#an unlikely countess

[nightingalescall]

God's Perfect Lamb

Kingdom of Ebreau:

Prologue(you are here)|part 1|part 2

"OH MY GOD!!!!!"

You screamed as you free fell from the sky. The wind whistled pass you, whipping your hair and slapping your cheeks until they stung. You flailed about, thrashing your arms and legs in the air, desperately hoping to slow your descend into inevitable doom.

This day could not get any weirder. You thought the day when you got transmigrated into this world took first place in that department but fate took that as a challenge and proceeded to completely and utterly prove you wrong. The day you got here, at least you were safely lying in an open field on the outskirts of the city, unlike now where you were falling to your death from the sky.

You had endured a great amount of hardship during your stay in this world. You know all those stories about someone getting transmigrated into a parallel world as a noble or wealthy merchant or maybe even a royal? Well, you didn't get that privilege. You weren't placed into the body of a princess, a duchess, a countess or.....anybody, to be honest. You were just you. Plain old (y/n). So the idea living a life of luxury and comfort was thrown straight out the window at that revelation. You had nothing with you. No money, no property, no status. You had to start from the ground up if you have wanted to survive in this new world.

But that wasn't the biggest problem. By "nothing", that includes having no form of identification. You're not sure if it's just a subject of it never being brought up in those novels or if identification just wasn't a thing in those world, but in this one, it was a serious issue.

Having neither a place to stay nor enough money to buy one, you were forced onto the streets until you had the finances to own one. So it wasn't unexpected when the authorities took notice of you and brought you to their headquarters to give you necessary aid. It was all going well until they found out they had absolutely no record on you in their database. That's when they became hostile and grilled you to no end.

You couldn't just say you were from another universe and you had no information to based any lies on so many of their question were met with a silent stare or a soft "um".

In the end, they decided to label you a person of interest and should be kept under surveillance since they had no dirt on you to convict or pardon any crimes you may have potentially committed (even though you didn't). You were both relieved and surprised at the conclusion they came to since even you, yourself were convinced they were going to throw you in jail.

With no charges pressed on you, you were free to go. But where though? You were still homeless, jobless and penniless. Pitying you, they ended up giving you the help they initially planned on giving. They gave you a job.

And that's how you ended up as their errand girl. Any trivial or simple matters such as relaying messages to guards, sending documents to scribes and then retrieving them, delivering packages to and from the headquarters etc etc. It was an easy job so the low pay wasn't a surprise. It was barely enough for the small house you rented a few blocks away from headquarters. However, you were given food and allowed to eat with the guards at headquarters everyday as long as you remained their errand girl so that saves you the money and worry of getting enough to eat. It was a win-win situation for both parties. You get a job and the guards can always keep on eye on you. Thus, even with little to no money to your name, you settled into your new life in this world.

It's been more than a year since your transmigration and to be honest..... You were sick of this place. Remember the aforementioned win-win situation? Yeah, that was only in the beginning. As time went on and your suspicion has pretty much been cleared up, you were still stuck with doing this minimum wage job (if that was even a concept in this world). Just because you were getting by with this job doesn't mean you were happy with it. You only had enough for daily necessities. It's already been a long time since you've arrived here and you had not once enjoyed any type of indulgence in that time gap. Just work, work, work. Those damned guards keep saying you still need to be under surveillance but you knew well that they were just trying to keep you around to do their bidding. Honestly, what kind of guard lets a potential fugitive into their room to get something for them? You knew they trusted you. That's why they wanted you to stay as their little helper.

So here you are now. In the middle of the night, on your way back to headquarters after helping deliver a package to the biggest temple in the country, the Temple of Sonnet. This world, or at least Ebreau in particular, was a country of strong faith. They are a religious country where every citizen worshiped Calerus. Though his title may vary from person to person, it’s always some form of wealth and gold so most people call him the God of Prosperity.

