lucid once more.

“Are you sure?”

“I am certain.”

“What triggered it?” she asks me, and I let go of her hands to fetch my shotgun.

“Vertibirds. Enclave. Your father might be in danger.”

Panic replaces the questioning look in her eyes. “We have to help dad.”

We were running back when one of the Enclave soldiers fired plasma rounds at us. I manage to shield my mistress from the onslaught and the hot plasma burns through my armor, exposing my arm. Taking the opportunity, Percy crouches, disappears, and takes out one of the soldiers with her Gauss rifle. I covered her while the panicking soldiers searched for her. We managed to barrel our way through a platoon, and I can hear her sigh of relief when we reached the door to the rotunda.

It was too late when we arrived.

A man who introduced himself as Colonel Autumn was inside the purifier, along with more soldiers in power armor. James was inside, with another scientist in their team. My mistress runs up to Dr. Li, who watches with wary eyes from the other side of the glass.

A shot rang throughout the rotunda. Autumn killed the other scientist.

With no hesitation, Percy and I ran to the entrance of the purifier. She bangs against the glass, calling to her father.

“Dad! Let me in,” she pleads, begs, but her father doesn’t acknowledge her. Gun still pointed at his head, James walked over to the control panel, pressed a few buttons, and then all hell broke loose.

She tried her damn best to pry the blast door open when James locked himself in with the Enclave colonel and radiation started to seep out of the damn chamber. He let his daughter watch as he died a slow and painful death from the radiation, just so she could get away.

She pounded her small fists and threw her shoulder against the glass, but it didn’t budge.

The wild, desperate expression etched on her face will haunt me.

Is that how I looked like when I pounded against the glass?

Was I that afraid to lose her?

February 4, 2278

I was shaken back to reality when the doctor spoke up once more.

“Look, I don’t know about the nature of your relationship with Persephone. I will not pry, and it is not my place to judge, especially after you saved her life. I- I thank you.”

I grunted at her in acknowledgment, and watched as she stood up to glance at Percy one last time.

“Excuse me, I need a small break,” she almost rasps, fatigue evident in her voice, and she shuffles out the door.

Time passed for I don’t know how long, and with a groan, I stood from my usual place at the foot of Percy’s bed and checked the time on her Pip-Boy. She taught me how to operate it in case she gets incapacitated. 00:03. Already past midnight. My legs fell asleep sitting all day, so I walked around in the room. As I pass by the door, I can hear voices on the other side.

“Patient Persephone Zhou’s test results are abnormal,” I hear a scribe say. “Cellular regeneration is remarkable despite lethal radiation exposure. No …”

I press my ear hole against the door upon hearing my partner’s name. I didn’t dare make a single sound.

“She’s being healed by it.”

“Healed? Do you think she’s undergoing… eugh, ghoulification?” one of them says with disgust.

My breath quickens. I wouldn’t wish this… this condition on anyone I cared for. Especially Percy. Not Percy. Rage replaces my anxiousness at the tone of one of the bigots. It has become clear to me that despite all the things my partner did for the Brotherhood, the moment she turns into a walking corpse like me, they’ll be more than happy to dispose of her. I wanted to send the door flying open and strangle the bastards.

But I only kept listening.

“It’s too early to tell. Ghoulification can take years, but at the dose she was exposed to, if it happens, it should be instantaneous. There is no tissue necrosis, and her initial burns are almost healed. We can’t rule it out yet, but there are no symptoms.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“We need to acquire tissue samples. Run tests.”

Footsteps. They’re getting louder. I stop leaning on the door to plant myself firmly on the ground I stand on. The doors swing open, and the scribes almost jump out of their skins when they see me.

“Step aside, ghoul,” one of them spits. The small tremor his hands made while holding the clipboard tells me he’s scared shitless.

“No.”

I take one step towards these bastards and they’re already shouting for backup from the tin cans. Two arrived, but I stood my ground, shotgun in my hands.

“Let the scribes in, zombie,” one of the armored soldiers hissed, pointing her laser rifle at me. “We won’t ask again.”

“What is going on here?” Dr. Li. I lower my shotgun. She’s just in time. I wouldn’t have hesitated to open fire if she didn’t come.

“We’re just here for nightly rounds on the patient-” one of them starts, but Dr. Li waves her hand, dismissing them.

“I am responsible for the well-being of Miss Zhou. The Brotherhood only lent you scribes to assist me, and I don’t need assistance right now. Now please, stop disturbing my patient,” she snaps, the authority in her voice making the haughty scribes back off. I couldn’t help the small, upward tug at the corner of my mouth. Serves you bastards right.

“Call me on the intercom if they pester you again. I need to take Persephone’s blood pressure.”

“They said something about taking samples from her,” I spoke up, and the doctor’s head whips towards my direction.

“Damn them,” she mutters. “Thank you for telling me. Do not, under any circumstances, let them.”

One of my eyebrows cock at the doctor’s orders. “Is there anything I should know?”

Dr. Li stops, sighs, and turns to face me. “With James gone, I know she has no one else but you. I’d prefer if Persephone is lucid and away from this place if I was to breach this topic. Please, you have to understand. It’s unsafe here.”

I nodded at her, and she exhales slowly, unwrapping a pack of bandages to tend to what little burns Percy has left on her.

As I watch the doctor tend to Percy, her words play over and over in my head.

“She has no one else but you.”

[namjoonchronicles]

beautiful, tragic | yoongi

✿ pairing: yoongi x you ✿ genre: domestic, yoongi as a husband, fluff, suggestive content, slight smut ✿ words: 4k ✿ summary: it’s hard sharing your musically talented husband with the world, and this is your story.

Stay home. He says. Watch the house. He says.

You’re stuck, scrolling idly on your phone with your drama on Netflix long abandoned on your 85” Sony LED Screen, equipped with the sound system that would surpass Dolby Surround System if it ever went on competition with each other.

Apart from the boring international celeb news, who broke up and who got divorced, the politic scene is too awry for you to read and you were not prepared for that headache so early in the day. One particular headline caught your attention, though.

Billboard Judge, Music Producer Min Yoongi Purchases USD$3M UN Village Villa In Cash.

Excuse me, what?

Screenshot. Clicking the home button on your phone, you tapped on Kakao Talk app next and ignored the messages from your ex-classmates group that has mounted to 120 unread texts and straight to ‘Fish’ ID.

You had sent him the screenshot of the news clipping, and proceed to multi-text him the following:

????????? Why wasn’t I informed?? Yoongi. What did I tell you about purchasing things without a proper discussion? Behind my back?? The nerve?? Bitch, square up when you get home. I also have watched five episodes without you. Fuck you.

Delivered. The anger had made you toss your phone to the side on the couch. This stupid huge ass house he is never in. You grind your jaws, glaring at your wedding picture on the top corner of your wall. And he dares to buy another one. You can hear him whispering a silent fuck from the distant. Fuck--is quite right, Yoongi. Your phone dings a new message in less than twenty minutes. He had machine-gunned you with replies that your phone had trouble keeping up with. You crossed your arm, scoffing at the sight of his name blinking on your screen. Oh, now you want to call me.

Volume : 70%, 75%, 85%. Netflix show has dimmed the sound of his calls and desperate texts.

