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xjoonchildx · 1 year

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kanalia | jhs x reader | chapter five: the king is a fool

banner by the amazing, incredible @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: the queen is hot and bothered, literally & figuratively. the king puts several Ls in the disappointed but not surprised category, everyone gets drunk at some point. lord min is a terrible archer, yeona remains round and winning. the queen could melt steel with her sexual frustration, lord jung is not faring much better but at least he knows what he's doing, slightly awkward marital smut. the queen fights with everyone.

i could never have finished this chapter without these amazing authors & minds @miscelunaaa and @vyduan and one person who would probably level us all with her first fic if she decided to write one, @hobi-gif. please let me re-iterate how much it means to me that any one of you reads my stories, and it would make me endlessly happy to talk to you about it. you can talk to me here 💕

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Hyeri is curious.

She examines the stains at the hem of your walking dress with narrowed eyes, pausing her thorough study of the red-brown splotches only to steal the occasional furtive glance your way.

Her lips purse as she shakes dirt loose from the grooves of your walking boots. She watches the sediment fall to the floor with a raised brow, uncharacteristically quiet as she reaches for the broom to sweep the mess away.

But her bewilderment only grows as she draws closer.

The older woman’s posture stiffens as she regards you, lips pulling into a thin line as she takes in the state of your wind-swept hair and grimy fingernails. You must reek of the ill temper you’ve brought back from your ride, the smell of it as pungent as the sweat and horse on your clothes. She tests your temperament in much the same way as she tests your bathwater, query as feather-light as the fingertip she skims along the surface.

“Are you… well, this evening, Your Grace?”

“As well as I ever am,” you answer succinctly, accepting her hand and stepping carefully into the tub. Woven into the spaces between each of your clipped words is rebuke; a silent warning to proceed no further. Your handmaid, who is by no means a meek woman, has the good sense to heed it.

So Hyeri says nothing as she takes a comb to the tangles in your hair, working them apart with peach oil. She says nothing as she scrubs away the dirt embedded beneath your normally pristine fingernails. And she says nothing still when you wince at the ache in your thighs as she helps you from the bath.

When the heavy chamber door finally pulls behind her, shutting the stares and the questions safely out, you make your way to bed. You extinguish the lamp on your nightstand and welcome the shadows.

And then you succumb to the darkness that envelops you, inside and out.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Steamy heat has put an end to weeks of pleasant fall weather.

You’ve sought refuge this afternoon beneath a tree at the edge of the castle’s sprawling open field. The oak, though grand, offers scant protection from the midday sun. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck and disappears into the linen at your décolletage.

“Between you and me, I’ve always found hunting to be an appalling sport.”

Boram shakes her head at the scene in the distance. The King and his men claim to be training for an upcoming hunt, but by all appearances, there is little training taking place. Instead they look to be bandying about like mischievous little boys, scrambling for position in front of the straw targets with bows in hand.

“I find it to be an exercise in vanity more than ability. Little more than male preening disguised as sport.” Boram dabs at her brow with a handkerchief and sighs. “What do you think?”

You don’t answer Boram’s question on account of your distraction. Try as you might to keep your eyes on the dashing elder Lord Kim or the charming young Lord Jeon or – heaven forbid, your husband – they wander to Lord Jung instead, over and over and over again. Your gaze pulled to his strong face as though drawn by a magnet.

He turns his head and his dark eyes find yours across the distance.

The butterflies you’ve felt in his presence before are not to blame for the unsettled feeling that comes over you now. The very sight of the man makes your stomach turn over, as though you can taste the vivid recollection of the last time you saw him.

The memory of that wonderful ride – and of the horrible way it ended – are still bitter on your tongue. Like picking the most beautiful fruit in the orchard only to find it sour and decaying inside.

“Your Grace?”

You blink.

“I say this to you as my friend and not my Queen,” Boram says, pausing to clear her throat. “You don’t seem yourself today. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Nothing at all,” you lie quickly, smoothing down the damp curls springing up around your ears. “I’m fine, truly. Though I suppose it is possible the heat is making me cross. I can barely think in such conditions.”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Boram laments, reaching over to give Yeona’s belly a tickle. The baby curls into herself like a starfish, giggling as she rolls around on the blanket. “Yoongi says it will take a rain to break it. But until then, we must all suffer.”

“And suffer we shall,” you echo under your breath, watching Lord Jung load his bow in the distance. He sets his lithe body in a precise stance then draws his arm back and releases his arrow. It flies in a tight arc and lands just below the bullseye on the target. The men erupt into raucous cheers. You resist the urge to scowl.

“As for the hunting,” you add, “I think men are just as guilty of the frivolity they so often accuse women of. Not that any one of them is likely to admit it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Boram laughs. “Men are not known to be skilled in the art of introspection.”

“They certainly are not.”

And why should they be? Men never have to stop and consider the consequences of their actions. They alone decide the rules of engagement. They are free to be as vain and as frivolous and as thoughtless as their hearts desire. Horrid, infuriating creatures.

Lord Min steps up to the target. His stance is uneven and his arrow is wild the very second he lets it loose. It flies yards from the target and lands off in the grass. The men jeer loudly.

“Poor Yoongi,” Boram winces as she watches the men tease him. “He’s never been much of an archer, I’m afraid.” But the good-natured Lord Min appears to take it all in stride, shrugging off their taunts as he trades his bow for a fresh tankard of ale.

The King takes his turn next – the lines of his body thicker and stronger than Lord Jung’s, but no less elegant. The men circle around your husband as he draws the bow back with one strong arm. He takes careful aim with his arrow and deftly plants it just above the target’s bullseye. The sound of the men’s whooping echoes across the field.

And so it goes for a while, with the men taking turns loosing their arrows to varying degrees of success.

Lords Park and Jeon both prove to be adequate archers, hitting the targets more often than not. The elder and younger Lord Kims are less skilled and spend the lion’s share of their time plucking arrows from the grass behind the targets. Lord Min quickly gives up on the endeavor entirely, opting instead to sit with his ale and heckle the others.

But the two best archers on the field refuse to be distracted by drink.

The King and Lord Jung set an arduous pace, loading and firing their arrows in quick succession. Even at a distance, even with your meager knowledge of archery, you can discern that both men are quite evenly matched in terms of skill. They load, fire, and strike their respective targets with precision.

On and on they persist – despite the brutal heat, despite the fact that the other men have begun to tire. One by one the other Guardsmen surrender, abandoning their bows and collapsing onto the grass to watch.

“These two seem quite serious, don’t they?” Boram notes.

They certainly do. The air of silly fun that’s sat over the group for much of the afternoon is all but gone now and what began as a diversion for all of the men has clearly become a challenge between just two. The other Guardsmen seem to sense the shift in atmosphere as well, their faces earnest as they watch the King and Lord Jung compete.

Physically, the two men are quite different. The King’s muscular arms and chest serve him well as he steadies his bow and fires. In contrast, Lord Jung’s body is lithe, sleek. He moves with an agility the King cannot. But both wear matching expressions of determination. And though this competition might have been amiable at the start, it’s now evident that neither man is willing to leave the field without a clear victor.

Lord Min calls out to them both – voice too distant for you to make out his words – and the men appear to nod in agreement. They both step back from the targets, increasing the difficulty of each shot. But it takes only a few more arrows to prove that the added distance is no hindrance to either man. Both set their stances again, both aim and fire, and both land their arrows with ease.

The Guardsmen sitting nearby fall silent, and in the absence of their racket the King’s answering growl of frustration echoes over the entire field.

“Oh my,” Boram whispers. “I’d heard there was some tension between them, and it would certainly appear to be so.”

It certainly would. Right now, the King and Lord Jung look more like rivals seeking to settle a score than lifelong friends.

The King’s agitation is apparent in every move he makes, in the way he jerks the arrows out of the straw targets and stalks back into position. Lord Jung’s agitation is equally apparent. He accepts a skin of water from Lord Min without so much as a thanks and hands it back once he’s drained it.

It’s a strange thing to see the handsome Guardsman challenge his King with the very same passion in which he’d defended him just days prior.

“Has the King spoken to you about it?”

“No,” you admit stiffly, “He has not. Are you determined to keep me in the dark, as well?”

“Heavens, no,” Boram protests, pulling Yeona into her lap. She hands the baby a rice cake and Yeona sets to gumming at it right away. “I would never want you to think that I’m speaking ill of the King, is all.”

“I could never think that of you.”

There is hesitation in Boram’s face when she flicks her dark eyes back to meet yours.

“Well, the details I have are few,” she starts slowly. “But what I know is that the King expressed a wish to see Lord Jung married again and Lord Jung, from my understanding was – ” she pauses, carefully considering her next words,“ – less than amenable to the idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Yoongi says they fought over the matter. Quite thoroughly, from what I’ve been told.”

“I see,” you say, taking great care to keep your expression impassive. “And did Lord Min explain why Lord Jung is so opposed to marriage? He’s still a young man. I can certainly see why the King would think it a logical proposition.”

Boram’s lips purse as she thinks.

“I do not know that I can say. Though I consider Lord Jung to be a dear friend, he can be terribly private about some matters.”

You cut your eyes towards the field to search for the man in question.

Does she really know Lord Jung? Do you? Today there is no sign of the man who’d leveled you with a smile in the Great Hall, no trace of the man who’d teased you about riding clothes before helping you onto your mount. The man you see now wears a strained expression as he watches the King take aim, his energy volatile like a pot ready to boil over.

Perhaps you’d been foolish to think him so different from the King. Perhaps they are as evenly matched in the art of duplicity as they are the skill of archery.

“So what will come of it?” you ask after a while. “Will the King – make him marry?”

“I don’t know,” Boram admits. “And therein, I suppose, is where much of the tension lies. Lord Jung has already taken a bride once in service to the Kingdom. I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to do it again.”

There’s a sudden commotion on the field then, an outburst that has Lords Park and Jeon on their feet. The younger men rush to meet the King and Lord Jung mid-field, nodding as the King speaks. Both take off running at once.

“I’ve no clue what that is all about, but I do wish they’d end this already,” Boram grumbles, watching the young men disappear behind the tree line as they go off in search of whatever it is the King’s asked for. “I don’t know how much longer I can last in this heat.”

“Nor I,” you agree, watching the King and Lord Jung speak to one another. Both men look sober, the lines of their faces hard. “But it seems we’ll all have to endure it for just a bit longer in order to humor this contest of male prides.”

Some arduous minutes later, Lords Park and Jeon make their return to the field.

The dust kicked up by the horses they ride precedes them, the ground parched from weeks without rain. Both men arrive in a cloud of grime – Lord Jeon on the King’s mount and Lord Park on Lord Jung’s– and dismount without delay, handing the reins over to their elders.

So this is how they will decide the victor.

“Well, let’s hope they keep their wits about them,” Boram sighs. “Lest they both break their legs in the heat of competition.”

“Yes, let’s,” you mutter.

The King is first to take his turn, of course.

He mounts Jeonsa with ease despite the horse’s grand height and takes his time warming the warhorse up. The King runs his mount in circles around the target until he’s satisfied with his plan and the timing of his shot. He steadies himself against the jostling with his strong thighs, pulling his bow back to fire. The arrow hits the target just below the bullseye.

The men, who’ve spent hours now drinking in the hot sun, erupt into a chorus of ruffian cheers.

Lord Jung wastes no time taking to his own mount. His horse is leaner and quicker than Jeonsa, and it’s clear that he commands complete control of the animal’s every step. Both horse and rider move as one as he urges his mount faster, straightening his back to fire. The arrow hits the target just above the bullseye.

The men are getting rowdy now, egging on both competitors as they circle on their horses. Their shouting is louder, more animated, and you would not at all be surprised if there were a few healthy wagers underway. You wonder which of the men they’ve bet on.

You wonder which of the men you would bet on before pushing the thought away and reminding yourself that you’re not particularly fond of either at this moment.

The King circles Jeonsa around the target once again, taking his time about it. He seems to consider every circumstance surrounding his next shot – the angle, the speed, the light wind that blows east. After a great deal of circling and thought, he rears back to release his arrow.

It lands on the target, just above the arrow planted by Lord Jung.

The shouting from the men becomes a low roar.

Lord Jung pointedly ignores the commotion, rolling his shoulders as he stares down the target, brow knit in concentration. Soon he’s urging his mount to move, the pair fluid as they circle the target.

Just like the King, Lord Jung circles longer for this shot than he had for the first. Twice he draws back as though ready to fire and thinks better of it. But after painstaking deliberation, he finds his stride. He pulls his arm back and sets his stance. Then he releases his arrow.

And it misses the target entirely.

It flies off the end of Lord Jung’s bow with astonishing speed, gliding just to the right of the straw and landing off in the distance. The men are on their feet now, jumping and yelling and slapping one another on their backs. Lord Jung shakes his head in disgust.

“Well,” Boram reaches for her basket, loading her things into it with haste. “That’s settled now. I certainly hope at least one of them feels better. Let’s move into more liveable conditions, shall we?”

You open your mouth to agree just as you spot the King barreling towards you atop Jeonsa, leaving the men celebrating his victory on the field behind.

You nearly stumble over the hem of your dress in your rush to rise to your feet. Your husband is grinning widely when he reaches you, stopping his mount long enough to extend one large hand. You place your hand in his and he dips his head to plant a kiss on your fingers.

“Well done, You Grace,” you demur, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “A hard-fought victory.”

“Thank you. I’m quite pleased with the outcome.”

The King acknowledges Boram with a smile before turning his mount to ride back to his men. You put a hand to your brow to shade your eyes and watch as they cheer for him – reward him with the adulation he’s clearly worked so hard for.

But a thought occurs to you as you examine the scene in the distance.

There is no sign of Lord Jung.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King comes to you that night – hair damp and smelling of fine soap, breath tinged faintly with ale.

He coaxes you to your knees just as he’s done so many times before. His fingers slide against your most secret place, slippery just as they’ve been so many times before. And then he’s pushing inside you, hard and hot just as he’s been so many times before.

But there is something different about him tonight.

Your husband’s touch is rougher than you remember. His grip on your waist is harder than you remember, large hands moving from your waist to your backside to dig his blunt fingertips into the soft flesh. His thrusts are more forceful than you remember, more erratic, powerful enough to push you up the length of the bed.

You fist your hands into the bedding and push back, refusing to allow your knees to buckle under the pressure. That earns you a low groan from the King – a sound that strikes a strange chord inside you; sends a shiver racing up your spine. You press your hot face into the sheets.

Perhaps Namjoon is still feeling the effects of an arduous afternoon in the hot sun. Perhaps he’s still in his cups after a night of drinking with his men.

Or perhaps it is all just a trick of your mind.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Morning brings no improvement in your mood. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You wake snappish, jarred from a fitful sleep by the sudden appearance of light in your chamber. Shafts of it – hot and harsh – stream through your windows, spill across your duvet, assault your eyes. You bury your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to avoid it, sweat beading at the nape of your neck until the uncomfortable warmth forces you to quit the bed.

But the rude manner of your awakening is only one reason for your irritation.

The other is the lingering tenderness between your legs, a dull ache you can feel with each careful step. The sensation is more an annoyance than a true discomfort, but it vexes you nonetheless. Each muted throb serves as an unwelcome reminder of your visit from the King, of the peculiar way he’d bedded you last night.

Your face flames as you think of it.

What is he about, your husband? And what of the juvenile, chest-thumping nonsense you’d witnessed yesterday afternoon? The combative way he’d gone up against Lord Jung and the grand show he’d made of coming to you to fête his victory. Boorish, absurd behavior – all of it.

You go about your morning ablutions in silence, unwilling to meet Hyeri’s eyes for even one moment. You are in no mood to withstand her meddling today – well-intentioned or otherwise – and so it is for the best that she helps you wash and dress in relative silence.

If there is something the older woman means to say, she has the good sense to swallow it, murmuring only a quiet warning about the heat as you slip out the chamber door.

And heavens, how you are wholly unprepared for the heat.

It, too, has worsened overnight – the air around you nearly thick enough to drink. You hurry towards the aviary, spurred on by the promise of the shade beneath its trees, but by the time you are finally seated at your desk you are soggy and sticky all over. Slick with sweat between your thighs and beneath your arms and breasts.

Perhaps you should have heeded Hyeri’s warning.

The thought rankles you as you open your book and attempt to pick up your story where you’d left it. You start and stop the same sentence over and over again, the heat so tyrannical that you can barely breathe, much less think. Even the King’s prized birds refuse to fly under such conditions – opting instead to perch on the highest branches, wings lifted to cool themselves with the occasional passing breeze.

The stillness unnerves you; makes your aggravation mount with each unbearable minute that ticks by and before long, you throw your novel down in frustration. This will not do.

Loathe as you are to spend another day confined to the castle’s thick stone walls, there is no avoiding it. You’ll not survive another half hour in this heat, which means you’ll certainly not be able to pass an entire afternoon in it. You huff as you throw your things back into your basket and stalk off towards the aviary’s entrance.

But perhaps you should have been more mindful.

Immersed as you are in this black mood, you don’t notice the brambles growing at the edge of the heavy gate. You brush past them in a hurry, only to be wrenched back by the thorns that take hold of your skirt. You tug at the material with your free hand, successful only at tearing a hole in the fine linen but unsuccessful at pulling yourself free. You drop your basket in the struggle and the contents spill out, an apple rolling to a stop at your feet.

It is then that you do something very unladylike, something that would have earned you an exaggerated gasp from your sister or a sharp rebuke from your mother.

You swear. Loudly.

You summon all of your frustration and scream what is perhaps the most undignified word you know at the very top of your lungs, the vulgarity echoing in the aviary’s eerie quiet. And though it’s done nothing to solve your current predicament, there’s something truly satisfying about speaking the nasty word out loud, about shouting it into existence.

That is, until someone coughs.

“I take it you need some help, Your Grace?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you whirl in the direction of the voice.

Lord Min approaches slowly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your sorry state. You’ve no idea where he came from, but at this very moment you’ve never been so horrified and grateful to see him, all at the very same time.

“Yes, I – ” you start and stop, flustered by both your behavior. “ – I’m stuck. The brambles are caught in my skirt and – ”

“Oh yes, I see,” he says, leaning down to examine the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He tugs at the bottom of your skirt and you wince at the sound of the fabric tearing. “You’ve got yourself quite tangled up here, haven’t you?”

“I believe I have,” you admit with embarrassment. Lord Min gets down on his knees and begins plucking thorns and burs out of the fabric, brow knit with concentration as he attempts to extricate what remains of your fine linen dress.

You clear your throat.