With religion being such as important part of the kingdom, it wasn't surprising when you found out the temple worked in close relation with the imperial palace. The Royal family of Ebreau collaborated with the Temple of Sonnet in both political and cultural aspect. Organising nationwide celebrations, meeting with diplomats from afar, anything that are related to the affairs of the country, chances are both parties are involved. Basically, you mess with the temple, you mess with the Royal family. So definitely not someplace you like hanging about at, lest you want to accidentally offend someone and get a ticket straight to getting-your-head-chopped-off town.

The cold breeze of the night sent shivers down your spine as it blew into your thin clothing. You rubbed your hands together, desperately trying to warm them up but to no avail. You scurried through the courtyard quickly, making your way back to the entrance of the temple. It was relatively silent, saved for your footsteps and the distant sound of flowing water from a fountain somewhere.

Thankfully, the walk was a short one. Reaching the opened gate of the entrance, you walked past the two statues of Calerus at each side of the gate and out back onto the familiar cobble walkway. You snuck a few glances at the white statues of the god of this kingdom as you passed by.

Even in the dim moonlight, you could see the white marble eyes of the statue staring down at you, its mouth curved downward as both hands were outstretched to the side with white round discs made to look like gold coins pouring out of its hands and onto the base of the statue.

This was how the people of Ebreau depicted their God. Sharp eyes casted downwards, overseeing and observing their every move, his hands overflowing with gold, symbolising his absolute authority over the wealth in the land.

You stood, staring at the statue as you were reminded of the saying of the people.

Calerus, the prosperous.

Calerus, the strategist.

Calerus, the omnipresent.

Calerus, the all knowing.

Calerus, the god of Ebreau.

"All is within his hand. Follow his plan and golden rain shall pour at your journey's end."

...

"Tch."

You clicked your tongue as you turned away abruptly from the statue and continued on your way back. A look of disdain plastered on your face as you marched off from the temple.

The more you thought about how worshiped Calerus was and how many praises the people sang for him, the more angry you got. You weren't jealous. No, you weren't some narcissist with a god complex who wanted this sort of treatment. Of course not. What you were pissed about was how Ebreauans talk about how everything in life was Calerus' work. His plan, so to speak that allowed you to prosper and succeed. They claim that all challenges are obstacles on a path towards prosperity that Calerus has specifically chosen for someone.

"Everything has a purpose and meaning."

Well, personally, you though it was pretty nonsense.

If this god of theirs was so smart and crafty, if everything truly happened according to his plan then why the heck were you here? Why were you here in this fantasty world? What purpose did He bring you here for? And why has that "purpose" not shown itself even after you've been thrown here for almost 2 years?!?!

In your mind, Calerus is nothing but a liar and a fraud. Where's the prosperity He promised? What did He have planned? Did He even have anything planned??

You were angry and with good reasons. The people you've met here have been telling you that Calerus has something planned for you even if you're not from Ebreau since day one. They assured you that He will look over you, even if you're not a follower. Yet, you've been met with nothing but problems and hardships during your stay here. And worse, you don't see it ever becoming better.

"What a scam."

You mumbled under your breath and scoffed.

"Ugh..Huh?"

You groaned softly as you suddenly felt lightheaded. You legs got weak and you began to wobble, stumbling forward a few steps. You pressed your hand to you head, applying pressure to both of your temples. Nausea seizes your body as you gagged.

"Huhg..!"

The world spun around you and the ground below your feet felt like it disappeared as you lost your footing. You fell forward and braced for impact.

But it never came.

...?

You slowly regain control as the short-lived dizziness subsides. The disorientation passes and you now realised the odd position you're in. You're...Floating? Your face was hovering several inches away from the ground despite your hands not supporting your upper body. And when did the streets of Ebreau get so....White and fluffy? In fact, they looked like cloud-

"Heretic."

A deep voice suddenly rumbled in your ears and your head shot up. A man with shoulder length grey hair stood before you, his golden eyes piercing into your soul as he spoke with authority. He donned black robes that exposed only his left arm and part of his chest. Golden streaks also lined themselves along the right sleeves and tails of the robe. He seemed.... Ethereal. Godly even.