He just never learns, does he? You’re starting to feel like he feeds on these little arguments like ginseng soup--has to have it when he’s unwell or deprived of something. Now that’s something you didn’t share with him. Yoongi’s work prevents him to be home as often as he’d like, requires him to befriend sketchy men and women with hidden agendas, they also constantly separate you and him--all this, you know and understood from the beginning. But like flying kites, when kites with strings tend to stray too far, and stretched too long, it snaps. Especially when you’re the one at the end of the string, holding him down to earth with a promise of a golden ring, always the one waiting for his return. When the blizzards come, the storm arrives, you gripped tighter, but there’s no guarantee that he felt the tug even if he should.

Here lies his expertise on words. Here lies the test of loyalty. Here lie your trust and his devotion. Love is a gamble, isn’t it?

It was supposed to be a surprise :( I wanted to take you there when I come home, but the news spoiled it :( :( Good news is, it’s not fully furnished and we can go furniture shopping… I know you love decorating the house :) I’ll forgive you if you watch the same 5 episodes with me later Babe? :( :( You’re still fetching me at the airport right? Right, sweetie?

He sends a screenshot of his expected arrival time, and you skimmed pass the message with a blank look. You tap the camera icon and took a selfie of your middle finger.

Fish was immediately typing…

OK, but it’s difficult with jeans on.

You gawked as you realized that he was talking about fingering you. You snarled against the screen and tapped video call button.

But it was declined. And he replied immediately.

Can’t. In a crash meeting with the staff.

You put your phone close to your lips and tapped voice recording icon. And Yoongi knows better than to play it in the midst of a meeting. You’re roasting him and for that, he’ll keep for his lullaby on the way to the airport later with his good headphones on. He gave a goofy smile on the screen when you replied with middle-finger emoticons. “God, I love her…” he stares fondly at your ID.

Flight JN1741 from Amsterdam arrives at Incheon International Airport on 2:00 PM. Passengers begin to rise from their seat before the ‘fasten-your-seatbelt’ sign was turned off. Already, Yoongi’s massive entourage are receiving calls within the moving but landed airplane. His staff is dependable but workaholics, like he is. He was just worried that his wife won’t show up because she’s mad. But he’s also certain that she will be there at the arrival. He likes that you make him nervous this way. He likes that he could mean everything to the world, and has his words as law to others, but won’t necessarily have the same effect on you. He loves the fact that you keep him on his toes and make him chase. He also loves the fact that he knows you’ll be waiting at home where he left you as he works.

Loving and having are different things.

Yoongi of all people knows the constraints of having a serious relationship in his hectic life will be hard to manage. When he couldn’t meet his lady love, he relies heavily on her profound loyalty and his blinded trust. God knows that both of you tried. Both of you really tried to keep the passion alive, never to fizzle out. But distance could make or break a relationship--and Yoongi really wanted this. This battleground he chose to live in. He was lucky to have the best of both worlds. Most couldn’t experience that. To him, the game is only over when the other stops playing.

A conversation is a conversation, even if its a fight.

He refastens his black facemask, his black hoodie and stood up as the manager asks him whether he needs a ride home or not. The 40-year-old man walks away once Yoongi said that his wife is fetching him.

“Also, hyung...can you bring the iKey to the Apple Store I bought it in? It had malfunctioned again. I left the warranty card inside the pack,” Yoongi politely asked. “Every single time we leave Amsterdam… Yoongi what did you do with it?” The manager pulls the bag out the compartment above the head. “Work I guess…” Yoongi shrugged and fiddled with the straps of his black backpack.

Most of the passengers had left the airplane. But before Yoongi leaves with his manager, something metallic clinked on his sneakers. His manager crouched down before he did and picked the object up.

“Can’t forget the ring when you’re meeting the wife...take it from me,” his manager returns Yoongi’s ring to him. “It keeps slipping out my finger, I think I’m losing too much weight,” Yoongi chuckled short and put them back on with a small wiggle. “VIP arrivals that way…” His manager pointed the way out, “Tell her we missed her around.”

Yoongi nodded, feeling rather bashful and shy. That’s right. You used to work in his entourage as medical staff. Until he had you hitched and away from the stressful job that costs you your mental health. Now, you review staffs’ health records from home and frequently, his. You fell sick prior to the world tour he led, so that’s why he had you staying home. Not that you tailed him often when he works. He just prefers you doing your own thing. His work requires a lot of movement while you had to be static in one place to finish your writing or reading. You were that hot white coat bearer with a sexy full-rimmed glasses and spoke medicine parseltongue. Every time you share a piece of medical knowledge with him or explain a medical condition, Yoongi drools like a lovesick puppy dog inwardly. He can’t wait to have you explain liver cirrhosis everytime he brings up how much he drank when he was away. That was his version of dirty talk.

But where’s my lady love? Yoongi hums. Scanning the room for any glimpse of you. Could you be standing nearby a coffee vending machine, or would you be in convenient stores searching for a mint? Or are you strolling idly in the expanse of the airport in slow, relaxed strides?

No, you’re walking straight towards him with your arms crossed from the entrance, your hair flew back at every trudge you make to close the distance between him and you. He fumbles with the strap of his bag, and a bit slouched to the side. Having to push his head back to see your face from the beak of his black cap and hoodie, while you draw in, closer and closer.

Your hand came in contact with his at the handle of his roller bag first, before you leaned up to his ear and he lowered himself down, “You and I have a lot of things to talk about.” You snatched the roller bag from his grip roughly and Yoongi watched your back getting smaller and smaller as you stormed away. He pouts at the sight and gripping his bag strap tighter, firmer. You passed an acid glance once and expect him to follow closely with a glare. Yoongi’s pouty lips slowly form a smirk and a naughty cock of his eyebrow. He really enjoys it when you’re angry.

The trunk opens with a hydraulic rise, and he helped you carry his own bag inside. It slammed shut and you dashed to the driver seat, knowing that he is often exhausted after a long flight. Engine purrs on, and your focus was interrupted by the sound of his seatbelt clicking. He’s here. He’s really home.

“Do you want to eat anything? Some fast food or anything like that?” You asked. “Yeah, but she’s driving…” He glanced outside the car window like he had said nothing explicit.

“Ha, very funny…” the car reversed and exited the parking lot with no hiccups, but the situation isn’t going to be smooth on the inside, “Don’t think that snarky remarks will get you anywhere near this coochie.”

Yoongi let out a tiny scoff to the window, shifting in his seat as the view of the city he calls home, come to sight. Miraculously, he has made it home within a month. Although the reunion was bittersweet and that he landed on soil knowing that you’re mad at him, he is well-informed by your passive behavior when you missed him the most. That much is true. And it needs no extra explanation.

How was Amsterdam?

“Cold. Great sound system… decent steak,” he answered. You smiled to yourself, noticing how much you missed his aloof response. Few words, big heart. That’s Min Yoongi for you.

“I think I made a great steak a few days ago…” you took the chance to brag on yourself and Yoongi switches to the side where you sat driving. Hands between his knees, eyes doe and soft.

“Tell me more about what you did…” he said, in a gentle voice.

“Nothing much. I proofread a medical article, cooked for myself, write a bit, stare at the 2 selfies you took last two years. Sniff your hoodie, organize your shoe collection, vacuum GeniusLab2, visit Holly at your parents. I made him this cute ass leash that I knitted on my own. He had stomach flu, so I took him to the vets. He’s okay now, though.”