“My Lord, I hope I didn’t – Well, rather, I hope you were not offended by that word you heard me say. It’s not a word that I usually use, not really. Well, not ever. What I mean to say is that I know of coarse language, of course, but I’m certainly not in the habit of using it.”

“What word?” Lord Min interrupts your rambling from his perch at your feet, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Did you say something, Your Grace? I must not have heard it.”

The corners of his mouth curve into a cautious smile, which you return with a timid one of your own. His teasing is welcome. It brings badly-needed levity to your embarrassing situation and lightens the heaviness of this atrocious day.

“What’s this, Min?”

At once, the gesture dies on your lips.

Lord Jung comes into view by way of the same path taken by Lord Min, though his sudden appearance does not bring you the same kind of relief. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The very moment he’s standing before you, critical gaze moving from you to Lord Min and back, you feel absolutely lightheaded with anxiety. You wonder what he must make of the scene he’s stumbled upon: Lord Min on his knees, at your feet, hands fisted in your skirts.

“You Grace.” The lines of Lord Jung’s beautiful face are hard as he acknowledges you, his voice stiff and formal in a way that makes it foreign to your ears. He bows to you much in the same way, body rigid as he performs the required motion.

“My Lord,” you return with similar formality.

“Her Grace is stuck,” Lord Min explains, unaware or perhaps unbothered by the provocative position the two of you have been discovered in. “I’m trying to free her without ripping this linen to shreds. Could use your help, seeing as you’re standing there. Push that branch back for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Oh, but now you feel a migraine coming on. Lord Jung squeezes into the space beside you, leaning over Lord Min to push the brambles back so that the older man may have both hands free to work. At this point, both men are too close, but he is far too close. Heat blazes a path up your neck and into your cheeks.

Inhale, you twit. Exhale.

“Last few, Your Grace,” Lord Min announces, voice muffled by your skirts. “I think the linen will need a bit of mending, but not much more.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Lord Jung’s gaze connects with yours. His dark eyes, normally so warm and expressive, are flat as he regards you. In fact, everything about the handsome guardsman’s countenance is uncharacteristically severe today, from the deep knit of his brows to the way his bow-shaped mouth presses into a firm line. He looks away from you without so much as a smile.

Is he – is he angry with you?

Your mouth nearly falls open at the realization. What right would Lord Jung have to be angry with you? It was he who’d laid the trap with the promise of a perfect afternoon spent riding and he who’d sprung the trap by defending your husband’s dishonesty.

If either one of you had a just claim to animosity, it would most certainly be you.

The awful word you’d uttered at the very start of this ridiculous dilemma springs right to the tip of your tongue. If only you had the courage to spit it at him. Horrid, infuriating man.

“There now,” Lord Min announces. “I think we’ve got it. Hang on to that bramble for a bit longer while Her Grace steps away from the gate.”

You start forward slowly, steps mercifully unencumbered by gnarled plants. Though Lord Min has done his best to salvage the fine linen, your skirt is now covered in a fine dusting of grime, torn in places from your knees to your ankles. Hyeri will have a fit when she sees you, but you couldn’t care less about the state of your ruined dress. The only thing that matters now is quitting this place at once.

“Thank you so much, Lord Min,” you breathe, dropping to your knees to gather your scattered things. The elder guardsman helps you retrieve the wayward charcoals and papers, which you hurriedly stuff back into your basket. “I’ll be off now and won’t take up any more of your afternoon.”

With that, you rush to your feet and turn on your heels to leave. You try not to think about the scene you’re leaving behind – Lord Min puzzled by your sudden exit, Lord Jung affronted by the fact that you’d pointedly ignored him in your thanks.

You make haste with those first few steps towards freedom, only to be pulled back once again. Only this time, not by jagged brambles.

“Your Grace.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of the gruff voice behind you. You turn around slowly, acutely aware of both men watching your every move. When Lord Jung steps forward, your eyes fall to the gently worn leather binding in his hands.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You take great care to school your features, though the panic rising inside of you threatens to spill out. Your most private thoughts are inside that book. Fragments of poems and unsent letters and one horribly incriminating sketch of a man who is most certainly not your husband.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you mumble, resisting the urge to run to him and snatch the book right out of his grip. You can feel him watching your every move as you approach to accept it with unsteady hands.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

A storm is coming. You can feel it.

Never mind that the sun is shining – or that the sky outside is a perfect, crystalline blue. The clouds dotted across the horizon hang in the air, unmoving. There is no wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. The calm is ominous. Foreboding.

“... think none of the people in this kingdom have ever seen this kind of display before. I imagine they’ll be quite awed by it. I’ve only ever seen it once myself, in a village far North. A strange lot, those people are. After all these years, they still dabble in the dark arts.”

At the other end of the long dining table before you sits the King. He’s been prattling on like this for the better part of ten minutes now; far too absorbed in his grand talk of the festival to note that his audience of one has yet to engage with a word that’s come out of his mouth.

“It’s strange though, to think of celebrating a Fall Festival in this heat. Though I generally prefer the heat to the cold, these conditions are quite beyond the pale. We’ll have to have just as much water on hand as we do ale.”

You make a sound under your breath that you hope will pass for discourse.

“Of course, there’s still much to be done. But the stewards assure me that everything will be ready in time. And there will be much to celebrate this year as I’m told the crops in all our holdings are faring well. The wheat has – ”

The King’s jabbering comes to an abrupt stop.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he notes, in a sudden fit of awareness. He regards you over the rim of his wine glass, curious. “Is the jajangmyeon not to your liking?”

“It is to my liking,” you insist, pushing the wheat noodles around your bowl in a half-hearted attempt to appease him. “As always. I suppose I’m just not very hungry tonight, is all.”

“I find that surprising,” the King says, as though you’d asked his opinion on the matter. “I understand you were brave enough to venture out into that awful heat this afternoon. I would have thought you’d be famished tonight.”

Every muscle in your body tenses at once.

“Oh?”

“I spoke with Hyeri this afternoon,” the King elaborates, oblivious to his misstep. “She said she’d warned you against leaving the castle under those conditions, but you’d off and done it anyway.” He chuckles under his breath as he recounts the conversation. “I think you surprise her at times with how strong-willed you can be.”

Beneath the table, your hands ball into fists.

The thought of Hyeri disclosing the details of your day to the King, no matter how trivial, incenses you. You imagine them together over tea, sharing a laugh as they trade observations about your shortcomings. Or worse – meeting with one another somber-faced as they commiserate over your inability to produce a child.

That thought is the most insidious. Your nails dig savagely into your palms.

“Do you and Hyeri discuss my comings and goings often, then, Your Grace?”

Your husband shrugs, helping himself to another generous serving of noodles.

“Often enough, I suppose.”

“So am I then to assume that when you ask me about my day, you are merely standing on ceremony? Surely you must be, given that you’ve already had a full report from my handmaid.”

The King sets down his chopsticks to look at you, perplexed by the contentious turn in this conversation. But he’s careful to school his features as he considers what to say next.

“Of course not,” he starts slowly. “I ask after you because I genuinely want to know about your day. It’s a consideration that I would think customary between husbands and wives.”

Is he – is he toying with you?

What on earth would His Grace know about what’s customary between husbands and wives? He is the one who’s made this marriage into a farce with his deceit and adultery. He is the one who’s held you at arm’s length from the very start in order to protect the woman he truly loves. Your husband’s hubris is as astonishing as it is aggravating. Horrid, infuriating man.

“Well I, for one, would genuinely like to know about your day, Your Grace,” you say, unable to keep venom from seeping into your every word. “So tell me then – as is customary between husband and wives – how did you pass the afternoon?”

The color drains from the King’s face.

You should shut your mouth now and say no more, you know it – but by now you are far too consumed with anger to give much thought to the consequences of sharp words. You push the bowl of jajangmyeon away and get to your feet.

“Nothing of interest to share, then?” You raise a brow as you stare down at your husband, unwilling to look away for even one moment. “What a pity. Perhaps tomorrow.”

The King’s eyes narrow but his mouth stays shut. He says nothing in his own defense, says nothing to attempt to placate you.

And he says nothing as you turn your back on him and walk out the door.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first crack of thunder sounds just as you’re readying for bed. You stand at your window and watch the storm roll in.

Black clouds build off in the distance, discernible only by the occasional flare of lightning. Each bright flash is followed by an earth-shaking rumble that satisfies you somehow, as though you’ve manifested this squall with your thoughts. The violent wind and rain it carries with it a mirror of the tempest inside you.

“Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

Hyeri’s voice comes from behind, timid and small. She’s been tiptoeing around your chamber all evening, clearly disquieted by the cold reception you’d given her upon your return. The well-bred, well-behaved woman inside you whispers that you should turn to her, do something to reassure her, but you refuse.

Fortified by your anger, you keep your back to Hyeri and go on staring at the storm clouds.

“No,” you say firmly. “You can retire for the night.”

“But I – ” Hyeri starts, stops, and then sighs. “Very well. As you wish, Your Grace.”

And you do wish. You wish for Hyeri to leave you – not just tonight, but every night. And you wish not just for Hyeri to leave you – but all of them. You’ve grown quite tired of humiliating yourself in this kingdom; of placing your trust in people who’ve made you into a fool time and time again.

There is rustling as the older woman hurriedly gathers her things, then a brief pause before she slips out the door. The heavy thud that finally announces her departure brings you some small measure of peace, but it does not last.

Your bath-damp body is warm when you slip beneath the heavy duvet. Too warm. Though the storm raging nearby brings with it the promise of cool rain, it is still too far off to displace the humid air in your chamber. You toss and turn beneath the heavy covers for a while, your thin nightgown soaked through with sweat by the time you finally kick your bedding away.

So you lie there in the dark, close to feverish with heat and unable to settle down. Every time you close your eyes, you’re taunted by images – of Hyeri, of the King, of the child that never comes. What you would give to be able to quiet your mind, to have some respite from the reality of your circumstances.

But there will be no respite, not any time soon. The thunder outside is close enough now to shake the castle’s heavy walls with each new blast that rips through the sky. You feel the tremors right down to your bones, the sensation causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin.

In spite of the heat, you shiver.

There’s a prickling that starts at your scalp and goes right down to your toes. It makes you itch with the desire to drag your nails down your arms and legs. It makes you want to squeeze your thighs together, tight and tighter still until your agitation is gone. Perhaps that is the solution.

You cup your breasts through the damp, thin material of your nightgown. They feel sensitive, tender — and the very moment you brush your fingertips over your nipples they come to life, pebbling against the gauzy fabric.

You close your eyes and try to imagine that your hands are not your own. That the fingers that close around the aching buds, teasing and testing, are not your fingers. That the dormant pleasure the pressure rouses inside you has instead been roused by someone else.

In your mind, the hand that steals between your thighs is not your own. It’s larger than yours, the fingers longer and rougher than yours. You imagine that hand parting your legs, coarse fingertips slippery against the wetness gathered at your entrance. And you imagine it caressing you there, expertly stroking the spot that makes the air leave your lungs.

What would it be like to be touched like this? To have a lover’s lips at your neck and his hand between your thighs? To have the weight of him pressing down on you, the scent of him enveloping you – to feel his warm breath fan over your skin?

These thoughts only serve to make the ache between your legs more pronounced. But the more you attend to it, the sharper it becomes. Pleasure blooms with each inexpert pass of your fingers over that place, but in its wake your desperation grows, too.

You whine under your breath as you touch yourself harder, faster – a heaviness building at your core that makes you feel full, overripe. There is relief on the other side of whatever this is, and you know it.

But can you reach it?

Your imaginary lover would know how to help you reach it. He would take you in his arms and in his mouth and leave no inch of your body untouched. He would fuse himself to you, skin-to-skin, and show you how to beckon your pleasure at will, help you realize its full potential.

In your mind’s eye you can see him – legs and arms strong and lean, golden skin illuminated by firelight. The mouth he sets to your aching nipples would be soft, lips pretty and bow-shaped. And his hair would be dark and his eyes would be a rich chocolate and his face would be –

A clap of thunder explodes in the sky.

Your eyes fly open – unseeing – as you gasp from the shock of it. It leaves you trembling, body slick with sweat and limbs tingling from the sudden fear. You lie there in the dark, panting as you wait for your heart to stop racing.

And just like that, the pleasure you’ve been chasing is gone. Quick as a rabbit.

Outside your window the heavens weep, the rain beating against the ground like a hail of arrows.

The dry earth enjoying a relief that always seems to elude you.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Magnificent, Your Grace.”

Hyeri passes a hand over the embellishments in your bodice, chest puffed with pride as she examines the dressmaker’s handiwork. Though her brown eyes have long gone dull and gray with age, they shine as she steps back to take you in from head to toe. “Just magnificent.”

It is magnificent – far and away the finest garment you have ever worn.

Rich, plum-colored velvet embellished with gilt thread, the plunging neckline and bliaut sleeves lined with pressed bezants. You hardly recognize the woman looking back at you in the mirror, the one with her hair swept off her neck in an intricate braided bun, eyes darkened with kohl, ears and neck adorned with sparkling gold. Whoever that woman is, she is far bolder and far more sophisticated than you.

“There’s nothing like his work,” Hyeri muses, running a thumb over pattern pressed into the hem of one sleeve. “Frail as he is, it takes him ages to complete a dress. But he’s worth it. Worth the wait and worth every single won.”

You study the intertwining gold patterns stitched into the bustline. No doubt the King has paid dearly for this dress and all its fine accoutrements. The thought of your husband spending an obscene amount of money on it nearly puts a smile on your face.

“You look remarkable in this dress,” Hyeri remarks quietly, wrinkled mouth lifting at the corners with a cautious smile. “Well, of course, you look remarkable everyday, but especially tonight.”

Her expression is bittersweet as she reaches for you, gently tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen loose of your braid behind your ear. This newfound emotional distance has been hard on her, you know. It’s been hard on you, too. And though holding her at arm’s length has proven difficult at times, it feels somehow vital to your self-preservation.

“Don’t forget your shawl,” Hyeri says softly. “It’s gotten quite cold out there.”

It certainly has. The storm that ripped through the kingdom just days ago took the insufferable heat with it, leaving behind a pure, crystalline cold. The night sky is clear enough to see for miles.

So you accept the shawl from Hyeri with a quiet thanks, avoiding her eyes as you slip out the chamber door.

By the time you make your way to the great hall, the revelry is already well underway. You can hear it pulsing through the slats of the heavy wooden doors, the music and commotion contained within powerful enough to stir the ground beneath your feet. The footmen posted at either side of the entrance bow deeply as you approach, then move to pull the doors open.

You raise a hand to still them, wanting a moment to steel yourself before entering the fray.

“I’m not – If you’ll just give me – ”

One of the guards steps forward to speak when your words falter.

“No need to explain, Your Grace,” he says earnestly. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” You take as deep a breath as your elaborate gown will allow. “Truly.”

You already know what awaits on the other side of those doors. Artificial smiles that hide whispers about your empty womb, honeyed and hollow words of praise from your exasperating husband. Pity too, perhaps, from those connected enough to be privy to the true state of your marriage.

But you’ll bear it. You must. Because it’s what’s expected of you and because your political survival in this kingdom depends on it.

“Well then,” you say, smoothing down your velvet skirt with trembling hands. "I believe I've had time to collect myself."

The very same footman that had spoken to you just moments earlier gives you a sympathetic smile as he places one hand on the door’s ornate wrought iron handle. He pauses to look at you before signaling to the other footman, one brow raised as if to say are you sure?

You swallow thickly and nod your affirmation.

Slowly, the heavy doors are pulled open, creaking as they part. You step forward to enter, feeling a rush of cool air at your heels. The brief hush that falls over the great hall makes your heartbeat quicken.

But then the King stands.

He rises to his feet and bows to you, and every person inside the great hall follows suit. You return his bow and then straighten, holding your head up high as you set off to fulfill your duty.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King makes no mention of the tense meal you’d shared just a few nights prior. Not that you’d expected him to. If anything, your husband’s predilection for avoidance has been one of his most consistent traits. And if he’s harbored any ill feelings about the curt words you’d spoken that night, surely they’ve been washed away in a torrent of ale.

He’s already a bit drunk when you take your seat beside him – pleasantly so, if his ruddy cheeks and leisurely smile are any indication. His dark eyes are glassy as they sweep over your form, taking in the grandeur of your dress. But they linger at your bust for just a heartbeat too long and it takes all the self-control you can muster to not kick him beneath the table.

“You look fetching in that dress,” the King notes, reaching for his tankard. “The color suits you.”

“Oh? Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve dozens more just like it on the way.”

You startle a laugh from the King just as he’s taken a drink and he splutters on it, coughing until tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “Very good of you to warn me before the bill comes due,” he wheezes.

“But of course, Your Grace.” You infuse your words with cloying, contrived sweetness, putting a hand over your heart for emphasis. “It is the very least I could do.”

The King chuckles as you turn to look out over the room.

The tables below the raised platform on which you both dine are teeming with people, their long wooden benches bowing beneath the substantial weight. They are littered with food and drink, tankards and platters and goblets scattered for as far as the eye can see.

You sip your wine and watch partygoers reach over one another for noodles and steal dumplings from their neighbors’ plates.

It takes a minute for you to spot Boram. She and Lord Min are tucked into a corner, cozy and close. Your dear friend is the very picture of contentment; resplendent in a royal blue gown, glowing in the torchlight when her husband presses a kiss to her temple. Your heart aches as you watch them. What you would give to have what they have – to know the fulfillment they’ve found in one another.

In fact, the Mins make for such a compelling tableau that you nearly overlook the one behind it. Lord Jung is dressed in an arresting black and gold tunic, dark hair styled away from his face and a tankard of ale in his hand. And he is not alone.

Seated close to him – so very close – is a woman. A beautiful woman, as best you can tell from a distance. Her dark red dress in perfect contrast to her shiny fall of dark hair, the garment cut to accentuate what can only be described as a generous bust. She leans in to Lord Jung as she says something, décolletage on full display when she throws her head back to laugh.

Your grip on the wine goblet in your hand tightens.

The woman is brazen, that much you can tell. Her proximity to the Guardsman is far too close to be proper, her scandalous – if stunning – manner of dress far too self-indulgent to be benign. And though you cannot make out clearly how she’s been received by Lord Jung, the very fact that he has not sent her away is telling. Is this the woman he intends to marry, then? Or just a diversion for the night?

You drain the wine that remains in your goblet and signal for the serving girl to bring you more.

Moments later Lord Jung, too, flags down a passing servant to fill his tankard. For a man who once took great pride in extolling his discipline with spirits, he seems to be exercising very little of it tonight. In fact, he looks to be indulging as much or perhaps even more than his fellow Guardsmen. Perhaps that is why he does not he does not move to distance himself when the alluring woman at his side places a hand on his arm.