Wait....Godly?

"C-calerus?”

You stuttered in fear and disbelief.

“One did not expect to be recognised by thou so quickly. Peculiar for a non believer."

Calerus suddenly lifted his right hand and flicked two of his fingers upwards. That's when you felt a force tugged you up from behind and you hung in midair in front of the god.

"Uwah!" You yelped at the sudden yank. Before you could even recompose yourself, Calerus continued speaking again.

"And to not posses any ounce of humility. Calling one by mine name. Who does thou think thou art?"

You felt a force wrap itself around your neck before squeezing. You gasped and grasped at the invisible force, desperate for it to let go or at least loosen. You choked.

"cough! Stop! P-cough!"

You pleaded as you gasped for air.

"Why would one do that?"

You continued to cough as the force squeezed tighter. You were gonna die. Oh god, you were gonna die. In panic, you blurted out whatever came to mind.

"Because, cough, you still, gasp, owe me!!"

The grip around your neck disappeared and you fell onto the soft ground (if it even was ground). You gasped and coughed. Your lungs greedily sucking in air now that your airways were opened again. That relief was short-lived however as the next moment, you felt a hand grabbed onto your jaw and forced your gaze up.

Calerus stared coldly into your eyes as he spoke.

"Elaborate."

You panicked. You just said that on a whim. Surely, you weren't actually going to ask for compensation from a god....right? There was no way you were going to pull though with what you just said.

The fire inside Calerus' golden eyes told you to do so otherwise, though. You swallowed before slowly speaking.

"You....You brought me here. Why? Why separate me from my family? Why separate me from my friends?"

Calerus raised an eyebrow.

"Bring thou here? To punish thee, of course. Thou spoke ill of mine name."

You shook your head.

"No. I meant, bring me to this world. To Ebreau. What reason do you have?"

Calerus fell silent. He seemed to be lost in thought. You waited agonisingly long before he spoke.

"So it is thou. Thou art the otherworldly traveler, yes?"

Otherworldly? Yes. Traveler? No. Kidnapping victim would be more accurate. Though, you simply nod at his question. It was close enough, you suppose.

He released you jaw and backed away. His gaze blank and devoid of emotion as he raised his hand again. You felt a soft tug this time and you were gently helped up onto your feet.

?

It..Worked?

Calerus sighed before saying,"It would indeed seem one has forgotten about thy needs after thou came to mine kingdom."

Your eyes widen in surprise at his confession

"One will give thee the compensation thou deserves."

"Wait, really?" You couldn't hold back your astonishment.

Calerus stayed quiet as you asked and you felt cold sweat rolled down your face, thinking your question may have angered him.

His gaze went down onto the ground for a brief moment before flicking back up to you.

"Yes. However, know that one was not the being that brought thee to this land."

You tilted your head. "You're not?"

"No. One merely accepted thy visit to mine kingdom."

"Then...Who did?" You asked, the words rolling off your tongue slowly

"Mine....Equal. A ruler of another land far from mine."

Your head was spinning from this revelation. Some other god brought you here? Why? And why let you stay under another god's rule? Before you could ask, Calerus had began to speak again.

"One is not enlightened with the reason why thou has been brought here but one admits fault for neglecting thee after accepting thee as one's own. As such..."

Calerus stepped forward, his steps firm and steady. He raised his right hand to his mouth before biting his index finger. A small wound appeared on his skin and you saw golden blood begin to seep out from the opening. He stretched out his right arm as he made his way towards you.

"W-what are you doing?" You fumbled over your words as you backed away in horror, clutching your hands over your chest.

But Calerus was faster.

In the blink of an eye, he was already in front of you, finger pressing on your forehead. You felt the warm liquid dripping down your forehead as your eyes opened wide in fear, terrified at what he was going to do to you.

He began to chant.

"Might of the northern spirit, wisdom of the southern dragon, divinity of the elements of the east and west, hear one."