“I wanted to video call more, but I didn’t have the time…” Yoongi complaints.

“You don’t remember?” You crumpled your face at the road before glancing briefly at him. You could see Yoongi’s confused expression. Head tilted to the side, his mouth opens and closes several times without a word uttered out. He really didn’t remember.

“Baby bear, you called me twice in a drowsy state…” you offered a line of explanation but the contortion on his face suggests that he requires more, “You drunk video call me to tell me you had a sandwich and fell asleep before you could tell me what was inside… Three days after that, you called me again but you were already snoring when I answered.”

“I don’t recall…” he hums.

“Anyways, whatever… that’s cute though. Also, this 3 million villa you bought, what’s the story?” you snapped, at the same time, you turn at the corner of the city smoothly.

“It’s not a penthouse like you said I shouldn’t get, so technically, I didn’t go against your words,” he sang. “How on earth did you carry 3 million in cash?” You scowled. “With many briefcases,” he retorted with a thin smile.

You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing because you wanted to be focused on being serious and mature. But the quick reply had you snickering. Such a matter-of-fact answer. His face lights up at your response.

“You said that we’re going to furniture shopping. Do you even have time to do that?” you stopped at the security cottage and flashed your residence card on the pad the divider retracts open.

“I knew you were going to make a dispute out of it. So I made sure Namjoon allows it,” Yoongi laced his fingers together, and made a dark chuckling sound.

“What did you do to him this time…” you felt uneasy already. The last time he wanted a day off, Yoongi hid Namjoon’s passport so the trip could be delayed for a day or two. He purchased a movie on Netflix and wanted to watch it with you.

He simply gave you that creepy smile and you already know.

“You put laxatives in his drinks, my god.” “It is my most brilliant plan of all.” “Yoongi!” “What...he said he was constipating. I am doing him a favor.”

Why wouldn’t he constipate from the amount of caffeine he had been consuming. You thought.

Everyone’s definition of success is different. Everyone’s definition of married life is also different. The married life you shared with Yoongi was entirely on a different level. There are no guidelines for marrying a music producer this world famous. So you focused on being a wife. If everything else in his life isn’t normal, then being married is.

The moment he steps inside the home he shared with you, you noticed he stifled a yawn. His eyes falling droopy at the sight of his long sought after nest.

“I’m going to get a late lunch going, and you can go lay down on the bed in your indoor clothes…” “No, I want to help in the kitchen…” “Look at your eyes, they’re barely open… go rest.”

But he wanted to unpack because he got you something.

“It’s a cross-stitch table runner…” he lays his head on his palm, curled on his side, watching your big grin as you unravel the precious gift. He remembered that you wanted to buy this the last time you were there. He got the correct design and correct color too.

“You got them custom-made,” you gasped excitedly, and then shrink your voice at him, “Thank you...it’s so pretty.” Pulling the runner into a hug while Yoongi chuckles sleepily.

Yoongi was less interested in his stories and more engaged in yours. All his relatives that he can call strangers because they rarely meet, his family members that have seen you more than they’ve seen him. He silently is grateful for you being here, being the glue between his family and close friends, an invincible knot that keeps him grounded and gave him the sense of belonging.

He drifts mid-through your stories and latest gossip. As you sat on the floor next to the bed, unpacking his luggage one-by-one, you no longer hear his response. You glanced to the side and saw him sleeping soundly. You could only imagine how many hours he could when he’s away in a foreign country. Yoongi somehow can appear to be sleeping but is in fact, listening to all the conversations surrounding him. You and he share that talent. But this time, he slept for real--the energy replenishing, body rejuvenating sleep. There’s soft snorings and little shudders from time to time. Your gaze fell from his fringes to his brows, down the slope of his nose and his doll-like lips.

Last clothing to be unpack looked familiar. It was yours. That’s endearing. He always packs one clothing that belonged to you. You know, for when he ‘misses his wife so much he could die’ moments. You don’t know when he snuck them in, but it’s probably when you’re busy at the living room, or the bathroom, making sure he didn’t forget anything. The luggage is taken away from the bedroom and into his home studio, where it stays until its service is required again--which you suspect, won’t be long.

You slid the blanket above his shoulder, and tuck him in like you would a child. He looks so tired and it breaks your heart that he has to leave again. It’s like a cycle. At least you can see him eat today, with your own eyes, so let’s get started with the lunch.

Nothing extravagant. Just broiled spinach, fermented white baby radish from last week, and warm chicken soup with ginseng to help him re-energized. But he isn’t awake yet. That’s alright, you can reheat everything when he’s up. He still needs his much-acquired sleep. With that thought, you disappear into the bathroom and undressed. Sweating from cooking, body sticky with remnants of watery expels urged you to shower before the sun is completely down. You don’t usually shower this early, but with Yoongi around, you felt self-conscious. He doesn’t know this, but you will always want to smell nice for him. Isn’t that the very core of being a wife? Being extra hygienic for the hubby? To keep him interested? Especially Yoongi, because he is constantly away and accompanied by many attractive females?

You discarded the dampened shirt outside the door of the bathroom and swung it shut as gently as you can. Off goes the bra, then the panties. The shower head expels drizzling liquid, the steam floats up to the ceiling and the glass door get fogged up from the heat. Water pools at your feet as you readied your face underneath the shower to come into contact with the sprinkles. The pleasure of a simple shower after a good sweat is ultimately unmatched.

So endorsed in your time alone, Yoongi pushes the door wider. He had come awake when he heard you turned the knob shut. He discarded his pants on the way, and pulled his black shirt over his head, charging forward like a soldier on his way to a battleground he intends to win. Then he discarded his last piece of clothing, his boxers. Afterward, he trudges into the shower cubicle where you were standing, facing away from him. “You thought I was too tired for a shower session with you?” His voice deeps lower than usual, as he snakes one arm around your naked waist, skin to skin, Yoongi sunk his teeth on your shoulder and you turned around wearing a big smile to greet him. “No I thought you wouldn’t be able to handle any sessions with me…” you smartly replied. Yoongi smiled into the kiss that began innocently enough and gradually increase in intensity and power as the seconds passed. Your arms slick against his shoulder as he held on palm flat on the walls of the shower, he stands directly underneath the shower head now--refusing to let go of your lips even when you tap out for a breath. A seasoned rapper’s lung capacity isn’t a shy away from a Navy diver. Provided with the long abstinence and accumulating want, Yoongi isn’t just going to stop here in the shower, best believe, he is going to continue making love to you in all the rooms available in this house until he’s finally sated.

His handprints on the fogged glass door is significantly larger than yours. The slippery sound of sliding skin filled your ears, and your strangled moans could only suggest an impending euphoric sensation you had longed for, since the last time he’s here. And Yoongi is a determined soul. The thrusts are languid and deep. From the way he buried his face in the crook of your neck, eliciting heavy desperate pants implies that he had been imagining this on his lonely nights for too long. His touches were too precise and calculated, coming from a veteran lover who knows his wife’s body like the back of his hand. Yoongi’s glazed orbs that greeted you in the midst of the steamy love-making, felt foreign yet familiar. But his lips that conquered yours right after the heaty glance was definitely, without a doubt, Yoongi’s. The time apart had made him a stranger to your body, and the passion that almost fizzled out from the distance had reignited to another degree.