You swallow another large sip of wine.

“It’s nearly time for the evening’s entertainment,” the King says. “I think you’ll be impressed by what’s in store.”

You cannot tear your gaze from the scene before you. You cannot stop staring at the comely woman at Lord Jung’s side – stiffening in your seat when she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say absentmindedly, lifting your wine glass to your lips once again.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

When you were a girl, barely ten years old, your father had come home from a long journey with a fantastic tale.

He’d spoken of fire – in shades of red and green and gold – launched into the sky, embers raining down on the earth in a magnificent display. You’d been spellbound by the picture he’d painted for you, wishing desperately to see this phenomenon for yourself.

And now you have.

The King’s promise of a surprise well exceeds your expectations. Each new flare sent up over the open field is met with a hush from the crowd, followed by loud cheers and applause as it explodes into color.

“I brought them back from a village up North,” the King explains, preening at the crowd’s reception. “And though I wanted to show them right away, I made myself wait until the most advantageous time. What do you make of them?”

“They’re splendid,” you answer earnestly. “I’ve never seen anything so grand.”

The King hides a satisfied smile behind the rim of his tankard. By this point in the evening, he’s crossed the line from agreeably drunk to good and well soused – as have many of the others in attendance. You, too, are feeling the effects of your wine, experiencing that strange weightlessness that can only be brought on by drink.

And you are glad for the distraction of the fire display.

It’s helped pull your focus away from Lord Jung and that woman. Though each time there is a brief break in the presentation, you cannot help but search the throng for any sign of them. You wonder where they are right now. What they might be doing. But then you drown the bitter thoughts with the wine in your goblet.

The night wears on and the crowd around you becomes rowdier, louder – the ale barrels slowly disappearing one by one. Even the King is looking a bit worse for the wear. He’s sagged into the chair beside you, heavy-lidded as he watches the bright detonations that light up the sky.

You are not faring much better. A dull throb taps at your temples, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much wine, and you suspect that it will be far more pronounced come morning. You ought to retire for the evening now, while you still have some of your wits about you.

You open your mouth to say as much to the King at the very same time you catch sight of a slim man ambling away from the crowd. Though he’s hundreds of yards away and though there’s little light beyond the torches and the occasional embers in the sky, you recognize him right away.

You would recognize him anywhere.

Impulsively, you get to your feet and utter a rushed goodbye to the King. He bids you farewell with a sluggish smile and not a moment later he’s gone back to gazing skyward, mesmerized by the lights. Just ahead, Lord Jung slinks off into the shadows, moving with an unsteady gait.

And you follow him. To what end you cannot be sure.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Clearly, you’d given no real thought to this course of action.

If you had, you’d not be scurrying across damp grass right now, struggling to keep your balance in your beautiful velvet dress. The heavy fabric weighs you down with each step, making each footfall precarious. In fact, if you’d stopped for even a moment to consider the implications of stealing away to pursue a man who is not your husband, you’d have ended this lunacy long before it even began.

But here you are in the dark, chasing after Lord Jung. With only the moon to light your way.

The slender man moves quickly, unburdened by the trappings of women’s formalwear and assisted by his long legs. You lift the hem of your dress off the ground and do your best to keep up on the shadowy path. Just a short distance ahead you can make out the lines of a thatched roof and wooden fence.

It’s the stables, you realize, and the pieces start to fall into place.

He’s come here to meet that woman. The two of them must have agreed to leave the festival and come here for a secret tryst. Were you a woman in your right mind, that realization would stop you cold and send you running straight back to the castle. But you are absolutely not in your right mind. You are dangerous tonight; fearless from the wine flowing freely in your veins.

As such, the very thought of Lord Jung arranging for a passionate liaison with this woman has the opposite effect. It infuriates you. And you’ll not be satisfied until you can see the proof for yourself and then end this fixation once and for all.

Overhead, a flare of light illuminates the darkness just as you’re nearing the horse stalls. It’s followed by the sound of sizzling gunpowder, and it draws your attention skyward. You look up just in time to see wisps of fire tumble back to the earth. But when you fix your gaze forward again, Lord Jung is gone.

What on earth?

You’ve barely begun to consider your next move before your body is moving of its own volition, jerked right off the walking path by a hand that wraps around your arm like a band of steel. Lord Jung drags you behind the horse stall with one hand and claps the other over your mouth to smother the sound of hysteria that threatens to escape.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

He hisses the words, one by one, his low vibrato thrumming with barely-contained anger. You’ve yet to recover from the shock of being accosted in the dark and so you stare at him, bewildered and mute.

He releases you, dropping the hand covering your mouth to walk to the edge of the stables. You watch as he ducks his head around the corner to check the walking path. Once he’s satisfied you’ve not been followed, he rounds on you.

“Anyone could have seen you.”

“No one saw me,” you scowl, finding your voice. You rub your forearm where his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “They’re all far too drunk to see anything, I assure you.”

The Guardsman shoves a hand through his dark hair and exhales deeply.

“What are you about tonight, Your Grace?”

A fair question, and one you ought to have considered before dashing off into the night. But you’d been so hellbent on hunting the man down that you’d given no real thought to what you’d do if you actually caught him. You hesitate for so long that he grows impatient, closing in on you.

“What,” he repeats slowly, “Are you about?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“Well, you ought to know,” he growls. “You ought to know damned well exactly what you’re about before you go off following men into the dark.”

But it’s not as though you’ve followed just any man into the dark, is it? You’d followed him. The admonishment riles you, bringing your temper back to a full boil. You straighten your spine and sear him with a withering look.

“That woman tonight. At the feast. She wants you to bed her.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes go wide just before they narrow. He stalks towards you slowly, forcing you to retreat until your back is flush to the stable’s rough wooden slats. Slivers of moonlight play off his angular face, making the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced.

He’s beautiful – even like this – even when he’s so irate that he can barely stand still.

“I know what she wants,” he murmurs, voice sinking to an octave that raises goosebumps on your arms. “What I do not know is what you want. What I do not know is why you are here.”

“So you intend to bed her,” you challenge.

Something dangerous flickers in the man's expression as he regards you, gaze potent enough to almost make you regret your sudden bout of daring. Almost.

“No.”

And so there is no tryst. No agreement between secret lovers. Adrenaline floods your veins, bringing with it a clarity that you’ve not had since you began drinking tonight. You’ve been reckless – so, so reckless – and now there is no undoing what you’ve done.

“I’ve answered your question and now you will answer mine,” Lord Jung warns, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What. Do. You. Want?”

All the fire has left you now. Whatever force possessed you to confront this man in this way has disappeared, leaving behind only a sickly taste in your mouth. You’ll feel more than just the wine in the morning, you know it.

“Brave enough to follow me into the dark, brave enough to demand I explain my plans for bedsport,” he continues, brows knit as he stares you down. “But somehow, not brave enough to tell me what you’re doing here in the first place.”

“I – ”

“Tell me then,” he goads, growing more agitated by the minute. “Open your mouth and speak. Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You ought to have slapped him across the face. At the very least, you would have earned the look he’s giving you right now – this frozen mask of incredulity that’s come over him. He backs away from you slowly, as though poised to run. But he doesn’t.

“You’re mad.”

“I am not mad,” you say evenly, with a poise you’d not thought yourself capable of. “You asked me what I want and I’ve told you. I want you to kiss me.”

Another burst of color explodes in the sky. A loud cheer goes up over the field nearby, a disquieting reminder of the hundreds of people milling about just a short walk away. The commotion seems to sober him.

“Go home, Your Grace.” His words are strangled, forced. “You are playing with fire. You have no idea what you’re doing here.”

You stiffen, lifting your nose in the air.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you lie.

Your insistence only serves to make him even more agitated. He begins to pace back and forth, glowering at you as he moves.

“Go back to your castle, Your Grace. Go back to your fine life and your fine things and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“I will not,” you refuse, petulant.

Lord Jung delivers his last blow, the fatal one, in a voice so graveled it sounds as though the words are spoken by a stranger. And perhaps he is a stranger, this man you’ve been so infatuated with. Perhaps he’s nothing like what you’ve made him in your own mind.

“Go back to your husband,” he growls. “Your King.”

Your humiliation is instant and acute. You burn with it, the embarrassment so all-consuming that it nearly makes you see stars. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, feel your heart pounding in your throat when you finally manage to speak.

“The King doesn’t want me,” you say stiffly. “Though I am certain you already know that.”

“The King is a fool!” he explodes, surging forward and slamming his hands down on either side of you. The outburst is violent enough to shake the horse stall and the venom in his countenance nearly makes you come out of your skin. His mouth hovers terrifyingly close to yours, so close that you can nearly taste the ale on his breath. You stop breathing altogether.

Then he wrenches himself away from you, staggering backwards as though he’s been burned.

“And so am I.”

i’d love to hear from you about this chapter! you can talk to me here. otherwise, i hope you enjoyed it and only the final chapter is left 💕

#hoseok smut #j-hope smut #bts smut #hoseok x reader #j-hope x reader #bts x reader #hoseok #bts hoseok #bts x you #hoseok x you #bts scenarios #bts au #hoseok imagine #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bangtan

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lolasimms · 1 year

Text

a lots gonna change pt.6

Summary: Married life isn’t great, infidelity ensues, and things change.

next chapter

“So what are you doing after work today, princess?” you look up from your computer screen a painful excel spreadsheet gracing the screen, to meet the eyes of non other than Abby.

“It’s Y/n to you, and I’ve got a Pilates class in about” you look down to the two toned watch on your wrist. “30 minutes, so I should get going” You hurriedly grab your handbag from your desk and attempt to make your way past her. You’re shocked when you feel her strong arms hold onto your waist.

“Have I upset you or something, what’s the matter?” She searches your eyes, as you struggle to keep eye contact with her. You try force your way out of her grip but to no avail. Her buff arms caging you in.

“Can you please let go, I have somewhere I need to be” you groan and she finally releases you from her death grip. She shakes her head in amusement, finding your prissy behaviour to be somewhat cute.

“Is this about your wife, is she punishing you for my behaviour?” Her tone is playful and you wish you could smack that smirk off of her face.

“As a matter of fact it is, your persistence and unprofessional behaviour is causing issues for me.”

“Sweetheart I’ve been nothing but professional, your wife is just insecure. All I want is to be friends” you roll your eyes at her, how naive did she think you were.

“I mean it when I say this Abby, I don’t have the patience or capacity in my life to deal with any of this. You need to respect my boundaries and fuck off”

With that you make your way out of your office, honestly needing a break from any more unwanted social interaction.

—

“D you don’t understand the week I’ve had” you look over to your friend as she fills her water bottle at the water fountain.

“Tell me about it, I literally haven’t seen you since that night” you both cringe at the memory of the angst filled dinner that ended in an argument between you and Ellie.

“Well Ellie’s been acting horrible to me, we’ve been non stop fighting over the stupidest shit”

“I’m sorry girl, honestly if you ever need we can just leave the kids with Jesse and take a girls trip” you giggle at her suggestion but she’s dead serious.

“I doubt he’d appreciate that, plus I have work anyways”

“Speaking of, how has it been settling back in?” She asks as the two of you make your way up the stairs of the Pilates studio.

“It’s been good, aside from one of my colleagues who won’t stop hardcore flirting with me, she met Ellie and straight up kissed me in-front of her, twice!” You exclaim as the two of you place your keys and other belongings into your lockers.

Dina turns to you, eyes bulging and eyebrows furrowed. “You’re kidding right, I mean is she at least hot?” She questions wagging her eyebrows.

“Eww Dina, I’m literally married, you shouldn’t be encouraging that” you push her playfully as the both of you make your way over to the reformers.

“I was just asking, jeez” just as you’re about to tie your hair up into a ponytail you are interrupted by a woman asking you a question.

“Excuse mind if I use the machine next to you?” she asks with a smile. “I’m new here, it’s my first session”

“Sure go ahead, what’s your name?” You smile, looking at her as you finish tying your hair up.

“Amelia”

Amelia had never expected that she'd ever be the other woman, the phrase itself made her shudder, from embarrassment . Ever since her father had left them she always had trouble navigating relationships with sexual partners , that was no secret and her mother and sister never failed to remind her of it. Sure she had the looks like her sister, but when it came down to charm, she wasn't exactly what most people wanted in a partner. She was a hookup kind of girl, a quick fuck, a time passer specifically all the qualities of 'the other woman.’ God did it make her feel like shit. While her sister married rich, had a husband who was at her beck and call, perfect children who went to expensive Montessori school, Amelia was pushing 26 and yet she was unmarried, unloved and had no one.

That was until she met Ellie. The first time she met her was at a bar. She was tough to crack at first, always politely rejecting her advances and returning back to her drinks which pissed her off. The next few times that Ellie visited the bar, she was always slightly dishevelled, exhausted and snappy. Finally the first time she had given into her was in the stall of the bars bathroom, where she finger fucked her harshly, not bothering to even look Amelia in the eyes. Sure it wasn't sweet and she was extremely rough, but she saw it as a start and finally felt like she had met the one.

Soon enough they began meeting at hotels, but Ellie continued to abstain from physically penetrating her with the strap, it was always oral or fingers, no exceptions. This however changed when she began having fights with her wife, who she only mentioned to her when she was completely drunk. Amelia would've loved to act like she didn't care, but to picture her with a partner and a kid always drove her insane, it was her who should've been with Ellie.

She deserved someone like her, someone who would drop everything just to be at her feet. Not to mention that fact that her bitch of a wife had blamed her for not being able to go back to work, blamed her for not being around and blamed her for working too much, she hated the bitch just as much as she hated her sister and mother. She would do anything in her power to prevent them from being together, no matter what it took.

During the months when they began frequently meeting, Amelia could've sworn she had seen the look of love in Ellie’s eyes and it made her melt. She spoke less about her bitch wife, she spent more time with her and she would even kiss her. Amelia considered telling her wife so that she could have Ellie all to herself, but she had to be patient, she couldn’t get carried away.

It struck her when suddenly Ellie had become distant with her. She started ignoring her when she spoke, she wouldn't kiss her and most of the times she would make her face the other way while they made love. She knew the look in her eyes, she knew exactly what it was. It was guilt, Ellie had finally realised what she had done was wrong. With each interaction they had growing colder and colder, it was no surprise when she finally ended it that one night, the night when she had received phone call while she was half asleep.

Amelia was angry, angry that the love of her life was taken from her by some bitch and her daughter. She couldn’t upstage her sister, she could never have the perfect life and her mother would forever see her as a failure. No one ever stayed in her life, her mother had always told her she was the reason her father had left them and once again someone she loved had left her. Except this time she wouldn’t allow it, she would have Ellie even if it meant she’d have to kill.

To find you was her first task, and God was it easy. She knew Ellie had no social media, she hated that shit. So her first option was to check Vic’s page and Lo and behold, she had found a picture of you, Ellie and Vic at your daughters birthday party. She wanted to gag when she saw the way Ellie looked at you and her daughter, she was hers, hers only.

She found the tagged accounts and immediately found yours. Beach trips with your kid, dinner with Ellie, Pilates class-... she had to pause when she came across the photo of you a few other women and her sister. She had completely forgotten that her sister went to that stupid Pilates shit, and she wasn't surprised to find that you were apart of it. It was the perfect ploy for her to find out more about you, and destroy you.

Once she was able to come up with a fake reason as to why she wanted to join the Pilates class her stupid sister had given her a membership card, she was happy to know that she was one step closer to you. On the evening when all the try hards had met up at the Pilates studio, Amelia had to ensure she was normal, calm and collected. She had to refrain from grabbing the nearest dumbbell and hitting you across the head with it.

It was even harder when you had asked her what her name was with that empathetic smile of yours. It took everything in her not to yell out that she had been getting her cunt pounded by your wife for the past 5 months. She studied and observed you, and she couldn't figure out what Ellie even saw in you, what everyone saw in you. Every-time you or that dark haired friend of yours opened your mouths everyone in the studio would coo and praise the both of you. You got compliments from the other women without even trying and whenever the sparkle of your wedding ring caught her eye she felt like she would combust.

That same evening, after bidding everyone goodbye, Amelia had followed you and the other bitch you had come with. You had to drop your dumb friend first and she was honestly annoyed at the waste of her gas. Finally she saw the house, the one that would soon be hers and Ellie’s. She envied you, it was a beautiful home, the garden neatly trimmed and organised and the water feature out front bringing it all together. This would all be hers soon enough.

She couldn't wait till her and Ellie’s four sons could play out there, she would name their first born Eli and they would have the biggest wedding ever. Bigger than her sisters and then her mom would finally accept her and tell her she loved her. She had to shake her head and laugh, she was getting ahead of herself, first destroy the marriage, give Ellie time and then swoop her as fast as she could. She copied down the address and prepared for what was to come.

You were engrossed in an episode of who wants to be a millionaire, a glass of moscato in hand. The house was quiet, with Lila having her nap and Ellie being out with her work friends. Truly you were enjoying your Saturday afternoon, blissed out and unwinding. Just as you sunk further into the sofa, your peace was disturbed when you heard the familiar ring of the doorbell. You rolled your eyes as you made your way towards the door. Upon opening the door you were confused to see the random woman from your Pilates class. Had you forgotten something there yesterday?

“Uh, hi. I’m not sure if you remember me, I’m Amelia” she smiles, tucking a stray piece of her honey blonde hair behind her ear.

"I'm so sorry, but this is really random, what do you want to talk about Amelia, is this about Pilates class?" You nervously giggle as you remain standing at your door, anxious as ever.

"It's not about Pilates, but can we sit, I really don't want to-" she tries but you cut her off and begin.

"My daughters upstairs asleep and I don’t feel comfortable letting you in, as I don’t really know you. Look, just tell me I'm sure it's fine" you insist and she shakes her head before looking you dead in the eye.

"Your wife and I have been having an affair for the past 5 months"

taglist;

@moonlightdivine @maybe-cece @macaroni676 @sawaagyapong @katiemars @ellieseater @dakota-dream @joliettes @hebrokeimup @bratydoll

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #reader x ellie williams #tlou ellie #ellie x reader #abby anderson fic #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

“I should be in there,” Bucky says again, making Steve roll his eyes.

They’re sitting next to each other, out in the waiting room at the Center. It’s been over an hour, but Steve remembers how the intake worker had told them that Mary’s evaluation wouldn’t be short. Already, he’s read through half the crappy magazine selection. He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap. “Babe …”

“It’s taking too long. What if they’re harassing her or—”

“You know that’s not true. The people here are good. You’re just trying to control everything,” he reminds Bucky.