You wanted to pull away from his hand but be it fear or some other unknown force, you couldn't as you stayed rooted in place, breathing heavily from anxiety. If the god before you noticed your petrified state, he surely paid it no mind as he continued.

"Let the earth know that the power of gold shall have a vessel to call its own. Let the people rejoice for a vassal of Calerus, the Prosperous Lord shall walk among them. May the world celebrate the birth of mine lamb."

His finger left your forehead for a split second before it came back, colliding with your forehead as he flicked his finger against it. A surge of power shot into your head from his fingertip and spread throughout your body. The sheer magnitude of the force made you almost black out as your vision clouded with dark spots. As if you also suddenly got punched, you were propelled backwards, stumbling and struggling to catch yourself.

You felt yourself stepping on air and lost your balance, falling backwards. The ground(clouds?) had disappeared behind you, opening a small hole that let you fall through. You reached out your hand in a desperate attempt to hold onto something but to no avail.

You fell. Down and down until you could see that the "ground" you were standing on was indeed clouds in the sky. The sky. Calerus peeked his head over the edge, observing you as you fell with the same stoic look on his face. Just before he went out of hearing range, you heard him speak.

"One will be in touch."

He disappeared from view.

Now, back to the present, you were falling to your death, screaming and crying as you begged Calerus for mercy. Where's the compensation?! Was everything just now a trick?! Did you get scammed again?!

Tears rolled out of your eyes and flew into the air as you cried in fear, leaving behind trails of water droplets following your descend.

You sobbed as realisation kicked in that nobody was going to save you, as hopelessness consumed you to the point of not being able to think anymore.

The ground got closer and closer as the seconds ticked by. You closed your eyes which were still overflowing with tears, submitting to your faith and praying the impact will immediately kill you so you won't have to suffer in pain.

Goodbye.

"Ugh!"

You groaned as the impact came. Your back collided with the ground and you were....OK? You were in some pain but nothing too bad. In fact, the pain was already passing now.

Slowly, you opened your eyes and blinked away the tears still trapped inside. It was daytime already. How much time has passed? You looked around and saw petals of different hues falling down before landing on the dirt beside you. Above you, a tree with yellow leaves swayed gently, its branches lightly bouncing up and down while its yellow leaves, detached from their place on the branch, fell softly down and landed on your face. It seemed you fell through the tree just now. That would explain the tears on the hem of your sleeves.

Aurum trees?

Propping yourself up into a sitting position, you stared up as you wondered. While not rare or particularly hard to care for, aurum trees are only planted within temples of Ebreau due its yellow leaves. They are the only type of trees in Ebreau that grew leaves of that shade of yellow. A yellow similar to gold while not being being fully golden coloured. The colour yellow symbolises wealth in Ebreau and thus, indirectly their god, Calerus. They are a symbol of the divine hence why aurum trees are only grown in temples.

Then, that raises the question. Why were you at a temple?

You lowered your gaze from the tree and you nearly gasped from the scene in front of you. You were sitting in the middle of a flowerbed that consisted of various types of flowers with different hues for each one. Not far from you, rows of nuns and monks knelt in an orderly matter, faces all shocked and astonished. Some had their hands clasped together while some were covering their, what you assume to be, gaping mouths. Hushed whispers erupted as they stared and observed you. You even made eye contact with some of the nuns and monks in which all turned away immediately with flushed cheeks.

What's going on? Did you intrude on something? Oh no....

Before your thoughts could spiral any further, a tall shadow suddenly loomed over you. Your head snapped upwards as you met eyes with the figure, a man dressed in white robes with golden embellishments around the collar and hem of the sleeves. His eyes were purple, like amethysts. Under the sunlight, his long blonde hair seemed glossy, shiny even as it draped over his shoulders while he towered over you. Despite his intimidating stance, a soft smile was present on his face as the tails of his eyes curved upwards slightly, giving the impression of a kind and good hearted soul.