“Fuck I miss you,” he breathlessly says against your ear. You didn’t stutter or faltered back into the lust like you used to when you first dated him. Instead, you smiled into his confessions and bit your grin--no longer shy to show how much you love having these moments with him. More, you encouraged him with your touches and sweet mewls.

I like the whispers you added at the end. She says.

No matter what the public critic might say, Yoongi’s only verdict comes from his wife. His true achievements and outcomes of his work rely heavily on what you may say. But your words can be sarcastic and Yoongi doesn’t like having to guess what you truly meant.

“You always say something like that…” “I don’t know what you want me to say,” you shrugged as you scooped out a bowl of rice for him, “I like the whisper part and that’s the truth.” “How many times did you listen to it… be honest,” Yoongi took his bowl from you.

You tipped your eyes up to the ceiling and clicked your tongue. Somehow Yoongi caught the expression.

“Are you serious…” he began, eyes following you as you pulled the chair next to him out, “Okay, fine. Do you listen more of Jimin’s Promise or my collab song?”

You added a long hum, not intending to give him the answer he wants to hear. “Technically, Jimin’s Promise came out first--”

“--don’t talk to me,” he darted.

Instinctively, you covered his knee with one palm, to soothe him. But of course, Yoongi wouldn’t let you console him that quickly.

“I spent nights writing that song while touring… Am I asking too much of you, to just listen to me more than you do Jimin’s, but no. Ultimately, I’m always the second choice for the industry AND my wife. Fine, I don’t care...I don’t want to care anymore. I worked so hard to earn money for you to spend, and all I’m requesting is that you be my harsh critic but you’re apparently too busy to listen to my songs. Hmm, I see how it is.”

“To even things out, you never told me you’re releasing a song…” you shrugged.

Yoongi set his chopstick down, clinking while you continued eating.

“To top it all, you watched dramas without me,” he tipped a glass of water into his mouth like he would a cup of soju, “Our drama.”

You knew he is just picking fights with you because to him, a fight is also a conversation.

“Gosh Alexa, this is so sad, play Seesaw,” you exclaimed with a forlorn sigh, “What do you propose I do? Wait for you until you come back? The second season would have begun by the time you returned, Yoongi… You have cities to tour, fans to meet and stages to check, and what about me? I have this house, Netflix and the chili plant outside. You’re being a little mean to me right now… my priorities aren’t always you, you know.”

Yoongi was deafened by the last sentence you said, that he couldn’t hear the rest of the off-topic conversations you promptly added after it. You didn’t seem to notice that you’ve hurt him. That’s the inspiration behind his rap verse ‘my razor tongue wife with a stone in her hand’. He likes that you’re honest and has trained you to be tougher, but the blade he sharpens strikes him once in a while when needed. He doesn’t apologize, he makes amends with his actions. He tries to be ultimately present when he’s here. When he’s home.

Like now, he sat on the floor, with a writing pad while you washed dishes.

“Turmeric powder. Can you check if it’s on the grocery list?” You raised your voice a little so he could hear from the living room. He puffed his cheeks with his cap turned backward, scanning down the awfully long list of things you needed to get for the family dinner this weekend.

“Nope,” he writes them scraggly underneath your neat writing. Then he heard you listed a number of things and gifts you planned to get before the weekend comes. Presents for your parents, and his; his nephews, his older brother’s birthday that he himself didn’t remember, a flower bouquet for his aunt who just opened a restaurant. He made a mental note to transfer a large amount of money into your account later.

“Is the villa far from here?” you asked him, wiping your kitchen stove down, spotless. “Not very… you’ll see when you drive there later,” Yoongi murmured to his chest, filling colors on the heart he drew on the grocery list, next to “Yoongi’s wife grocery list”.

“Also, I wanted to get grilled beef slices in that restaurant…” Yoongi promised to take you to the restaurant you had been wanting to go to, in two days time. Until a message from his manager came.

“...it would taste so damn good…” your mouth waters at the thought of it but when you looked across the counter at Yoongi perplexed gaze sitting on the floor there in the living room, you somehow caught what he didn’t, or rather--couldn’t say. That look could only mean one thing.

That the luggage you pushed into his studio is going to get another traveling sticker. That the restaurant trip is not going to happen. That you will be strolling aimlessly in this huge house. That you will be visiting the villa he bought alone. That your wedding picture and ring will be the only proof that you’re somehow married.

To the worldly loved, worldly known...the beautiful tragic, Min Yoongi.

Because he couldn’t keep his promise, you had him doing something similar to it. Peeking at his bobbing head, through your iPad playing Candy Crush, you smiled to yourself.

“Make sure you get all my toenails trimmed and neatened,” Yoongi lifts his head up short, sitting on the floor, with your heel digging onto his thigh as he nodded. “What color do you want for the polish?” He asked, getting cross-eyed as he hones the sharp edges of your nail, shorter.

“Your hair color right now…” “Babe, this is out of context…but” he dragged, “remember the voice note you sent me during the crash meeting with the staff?”

“The one I cursed at you? Yeah...why?” “It turns me on,” He hides his smile by lowering his face from you. What a strange yet tantalizing thought.

[theangstyantichrist-blog]

Oh, If You Only Knew (Michael Langdon x Reader)

plot: “Sojourn” Michael crashes at your place instead of the lady who takes him in. You only have one bed so he has to sleep with you; He gets a little close and he wakes up with a unexpected hard-on up against your ass

warnings: Dom!Michael, Fem!Reader, Blowjob/Face-fucking, Choking, Unprotected Sex, Sexual Intercourse, Rough Sex, Spanking, Cumshot

word count: 1.7K

You never were one to fit in, as cliche as it sounds. You didn’t really have many friends and you barely spoke with your family ever since you began practicing Satanism. If someone would have asked you a year ago if you felt like your life was pretty good, your answer would have been fuck no. During the earlier years of your life when you used to live with your parent(s) they force fed you all the Catholic bullshit constantly, yet seemingly nothing good ever happened to you. Subject to what your parents believed, being a follower of Satan had some serious perks. First, you were able to live in a pretty nice home all to yourself with all the essentials like a pool and hot tub out back and the most advanced technologies Satan had to offer. Plus your sex life wasn’t too bad either for only being in the world 18 years. All sorts of celebrities would end up in your bed one way or another, but oh, if you only knew what was to come. One night,you were preparing to attend another black mass, which wasn’t a lot to ask for all the glory you’d been soaking in over the past year ever since you sold your soul to the devil.

You threw on a flowy black dress that was a bit too short for your taller figure but you knew He wouldn’t care. Leaving through your garage door, you were still gawking at how nice your car was [imagine it to be whatever car you want]. When you finally drove down the alleyway and parked it was almost time to start. You shuffled in along with some other young believers and took a seat towards the back. You turned over and saw a guy around your age, but you’ve never seen him before. You couldn’t possibly have missed a face as handsome as his. He seemed a bit off kilter, dirty, and his clothing was torn in a lot of places. He had tears welling in his eyes and you felt for him. I’ve been there, you thought. The Black chorus began singing in Latin that you still couldn’t interpret even after a whole year of attending these masses. A bucket was being passed around and you threw a couple dollars in, and then handed it to him.