“If I was in there I could—”

“Get in the way. She needs to feel like she can express herself.”

“What if she’s not honest? What if Linda’s not asking her the right—”

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, injecting some command into his voice. Bucky might be the Dom, but Steve can put his foot down with his husband when needed. “The therapist knows what she’s doing. All the people here do. This is what they do.”

They’re at the Center for Designated Peoples, the place where people like Bucky go for … well, anything related to their dominance or submission needs. That’s all Steve really knows. He knows that Bucky has been in and out of CDPs since he was a kid. “It took almost a week to get her this appointment, alright? You want to mess that up?”

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

“Good. Cause they don’t need you in there, interfering in her assessment. So sit tight.”

Bucky shuts up after that, satisfying Steve that he’s made his point.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky eventually says, when another ten minutes have passed and the door to the therapist’s office is still closed. “Of her?”

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve can tell when Bucky’s being defensive. “You like her,” he says. “And not just cause of her lemon tarts.” He’d seen him looking at weighted blankets on Amazon, yesterday. “Admit it,” he prods, nudging Bucky’s shoe with his. “You can tell me how you feel. Why d’you need me to qualify it for you, first?

“Because I’m married to you, not her,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, Rogers. Never met a man with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“Mmhm. Aand?”

“... Okay I’m drawn to her,” Bucky says. “But I can’t tell how much of that is instinct and how much is normal people stuff.”

“‘Normal people stuff’,” Steve echoes, amused.

“I want to know what you think of her.” Bucky kicks his shoe back. “Tell me.”

“I like her too,” Steve concedes. “It’s not just you.” He can see as Bucky’s shoulders relaxing a little bit, knows that his opinion matters to his husband. “She’s different. Plain, but …” Steve searches for the right word. ‘Cute’ doesn’t seem right. She’s too prickly for that and too old besides. She’s a woman, not a girl, and he’s not just trying to describe her physical appearance. “I don’t know,” he says. “Editorial?”

“Editorial?” Bucky scowls. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno, just, not off the rack. Different.” Bucky snatches the magazine out of his lap and chucks it back to the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes. “Wish she wasn’t so defensive, though. And I wish we could’ve met her … you know, like on a date or at the gym or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

“She grows on you,” Steve decides. Like an angry, stray cat. That’s dirty and scraggy a little.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky offers, but the words fall flat. They can both see that she’s attractive, that isn’t news. Bucky and Steve are attractive people themselves. They aren’t hurting for opportunities to be with attractive women (or men), if they want to. And it’s been a while since they invited another person into their bed. But …

“I haven’t been with a woman since my twenties,” Steve mumbles, thinking about it. He glances at Bucky. “You have.”

They both know Bucky was dating women casually when he met Steve, years ago. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“You ever miss ‘em? Women?” Steve kind of does sometimes. He likes how soft they are; the contrast. It had taken him a couple of dates and a few glasses of wine, back when they’d first gotten together, to admit to Bucky that he was bi. Steve had told him that, and then Bucky had disclosed his designation status. “We used to talk about the whole poly thing a lot more.”

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Bucky shrugs and reaches to take his hand. Steve gives it a squeeze. “I dunno babe. Kind of hard to think about anybody else when I’ve got you around.” He gives him a lecherous look that makes Steve glad they’re the only ones in the waiting room. “Your hot body’s been enough to keep my attention.” His eyes drag up and down Steve, mentally undressing him.

Steve feels heat creep up his neck and he chuckles, pushing Bucky’s hand away. “Stoppit. Jerk. I’m a person.”

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

“Shuddup. Not here. God, you’re such a creep.” They’re both grinning—probably like complete, horny letches—when the door to the therapist’s office opens.

The professionally dressed woman offers them a friendly smile. “Bucky, Steve.”

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

“How’d it go, Doctor?” Steve asks, not on as informal terms with the CDP staff as his husband is. “Is she …”

“Mary is fine. Would you like to come in and talk with us?”

Bucky is immediately standing from his chair. “Yep.”

Steve has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He grabs Bucky’s wrist. “Hang on now, Buck. Maybe she doesn’t want us in there. We should try and give her choices where we can.”

Doctor Linda surprises him by saying, “Actually, Mary says she’s fine with discussing this all together.”

Bucky shoots him a smug look and tugs his wrist back. “See?”

This time Steve does roll his eyes, but he nods at Linda and gets up to follow her back into the office.

Bucky

Bucky can recall very clearly the first time he’d been told he had a mental illness. He’d been ten, had been sent to the school shrink for misbehavior. He remembers how his mom had come in, harried about being called off from work when her kid wasn’t even sick. Bucky had felt bad about that, had felt like he’d done something wrong (well, he had scrubbed Trixie Wallace’s face into a mud puddle at recess).

But still, even at ten years old he’d been smart enough to know that this meeting with his mom and the counselor was more serious than another simple admonition or in-school suspension.

Long story short, His mom wound up reacting with something like embarrassment, and Bucky had wound up internalizing that for a long time, feeling like his “condition” was something to be kept private and not discussed.

Now, he sits in Linda’s office and makes sure to exude an air of calm and acceptance. He doesn’t want Mary to be embarrassed about this like he was. It helps that times have changed a bit since Bucky was a kid, and he knows this particular Center very well. They do good work with the designated community. Bucky knows that no one here is going to announce to Mary that she’s a deviant.

Mary’s sitting in her own chair, separate from where Bucky and Steve share the couch. Even though Bucky’s instinct is to tell her to come sit with them, he holds back. He knows that the seating arrangement is likely purposeful on Linda’s part. He tries to remember Steve’s words about giving Mary choices where they can. Domination may be what she needs, but too much of a good thing, administered too fast, can still be harmful.

“High needs,” Steve is saying, echoing what Linda’s just told them. “... So, she’s like Bucky, but submissive?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “We did the assessment twice, and both times Mary tested at the far end of the spectrum.”

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

“We’ve been discussing what this might mean for her care plan, going forward. Mary has several other issues that I believe tie into her unfulfilled needs as a submissive.”

“I don’t understand how it went undiagnosed for so long,” Bucky says, feeling vaguely upset about it. “Doc?”

She shrugs. “Mary’s from a part of the country where mental health awareness isn’t so advanced. They didn’t test in the public school system where she grew up.” Mary makes a quiet noise of discontent and Linda adds, “So we’ve been talking about the physiology of it, the role of neurotransmitters and how important it is for her to be dropped regularly. And we’ve discussed what that might look like, different options she has.”

“Options?”

Here, Linda hesitates. “Well … Mary has expressed an interest in taking advantage of the Center’s social programs.”

“No,” Bucky says right away. “Absolutely not.”

“She said you do it,” Mary counters, and when Bucky looks over he finds her glaring at him. “Apparently, I don’t need you after all. I can just come here and hook up with any old body.”

“I’m your legal guardian right now,” Bucky reminds her. “And the clubs are for people who know what they’re doing. It’s too unstructured for you. You need more stability than that.”

Mary scoffs and crosses her arms, but Dr. Linda is already nodding in agreement. “I think Bucky’s right, Mary,” she says gently. “A reliable, dominant partner and regular drops in a safe space are what you need right now.”

“Why can’t you just write me a prescription or something?” Mary complains. “You said it was a brain chemistry thing, so why not?”

Linda looks uncomfortable as she explains, “Medication is usually only considered as a last ditch treatment option … and with your substance use disorder and other issues I'd rather not —”

“I am not an alcoholic!”

“No meds,” Bucky says, hating that idea. “Come on, Mary. You don’t want to be drugged up, do you?”

She glares at him. “You just want to control me.”

He fights very, very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he quips. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

Mary groans and slumps back into the cushions of her chair, looking put out. “This sucks.”

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

"I don't want to be this way," she mumbles. "'High needs'. It's embarrassing."

“It's no different than needing air, or food or sleep,” Steve supplies. “You guys just have this extra thing.”

Mary makes a face, probably at being lumped into the ‘you guys’ category with Bucky. “So, what’s the plan then?” she asks mulishly, crossing her arms. “We go back to your place and you break out the whips and chains?”

Bucky barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Oh, honey. I promise there aren’t any chains.” He winks at her. “I prefer leather.”

Mary

After the therapist, it gets a little easier to be around Steve and Bucky. Mary’s still quick to anger, thinking about the situation that she's managed to get herself into, but there are some ameliorating factors to the situation.

Having an official diagnosis—no matter how much she doesn’t want this diagnosis—is at least a starting point. Mary doesn’t have to keep exhausting herself, arguing with Bucky that she’s not a sub. She is. That’s that.

And when he takes it upon himself to speak with Mary’s boss about her situation (effectively getting him to unfire her for the multiple days of work she’s missed) some more of Mary’s contempt for Bucky slips away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly once they leave the café, her next shift already scheduled for that upcoming Monday. “ I … this job, it means a lot to me.”

“I know.” Bucky says simply, though Mary can see the self-satisfaction in his posture. He takes her hand as they walk together down the sidewalk, and to Mary it feels like some sort of test, like he’s waiting for her to pull away.

So she forces herself to curl her fingers around his and keep holding his hand.

Again, she can practically feel the reaction coming off of him. He’s pleased with her. Mary’s cheeks flush from the domineering squeeze he gives her hand from time to time as they walk, and she’s grateful that she can blame it on the day’s chilly air.

Doctor Linda had explained everything, of course, when Mary went in for the assessment. The testing hadn’t been what she was expecting, hadn’t been embarrassing or invasive. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, it hadn’t been predictable. Mary hadn’t felt like she knew which way to fake her responses, to get the test to declare her mentally fit. So she’d answered honestly.

And where had that gotten her? Lumped into the same group of deviants as James Bucky Barnes. “High needs”—God it sounds awful.

“It’s not necessarily sexual,” Linda tells her at her second appointment. “Or, well … it doesn’t have to be, at least. There are ways around it, if you really need an asexual dynamic.”

Mary nods along, but inside she thinks about the last time Bucky scolded her or praised her or held her hand on the sidewalk. She thinks about when he’d put his hand on her throat and applied pressure. Thinking about those things doesn’t make her feel asexual at all.

The first time Bucky doms her in a coordinated manner, she’s actually unaware of what he’s doing at first. It’s one of Mary’s three days off and she’s terribly bored, researching how to make grapefruit soda caviar and wondering if there’s a gym nearby that she could join. She hasn’t exercised in weeks, and honestly, if there’s even the slightest chance that she’s going to wind up being naked in front of Bucky or Steve (or, oh god, both of them), then she really feels like she needs to work out.

Scratching fingernails over the skin of her lower stomach, she googles nearby gyms, finds one that looks decent, and tells Steve that she’s headed out to go join. She’s tying one sneaker when Steve objects.

“Oh but wait,” he says. “Um, Bucky’s going to be home soon. And I think he uh, I think he had plans. … For us.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. She likes Steve—thinks he’s kind of a big, beefy sweetheart, actually—but sometimes his devotion to Bucky and what Bucky wants is annoying. “Fine, you stay here and tell him where I went. I’ve got to get out of this apartment.” And out from under you and your bossy husband’s constant supervision. “Got to … I dunno, burn off some steam.”

Bucky’s timing is impeccable. He comes through the door just as she’s bending over to lace up her other sneaker. His arms are full of plastic grocery bags, which he dumps onto the kitchen counter with fanfare. "Honey, I'm home."

“What happened to using the reusable bags?” Steve drawls, earning an eye roll from Bucky.

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s grinning at his husband, until he catches sight of Mary crouched in her gym clothes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks her.

“None of your business,” she snips, standing back up and heading for the front door.

“Stop right there, Princess.”

Oh. Well that’s a new one. Mary turns back around with what she’s sure is an incredulous look. “‘Princess’?”

Bucky smiles warmly and drags her over to inspect the groceries that are in the bags. She’s quick to catalog: eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. “What?” she asks, looking up at him. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”

“Oh I know you’re going to cook for me,” he says calmly, taking dry goods out of one of the bags and arranging them in the pantry. “Bake, in fact.”

Mary might stare a little, maybe with her lips parted. She feels equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his audacity. Something vaguely squirmy and warm stirs in her. She's planning on throwing some haughty quip back at him, maybe casually threatening poisoning, but somehow what comes out of her mouth is a subservient, “Well … what do you want me to make?”

He turns back around with bright eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something,” he practically purrs. He gets right up in her space and says, “Something … delectable.”

Mary has to avert her gaze and turn away. She says a quick prayer that he hadn’t been close enough to hear the little hitch in her breath, then tries to focus her attention on cataloging the ingredients the jerk has brought her. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk …

Hadn’t she … hadn’t she been going out somewhere? Oh yeah, right. The gym.

She squeaks when Bucky claps a cheerful hand on her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “Good girl,” he simpers, then walks over to the couch and flops down next to Steve, giving him a kiss hello. They proceed to chat with each other and chat about their days like Mary isn’t standing less than twenty feet away in the kitchen.

She suddenly feels like some 1950’s housewife. … One with damp panties, now that Bucky’s called her that right in her ear. Christ. Had Steve heard? She glances back over to them, but they’re not looking her way. Mary flushes and looks back down at the countertop. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. She tries to think if she has everything she might need for soufflé cakes.

“How can something so plain be so good?” Steve wonders at the dinner table, where he’s squinting closely at his third helping of dessert like he can glean answers from it. “And what is it?”

“Satisfying,” Bucky says sagely. “That’s the secret.”

“The secret is buttermilk. And it’s cake, Steve. Just eat it.”

“How’re those dishes coming, Doll?” Bucky calls back, shooting her a sly look from over his shoulder. Mary resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him and dunks her hands back into the soapy sink water.

Steve pokes the jiggly cake with his fork. “What are yooou?”

By the time they’re finished with dinner and dessert (and dishes), she’s figured it out. All the pet names, the casual touches and the confident demands? Bucky’s trying to dominate her. She thinks about calling him out on it, but promptly forgets to do that when they go into the living room to watch a movie and Bucky firmly suggests that she make herself comfortable on the floor instead of the couch. At his and Steve’s feet.

Forget about damp panties, she just hopes it doesn’t start to show through her leggings.

Asexual dynamic her ass.

Mary had only held onto the illusion that the guys were gay gay for about two whole days, before it became very apparent that they actually like women, too. Steve’s comments alone about Daenerys while watching Game of Thrones are enough to broadcast that he swings both ways.

So that takes it from regrettable to just plain insulting when, as time goes by, Bucky doesn’t initiate anything sexual with her. He keeps doing his whole Dom thing, aided and abetted by Steve, and almost always in ways that take Mary off guard. He’s never mean, never does any of the intimidating things she’d imagined a dom would do to a submissive.

And Mary won’t admit it, but she’s starting to look forward to when Bucky gets home from work at the end of the day. She spends more time than she’ll ever admit planning out something new to make for dessert, all the while anticipating the beginning of Bucky’s early evening commands and how they elicit those first tendrils of effervescent, pink fizz giddiness.

It’s the later commands—the ones that come after dinner and during tv time, that tend to bring on the warm, sunken bathwater feelings. Marys pretty sure that Steve is a bit of a voyeur, because he seems fascinated by it all, watching every night as Bucky bosses her around, sometimes even joining in his own small ways, by petting her hair or telling her she’s sweet, or something like that.

Every evening, they play this strange game. And every evening Bucky and Steve each give her a kiss on the cheek and send her dazed little self off to bed, the two of them retiring to their own room. In the beginning, being left alone to go to bed is nice. She ignores the arousal between her legs in favor of floating in her syrupy sea of sweet feelings. Going to bed in subspace gives her the most solid sleep she’s ever had in her life. But after another week of it, and then another, the arousal starts to linger a little more at bedtime. She starts to fantasize about what it would be like to keep things going, to take Steve’s hand at the end of the night and let him guide her into his and Bucky’s bedroom, rather than her own; be held between their two big bodies while they whisper more sweet things to her and touch her in new places …

Maybe Steve and Bucky really do just want this to be platonic, she thinks, as another week of the same goes by and her dreams are getting dirtier by the minute. She’d surreptitiously stuffed her vibrator into a bag when they’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve her belongings, but she’s been too afraid to use it when Steve and Bucky are right across the hallway in their room, mortified to think that they might hear the buzzing and know what she’s doing.

Best not to add fuel to the fire, she thinks, when she ignores how increasingly horny she’s becoming and forces herself to lie still and count sheep and not fantasize about the two insanely hot, not-gay-gay men in the next room. They’re still a happily married couple, she tells herself. They’ve got no interest in her as of yet, and she’ll just be making herself into a homewrecker if she pushes for more.

… Or maybe they’re just not attracted to her that way, she eventually starts to think. Steve and Bucky are both in amazing shape, and they’re very good looking. They probably see her as like … maybe a solid five—with makeup and a blowout.

She gets a little down in the dumps about it, realizing that all the heavy drinking and crap diet of this past year and a half has taken its toll on her, and she’s just not physically their type. She convinces Bucky to start adding salmon to the grocery list, she researches the pros and cons of lip filler, and starts whitening her teeth with one of those nasty little gel kits.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror each night and scrutinizes her naked body, dragging her nails absentmindedly against the skin of her lower stomach and cataloging everything that’s not as good as it could be. She considers the scars on her hip that have no new slices added to the roster, wonders if Bucky ever wound up telling Steve about how … how awful they are …

“Night, Mary!” Steve chirps from across the hall, making her inhale and flinch in surprise.

“N-night!” she calls back through the wall, feeling the pleasant effects of that night’s drop fading away faster than she’d like.

Maybe she should just be happy that she’s getting at least this much attention from them, that things have improved a little and she at least isn’t drinking herself into a stupor each night anymore. That’s a positive, even if she is still left pining after them like a fool every night. Steve and Bucky are okay guys, but they probably just don’t want anything more than this from her. They’re helping her because she shares this mental illness with Bucky, and that’s super nice of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to be attracted to her, too. Mary’s not entitled to anything.

She joins a 24 hour gym and takes to binge exercising in the middle of the night to push away the uncertainty.

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dreamii-krybaby · 7 months

Text

Behold my essay on why plp shouldn’t be sleeping on the ship involving Doll’s parents.

Ok ok but like- ISTG doll’s folks are driving me crazy HNNNGNGNFJF

(Btw watch of all if this get absolutely ripped to pieces by future canon)

Even we have very few info of Yeva, in the pictures she has appeared she looks distressed, paranoid, anxious and doesn’t seem to have the same social skills and relaxed vibes as Nori. She gives me the impression she was recluse, shy even or standoff-ish

For all we know she could have a drastic change of character after the core collapse.