The man knelt down, his sleeves fluttering gently due to the breeze. That's when you got a better look at his face. He looked familiar...

It wasn't until that soft and silky voice of his poured out of his mouth when you realised who he was.

"Hello, Messiah. We've been expecting your arrival." He placed his hand on his chest and bowed his head at you. "I am Saint Zephyr Venrose. Representing the temple of Sonnet, the esteemed imperial family and the whole of Ebreau, I humbly welcome you." He lifted his head and smiled. Your breath got caught in your throat as he confirmed your suspicions.

Zephyr Venrose. One of the few saints in all of Ebreau and head of the temple of Sonnet. Closely associated with the royals of the kingdom and is a man of power within the boarders of Ebreau. He often gives speeches given his position as head of the biggest temple in the country during festive events. That's where you've heard his voice the couple of times you were passing by or, if you were in a good mood, listening to him talk. You've never been able to get a good look at his face since you were always pushed back by the crowd so you didn't recognise him at first glance. However, now with his face inches away from yours, you could see every last detail of his features and you must admit, you understood why the folks liked him so much.

Zephyr must surely be blessed in his appearance.

You froze in place as you stared in surprise at him, wondering why he was talking to you and processing his words.

Did he just call you Messiah?

Zephyr noticed your silence and your staring. He adverted his eyes as his gaze dropped down towards the ground while he smiled to himself.

?

You tilted your head to the side in confusion at the sight.

Zephyr coughed lightly before his arms reached towards you. You gasped as he suddenly picked you up bridal style from the flowerbed. Not used to being held like this, you gripped onto his robe for support. Your face contorted in worry and anxiety as you looked at the ground, afraid of being dropped.

Zephyr, of course, took notice of your panic and in response, tightened his grip on you, pulling you closer to him. As you felt his fingers pressing into your skin more tightly, you looked up at him, surprised he realised your concerns so quickly.

He smiled warmly at you as he leaned down, closing the gap between your faces even more. His blonde hair brushing and tickling your face as he whispered into your ear. "Don't be afraid, Miss Messiah. I will never let you fall." His hot breath hit your earlobe and you felt your heart skipped a beat. He pulled away before walking with you in his arms towards the rows of nuns and monks.

"Rejoice, my brothers and sisters for our Savior has come. Our God has delivered us our salvation. May glory be with his name for all eternity."

Zephyr announced loudly and his words were met with echoes of response from the other devotees.

"May he reign supreme!"

Your head felt like it was going to explode with all this information. Was this....Was this the compensation Calerus meant? To be his hands and eyes as you walk along the common folks? To be loved and praised like how he is? To be worshiped? You felt dizzy from being bombarded by this revelation.

You looked back up at Zephyr, hoping he could shed some more light on this predicament you found yourself in. However, you swallowed your words the moment you looked into his purple irises.

Zephyr was known for his gentle and endearing nature. Some say he's the embodiment of kindness. He's the type of person people can't help but be drawn towards due to the sense of security he gives and the tranquil aura he possesses. That was your initial impression of him too.

But looking at him now, you wondered if you were wrong.

With the closeness between you two, you could see the the subtle shade of pink on his cheeks and the flushing redness at the tip of his ears. His breathing fanned your face and you noticed how quick and shallow his breaths were. His fingers went from pressing firmly into your skin to digging themselves into your thighs and waist. Then, if you looked hard enough, you could see him swallowing occasionally.

And last but not least, you couldn't help but notice his eyes that had always been filled with warmth and tenderness seemed....

Crazed.

~✟~

A prologue/world building chapter for my future yandere stories taking place in this universe. If you spot any mistakes, please do point them out so I can correct them and give everyone the best reading experience! Especially with Calerus' old English(?) part, I'm still not sure when to use thee and when to use thou. I only did some basic research on Google.(T_T)

[books-and-omens]

I wonder, too, I wonder when Crowley is going to know. The six-espressos-in-a-big-cup protective hypervigilant Crowley. Ever circling around his angel, snapping at the slightest threat, shielding him from harm.