“I don’t have any money right now,” he said, looking up at you.

“Or any food, from the looks of it,” you said feeling bad for the poor guy, “How long has it been since you ate?”

He sunk his head into his palm and sighed, “What’s it to you?”

“Just trying to help out a fellow believer.” You said with a smile. He smiled back but still seemed unwell.

“Hey, you know what?” You began, “You can come stay with me if you’d like, I only live a streets away and I make a killer lasagna.”

He took a moment to wipe away his tears on his sleeve and answered, “That’s actually really nice of you.”

When the service ended, you walked side by side to where your car was parked. When both of you were finally situated you began the short drive to your house. I am such a dumbass, you thought. You couldn’t believe you never introduced yourself as well as ask for this mysterious guy’s name.

“I’m y/n by the way,” you threw out, “and you are?”

“Michael,” he replied, not giving any details or background about his life and who he truly is.

“Sooo why exactly did you just magically show up here in the dank streets of Los Angeles?” you questioned, “More specifically attending a black mass.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I can ask you the same thing,” Michael said sharply.

“Hey I asked first!” you whined, cause the curiosity you had was eating you up.

“My father told me I am not his son and abandoned me, and my mother attempted to kill me.” Michael explained with sadness and anger showing through his bright blue orbs.

“Fuck that, my parents suck too but they never went that far,” you replied, “Well you’ve got me now so I hope that counts for something.”

Those words put a smile on Michael’s face which made you very happy as well. Even though you consider yourself a Satanist, you still had a big heart. You pulled into your driveway, parked the car, and Michael followed behind up to your front door. You felt around your purse until you touched the cool metal of your pentagram keychain, and used it to unlock your house.

“Michael, the bathroom is upstairs to your left. I will get dinner started and bring you some clean clothes,” you told him, “It should be done as soon as your out of the shower, you’re a little dirty.”

Michael shook his head and laughed sarcastically, “Ha-ha, real funny.”

Once all the ingredients were put together you popped the lasagna in the oven and head upstairs quickly to find something for Michael to wear. You went to your dresser, opened the drawer and got out one of your bigger bed shirts. You loved the comfort of men’s clothing so sometimes you bought them to wear around the house. Unfortunately, you didn’t really have any pants that would fit Michael, so you had to give up your boxers you typically wore to bed. You went back down the stairs to check on the food and it was ready. That boy must be starving, you thought.

“Speak of the devil,” you said, “No pun intended.”

You finished up dinner and he kept thanking you profusely, but honestly, you didn’t mind being with Michael one bit. After, you cleaned up the table, you grabbed his hand and led Michael to your room. Michael sat down on your neatly made bed.

“I’ll be right back, just need to get changed and ready for bed,” you said, “Hope you don’t mind sharing a bed, I don’t really have anyone else living with me so there was no need for other beds.”

Since Michael had your boxer shorts, you stuck with wearing a loose t-shirt and some skimpy underwear. As you walked back in the room, Michael was already fast asleep, and snoring lightly through his soft pink lips. You climb in bed as quietly as you could, being careful not interrupt his sleep. When you finally fell asleep beside him, dirty thoughts about Michael ran through your head.

－

You noticed something hard pressing against your ass. Your tired eyes fluttered open to see something a bit shocking. Michael was grinding against you in his sleep and his breathing was sporadic and heavy. You felt yourself getting aroused too, it was almost sinful, the two of you. Still in mid-grind you increased the friction by pushing your body against him. Still not waking him up, you decided to pull down his boxers, seemingly against your better judgement. His dick was so big and restrained from boxers that it hit his lower stomach. If you’re being honest, he was so much bigger than you expected. You grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip, spreading around his precum. Michael stirred and opened his eyes slowly.

“Well, goodmorning, sweetheart.” Michael groaned.

“I hope this is okay.” You replied with butterflies in your stomach, “I’ve fucking wanted you since I laid eyes on you.”

“Fuck, yes. More than okay.” Michael’s breath hitched.

You then pulled the boxers down a bit further and placed your mouth on the tip. Michael bucked his hips to further his cock into your mouth and grunted. He stood up by the side of the bed as a way to better the pleasure your mouth gave him. Michael pulled off his shirt, well in this case yours, and tossed it to the other side of the room. You bit your bottom lip harder than you meant to because man, is he a snack. That being your cue, you removed your shirt, revealing your already aroused nipples because who wears bras to bed. Especially, if there happens to be a guy in your bed and a chance of sex. As soon as Michael saw your bare chest, he did this incredibly sexy thing with his tongue and you leaned forward hungrily for a kiss. Michael grabbed the side of your face, practically begging to fuck you. The two of you broke the kiss and you once again attached your lips to his dripping cock and swirled your tongue in all the right places. As you bobbed your head up and down, you took the rest of it with your hand. Unexpectedly, Michael began thrusting and fucking your mouth, motioning for you to go deeper and making you gag slightly due to his above average size. You could tell because of this that he hadn’t had any action, if any at all, for a long time. He vocalized his pleasure very audibly, and you were glad you seemed to be doing a good enough job. Michael tugged at your hair hinting that you can stop now. He had other things he’d rather do to you.

“Flip around, I want to see that lovely ass of yours that I’m now so very fond of,” Michael demanded.

Michael placed a very firm slap onto your ass, making you yelp from the mixture pain and pleasure. He lined himself up with your entrance and didn’t bother to start things off slow. Taking you from behind, he gave it to you long and hard. Moans flowed from your lips louder than ever before. His palm smacked across your ass again, this time being a little harder than the first. They’re definitely bound to leave marks. Michael pulled out for a moment and switched positions, leaving him on top and you on the bottom. Quickly and immediately, he was back inside of you again. He wrapped his ring-clad fingers around your throat squeezing it as he continued pounding into you. Your breath hitched in your throat and your stomach twisted, knowing you were near your breaking point. Apparently Michael was close too, this being evident since his thrusts were becoming sloppier. Your hands gripped your bed sheets tightly and you moaned so loud from your orgasm that the neighbors definitely could hear you, but you honestly couldn’t care less. Michael pulled out, ready for his release and you sat yourself up to look at him in all of his antichrist glory. He released his cum onto your chest and a bit of it marked the bottom of your chin.

“Holy fuck,” You said, short of breath, “You can stay as long as you want, Michael.”