What am saying girlie definitely developed all kinds of fucked up issues.

ok but like the fact that Yeva decided to stay and live with and make a family with her parter got me thinking

Like girl witnessed and lived THE HORRORS and if my theory is correct, she ALSO got momentarily possessed by the AS causing the Site-48 “incident”. (Which I theorize she created a massive black hole on the site similar to how the AS controlling Uzi’s hand did it on the elevator in EP6)

Her first meeting with her-now-husband was literally traumatizing and was probably very awkward (group photo after the core colapse in EP4)

They saw something, and it wasn’t good news.

But after that, like- how did it go down?

Bc I speculate Yeva’s husband knows a bit more surrounding the AS:

-like I mentioned before, his overall expression in the group picture shown in EP4 post core collapse alongside Yeva’s expression seems to imply they saw or witnessed smth horrifying around the camp 98.7 which left them scarred

-the fact that Tessa’s quote in EP6 implies the idea that he is also infected (Either he may be a runaway experiment or he wasn’t necessarily involved with CFL and somehow had the AS, or maybe the quote is a red herring)

“She reckons the humans did something to her folks down there, gave them a sickness she inherited”.

Like, the idea that her partner saw past the horrors, the AS, the shady things Yeva was involved, and just- decided to be a couple, and saw yeva…as an individual, not a danger, not a monster, not a sinner, not some lab rat, just, her, a sentient being capable of feeling just as he is.

He saw her as “Yeva”, not as “048”, not someone whose just her “sickness”

Like the fact that YEVA was also to look past her traumas and her knowledge of the danger of the AS to live and become her partner’s wife

Just the idea of them going, “you know what? I want you as my partner, live in a place that we can call home, and raise our own kid”

Its just- *screams*

also Yeva would actually be introduced to the concept of home, not a house, a home

SHE FINALLY HAD SOMETHING SHE COULD CALL A HOME

AND SHE ACTUALLY HAD A PERSON WHERE SHE COULD PROBABLY FEEL COMFORTABLE AROUND (we don’t know exactly how Nori’s and Yeva’s relationship went, they could have gone through drastic changes)

SHE COULD FINALLY LIVE, NOT SURVIVE, SHE COULD JUST- LIVE, NOT HAVING FIGHT FOR HER SURVIVAL

CAN YOU JUST IMAGINE THE FACT THESE TWO DESPITE THE HORRORS, DESPITE THE AS, DESPITE EVERYTHING THEY FELL FOR EACHOTHER AND THEY GOT TO THE POINT THEY WANTED A KID?!?!? BE A FAMILY?!?!? HAVE A PLACE TO LIVE TOGETHER!??!?

AND WHEN THEY WENT OUTSIDE BEFORE DEATH THEY DECIDED TO GO TOGETHER!?!?!? (If my theory that they died outside is true)

THEY PROBABLY KNEW THE DANGER BUT THEY WENT “we’re gonna do this together” THEY COULD HAVE LOWER THE CHANCES OF RISK AND DEAL WITH THE UPCOMING FUCKED UP SHIT ON THEIR OWN BUT THEY WENT TOGETHER

LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME THAT ISNT LOVE

(Imagine if it’s later revealed that they are actually a super fucked up couple- or just created a family for any other reason but wasn’t out of sentiment)

Me when I realize my favorite ship that is actually canon has barely any content or fan-content:

I want to claim myself as CEO of this goddam ship if it blows up in the fandom after future canon info.

Bc bro I shipped them when there wasn’t a single edit of them and when there was like 1 or maybe even 0 fanfics of them on AO3. Bro there wasn’t even fanart of them.

Bro I have doodles of them, created AU’s involving them, I have made moodboards, stimboards, have made HCs of them, made fan desings and plan to make fanart of them.

I am so normal about them I swear-

#murder drones #murder drones yeva #yeva murder drones #md yeva #yeva md #murder drones theory #murder drones doll’s father #murder drones doll’s dad

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ladybugsimblr · 8 months

Text

Rolling Stone - Fall Bailey Kay, One of One

Shoutout to @soulsimmin for the other musical artists noted on the cover and general Team BK shenanigans. Somebody cut the check.

Article Below

Category: Baaad Bitch

10.59pm The initials BK pop on the screen indicating Bailey Kay has joined the Soom call. The camera flashes on and my heart skips a beat. I hear her soft but firm voice say “Kiss” and another face appears in the view. Bailey’s husband Quinton leans in for a kiss as requested. The two quickly exchange “Love you’s” and adoring looks and then he’s gone as fast as he appeared. Bailey Kay turns to me and I now have her undivided attention. She flashes that gorgeous smile and my heart skips a beat again.

“Sorry. Hi! Thank you for agreeing to meet with me this late. I hope you’re a night owl too.” Absolutely not. I’m normally in bed by 10pm, but who says no to the Queen B when she agrees at the last possible second to her first interview in ages. I awkwardly reply “I am tonight!” and she laughs, exclaiming “I like you!” Phew! Any remaining tension and nerves are gone. Let’s get into this.

Channeling my glitteriest of kitties I jump right in and ask “Where are the visuals? We the butterflies are begging for the music videos and performances.” Honestly I expected a glare or an eye roll in return, but I get a sly smirk instead. “You are the visual”

I instinctively look at the small image of myself on the screen thinking I did too much with my look for this call. Bailey must have sensed my confusion and continues: “Butterfly is about celebrating life, love, and freedom, overcoming struggles and transforming into your best, highest self. I didn’t want to dictate how anyone experienced those things with the typical visuals. But I did want to get the party started so I gave you the first step- the music.”

“So you dropped the album and bounced to let us party and figure it out for ourselves?”

“You are funny! But yes, kinda. And look what happened! You all started your own challenge and created the visuals, and all I had to do was sit back and watch. Also I really didn’t leave y’all empty handed. I thought we killed it with the pics in the Butterfly Box. But I can’t forget the hive is the hardest to please and I love that. Keeps me on my toes.”

“Ok, I see the vision, but why literally leave the country and go on vacation during an album rollout? That’s unheard of!”

“Ok two reasons. The first is that was what I needed to do. That was my way of celebrating. I told my baby girl that putting out an album was like graduating. I fought hard to overcome my own issues and dark places and now that the project was out to the world, I needed to release and just be with my family, my babies.”

“And the second?”

“Because I can. I’m THAT girl! Deadass!” Again with a smile and a laugh. BK might be the nicest bad bitch I’ve ever met.

“What do you say to the critics who say the album is going to fail? There are rules to the game if you want to succeed.”

“I say check the streaming numbers and sales.” That eye twinkle and smile return one more time. “Rules are meant to be broken. Sometimes. Note to self: Redact that line before my terrors read this. But seriously if we did the same thing, the same way, every time, art, music, life would all be extremely boring. Tackling the unheard of and never been done before is my shit. I live for that. As far as succeeding… I’ve been lucky enough to have more success in my entertainment career than I ever dreamed of. Whatever I do from here on is the extra sauce and will not be measured by industry standards.”

“Speaking of the future, what more can we expect for Butterfly? Please say tour.”

“Ha! Ummm performances are coming. It’s time for me to party with the butterflies.”

“Ok, will they be on multiple stages in cities near all of us?”

“I can't with you! But I can say I’ll perform songs from Butterfly and the rest of the catalogue, on stage, soon. Stay ready.”

And ready we will stay. Ready for the Queen BK. One of One. Number One. The Only One.

#extra extra quota filled for the week LOL #cover girl is back #need to update the magazine cc #bklegacy #bklgen2 #bailey kay

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sunflowersandsapphires · 8 months

Text

The Sun Will Rise

Wake Up, Chapter 8

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: sexual assault themes and descriptions, if non-con themes trigger you please do not read. other warnings: swearing, misogynistic language, violence

This chapter is very intense. I tried to keep the S/A stuff as not graphic as possible to avoid triggering people but it is very much there and the violence is more present than any other chapter.

a/n: Today has been a fucking DAY yall. My new cat got sick (he’s ok he just ate too fast and then got sick on me and my bed which was gross), I am having issues with pay equity at work, and trying to deal with utility issues in my house. I am very sorry for the late update. PLEASE let me know how you feel about this chapter, your comments and reblogs literally make my day every week.

w/c: ~4.5k

Four years ago, you’d been desperate for a change. Despite spending thousands on a fancy degree, you had gotten nowhere in the legal field and your job waiting tables at a diner in Queens barely paid the bills, though you were grateful for the work.

Pouring coffee and taking orders wasn’t the worst job you’d ever had and the majority of customers during your shifts were sweet. You played the role of “cute, friendly waitress” well, making even the grouchiest patrons appreciate your soft smile and quick response time. Maybe this persona you’d adopted in your efforts to avoid your crippling anxiety was the reason he started looking your way. Perhaps it was your obvious desperation to be liked. Whatever it was that drew his attention, it was your eventual disinterest that kept it.

The first day you met James Lannister was a shitty one. You’d worked a double shift, meaning you had been less than perky towards the end of it, leading to stupid mistakes and screaming customers. Emotions were running high when he took a seat in your section, so his calm demeanor and attentive smile drew you in.

He’d only made pleasant conversation with you the first few visits. Asking about your day, your week, your hobbies, your interests, your family, your aspirations. Anyone would’ve been eager to spill their guts to him, he was quite charming. The way that his green eyes pooled with fascination as you spoke was almost reverent. No man in your life had ever made you feel that way, like nothing else in the room mattered.

Which is why the red flags zipped right by you without triggering your internal security system. Day after day, he’d visit your place of work after his own shift at the Pro Bono Association. He’d ask his questions and encourage you to ask your own, which led to a standing invitation to sit with him when there was a lull in traffic at the restaurant. Your shared interest in the legal system and his willingness to share a slice of that life with you compelled you to take him up on the offer.

Next came the gifts. Little things, at first. Large tips, suggestions for weekend entertainment complete with a gift card or fully funded ticket, books to further your legal studies after work. It was strange, but the attention was divine. He wasn’t an ugly man, and you’d never felt noticed like this before.

Eventually, he’d goaded you into joining him and his wife for dinner at their house. Mrs. Lannister was beautiful and cunning. On the surface, she was always polite, reassuring, more than willing to host you or have you join them in public, but there was an ominous undercurrent that you never could place. The way she looked at you when her husband turned his back was almost murderous, but you were so caught up in the idea of being wanted that you glossed over the tension between the two of you.

You were lonely, sure, but you never wanted romance or…other things…from Lannister. To you, he was a mentor, an idol. Someone to live vicariously through while in a transition period in life. But after accepting all of his kindnesses, you’d unknowingly crossed a line.

Before it all fell apart, it almost seemed like universal intervention. During a seemingly mundane conversation, Lannister clasped his hands over yours with a giddy expression. It seemed that there was an entry level position opening up at the PBA office in Queens and he thought you’d be perfect for it. Not only would it be a substantial pay raise from your current position, but there were opportunities for growth and he would be your boss.

At the time, it felt like a miracle. Your ticket to the next stage of your life. And it was, but letting your guard down for that shark ended up being the biggest regret of your life.

Transitioning into your new role wasn’t seamless, but you took it in stride. Your eagerness to take on complex projects and expand the mission of the organization impressed the more seasoned employees. Lannister began taking you to lunches, galas, drinks, anywhere that he could introduce you to his network of attorneys. It was thrilling to be thrown into the world you’d always dreamed of and received with such open arms.

For a few months, it was pure bliss. Until the night you placed your first case.

Placing the case itself was unproblematic, you were happy that you fit into the role so well—and you expressed such sentiments to Lannister who invited you over to his house to celebrate. Arriving with a bottle of your favorite wine, it was immediately clear that something had changed. The once cozy house was in absolute disarray, riddled with empty liquor bottles and boxes of feminine clothes. And, although Lannister had implied there would be others there, you found him alone.

Lannister noticed your wandering eyes and explained that his wife had left him. He told you not to worry about that and to focus on your personal success. The two of you enjoyed some good food and cheap wine, the older man drifting closer by the glass. Eventually, you felt your eyes growing heavy and he insisted that you stay over given the late hour.

That night, you dreamt of a large shadow, looking over you while you slept, warm touch dancing over your clothes. You tried to protect yourself, but your arms wouldn’t respond to the commands your brain sent. When you woke up, you found your skirt unzipped.

It got blurry after that. Lannister’s very public divorce led to inopportune inebriation, massive hangovers in the office, lewd comments, and wandering hands. While you still accompanied him to events, he began claiming you in public in increasingly repulsive ways. Holding you by the waist, kissing your cheeks, stroking his fingers over your neck, using that disgusting pet name. My little Princess.

You only tried expressing your discomfort once before it escalated. You’d approached him in his office after lunch, when he was likely to be more sober, and hesitantly asked if he would consider pulling back. You’d been met with the most terrifying display of anger you’d ever seen. You hazily recall books being thrown, hits landing along your arms and torso, insults being hurled at you.

He had made you. You would be nothing without him. You were ungrateful and whoreish and conniving just like his wife. While the memories faded, the scars from your skin splitting over the hinges of his office door still shone in certain lights.

After that his actions were deliberate. His lingering touches scalded you. Being alone with him meant sentencing yourself to torture. When he was angry, he’d call you into his office to “talk it through.” To your absolute horror, these talks often involved a locked door and drunk hands groping your trembling form.

For weeks you endured his abrupt switches between calculated insults, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, and inappropriate contact. You were barely alive, going through the motions and slowly convincing yourself that you deserved it. You’d fallen out of contact with your friends, were so emotionally fragile that a stern look from a stranger could send you into a panic attack, and you found yourself so nauseous that the first few hours of each day were spent hugging a toilet.

It was clear you needed help, but Lannister was your boss and his threats terrified you. He’d made it clear that if anyone found out about his behavior, it would cost you your livelihood. As an incredibly well-known attorney with an impeccable record, there was no way you’d win in court, he had too many friends on the force or the bench. Not to mention how new you were to the organization. Despite his growing alcoholism, your coworkers were as enamored with Lannister as you used to be, the chances of them believing you were minimal.

So, you stayed, trapped in a nightmare of your own unintentional creation. Until a position opened up in Manhattan.

Applying on a whim, you’d kept your application a secret, not expecting to even get an interview. But, apparently the managing attorney across the East River had heard your name through the grapevine because she reached out within the week to schedule a lunch with you.

The heavy weight that hung over your shoulders like a shadow has lessened considerably in the days leading up to the lunch. The possibility of escaping the hell you were living in quickly appeared like the light at the end of the tunnel.

Manhattan was beautiful and the employees of the PBA office in Midtown were ecstatic to meet you. It was the best day you’d had in months, until you got back to your own office.

Realizing you’d forgotten an important file you needed for a clinic the next day, you walked briskly through the quiet building, hoping to get in and out without running into your supervisor. Unfortunately, the world was not that gracious.

As you rummaged through your desk, the overhead lights turned on making you flinch. Your hands stilled over the file cabinet, your breath catching on your throat.

“You little bitch.” Lannister was furious if the rage dripping from his tone was any indication. “Tell me, Princess, why did I receive a call from Midtown about how happy they were to have finally met my assistant?”

You couldn’t speak, your throat constricting as if wrapped with fabric. Frozen in place, you heard him approaching and you cowered.

“Thought you could go behind my back? Leave me high and dry without a warning? You owe me, little princess. After all I’ve done for you…”

Whether from fear or something else entirely, your brain blocked out the rest of his actions that night. You came to shaking on the floor, bloody and partially undressed, but you weren’t alone. Lannister had disappeared, thankfully, but your coworker stepped into your office with a shaky inhale.

Erica was a young attorney who’d started a few weeks before you. Your emotional state had made it difficult to grow close to anyone in the office, but she’d always seemed sweet. And, fortunately for you in the end, she’d heard the commotion your boss had caused before storming home.

As your wonderful coworker helped you clean yourself up, you tearily confessed the secrets you’d worked so hard to hide. Disgusted, Erica had encouraged you to speak to HR and you’d submitted a complaint later that day with her assistance.

You owed Erica a great debt. Over the period of the investigation, she’d become a fixture in your office, making sure to keep you at a distance from your abuser. Without your prompting, she’d offered the committee looking into the allegations her full testimony. You were quite certain that her statement is the reason Lannister was fired.

In the weeks following his termination, you felt like a new woman. You’d moved to a cute little place in Hell’s Kitchen and begun your new work as a volunteer coordinator. While you still struggled with crowds of lawyers and the taste of alcohol, a good therapist and a decent amount of time had helped you heal a considerable amount.

Enough to open yourself up for the possibility of a relationship, which you weren’t sure you’d ever want after everything you’d been through. Meeting Matt had changed that though, turning ‘never’ into a ‘not right now’.

Sweet, considerate, adorable Matt who had brought you more comfort than you ever thought you deserved. Who was probably still furious with you for falling for him, but you couldn’t help but plead with the universe to send him anyway. Please, Matty, please come for me.

As the muggy van rumbled over potholes and uneven roads, you pictured his beautiful face. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. How his brow furrowed with concern over the most minor harm that had befallen you. The beautiful way his lips melded with yours as a single kiss made you feel weightless. You regretted not kissing him one last time before ruining what you had.

I’m sorry, darling. Please don’t let them take me from you. I’m not ready to let you go just yet.

As Matt neared the 4th floor, a knawing pit of dread grew in his stomach. He could smell your tears, newer than those that had fallen after he’d left, but your heartbeat was nowhere to be found. Frantically pacing the hallway, he quickly noticed your suitcase abandoned a few feet from the door to your shared room. Crouching down, he tilted his head, evaluating the scene. The scent of your fear coated the floor, walls, and fabric of your bag. You must have been terrified for it to penetrate your surroundings to that degree. Underneath your pheromones, Matt shuddered with rage as the sickly saccharine fragrance of Beatrice Snyder’s reached his sensitive nose. Mingling with her perfume was a different smell, smoky and dark.

You’d been cornered by Snyder and an unidentified man, he was sure of it. Fumbling to find the right end of his key card, he threw open the door and stripped out of his suit. Given that he’d intended to share the night with you, he’d intentionally left his body armor at home. A black long sleeve tee and scarf around his face would have to do tonight.

Stepping back into the empty hallway, he fled to the stairs. While the scent of your fear only fueled his dark anger, it was strong enough to leave a trail down the stairs and out the back door into the cool night air. As inconspicuously as possible, Matt navigated through the building, dodging employees and guests successfully until he reached the loading dock behind the kitchen. Your scent stopped here, replaced by the smell of gasoline.

No, no, no. Where are you, angel? What happened to you?

Matt growled in frustration, spinning around desperately searching for any sign of you, he ripped his phone out of his pocket and pressed your speed dial, hoping that you could still reach your phone.