When is he going to know that he’s been manipulated, too?

And when is he going to know what role he himself played in Aziraphale’s decision?

There are so many things he didn’t tell Aziraphale. To protect him, to spare him, to give him time. Except, of course, all of that also meant that Aziraphale had no time and space to process them.

(And yes, there were things that Crowley could not possibly tell his angel. The cruel disdain of Gabriel’s words at Aziraphale’s execution is burned forever into Crowley’s mind; how could he have taken this dagger to Aziraphale? 

Anyway, shouldn’t the fact of the execution itself be enough for Aziraphale to know?)

But Crowley’s angel is kind, is bright, never expects and is forever surprised by treachery: Rose Montgomery turning out to be a Nazi spy, a countess turning out to not be a countess. Of course Aziraphale’s sheer relief on deciding that he’s been wrong about the Metatron will be a powerful force. He wants to be aligned with something bigger than himself; he wants there to be a point.

For all of S2, Crowley deflects threats from Hell. (Aziraphale, involved? Unlikely, Crowley says with studied nonchalance. And how do you know I didn’t do that miracle?) Out of Aziraphale’s earshot, he threatens and hisses, as he has likely done for millennia. Remember Hell’s book on angels, with everything it says about Aziraphale, with instructions to ‘avvoid’ and report to Crowley? Yeah.

By the end, there are key things that Crowley hasn’t told Aziraphale: his visit to Heaven, Gabriel’s punishment, what it was that Gabriel refused to do. Yes, there were archangels in the room, watching. Yes, Crowley had rather assumed that Aziraphale is as done with Heaven as he is himself. Still, it wasn’t Crowley’s instinct to give Aziraphale all the information. And after Aziraphale’s conversation with the Metatron, Crowley was primed to go ahead with a confession, was interrupted during said confession—so in the aftershock of Aziraphale’s words, he went right back to the path he’d already committed to. Then, of course, it was too late; the pain became too much; neither of them were thinking clearly, neither of them had the time to understand.

Yes, telling Aziraphale of the danger may not have helped. Aziraphale is even better at denial than he is at forgiveness; he might have refused to see what Heaven needs him for, how they intend to keep him in line. (Also, no doubt a worrying thought for Crowley if he was conscious of it: it’s very like Aziraphale to go to Heaven to try and stop the Second Coming no matter the risk to himself.)

But the thing is, the Metatron remembers Crowley. And he must know how rash Crowley is. How impulsive, and how likely to rear up and bite when presented with an offer to be forgiven for an injustice done to him.

So yes, Crowley has been manipulated. Through Aziraphale: through his angel’s indefatigable hope, through his desire to see the best and redeem what had seemed (but surely cannot be!) irredeemable: Heaven itself. Manipulated into storming out, his heart broken, the pain of that kiss still on his lips.

Into, after so many millennia, letting Aziraphale walk straight into danger.

I wonder when Crowley is going to know.

[kaleldobrev]

After Everything

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben & Hughie Campbell

Summary: You and Ben have a heart to heart

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing (17x) & Soft!Ben

Authors Note: Takes place in the Hughie’s Best Friend is Dating Soldier Boy Universe (will probably come up with a better name for that sooner or later). But this takes place after A Simple Misunderstanding & I Want Them To Hear; and closer toward the end of season 3 (an alternative version of season 3 where Ben is not locked away by the CIA — spoiler alert) | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

“Y/N?” Ben called out, his brow furrowing when he didn’t get a response from you. “Y/N?” He called out again, and again there was no answer from you; no answer from anyone. “Where the fuck are you?” He mumbled to himself.

“She’s outside on the porch,” Hughie said from behind him, trying his best to be helpful, as he sensed Soldier Boy was starting to get a little frustrated not being able to find you.

Ben turned around and looked at Hughie who had a smile on his face; but not Ben, Ben’s face was that of pure annoyance. I didn’t fucking ask you, he wanted to say. But he took a deep breath, thinking about what you would want him to say in this moment. “Thanks,” he went with through gritted teeth.