Tags: @icylangdon <3

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Zombie Lovin’

Author: MandyBling

Year: 2010

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Richmond/Denholm

The wind is howling in the trees as Richmond makes his way down the dark yet familiar crooked pebble path. In his grasp he carries a rather large bouquet of calla lilies wrapped in shiny black paper. In no time at all he comes to the grave he’s been seeking out and drops to his knees in front of it. “It’s Halloween, Denholm.” He says quietly as he sets the flowers to the front of the tombstone. Making himself more comfortable, Richmond sits properly on the soft mossy ground, picking at the grass. “I’m enjoying being back in London. I don’t know why I thought I could live elsewhere.” Sighing, Richmond lays down and rolls onto his back to look up at the night sky. He props his hands behind his head as his eyes begin to droop and his mind wonders. He can smell the earth around him and hear the rustling of the leaves as his body relaxes. All of a sudden Richmond jumps as he feels something grasping tightly to his ankle. He lets out a yelp as he tries to crab crawl backward and away from what ever thing has hold of him. What ever it is, tightens it’s grip and Richmond can feel the ground beneath him move. Richmond freezes in fear as he hears a gravely sounding moan and then hears his own name called out in the gloom. “Riiiiiiichmoooooond...” His mouth drops open as he sees exactly what, or rather whom is crawling from beneath the ground. “Riiiiiiichmond...” Denholm moans again as he pulls himself free from the dank hole and crawls towards the stunned goth. “D--Denholm?” Richmond half squeaks as he watches the grey, tattered and decaying form of what looks to be his departed lover crawl atop him. “Riiiiichmond. So hungry. I’ve missed you. You smell... delicious.” Denholm says as his jaws snap shut, teeth mere inches from Richmond’s nose. “I’ve missed you as well. But...” Scrambling to get out from under the zombie, Richmond is once again stopped by Denholm’s vice grip. “Give us a kisssss...” Denholm answers back, licking his dry half gone lips. “You are unwell. I should get you to hospital. Something isn’t right.” “Turn oveeeeeer! The headstone, grasp iiiiiit!” Denholm shouts as the wind picks up around them. Nodding mutely, Richmond shakily turns over and grasps the headstone as instructed. Finally finding his voice, he whimpers, “I--I don’t think now is the right time for this, Denholm. I should get you to hosp...” but he’s cut short as his trousers are forcefully pulled down to his thighs by sharp, spindly fingers. “Husssssshhhhh, Riiichmond. Don’t you want thiiiiis?” “Yes, but...” A hand is suddenly thrust in front of Richmond’s face. “Then spiiit.” Gathering up as much saliva in his mouth as he can, Richmond spits into the bony palm and watches as it disappears behind him. He gasps as he feels two fingers slip between the crease of his arse and to the puckered entrance, prodding insistently for entry. With a rough push, Denholm’s fingers find their way inside and Richmond can’t help but moan. “Yessss. Knew you’d like it, my boy.” Denholm growls as he begins to prepare Richmond, quickly spreading his fingers to open him up. “Denholm.” Is all Richmond can manage to say as the zombie’s fingers are removed. The hand is once again thrust in front of his face, gesturing for more lubrication. Richmond complies, spitting onto the palm. Richmond hears Demholm groan and the sound of wetness. He doesn’t have to guess as to what the zombie is doing. He grasps the headstone tight and clenches his teeth, in wait for Denholm to make his move. Richmond Feels a hand on his hip, the fingers digging into his flesh as Denholm lines up his cock to the tight ring of muscle. With one solid thrust, the zombie sheathes himself inside, howling into the night air as he goes. “Denholm...” Richmond moans in response as he backs his body up to meet the deteriorating hips of his lover. They both groan as their bodies break into a steady and familiar rhythm. Denholm lowers his head to Richmond’s back and begins to sniff at the goths skin through his shirt. “Sssssmell so delectable...” He hisses as he continues to pound into the man below him. Oblivious to anything but the pleasure he’s feeling, Richmond reaches down and begins to stroke his own cock with a firm grip. “Yes, Denholm.” Denholm’s rocking become more and more erratic as they move, teeth gnashing very close to Richmond’s neck at each thrust. “Braaaaaaiiiiiiiiinnnnsssss...” He suddenly cries out. Richmond is too far gone to notice this exclamation as his own hips jerk forward into his hand and he comes with a soft cry. He stills long enough to hear the sudden snap of teeth right next to his ear and hears exactly what Denholm had said clearly as he repeats it again. “Braaaaaaiiiiiiiiinnnnsssss!” Screaming, Richmond pushes Denholm out of him and rolls onto his back, using his arms as a block against the zombies gnashing jaws. “No, Denholm! I thought you...” “Sexxxxx and dinner...” Denholm moans as he lunges with surprising quickness at Richmond. Richmond kicks out with his legs, shielding his face with his forearms. “NO DENHOLM!” He Screams as he thrashes around to free himself of the situation. The sound of a car backfiring breaks through the night air and Richmond suddenly stills and sits up. He looks around, bewildered as he searches for the attacking creature. All he sees are tombstones and dry leaves caught by the wind. The flowers are where he left them, the earth undisturbed, his trousers still on but slightly damp. On wobbly legs, Richmond stands and dusts himself off. “Must have been a dream.” He mumbles to himself. “I think that Monster Munch I ate earlier must have gone wrong.” With a soft and slightly nervous chuckle, Richmond wraps his coat around his frame tightly and heads back in the direction of his flat.

[justsomebandfanfics]

Darkness and Hysteria - Part One - Austin Carlile ft. OM&M

Hey, so I dont know if you’ll write something like this but I really had a shitty day and I thought I try and request something. Maybe where you are austin carliles girlfriend and are on tour with him but then at night the bus gets in a crash...  

This is written (as stated further in the above request) in Austin’s P.O.V. - considering making this a two/three parter... thoughts? - 1,531 words - written by Emma.

Austin’s P.O.V.

“This weather is bloody terrible.” You grunt.

This storm has been going on since last night. It’s now 7pm, usually at times like this in the summer it would still be light out. But the sky is covered in dark clouds which just leaves the sky a dull grey. You sigh.

“Only because you live for sun and beaches.” Y/N, your girlfriend, remarks, smiling as she peeps up from her book.

“How can you even read in, in…” You gesture to the window. “This.” You spit the word like it’s venom. Although your words are twined in sarcasm, you do hate shitty weather.

Y/N shrugs as she takes a look out of the window. “I just like reading.” She reopens her book again and her eyes drift.

Her Y/E/C focus on the pages and you watch them follow the lines. She looks up for a split moment and her irises glimmer as she looks at you and you both share a smile. As a grin lances on her crepe pink lips, you lick over your own. She’s so beautiful, even with her hair messily - yet neatly - tied back. You don’t know how you could get so lucky.

However, the heavy pattering on the bus windows is enough to make you groan again. Your eyes don’t stay focused on Y/N’s face as they settle outside once more where you watch rain endlessly smack against the roads.

“You never stop groaning, do you?” Tino says to you from the opposite seat of Y/N.

Deliberately, you let the moan intensify over a stretched period of time and echo loudly.  

“Stop groaning, you grinch.” Jenn answers your annoying ring.

“It’s not even Christmas.” You reply, pulling a mimicking face.

“Either way, nobody likes you because you’re being miserable and irritating.” Tino answers for her, chuckling.

“Ha, ha. So funny.” You roll your eyes and your glance settles at Aaron and Amanda, who are both out cold on the sofa behind Tino and Jen, head against head. “How can they be asleep? It’s like the titanic out there!”

“Stop being so melodramatic, you big baby.” Jen says to you. “It is not the titanic.”

Pointing to the water that’s streaming down the roads, you answer, “You never know, I could drown out there.”

“I wish. Then we could get some peace and quiet.” Phil says loudly from the seats behind Y/N, where he and Anouk are.

“Rude.” You murmur, quieting down, you think of sitting beside Y/N, whose nose is still wedged in her book.