Receiving nothing but your voicemail message in return, he felt his fists clench. “It’s going to be ok, my beautiful girl. I’m coming.”

Replacing the phone in his pocket, he took off in the direction of the strong scent of auto fuel, praying to God that the most recent vehicle would lead him to you.

The van jolted to an abrupt stop and you slid along the dirty carpet into a seat in front of you. Your back ached from the jostling you’d gotten on the ride to whatever destination you’d apparently arrived at, and you could feel the imprint of thousands of plastic carpet strands that had melded with the flesh on your cheek during the drive. The sound of car doors slamming and the heavy footfalls following made you strain against your binds one final time.

A large, rough hand snatched your ankle, yanking you towards the night air at the tail end of the vehicle. Kicking your legs wildly, you flopped like a dying fish along the carpet as you were slowly pulled outside. The fingers at your ankle moved to wrap around your throat, forcing the airway to constrict. Struggling fiercely against your captor, you heard a familiar, rasping voice from behind you snarl, “Shut her up, you idiot!”

Lannister’s goon pressed a sharp implement against the soft flesh of your stomach. “Keep movin’ and you’ll lose a lot more than your man, bitch.”

As your squirming died down, reality set in and tears began flooding down your face. It was over. He’d won. All of the efforts that went into putting distance between the two of you were meaningless. He’d found you, and Snyder was going to take Matt from you because of it.

You were roughly stood on your feet and forced to move in the trail of Lannister and his other goon. Eventually, you were forced into a cold metal chair, binds attached to the stiff bars of the furniture. Your blindfold was ripped off, though your gag remained. James Lannister’s ferocious grin appeared in your line of vision, making you flinch. “So glad we’ve been reunited, Princess. We’re gonna have some fun.”

The group had taken you to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. There were broken wooden palettes and scraps of steel scattered around the floor. Holes in the sheet metal walls allowed cold, winter air to blow crisp waves of wind through the space, raising the hairs on your neck. A gaping hole in the roof above you showers you in moonlight, illuminating a small s circle around you and Lannister.

A knife glinted in your peripheral vision and you whimpered, squirming involuntarily. Lannister grabbed a fistful of your shirt, yanking you forward with a growl. “The more you squirm, the more damage I do, little princess. I’d hold still if I were you.”

With that warning, he slashed a jagged cut in your top, nicking the skin along your collarbone. A hand ran over your hair, grasping the strands and tugging so that your face was turned towards your captor’s once again. “There’s my obedient little pet. Was wondering where she’d gone.”

Bile rose in your throat as Lannister stroked his massive hands along your face, planting heated, bourbon-soaked kisses along your neck and down your chest. Prying away your torn clothes, he turned to face the goons. “Is it ready?”

“Yes, sir.” One deep voice responded from the shadows of the warehouse beyond your visible surroundings. “Before I have my fun,” Lannister stepped aside, revealing a tall dark shape topped with a blinking red light. “I’d like to record a confession, dear. For my sanity, and for the board to know the truth.”

Raising his barely slurred voice, he turned to the camera.

“State your name, for the record.”

“Please don’t do this. I don’t—“ Your pleading morphed into a screech of pain as the point of the blade ripped a gash in the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“Wrong answer, pet.” Lannister took a swig from a practically empty bottle of liquor that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. A trail of blood wormed its way to the cement floor, pooling at your feet. You stared at the river of red liquid for a moment before stammering out your name.

“That’s a good pet. What’s your relation to me, my dear?” Chucking the now empty bottle aside, it shattered at your feet, spraying you with cheap alcohol and pieces of glass.

“I worked with you. In Queens.” A smaller knife plunged into the meat of your thigh and you screamed in agony. The larger of the two goons shuffled into your wavering vision, smiling as he wiped your blood from his hands.

“More specific, Princess.” Lannister spat at you.

“You were my boss.”

“That’s right. Now tell us, how did you get me fired?”

You sobbed, “I didn’t, I wasn’t—“ Grasping the knife still planted in your leg, Lannister twisted it, grabbing your throat.

“Yes you did, you miserable bitch. You ruined my fucking life. I lost my divorce settlement, my job, my house, my reputation. All because I took an ungrateful slut under my wing.” Ripping the blade from your body, he hurled you to the ground.

“TELL THE TRUTH!” Lannister roared, sending a brutal kick into your chest and knocking the air from your lungs. “Tell them that you seduced me for months and then used me to land a promotion. TELL THEM THAT YOU TOOK MY ENTIRE LIFE FROM ME AFTER I’D GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING!”

Stomping over your body again, he stumbled backwards allowing you to cough out a response. “I—I took everything f-from you. I was un-ungrateful.”

Lannister cackled, pulling you from the ground by your uninjured arm. “Turn the camera off. They won’t want to see this next part.”

The goons stepped forward to follow your former boss’s orders, but a piercing sound from outside halted them in their tracks. A horrific shriek, the sound of metal grinding on metal, echoed through the warehouse. All three men froze, looking to each other as if expecting to find the cause of the noise at the hands of their fellow assholes. Dropping you hard onto your shoulder, Lannister turned towards the source of the creaking and your head lolled after him.

As the door to the warehouse slammed open, you cried in relief as your weak gaze made out the black clad figure against the night sky. Daredevil. Your devil. He came for you. Tears poured down your cheeks and your limbs tensed, Matt’s presence drawing you in like a magnet.

Lannister huffs out a laugh. “The fuck do you want, shadow man? Don’t you have robberies to stop?” At his sides, the other men shuffled nervously, knives gripped firmly as they awaited their next command.

Matt stalked forward into the warehouse, his body stiff as it held his rage back, visible tension like that of water building against a dam. Fists clenched, he prowled an arc around your three kidnappers. “Step the fuck away from her.” His deep timbre was pitched exceedingly low with pure fury and it sent ripples of goosebumps across your bare skin.

Drawing the handgun from the back pocket of his slacks, Lannister stepped towards you once more. “Do your worst, Devil. She’s not leaving here alive.” The world slowed, as if the air around you was suddenly thick as molasses. Your eyes were processing as much as they could as dread settled in your stomach. The barrel of the gun moved across Lannister’s body and pointed at you as his meaty thumb cocked the weapon.

Simultaneously, Matt’s athletic form rocketed forward, skillfully dodging the swings from both of your unnamed assailants and leaping at Lannister. A gunshot rang and you traced the bullet as it soared towards you. Suddenly, your vision went white as pain seared through your body following the pointed metal cylinder as it tore through your abdomen. Screaming in anguish, your ears rang with a high pitched tone, the flash of white across your sight fading to black. The only thing you could focus on was the burning agony as the puddle of your blood seeped into your torn clothes. Forcefully shutting your eyes, your inhales turned shallow, and you prayed to your beloved Matthew that he would get you out of here before you took your last breath.

Matt’s skin was alight with rage as he maniacally tore through the three brutes to reach your collapsed form. The head captor’s words barely registered in his ears over the deafening sound of a gun being pulled. No. Do not let it be her, take me. The safety was undone as Matt ripped one man’s shoulder from its socket, using the falter in his steps to knock him unconscious. He needed to be faster. He had to reach you. Planting a hefty kick into the next guy’s stomach, he brought his billy club up to meet the force of the man’s own body weight bringing him down. A hollow thud of a body on cement meant there was one attacker left. And then came the gunshot.

As the bullet escaped the barrel it was encased in, Matt roared, the devil inside him fully consuming his consciousness as tackled the shooter. Knuckles connected with a jawbone, then the softer cartilage of a nose, then the lumpy space of a rib cage. Matt poured every emotion he had into this criminal, each punch holding seeds of guilt and regret and desperation.

The smell of your blood cascading over the dirty floor broke him from his trance. Dropping the battered body of your captor to the floor, he dove beside you, hands hovering over your body as he assessed the damage.

Sobbing in relief, he cupped your face as gently as he could. “It’s ok, angel. You’re gonna be ok. They’re not gonna hurt you anymore. Just breathe with me, please sweetness, breathe.”

Your shallow pants stuttered as your hand weakly grasped his shirt. “Ma-Matty?”

“Yah sweetness, it’s me. I’m right here. Gonna get you out of here, ok? Just hold on.” Ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt, he pressed it over your largest wound, biting back a pained sound of his own when you hissed. “I know, I know, angel. I have to stop the bleeding.”

The soft smell of salt melded with the metallic odor of your blood. You were crying, holding on to the fistful of his shirt like it was a lifeline. “Y-you came for me? I’m—I’m so-sorry”

Stroking your face lightly before he dialed 911, he cooed. “Of course I came, lovely. I’ll always come for you. Always. Now you just focus on breathing. In and out, sweetness. Good girl, just like that.”

At the operator’s greeting, he spit out a rough command for police and an ambulance, giving a brief description of the events that had happened. Next, he pleaded for their help. There was no way he alone could get you to a hospital in time.

“They were holding her hostage. She’s been shot, stabbed too. Lost a lot of blood. She’s still alive but she needs medical attention, please hurry.” He spit out the approximate location, scrubbing tears from his face as he pocketed his phone.

Pressing his forehead to yours delicately, he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my sweet girl. It’s going to be ok. I’m so sorry.” Your hand raised shakily to cradle his nape.

“Matty,” Your voice was weak, but determined. “I—I need you to know—“

“Hey, this isn’t one of those moments, sweet girl. You can tell me later, when you’re healing. You focus on—“

“No, please.” You begged, he fought back a choked cry so that you could say your piece.

“I love you. S-so much.” You heaved a breath. “I’m sorry that I ruined—“

“Shh, you didn’t ruin anything.” Matt chided gently, tears slipping faster after you'd confirmed his previous mistake. “I love you too, my wonderful, sweet girl. I won’t let them take you from me. I won’t.”

“I’m sorry.” You choked out, and then you fell out of consciousness.

Matt collapsed against your chest, clinging to the sound of your weak pulse as his body trembled with sobs. He planted soft kisses to your hair and cheeks, stroking lightly over your skin as he willed God to save you.

The distant sound of sirens forced Matt to pry his face from your pummeled body. As the sound of vehicles approached, he made sure to alert the paramedics to your presence before taking back to the shadows. Hearing the clamor of attendants around you, he made a promise. “I’ll be there when you wake, angel. I’m sorry.”

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

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matan4il · 1 year

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Buddie 608 meta

Buck babysitting Jee Yun was adorable, but what gets to me is that it seemed to come with more question marks than when he was looking after Chris in 301. Does that imply something about how often he babysat Christopher without Eddie present even before that little “intervention”? In any case, it re-affirms that even relatively early on, Buck was very much a part of the Diaz family. ~~

It actually feels weird that in this entire ep, Buck is around kids, talks about kids, but doesn’t address the issue of him possibly fathering a biological kid of his own that he won’t get to raise. Is this a hint that he’s def in denial? It was especially loud because we saw him talking about Chris, while spending time with Jee Yun AND Denny. The former two make sense, but Denny? The only other time we saw Buck around Denny was in 310, when the scene was primarily about Eddie watching Chris with Buck. So it feels like it’s very pointed that he’s around more kids than usual, yet not addressing the biggest issue related to that taking place in his own life.

At the same time, to connect both of the above points, the difference between how we see Buck with Jee Yun, his actual family, in this ep, and how he’s with Denny (he’s in the same scene with him, but hardly interacts with the kid, they’re even physically separated by Hen) serves as a reminder that Chris isn’t like another colleague’s child to Buck. What they have is how Buck treats his own flesh and blood. ~~

Carla reminding Eddie that the fantasy is sometimes better than the reality, when she’s the person who, in 413, encouraged him to follow his heart… Is this the show building towards Eddie’s next step on his romantic journey? IDK, but with this continued theme of him watching Christopher maturing into his own person, leaving him to find out what makes him happy outside of being a dad, it would seem to fit. ~~

I loved Buck asking whether Chris isn’t too young to date, then being asked himself to reminisce about his first crush. Which was in fact way earlier (and a reminder that not every crush is about being old enough to date). It made me snicker a little, ‘coz it was such a good reminder that our boys are a bit oblivious about matters of the heart in general. And yes, it comes from an overprotective place of caring, much like Buck’s reaction to hearing that Chris is going to a summer camp in 318, but it def explains why they’re not very good at following their own heart or figuring out what it’s telling them.

At the same time, Buck asking whether Chris isn’t too young to date, followed almost immediately by Eddie saying he didn’t think his son was old enough to kiss others, screamed VOLUMES to me about how much these are both Christopher’s dads. They literally have the same reaction where no one else from the team does. This cannot be accidental or meaningless. Especially when paired up with the fact that it’s Buck who Eddie looks to first to sooth his apprehension over Chris kissing someone, and he only turns to the other teammates when his work husband is being a bit of a tease and refuses to give Eddie the reassurance he seeks... Flirting at your place of work on top of being obvious co-parents, seriously? ~~

I loved Buck’s comment about the song “It’s Raining Men.” It wasn’t just a funny comment on its own, it was also a nod to a gay anthem. One of the most well known as well as one of the earliest ganthems (that should be a word), in fact. So while it’s not a clear indication of anything about Buck’s sexual identity, it is an added hint in a long series of hints that he isn’t straight. And to add to that, when Buck makes that comment, it’s Eddie who’s there by his side to make one of his iconic faces at that. They’re not just battlefield boyfriends, they’re battlefield husbands, exasperated eye roll included. ~~

NGL, May and her crush Darius realizing where they’d rather be, or better yet with whom, after their ordeal with Erik very much reminded me of 414. Buck CHOSE to fully integrate himself into Eddie’s life and be by his side in every way that counts, while he literally saw Taylor and immediately started walking in the opposite direction, while Eddie broke up with Ana shortly after. It kills me that they still don’t get what stuff like that means. Literal bozos. ~~

Eddie threatening to only speak to Carla about stuff related to his son growing up might have been said in jest, but it also served as sort of a set up for her being the one to stay with Eddie and watch Chris outside the dance. And I adored that scene, with that soft look on Eddie’s face, his moving words! Yet, I can’t see either this arc, nor Buck’s with the sperm donation, being complete without the two of them having a real conversation about what’s going on with them and their respective parental journeys. Especially not after the Buddie stuff we got in 5b which locked them in as each other’s person forever. There’s no coming back from that stuff. So I can only assume that it is coming in 6b. And hopefully, it will be all the more emotionally effective for how long we have to wait for it. Hey, that’s the whole point of a slow burn to begin with, right? ;)

~~ Thank you to everyone liking, reblogging and especially those who consistently reblog these meta posts, you own a small piece of my heart. I wouldn’t be writing a meta post on a day when I’m sick AND working a double shift if it wasn’t my way of saying thank you. I really love and appreciate you all. Also mad love to @whosoldherout for once again slaying with her amazing gifs, and just for being so wonderful. xoxox

#buddie #911meta #buddie meta #911 meta #9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie gif #buddie gifs #buddieedit #911edit #911 gif #911gif #911gifs #911 gifs #wm #911onabc #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

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drakaripykiros130ac · 5 months

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I am realizing that Alicent is literally insane.

She doesn’t have the proper mannerism of a queen consort (and no wonder - she wasn’t supposed to be one in the first place).

She constantly screams, she gossips, she is vicious, she is aggressive towards her children, self-serious, self-righteous and she has crazy eyes (all the time).

She has deluded herself into thinking that what she is doing is right, and she actually couldn’t be more wrong.

Furthermore, in that crazy mind of hers, she is the one doing everything in the name of duty and sacrifice, while Rhaenyra doesn’t.

What exactly has she done that is so admirable? Her young body managed to pop out children - that’s her great accomplishment. And her so- called “duty and sacrifice” is having children with a heterosexual man she doesn’t love (her and like 90% of women in that Realm. I wonder what she would have done if she were married to a gay man like Rhaenyra was). Other than that, she hasn’t done anything worthy of respect. On the contrary:

1. She abused her power by protecting and promoting a murderer as her sworn shield.

2. Her parenting skills suck. She raised two malicious sons.

3. She went against the Faith’s principles, and married her only daughter to her eldest son for no other reason than to satisfy her political agenda (which resulted in Helaena being terribly mistreated. As if she doesn’t have enough issues already).

4. She took advantage of her husband’s illness and ruled in his stead. And she did a very poor job of it, as did her father. They ignored all the problems of the smallfolk, and focused solely on their personal ambitions.

5. She spent most of her life focussing on Rhaenyra’s life, mentally abusing her, and pursuing a vendetta against her children, instead of focussing on the little monsters she herself raised.

6. She constantly butts in on other people’s business.

7. She’s a terrible politician. Even Cersei was better than her. Just seeing the way her mind works at that Council meeting in episode 6, made me laugh. Just like Cersei, she has convinced herself that she is smart.

Alicent is a terrible person, but she is also already mentally ill (it’s clear foreshadowing for the future when she will succumb to complete madness). Not to mention, reckless and unstable.

Aside from her low standing, she obviously didn’t have the proper training/education or temperament to be a queen consort.

She and her House have brought nothing but trouble to the Crown. The Hightowers have a long history of being opportunists but they don’t have much to offer. And now, they expect some sort of payment…for being a bunch of thorns in people’s sides.

Alicent should have taken her crazy ass back home to Oldtown when she had her chance and taken those kids with her. They would have had a much greater chance of keeping their lives (which is pretty much all they deserve).

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jadedrrose · 11 months

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Hello dear, I hope I'm doing this right, it's my first request. I also read your rules, so I'm really sorry if I forgot something, pls tell me then 🙈 If it's too specific or you are uncomfortable with something, pls write as you like and are comfortable with it. It should be fun for you and not exhausting. Thank you very much in advance 🥰🩷💗

Can I request a (AU )scenario where Law and reader know each other because they share the same course of studies (in medical field) only that Law almost finished and reader just started, so he really helps reader out a lot and studies with her because he secretly likes her and wants her to be successful and knows how hard it is. Reader and Law share the same age, she just started later.

Poorly Executed Study Session

The way you were so right… this was VERY fun to write, and I kinda got carried away with making it more suggestive lol. Thank you sm for the request!!!

Warnings: fem reader, sexually suggestive comments and implications, but nothing happens. Also note I’m literally skipping college (no money lol) so this is all loosely based on what my friends have told me… so I hope it’s realistic lol 💀

The tall man with tattoos and a darker fashion sense always intrigued you whenever you’d see him passing by on the campus.

Most of the medical students you’d seen up until then had fit stereotypes; “normal” girls that had certainly fallen into the popular group of high schoolers, your average “good values” family men who were certain to become the most average, do the bare minimum husbands. They all had that specific look about them, but there were still the “nerds” amongst the students. But then there was him.

You’d figured out his name was Law, through some low-stooping investigating (you really wanted to know, okay?!). He was in his final year of studying to become a surgeon, though he was the same age as you. That alone was impressive, but physically, he was entirely stunning.

His dark, unruly hair, the many tattoos you’d caught glimpses of, the double piercings on each ear, down to the goatee. He looked like a bad boy, but from what you could tell, he was nothing short of your dream man- a quiet, nice guy… with a good fashion sense.

Months went by before you’d ever spoken to him. You’d been studying in the library, very late into the night. There was an exam early the next day, and you started to panic as the hours grew later and you still felt stuck. That was until your emo Prince Charming had come to save you.

Law was in the library, searching for some sort of comic book, which you’d figured out based on how he’d emerged from that section with a few volumes in hand. He’d noticed you, approaching you to presumably help out. You must’ve seemed incredibly stressed out.

You’d noticed how he poorly hid the comics behind him, before standing beside where you sat. “You appear stressed,” he stated. “Need help?”

Honestly, it had taken you rather too long to respond to him, as you were utterly infatuated, frozen in place, staring at him. “H-huh? Oh, yeah…”

Law took a seat beside you, sliding your notebook away from you and looking it over. He asked you a few questions before helping you with the particular issue you were having, and before you knew it…. That had become a weekly thing.

—

It progressed into Law coming over to your apartment or you going to his, which happened less often, due to his… obnoxious roommates. The first couple times he’d hung out with you, they had tortured him all evening afterwards, interrogating him to no end over what exactly their “nerdy virgin” Law was doing with a “girl like that” so late into the day.

And of course they quickly figured out that even if the two of you were just studying together, Law indeed had feelings for you. He knew he’d choke on his words and his ears would go red whenever they’d tease him. It was especially bad when they tried to suggest more sexual things, throwing many innuendos at Law just so that his face would become flushed and then he’d be their joke of the evening.

As time progressed, Law found it harder and harder to be around you without thinking about all those things his friends had said, and tonight, it was particularly difficult…

After all, who would be able to face their crush so easily after having a wet dream about them?

—

It was eight-o’-clock at night, and you were currently leaving Law’s apartment building, him by your side, actually. The two of you had attempted to study there, but his friends, Shachi and Penguin, simply couldn’t leave the two of you alone, dropping in his room randomly to bother you two about when you’d finally get together, or say things like “so when’s the wedding, Law?!”. Law had yelled at them for a moment before asking to go to your apartment.

He opened the door to his car for you before walking around to the driver’s side and getting in. “I’m sorry about them,” he apologized. “They just can’t get over me having a girlfrie- friend who happens to be a girl!” He hastily added the last part, his face becoming red.

You found it adorable, but couldn’t speak on it. The last thing you wanted was for Law to figure out you had feelings for him, when he clearly wanted to focus on nothing but becoming a surgeon. You’d only get in his way.

“It’s alright,” you decided to say, “my friends are the same way, they just don’t live with me and don’t get as many chances to be asses about it.”

Law let out a chuckle before starting to drive out of the parking lot, starting the short journey over to your apartment. You lived within walking distance of him, but Law really didn’t feel like walking after a long day.

“I just wanna see you be successful, y/n-ya. I don’t need any weirdos getting in your way.” He told you, referring to Shachi and Penguin.

The two of you quickly arrived at your apartment complex, getting inside with haste as it had started to rain during the ride over.

As you locked the door behind you, you let out a groan of annoyance as now all your papers were wet. “Dammit,” you cursed, before turning to Law, who was soaked. “Sorry… you can dry off in the bathroom, there’s extra towels… though I don’t have any clothes for you…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Law brushed off your concerns. “I’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, turning to go set your things down. “I guess we’ll have to leave pairs of clothing at each other’s place in the future, huh?”

Law nervously chuckled at that, but you assumed you’d misheard it that way. There was no way he was flustered by that.

—

Studying with you became even more difficult now, given the circumstances. Due to the rain, Law had to toss his tee shirt into your bathtub and blow dry his jeans before coming out of your bathroom. You’d changed into a cropped tank top and sweatpants, hair up in a ponytail as you sat at the table.

You’d been rewriting your notes when Law sat beside you. Your eyes flashed over to him for a second, before you froze in spot, side-eyeing his shirtless upper body not-so-discreetly.

That only made Law’s circumstances worse. First the dream about you, now the way you could keep your damn eyes off of him? You had him feeling sick, making him entirely too nervous as it dawned on him that you were bothered by his halfway unclothed body.

“Uh, so… I rewrote everything… I think we were… here?” You asked, pointing at the spot in your textbook with your pen.

Law nodded, biting down on his lip as he looked over at you. Your tank top was thin and didn’t hide much. He couldn’t look at the notes sitting in front of you without looking at your chest, too. “Mhm… so, what I was saying earlier, was…”

He began trying to explain whatever it had been to you, but things weren’t going his way, or your way either. The both of you were becoming too distracted by each other, making this study session quickly fail.

Law hadn’t even noticed his hand gripping his thigh underneath the table, how he suddenly felt hot and feverish, or how there was a certain tightness in his jeans…

You kept stuttering, forgetting things he’d told you minutes prior, and just overall not paying attention as your mind clearly went elsewhere. You’d been biting on the pen, a habit Law found terrible except for when you did it. It only drove him crazy further, intensifying his need for you.

Eventually… you both gave up on studying altogether. You’d tried reciting things to Law, but he wasn’t listening. He was too focused on the way your lips moved, or how you anxiously shifted in your seat, still taking (not so) secret glances as his toned and tattooed chest.

“And, th-then, there’s the,” you gulped, desperately trying to remember the next part. But you couldn’t. All you could do was think about Law. “The… Law, fuck, I need you…” you desperately whined, letting your head fall into your notes on the table. You hadn’t meant to say it, but you couldn’t do or think of anything else at the moment. Just your body’s overwhelming need for him.

Law let out a hitched breath, tensing up beside you. You felt his hand on the side of your head, as it started rubbing through your ponytail. “Shit, y/n. Should’ve just said so two hours ago,” he breathed out.

At his sign of reciprocating your feelings, your head shot away from the table and your hands flew to his bare shoulders, holding onto him.

In an unspoken request, Law accepted it and brought you closer to him, letting his lips connect with yours. He let the hand that had been on his leg move to hold your waist, the other one still on your head. The kiss was awkward at first, clearly something neither of you had done before. But it was intoxicating, both of your bodies silently begging for more. You deepened the kiss, letting one of your hands move into Law’s messy black hair, gently tugging at it as you whimpered into his mouth.

As soon as it had started, Law pulled away for air, the saliva exchanged between you two stringing together as your mouths hang open, panting in sync.

“What… do you think about,” Law huffed, licking his lips. “We continue studying… tomorrow?” He suggested.

Deciding your actions would speak louder than words, you smashed your face back into his, kissing him with need in a silent “yes”.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x you #law x reader #law x female reader #law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar d water law x you #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x female reader

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eastgaysian · 1 year

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Sorry this is a dumb question but can you explain why tomshiv is not abusive? Shiv seems to hit a lot of textbook behaviours of emotional abusers

thank you for your follow up clarifying this was in good faith bc i checked my inbox yesterday right after getting high and was like man come on. don't do this to me. but yeah i can talk about it, it's obviously something i have a fair amount of thoughts on

on a fundamental level, i take issue with the assertion that there are 'textbook behaviors of emotional abusers' in the first place. distilling abuse down to a set of behaviors is, imo, effectively meaningless and totally unproductive. it's not the behavior of an individual that defines abuse, it's a specific and intentionally cultivated imbalance of power and control within a relationship. victims of abuse can and do resort to survival mechanisms that could be considered in isolation as 'abusive behavior', the point is that you can't consider them in isolation. there's a gulf of difference between the same actions when they're coming from a person in a position of significant financial or physical or social power over someone else, or when they're coming from the person at a disadvantage.

i think viewing abuse as a set of behaviors also encourages you to treat interpersonal abuse as if it's discontinuous with systemic abuse, which is inaccurate and unproductive. a key part of succession's premise is that, because the family is literally the business, the familial abuse within the roy family is inextricable from the broader systems of capitalism, patriarchy, and the sexual violence and abuse endemic to them. with regards to how the show satirizes and critiques these systems, i think it's very telling that all of the characters are to some degree complicit and/or participants in abuse, but logan is the only one i'd say is unambiguously and intentionally presented as 'an abuser' (whose abuse is not an isolated product of him as a person, but integrated into/inseparable from the capitalist system which persists after his death). still, logan isn't reduced to a one-dimensional angry, abusive dad, he's given depth and complexity. his continued insistence that he loves his children isn't treated as something that's untrue, but that doesn't make it inherently good, and it certainly isn't incompatible with him abusing them.

circling back to tom and shiv. their relationship is unhealthy, it's not good for either of them to be married, shiv does fucking awful things to tom and tom does awful things right back, i'm not questioning any of that. but at my most cynical and bitchy, what it comes down to is quite simply: shiv doesn't have enough power over tom to be abusive, systemically or personally.

the thing is sometimes you see people say 'wow, if the genders were reversed people would say tom and shiv's relationship is unambiguously abusive!' which... hrm, but really the issue is that. the genders are the way they are, that's for a reason, and yes, that does make a significant difference in how we perceive their relationship and power dynamics. tom holds very real and present power over shiv as a man and as her husband, proposing to her when she was vulnerable in a way that placed huge pressure on her to accept and then trying to get her to have his baby so he can become patriarch. shiv's the heiress with the legitimacy of her family name and generational wealth but she is continuously, unavoidably subjected to gendered discrimination and violence. she's never allowed direct access to real power - she has to rely on the men around her, her husband or her brothers, and if they don't feel like humoring her she's shit out of luck.

this doesn't cancel out like a math equation, but it definitely makes things much more complicated than shiv being an Evil Bitch Wife to her Poor Pitiful Husband. when shiv finally does push tom too far, he immediately, successfully, goes over her head to her abusive father to fuck her over. maybe shiv wants to be her father in her relationships and exert the same kind of control he does. but she doesn't and she can't! she does not have that power! she cannot stop tom from kicking back and his hits are significant. as much as she might like to pretend otherwise, tom not only has always had the power to leave in a way shiv doesn't, he had and has the power to fuck her up badly, and he's used that power. that is simply not the power dynamic between abuser and victim to me.

i also have to say that abuse is not always going to be definitive black and white. in real life there are plenty of unambiguous situations but there are also plenty of complicated situations, and applying judgments to fiction is not always straightforward. i can't exactly call someone 'wrong' for personally being uncomfortable with tom and shiv's relationship or believing shiv is abusive, but i'm very skeptical of the viewpoint and the motivations or assumptions that are often contained within. if shiv is abusive, she definitely isn't uniquely so among the cast, so you had better be applying that label and any associated moral judgments equally across the board.

#mingbox #abuse mention #might self destruct this tag later but it's like.#my relationship with my ex was definitely unhealthy and fucked me up but it was not abusive because fundamentally.#he was actively worse to me than i was to him but the moment he went too far i cut him off and took all the friends in the divorce #if he had more influence in our social circle or could actually successfully emotionally manipulate me it would've been much worse #but he didn't so it wasn't. i won the idgaf wars and everyone liked me better because i am not an asshole so i peaced out.#he's a dickhead and i had to leave that relationship for my own good. still it was not abusive #chalkboard

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thornybushybrambles · 1 year

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I think what I loved about Violet coming on to Corky so much is like, how it removes the predatory lesbian fear, both as a trope and for Corky in-universe. Like, in the elevator, Corky is definitely into her, she eyes her up, the camera focuses on her legs, but Corky never makes the first move. Even when Violet literally places her hand on her breast and says she's seducing her, Corky doesn't actually fondle her until Violet says she wants her to. It's just AH!! It's so cool to see a gnc lesbian portrayed as a subject of desire, Violet wants her, badly. Badly enough to put millions of dollars and lives on the line.

And it's also such a wonderful subversion of the femme fatale. Not very feminist of me to say, but I find femme fatales as a trope really hot, and I kinda don't even feel bad about it in this instance because Violet actually is the one moving the plot forward. She doesn't betray or use Corky (our noir protagonist), she's using and betraying the men (our noir antagonists) in the narrative, and she's fucking getting away with it. She is the manipulator, she is the active energy to the plot, she sets the story into motion at every turn. Corky, despite her tough attitude and handiness, is entirely reliant on Violet for direction. It's Violet's idea to steal the money, it's Violet who knows the inner relationships of the mob, it's Violet who wants out of the business, it's Violet who wants in Corky's pussy life. Corky details the heist plan and steals the cash, sure, but only after prodding, and receiving information from, you guessed it, Violet!

spoilers

And I think it's also worth noting that Corky never kills anyone throughout the entire movie, but Violet shoots Caesar in the penultimate scene. It's a really powerful climax where Caesar is basically playing chicken with her, taunting that she wouldn't actually shoot him, which utterly fails and tips her over the edge instead. Violet hates being told what she wants, this is proved again and again in the story. First by Corky, who says she's going to leave her for a man (she gets pissed at this one), secondly by Caesar who tells her she doesn't actually want out of the mafia, she's just being sensitive. Then of course lastly in the end scenes. The men treat her like an object, and she takes back autonomy in the climax of the movie by shooting her oppressive husband. I think there's probably something to be said about the fact that guns are directly compared to penises as well; when Caesar sees Mickey pointing a gun at him, he jovially asks why he's got his pecker out. Killing is referred to as "fucking" multiple times (typical for a mafia movie, insert dworkin quote here, etc.) You kill someone with a gun, and you fuck someone with a cock. Violet has literal and symbolic sexual agency: she kills Caesar because she wants to, in the same way she seduces Corky because she wants to.

Violet is such a Character™️ to me, Corky almost seems a little lacking in her depth comparatively, though that's probably a result of her screentime being a bit lacking. I'll probably end up rewatching and reevaluating though, I definitely have thoughts on how Corky's trust issues could've been handled by the narrative as well as Violet's clawing for autonomy.

#bound 1996 #expect character essays from me periodically

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kimberlyannharts · 3 months

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LAST TIME ON POWER RANGERS: Ranger Slayer got herself captured by Dark Specter's forces while saving Drakkon's ass. BUT Drakkon makes up for it by saving HER ass from Dark Specter's corruption. BUT, he died in the process. So that means Slayer now has to save everyone's ass. Again. Seriously, this is like the third event where Slayer has to save everyone.

it's Power Rangers Unlimited: The Morphin Masters!

= so Drakkon and Slayer training together is canon, okay cool, book over, I got what I need

= But moving on from that these panels specifically make me crazyyyyy because what do you mean Tommy and Kim together means "happy ending"? What do you mean referring to Kim as Tommy's guardian angel? What do you MEAN redrawing Drakkon's death scene as more intimate than it was in 116????????

= MY STUPID EX-HUSBAND DIED ON ME SO I HAVE TO GO ON THIS STUPID QUEST

= So something cool about these energy beasts - they're all tied to ranger powers! A yellow bear, a red lion and ape, a gold praying mantis, a white rhino, and an orange scorpion. Sure, the latter wasn't TECHNICALLY a ranger power, just a zord, but there's a point to the "the PR universe did have Kyurangers at some point" theorists

= I just like this panel because it's silly. she's got the zoomies

= Slayer continuing to win the idgaf war against literal deities

= and then they founded an animation studio that gave us the Minions. so unfortunately they gotta go

= but in seriousness, I guess this is how we're going to rationalize how the MMs were portrayed in Beyond the Grid versus how they were portrayed in Power Rangers Universe - the BtG guys were a couple specific higher-power ones. It's fine, I guess. I'm still not a fan of the idea of an entire civilization just calling themselves Morphin Masters, though. Just make.....THESE GUYS the Morphin Masters. Why are they ALL the Morphin Masters??????? Now we have to establish a SUB-SECTION of the Morphin Masters!!!!!!!!!

= Slayer holding Drakkon and his death in high regard like this.......god. god.

= oh hi Blue really cool to see you again hope you don't die in the next few pages

= oh well never mind. Guess we're never going to find out why they came back to life, which was their reason for going into the Grid in the first place, huh

= I do like how we're going back to referring to Blue with they/them pronouns. I guess in hindsight we really were just misgendering them for years. awesome

= I'm glad we're fully acknowledging all the shit Slayer has gone through but I will admit my immediate reaction to the "it was fire" line was "she would not fucking say that". Maybe as a teen, sure. But NOW?

Pink: follow me to the orifice

Slayer: .....the ORIFICE?

= oh hey guys, how have you been since you got retconned into existence and therefore have accomplished nothing in the main series

= I know this is supposed to be a whole thing of "ohhhh these guys think they're free but they're still being controlled yada yada" but at the same time as someone who hated the Emissary retcon and wishes that we could have gotten more from the characters as they were before........them being angry over losing what they had is very very good and I wish it wasn't done through "evil corruption magic." It was good with corrupted Slayer because they dedicated an entire issue to it and FREED HER at the end, allowing more time and space for development; here it's just a quick fight scene and in the case of Blue, followed up with death. And slight spoilers here, even if they don't die here, the way the Emissaries have been dropping like flies doesn't give me much hope for their survival if they show up in the main series

= I wonder if this is a reference to how in an early draft for the Ranger Slayer one-shot, the Bow of Darkness was going to be broken in half by Zombie Rita and Slayer would have used it as dual swords. Either way it's fucking cool

= also while the inclusion of Dino Thunder as one of Pink's forms is a simple mistake, it takes me back to those old DT AU fics where Kim became DT Pink. They're canon now guys, no takebacks!

= So turns out the "Illumination" are just a bunch of senile grandpas. Yeah, that's.............the big revelation for where the Morphin Masters have been. ok

= Now let me just say for this story, the Morphin Masters being useless is a fine decision, for the same reason why the Morphin Masters were useless in Dino/Cosmic Fury - you can't have these overpowered god figures show up and fix everything with a wave of their hand. This applies to every story ever - the god-like figure is captured, or dead, or simply doesn't care enough to interfere. It's a very basic and logical choice for a narrative in order for our actual grounded protagonists to be the heroes.

HOWEVER. It's another instance of Boom hyping up these kinds of storylines as groundbreaking revelations of PR's mythos for years just for the actual reveal to be kind of a letdown. Phantom Ranger's identity. Dark Specter being a major villain. The Squadron Rangers. And now the Morphin Masters' current status. All hyped-up concepts that either get rushed or end up secondary to other concepts, and in the end, don't feel like they matter. It's getting to be a bit tiresome, and I'm saying that as someone who doesn't hold PR lore high on her list of reasons I enjoy the franchise in the first place. And it doesn't help here that, as I've said before, it just feels more like a way to stretch out this event to fill its year-long timeframe. By the end of this book, nothing was accomplished except two more Emissaries are dead (not that they did anything before this) and I guess Green and Black will eventually join the fight, so what was the point of it all. Slayer never really believed the Morphin Masters would help them anyway, so it's not like she changed by the end either - Pink was the only one who really developed as a character, and, well......