“Stop being such a whiny ass.” Alan calls out as he wanders through from the bunk area, joining the bash-on-Austin parade. Strolling up to you, he sits in the chair that faces Y/N. 

“I am not being a whiny ass.” You mumble, before receiving unappreciative looks from everyone – you are being a whiny ass. “Fine, I’ll go bug Terry instead.” Terry is your bus driver.

“You go do that, baby.” Y/N gives you the thumbs up, eyes not leaving her book.

You mimic her in a girly voice. “You go do that, baby.” She looks at you then cocks an eyebrow, you pout at her.

Scrunching her nose, she pouts back before holding her book up to her face again.

"Well, doesn't seem like you've got a better view than us in the other part of the bus." You say, approaching Terry. 

He shakes his head. "Definitely not." 

"Can't even look straight out there." You say, looking through the windscreen. 

Every second the wipers are going back and forth, but a shit tonne of rain just comes hammering back. It's like a river steaming down the windscreen. You're surprised Terry can even see. 

"Surely, this isn't safe." You say, gesturing to the window. 

It's so dark and cloudy out there you can barely see the road. The fog and mist seem to combine to cloud the roads, making it extremely difficult to even see headlights from other vehicles. You can just about see ten feet in front of the bus. 

"It isn't." Terry answers, jaw clenched. "All this heavy wind and gushes of rain smashing down... I don't trust it, it gives me a bad feeling." 

As soon as those words leave Terry's mouth, you feel a little uneasy. 

"Then, then why are we driving in it?" You ask, that horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

"We need to get somewhere decent at least. We can't pull over in the middle of nowhere... Maybe if there's a gas station or something, I'll pull over and we could try waiting it out." Terry says, which makes you feel a little better. 

"I hate this weather, it's a real downer." You mutter. "Want anything to drink? I'm grabbing myself a bottle of water." You're happy to change the topic. 

"Sure thing." Terry nods. "Grab me a water too?" 

"Yep, okay. I'll be a moment." You say, turning around. 

"Oh no, he's back." Jenn giggles, seeing you walk back through the section. 

"Did Terry get fed up within a few minutes too?" Alan chuckles. 

You continue walking to the fridge. "Very funny, guys, ha-ha." You try to keep your tone sarcastic and funny, but you're not sure if it worked. 

"You okay, baby?" Y/N asks, looking over her shoulder, book closed in her hands. "You sound a little off." 

Walking back through equipped with water, you attempt to smile. "Just feeling ill, that's all." You halt by her's and Alan's seats, resting on it. 

"Mhm." Y/N sighs. "You look a little unwell, actually. Is there anything I can do to help?" Her hands touch your lower arm. 

"Just, stay beautiful." You smile down at her. 

And with that, you bend down, cupping her face. Lightly, you press your lips together, that benevolent feeling pulsing in your heart. Irresistibly, you grin against her mouth, causing her to smile too. 

"I love you." She says, gazing up into your eyes. 

"And I love you." You answer, resting your head on your shoulder for a moment, adoring her.

Soon enough, you rejoin Terry by the wheel of the bus. The weather has had no improvement, instead, it looks worse in the few minutes you’ve been gone. Handing him a bottle of water, he nods a thanks as he takes a swing, looking out to the road again. Opening your bottle, you drink some too, but still feel nauseous as something inside of you is telling you that something bad is going to happen.

You look at Terry, who is worriedly squinting his eyes trying to picture what’s on the other side of the windscreen.

“Can you do me a favour and look up where the next gas station is?” He grunts over his shoulder to you. “Or.. anywhere,” He adds hastily. “Anywhere we can just pull in and stop, in fact. I’m barely making it around these corners.” He shakes his head, beads of sweat visibly gathering on his forehead. 

“Of course, of course.” You say, pulling your phone out of your pocket and opening your maps application. The lack of signal causes your app to glitch as you try to find your current location. “Come on.” You shake your phone in your hands, feeling frustration settle in your head, just wanting to find somewhere to stop.

You sigh when release once the arrow finally locates you on a lonely, long, bland road. “Gas station...” You hum to yourself, clicking the ‘services’ function and hoping somewhere can be found local enough to the bus. The slow function again makes you irritable, you hit your phone against the door frame you’re leaning on.

Once loaded, you click on the nearest services result. “It’s only 5 miles away.” You breathe thankfully, turning your phone to face Terry, showing him the station nearby.

Terry shares the sigh of relief, “thank you, Austin”, he says. Taking one hand off of the wheel, he faces you and takes your phone from your hands to show him the way.

You mosey around a bend of the road, but you spy something again. Something dark, something blocking the driving path, something massive.

The next ten seconds hit you painfully slow.

“Terry! Terry!” You shout in panic, nearly throwing yourself into the windscreen. 

It’s a tree. A fallen roadside tree has collapsed over the whole width of the road, it’s roots upturned and everything. Big piles of dirt and stone protecting it.

Terry spins the steering wheel hectically in hope he could try and dodge. Upon realisation that it’s too late, he shouts out in terror, the wheels losing their footing completely, sending the bus into a frenzy.

What happens next happens far too quickly. You can’t even turn, you can’t dash into the main area of the bus to yell for everyone to get down, you can’t even look at Y/N. 

The echoing of screeching tyres and others’ screams shatter your ear drums, but before you can throw your hands to cover your ears, the force of the spinning bus sends your head into the frame of the driving compartment. You feel immediate bruising to your temple, before your vision blurs and you topple over in a dizzy hysteria.

[dictionarywrites]

Oh my gosh i love your writing 💜💜💜. I wanted to request Loki not feeling well or somthing. But the Grandmaster not wanting to show how worried he is because he doesn't want to look weak or harm his reputation.

Thanks so much, Anon, that’s so kind of you to say! I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, but I took the idea that came to mind and went with it.

Loki is ensconced in the quarters he has managed to get for himself on Sakaar, attempting to work his way through a rather uncomfortable situation - when the Grandmaster arrives at his door, Loki loses his temper, and fears the worst will be his punishment. Rated M. Mild warning for blood & implied non-consensual hormone treatment, as well as the expected power imbalance. 

Ao3 link. Tip jar. Send a request. 

Loki lets out ashort, pained groan, and he shifts on his side, his head pressed against his pillow,which is markedly cool beneath his skin, and the fabric itself is crusted withfrost. The Jötnar, Loki knows, do not tend to beds themselves: they sleep onslabs of cool ice with frozen pieces of stone beneath their heads, and Lokiwishes, in this moment, he could indulge in such luxury. Instead, he lies,twitching occasionally, on a bed of luxurious silks and eiderdown pillows,frost forming beneath the weight of his limbs.

He looks up at theceiling, which is – of course, this is a planet of decadence and excess –panelled in mirrors, and he sees himself in the mirror. His skin is visiblydamp, where he is warmer than he ought be and affecting condensation to formbefore it can turn to frost, and he is breathing heavily, his chest rising andfalling. His stomach is cramping, his head is aching, and Loki wishes he could be naught but a river rock insteadof a man.

Naked, he can seehis own cock limp against his thigh, and see the blood between his legs. Hemight wear some sort of padding, some device or other, but as soon as he thinksof moving, he feels another cramp make itself known, dragging about the muscles deep within his belly and clenching,twisting.

Oh, what agony.