= Pink quick eat an imaginary Snickers you're not you when you're hungry

= this is the third person Slayer has killed in two books. she's so good at her job

= also you may have noticed that we've killed two Emissaries and they're not turning to stone nor having a giant spider boi burst out of their bodies. It's soooooooooooo cool how that entire story arc meant nothing in the long run

= ugh yes queen swear off religion just like that

= also at this point Drakkon has wielded the power of a Morphin Master and Slayer was offered the position of one. What I'm getting at here is Tomberly are indeed divine figures

#mmpr #mmpr comic #mmpr comic spoilers #comic recap #pr unlimited #the morphin masters

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lightparty-fullparty · 2 months

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Gods okay I need to talk about the Stormblood Antagonists for a hot minute. Whatever personal issues I have with how Stormblood is paced or how certain characters are handled, the villains are absolutely fantastic.

If there is one singular theme that ties the main three antagonists (that being, Fordola/Yotsuyu/Zenos) together. It's the idea of the Ouroboros. The snake that is caught in a self-destructive cycle of devouring it's own tail.

Historical in our real world, the Ouroboros has been symbolic of main things, the cycles of life and death, fertility, even immortality. However, it can also been seen in a more negative light as a symbol of perpetuated suffering. Of being unable to let go of something that only end up hurting you more. And gods doesn't that just sound familiar?

Now I can hear you, in your head saying "But Gengar - Yostuyu and Fordola obviously have those parallels of suffering abuse and becoming abusers themselves, but what the hell are you doing throwing Zenos in there too? He's the abuser." And I get it, I do. Aside from the fact I'm a self-admitted Zenos lover, he doesn't at first glance really fit in with the ladies. But hear me out okay?

It's not just suffering abuse. It's refusing to let go and allow yourself and your perspective to change, even though your current way of thinking and acting is only making you suffer more. Yotsuyu was victimised for *years* at the hands of her Aunt/Uncle/Asahi. Then sold off to an (asummedly) abusive husband, and then sold again into prostitution. She was never offered a shred of sympathy or kindness during this time. And when she was given power, given authority and the means to protect herself physically. She choose to return all of the suffering she endured onto the people of Doma. She did not see them as being in the same position as her, suffering under the abuse of the Garlean Empire. She did not offer them any sympathy or kindness of her own, because (in her mind) they had denied that basic decency to her. Yotsuyu couldn't let go of her hatred until a literal giant wooden beam smacked her on the head and gave her complete amniesia. At which point, she displayed the ability to be kind. To think of others and to try and do nice things for them (Persimmons anyone?). Tsuyu was freed from her self-inflicted cycle of pain. She stopped letting herself be comsumed by her own anger and fear. Fordola was much the same, though her family at least very clearly cared for her. She grew up in an occupied Ala Mihgo. In a family with supported the Imperial force. Out of genuine agreement with the Empire or as a means of ensuring a sightly better life for themselves we don't really know (as far as I can remember at least). Fordola's suffering, much like Yotsuyu's, came at the hands of her own 'countrymen'. People who (rightly) despised the Empire for it's brutal oppression, but who choose to take it on someone more vulnerable and accessable. A child. A young girl who was given a horrible and sudden lesson on just how cruel people can be. On both sides of the conflict.

Fordola chose to join the Garlean Army in the hopes of amassing power for herself. Of trying desperately to carve out some place of herself and her friends where they felt they actually belonged. Where they would be respected. Unfortunately, she found none of this. The Garleans saw her as a 'savage', the Ala Mihgian's saw her as a tratior. Like Yotsuyu, Fordola couldn't let go of her desire for revenge. Her desire to "make anyone who ever looked down on (her) pay!". It drove her to extremes to try and hold onto that scrap of power she had managed to gather. The resonant, the Castrum, all of it more teeth biting into her own tail. So what can Zenos not let go of?

His belief that the only joy he can find in life is from dying in combat. Because let's be honest with ourselves, Zenos has no desire to live here. He wants a meaningful death, a brilliant, climactic, perfect moment and then he wants to not be alive anymore after that. It's why he chooses to kill himself after the Royal Menagiere. You beat him! You gave him his perfect moment! He knows (believes) that there's nothing left for him after this! So he dies. Zenos is infact suffering. It's just not as clear as Fordola or Yotsuyu. He's miserable. He's perpetually bored, and lethargic, and consumed by apathy. A prison of his own making because he has had tunnel vision since he was like 8? 10? that combat was the only thing capable of making him feel anything. So he chases after it, chases after you (the WOL). Trying to push you and push you like he was until you're capable of giving him what he wants. His perfect, transcendant moment of pure joy, and then death after.

Really what it comes down to is that Fordola, Yotsuyu, and Zenos are stuck in their own self-perpetuated misery. Yotsuyu in her fear of powerlessness, Fordola in her need for revenge, and Zenos in his desperation for meaning.

And none of them can see a way to break their own cycles until it someone outside of it comes in to try and do it for them. (Gosetsu/Lyse + Arenvald/WOL+Alisaie)

'Ere does the head devour the tail.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #zenos yae galvus #fordola rem lupis #yotsuyu goe brutus #it's important to me as well that Fordola is the only one to full break out of her cycle #the only one to get a meaningful second chance to try and start over again #because Fordola was the only one who knew what kindness and love was before her cycle started #she was the only one who was able to make connections with people #ghostly rambles

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microscotch · 4 months

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Girllll I've been spending my holidays with rereading Nobody's Home and I just wanted to ask, are Circe and Loki divorced? If so, what made you divorce them?

YUP the story is set post psp, and part of my backstory for the beakers is them getting a divorce!

so when looking at their relationship i tried to take everything into consideration that the pc and psp game gave to us. let me put a below the cut though so not everyone has to be witness to me inflicting the makings of chronic joint pain on myself:

we know poor nervous died at one point. the implications from both games about how he came to be their test subject are quite conflicting, but i went with emily and annies claims that he signed up to be their test subject for money, as it, from my perspective, tied better into explaining their current situation and provided more detail in general as opposed to maxis' sloppy memory distribution.

with their first subject, the beakers could to some extent rest on the risk a job like this entails and neatly detail it in the contract they had nervous sign to avoid charges as much as possible. in addition to that, they were able to throw a lot of money at preventing the sensationalization of it, but it did come at a cost: 1) selling the castle to make up for it and 2) circe losing her license and the hospital ceasing any affiliation with her. cut to the sad little paradise place house and circe only being hinted at doing 'business' by that time:

left with a less extensive financial repertoire, loki is eager to do whatever it may take to get his precious castle back, and, once he invented something he believed to be a future gold mine, secured some secret patents that will net him millions (quote: circe). with loki, by her assumption, not being willing to share the profits with her, it makes sense for circe to be uneasy and distrustful about this, as the two are already on less safe ground, both in regards to finances and the law, and now he wants to keep all the money he'll be making to himself? her secret about harbouring some underlying resentment for loki's independence and distinction is also pretty convenient here and can be used as an implication that she wasn't as lucky as her husband, particularly regarding him not facing repercussions the same way she did. circe, on the other hand, is having an affair. while that was a product of mind control and not her fault, neither she or loki know that. all that is being revealed to loki is his wife cheating on him. this is where they're left at. depending on the string of dialogue, loki will say that if anyone moves out, it will be his wife, cause it's his house.

after thinking about it, circe would most likely move out immediately. after all of that happening inc. circes slap interaction loop, i can't see either of them comfortable spending even one more night at the same house together. while it is revealed at the end of the game that newlow was mindcontrolling the citizens, we don't know when and how fast these news will actively be passed along, what investigations are being led, etc. - point being, the trifecta of the beakers still being in each others presence, these news reaching them by that time and drawing the correct conclusions from it is the best case scenario but, after the considerations given above, not the most likely one. especially because there's an urgent issue that would capture their attention almost immediately after the game storyline is over: gimi branko. unlike nervous where they could rely on a contract, they literally kidnapped this guy and kept him locked up against his will, and someone had to save him aka he can press charges and tell everything in great detail, with a witness to top it off. they don't have the financial resources to buy themselves out of that anymore (loki's patents aside, but as of now he hasn't seen a cent of that and sure wouldn't consider his wife given recent events), the charges are more dire AND they're at odds with each other.

so i totally had them rat each other out, both hoping to get the lower charge by placing as much blame on the other person as possible. even if gimi being gone were the very first thing they noticed after being at each other's throat, judging by the way they already talked about each other before both their suspicions turned out to be true, there's way too much mutual distrust that built up over a long period of time for them to suck it up for the occasion and not prioritizing their own asses. and thats the end of the evil couple.

#wtfaq #strangetown #loki beaker #circe beaker #nervous subject #gimi branko #nh

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deadpool15 · 5 months

Text

Our life

"HI, my name is S-Sunny. Sorry, I'm a bit camera shy, unlike this one right here." I point in the direction of my husband sitting next to me. It always feels a bit crazy referring to him as my husband. I'm like, I'm married now. "And I'm Byeon woo seok, this is Mrs. Byeon." I stare at that big Ole lopsided smile on his beautiful plump lips. "Baby, I introduced myself already," "Yea, and you didn't say it right, honey, so I got you." To think I'm married to this cringe worthy guy is a wild thought.

Question 1. How did you two meet?

Adjusting myself in the seat, I hadn't noticed I'd moved slightly away from Woo seok until he pulled me right back under him. "Can you even remember this, I know I can right down to the smallest detail, but she has a very bad memory in general." I snicker at that comment. Of course, he wants to tell the public that. "I'll start, we met at a cafe. She was studying or technically finishing up some homework when I had just gotten my order and decided that instead of taking it to go, I would stay and have a seat. I saw her, sitting in the very corner of the café working away on her laptop while wearing a turtleneck with a big baby blue trench coart sitting on the side of her and her blue jeans She looked like something out of a Disney movie, I had never seen something so beautiful." I blushed hearing him recall the story. He always tells it as if he is falling in love all over again. "She didn't even notice when I asked if I could sit with her, so into her on little world." I fixed a hair on his forehead before grabbing his hand. "I did notice, though I thought it was weird. I mean, I grew up in a black neighborhood, though I went to schools in all white neighborhoods. So, no one ever took time to get to know me or wanted to even be next to me. I got used to my own company to the point where I became so introverted that when someone spoke to me, I would mumble and walk away or pretend to be mute. No one in that cafe sat next to me now I don't know if it was a racist thing or a simply just a rule of don't act next to someone when there are a lot of seats. I literally proceeded to look behind me, thinking he was speaking to someone else, but my seat was against the wall." We both sit there laughing at that memory.

Question 2. Who took interest first?

"I know for a fact it was me. She was the sweetest thing I had ever encountered in my life. She was an all shy, but once you got to know her, she was this amazing bubbly soul." I simply looked at the camera feeling aware of the people in the room until Woo seok squeezed my hand to let me know I wasn't alone. "When I first met, i was trying to figure out why this beautiful human wanted to be next to me. I was a college student at the time, like first year I'm on my last year now. I came to Korea to get a degree and a change of scenery. I grew up in Tennessee, U.S. I feel like it's obviously once I start speaking English. Though, all my life, the only thing I knew was farmland. Taking care of the animals and my papa."

Question 3. Is your height an issue?

I stared at the entire camera staff when I heard the question, with a poker face. "Really guys? We are adults here who wrote that in the first place, huh?" I stand up, causing the crew to laugh even harder than before. "I'm not answering the question, forget all of you. I thought we were friends." I sat there trying not to pout, knowing it would only make them embarrass me further. "Baby, your height is fine. You're just short, and that's ok." I blink my eyes up at him. Sadly, I still have to look up even though he is sitting down. "I'm not short. you're just really tall." I lie through my teeth. Well, it's not exactly a lie he is really tall, but I'm really short. Standing at 4'11, cursing my ancestors for not marrying any tall men down the line to help a girl out. When I met him, the first thing I noticed was his height, I mean, he was standing. While I was sitting, when I stood up, he simply laughed and told me I looked like something from a movie.

Question 4. Celebrity look-alike?

"I didn't really have one until I saw Bridgerton. There is a girl on there. She plays Lady Whistletown. I believe her name is Nicola Coughlan. While I was doing a shoot in LA, someone pointed out the fact that we looked so much alike, and I didn't believe them until I saw her. She is slightly taller than me and way older as well. Though it's nice to be compared to her." I stated while smiling, I remember when someone showed me her, and I was like, that's a white woman, until I started to see the similarities. Crazy right? "I don't believe I have one in general, Sunny claims I look like Niki from Enhypen. I don't really see that." I stare at the crew watching many people shake their heads in unison. "See, I told you, it's really the lips and the eyes that make them look similar. They both have pump Bratz doll lips." He chuckles when he hears the comparison, remembering on one of our first dates I had said he reminded me of a Bratz doll while he sat there confused I laughed. "You claim I remind you of that fairy, and we look nothing alike, so we are even, sir." He stops laughing to pull our phone, showing the crew what I'm talking about. "It's not necessarily their looks because besides the small stature and button nose, they don't look alike at all, but they sound so much alike. That's what I noticed when he spoke English, I told her she reminded me of a fairy. I just couldn't remember the movie. Turns out it was an American children's film, I had watched two nights before meeting her."

Question 5. Was marrying a sudden decision?

"In a way, it kinda was, I had never planned on getting married, not just in Korea, though, in general. The idea of marriage was so stupid to me like imagine someone saying I love you so much I'm gonna get the government involved so you never leave me and if you try to it will be a lot of paperwork and pain you have to go through." Woo seok laughed as he heard my explanation of marriage it was always a funny idea to him. He wanted marriage, so we were different in that way. "I met here when I was 31 at the time, so my mother, as well as the elders kn my life kept nagging me to marry someone, but my acting career was doing good and I didn't see myself settling foen until I met her. Though she told me one night she didn't have any intentions to marry me." I placed my head over his mouth and shushed him. "When you say it like that, it sounds bad. Be quiet. It's not like I didn't have intentions to marry him, I just didn't think about marriage in general with anyone. We had been dating for 6 months, and I was afraid to sleep in the bed with him, to be honest. No matter what, I've never been one to plan out my future, I simply live in the moment. Because the future scares me. I laughed, recalling the memory.

Flashback

We had just finished our fate at the amusement park. It was fun, though I was hungry and couldn't wait to get home and eat. Woo seok was driving when I noticed the sky had become blurry and soon rain started to pour, after a while of driving it was coming down hard and he suggested he pull over to his unit. I was completely ok with that until I realized that meant I would have to come inside his home. "It's too dangerous to be driving out in the rain, Sun, we can go up to my apartment and just spend the night." I timidly agreed, I had never spent the night over to a guy's house or anyone for that matter. We walked inside the building, greeting the front receptionist. Then, we made our way to the elevator. Knowing what was to come, I simply stared at the numbers on the elevator, hoping they would go slower.

The sound of the loud ding let me know my wishes remained in vain. We stepped inside the elevator, I'm pretty sure my boyfriend had taken notice of how distance I had become. It wasn't necessarily his fault, I mean, it was he made me nervous as shit. Omg I just swore it was in my head, so it doesn't really count. The elevator came to a stop, breaking me from my thoughts, I watched the tall man fish through his pocket while grabbing my hand with his other to unlock the door for us. He eventually found the key, letting us both inside his flat. While I took my shoes off, he let me know he would get me a change of clothes. I was so tired I didn't feel like showering, and I was glad I didn't wear any makeup today. "Here, baby, I got you some shorts and a shirt. Hopefully, you can fit into this." He stated while he motioned me towards the bathroom to change, letting me know he would be in the kitchen. I quickly took off my clothes and changed into the pair I was given. I walked out of the bathroom to notice he had changed as well, walking around in a pair of pajama pants and a rob on his shoulders, no shirt was seen. This man is trying to kill me, Lord.

I stared at her as she came out of the bathroom, and God, what did I do to deserve such a woman. She was walking around here, looking like sex. She was a beauty. Nothing could make me think differently. I thought those shorts wouldn't fit her, but I guess I forgot how thick she was. Her ass was looking so good in them. I wanted to take a bite fuck, I never knew I was an ass man until I met her. But I had to control myself for her she was my shy baby, after all. "Did you want something to eat, baby?" She nodded her head, and I went to fixing her favorite Ramen. I pulled her closer until I sat her on the counter. She was startled pushing my chest back while looking in the opposite direction for my modesty. How adorable. "Baby, we've been together for a while now. You can look at me without a shirt. I promise I won't get angry." She was thinking too hard anyone could see that, so I grabbed her by the chin, turning her in my direction and pulling her closer again. "I'm all yours."

Present

Question 6- What's sunny stand for?

I turned to her, letting myself get captured by all her beauty. Rubbing her back, I just liked being by her at all times. I had never been a clingy guy until I met Sunny. She brought out a completely different side kd me I didn't know existed. "It stands for like half of my name. It's Sunnybelle. Funny enough, my dad had a thing for fairy-tales as a kid and growing up as well. He made us read them to him, trying to make sure we could read. He claimed that when I was born, the sun was shining so bright like it was never of my birth. And everything fell into place in his life after, with no worries. Extremely exaggerated story thanks to my father, but that's my real government name. I say that because a lot of people think I'm lying when I tell them that." I blushed, realizing Woo seok was still staring at me.

Question 7- Are you excited for everyone to see your show?

We both were thinking about that one. I feel like Woo seok expected this question because he was used to the interviews, though I was working in the fashion industry. No one ever really was interested in questioning me unless it was about my race. "We are super happy that you all will get to see a little of our lives. I say a little because we won't be adding every detail on here. I mean, we must keep certain things private, you know." I nodded to his words agreeing. Certain fans took these types of shows as an invitation to stalk people or just crazy stuff in general. I myself am a very private person, to be honest, so this was a whole new process for me. Though I was ok with it as long as they didn't follow me into the bathrooms or something. I chuckle thinking about how stupid that would be before looking around the room, hoping no one saw me do that. I can literally hear the crazy talking to yourself comments. "He is correct. It will be a fun new experience for all of us. And I hope you all enjoy seeing us live together on this path." I hit Woo seok's arm since he was trying to tickle me on the slide with no one looking.

*Stay tuned for the next chapter*

#byeonwooseok x reader #byeon woo seok #oc #reality

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