A ring sounds fromthe door to Loki’s private (ha!) roomin this towering building of Sakaar, and he groans, pressing his face furtherinto the pillow. His hand against his belly, he lets ice form upon his fingers,and he uses it to try to soothe the desperate pains within him.

“Hello?” comes a voice from the intercom,and Loki feels his blood run hot. The Grandmaster! Shit. Shit!

“Shit,” Lokimutters to himself, dragging himself hastily from bed and dragging the sheetabout his body – with the pain distracting him, his illusions are impossible tomaintain, and he is forced to stumble toward the door, leaning heavily on themirrored wall beside it as he pulls it open.

The Grandmasterstands at the door of Loki’s bedchambers, and he takes Loki’s bedraggled statein: he looks from Loki’s limp hair to his bitten-bloody lips, down to his dampchest and the half-frosted sheets wrapped hap-hazardly around his body, down toLoki’s bare feet. His eyes narrow slightly, and Loki feels his heart leap inhis chest.

“You were in bed?At this hour?”

“It’s not dawnyet, Grandmaster,” Loki says, his fist tightening in its grip upon the fabricover his belly, and the Grandmaster lets out a short, single exhalation.

“Well, exactly. It’sway too early to go to bed. Someone in there with you?” Why is he here? Loki looks askance between theGrandmaster and the two guards that flank him – Topaz, mercifully, is at leastnot to be seen – but he gleans no answers.

“No, Grandmaster:I am quite alone.”

“Uh huh,” theGrandmaster says. Loki hears the dry disbelief in his tone, and he feels fearburst within him – Monogamy is justthe name of a cocktail here on Sakaar, and he finds it difficult to believethat the Grandmaster would be gentle were Loki to have lain with another in thefive days he’s been on this damned planet. Particularly since they have only lain together once, and that was in the midst of anorgy. “There’s purple on your mouth.”

“What?” Loki says,and he turns to the mirror, the fingers of his spare hand going up to his lips.The Grandmaster isn’t wrong: there ispurple on his lower lip, and he realises when he feels its un-Æsir thicknessbeneath his fingers that it’s his own blood – these are the worst monthly painsLoki has ever experienced, and it seems even the most basic of his enchantmentsis failing him. “That’s my blood.”

“Your blood is red,isn’t it?” The Grandmaster presses, and Loki hesitates before he awkwardlyshakes his head.

“No, not really,”Loki murmurs, and then says, “Look, Grandmaster, I— This isn’t a good time forme to receive guests, and I must apologize for my appearance, but I’m… Actuallyrather unwell.”

“Look, ah, Loki— You’re cute and all, but I don’tlike to be lied to.”

“I’m not lying,” Loki says, plaintively. “I amill.”

“There’s noillness on Sakaar,” the Grandmaster says, beginning to step forwards, and Lokiungracefully steps back away from him, tripping on the sheet in his hurry toget away and landing in a heap upon the ground, the blanket falling about hiswaist. “Germs, stuff like that – they’re screened as people come in.”

“Would you just get out?” Loki snaps, frost forming onhis lips, and suddenly, the world exists in a haze of red: Loki is on his feet,his teeth sharpening even as he looks into the face of the Grandmaster, hishands clenched into fists and gleamingwith heated energy – seiðr, in its purest and unadulterated form. “I am not fitto entertain!” The Grandmaster’s hand is around his throat, his grip tight, andall at once, Loki’s magic fails him, the Grandmaster’s lip curling, and Lokiflinches at the noise as the door to Loki’s bedchambers slams shut, leaving thetwo guards outside.

“I thought youwere one of those Æsir, but you’re not, are you?” the Grandmaster says, softly,and Loki glances to the ceiling: his flesh is entirely blue, now, and the redhaze is explained by the protective lens of deepest crimson that has formedover his eyes. The blood upon his thighs is lilac, now, instead of red, and hefeels his shame deep within him. “You can’t talk to me like that, Kiki. Peoplewill get the wrong idea.” The Grandmaster squeezes that bit tighter, his griptight around the column of Loki’s throat, bringing him to the brink of choking,and then he pushes Loki away, and Loki lands on the edge of his bed.

There is somethingLoki cannot quite place in the Grandmaster’s deep, golden eyes, some strangeemotion that Loki has not seen the older man show before. The Grandmaster’sgaze flits from Loki’s face, down between his legs – he had been excited whenhe had first realised the precise natureof Loki’s sexual organs, but now a dawn seems to break upon his face.

“You got yourperiod, huh?”

“Yes,” Loki says,tiredly. “I’ve never experienced it quite so… Painfully.”

“Yeah, that’ll bethe hormone enhancement,” the Grandmaster says, lowly. Loki meets his gaze, hisown eyes lidded, and his silent, ragingquestion is answered: “Everyone one this planet is horny all the time, and withno, ah, impulse control. You thinkthat’s an accident? I’m not stupid. Gottakeep people off their game.”

The Grandmasterreaches out, and Loki flinches, expecting some sort of touch that will send himburning to ashes, or melting, but nosuch thing comes: the Grandmaster’s fingers settle upon Loki’s belly, hisusually warm hands surprisingly cool, and Loki lets out a low groan of reliefas the pain within him is steeped in some sort of magical anaesthesia, forcingthe cramping muscles to still themselves. The Grandmaster’s lips are parted,his gaze deep with something morethan mere concern at having a bed-mate put out of action, and Loki feels thefear and apprehension he usually feels around the Grandmaster stir beneath hisskin. The Grandmaster is so powerful,and yet here, he seems capable of kindness.

Is he a greaterfool than Loki had thought?

“Listen,” theGrandmaster murmurs, “I, uh, I likeyou, Loki. So I’m gonna put this little, this little  disagreement behind us. I’m gonna stay heretonight, and we’re gonna say, for, ah, appearances’sake, that you made up for that nastiness you just showed me.”

“Grandmaster,”Loki whispers, but it is not quite within him to protest, exhausted as he is,and he drops back upon the bed as the Grandmaster goes to the door, orderinghis two guards to leave him be. He watches the reflection in the ceiling as theGrandmaster casts off his outer robe, then climbs onto the bed, dragging Lokiup to lie beside him. And then—

His eyes close.

“Grandmaster?”

“Uh huh?”

“You’re… Are yougoing to sleep?”

“Sure am. Somespecies, they uh, they need a bit of shut-eye,but I just do it for the fun of it. That okay?” Loki stares at him in thereflection, and then shakes his head. “Great.”The Grandmaster drags him closer, his palm settling on Loki’s belly andreleasing more of that wonderfully numbingmagic, and Loki sighs, letting his own eyes close. “You’re my favourite, Loki.Don’t want to see the goods get too damaged.”

My favourite. The words echo in Loki’s head – he should be terrifiedof this Elder Being, this man with boundless power at his fingertips, who killsindiscriminately and laughs in the face of genocide, and yet— His favourite! His favourite! His favourite! Even bloody, and pained, and angry, you are his favourite!

Without evenrealising, Loki’s teeth burst through the flesh of his lower lip once more, andhe tastes the acid tang of his own Jotunn blood, his red eyes wide. As theGrandmaster softly snores beside him, holding Loki in his palm like the insect Loki is in comparison, Lokistares at their reflection on the ceiling, and ignores the sting at the cornersof his eyes.