Hughie gave him a slightly puzzled look, surprised that Soldier Boy didn’t give him some kind of smartass answer or telling him to fuck off. “You’re uh, you’re welcome,” his voice hesitant. Is he pranking me? He thought.

Ben simply nodded in response before walking away in the direction of the back porch. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled to himself, in a slightly mocking tone.

“There he is,” Hughie mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t hear him.

Opening up the back door to the porch, he saw you on the porch swing holding your knees close to your chest. You were staring mindlessly off into the distance as the wind blew; not only messing up your hair, but slightly moving the porch swing. You looked so beautiful like this to him; only moonlight lighting up your face as you wore one of his t-shirts that looked like a dress on you.

“Hey Princess,” he said, expecting you to respond to him automatically like you always seemed to do; but this time, you didn’t. “Sweetheart?” He questioned. Again, no response from you. Fuck, you must be out of it, he thought. He walked toward you now, placing a hand on your shoulder and slightly shook you as he said your name. He didn’t want to admit it, but you not answering him slightly scared him.

Within seconds of him slightly shaking you, you finally turned and looked at him, slight sadness in your face and eyes. “I’m sorry, were you calling me?” You asked him, your tone definitely indicating that you were upset, but he didn’t know why.

"Yeah. I was calling you in the house and the cu—Hughie, told me you'd be out here." It took all of his strength not to insult Hughie, but it was hard for him because he found it too easy to pick on him. There was a small part of him that honestly questioned how you were best friends with him of all people, given how different the two of you seemed to be.

"Sorry," you apologized. "Didn't mean to scare you."

Ben scoffed. “You didn’t scare me,” he said. “Just didn’t know where the fuck you were.” He tried to give the impression of being nonchalant about it, but he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince: you or him. Reality was starting to sink in, as feelings that he once had for Countess of all people, he was starting to have for you. Fuck, he thought — he was afraid to lose you.

"Wanna sit?" You asked him, patting the seat next to you. "I could use your company," your smile genuine.

He nodded at your question, and without a second thought, sat down next to you, back against the swing unlike you, spreading his legs and bringing the bottle of Jack up to his lips; taking a large sip. "Always wanted to ask ya. Why the fuck are you best friends with the cum guzzler anyway?"

You let out a small laugh, not needing the clarification of who he was asking about. "Well, we've been best friends since kindergarten, and we kinda just clicked ya know? I mean, we were the only two kids that would rock out to Billy Joel," you paused for a moment, remembering a memory. "I remember on the first day of kindergarten, I thought he was so cool because he was wearing a Billy Joel shirt, and no one else at school was."

Ben couldn't help but laugh, thinking how ridiculous it was that you of all people thought that the pussy in there was remotely cool. "That's fucking funny, Sweetheart."

"I was very easy to impress back then," you joked, as he handed you the bottle of Jack so you could have a sip. "In all seriousness, it was pretty hard for him and I to make friends."

"Really?" He asked in disbelief, raising a brow. "You had a hard time making friends?"

"Well, when his mom left and when my brother..." you took a deep breath, not wanting to relive the memory. "It was hard letting people in ya know? I mean, we both lost significant people in our lives and we both figured well...why let more people in if they're just gonna end up leaving anyway?"

This was something that Ben had never once considered; and Hughie's reactions of you and him being together were starting to make sense to him. Hughie was afraid to lose you just as much as Ben was afraid to lose you.

“Trust issues can be a fucking bitch,” Ben said, taking the bottle from you once you were done. "When Countess and the rest of my team gave me to the Russians it was…hard. I thought the only reason they did what they did was because the Russians paid them more money than they could ever imagine but…it was never about the money.” The last few words were in a whisper, and his voice sounded defeated, heartbroken, and betrayed. “I loved Countess the entirety of our relationship but the entire time she was playing me.”

Your heart started to break for him. He was genuinely hurt by his teams betrayal, and most of all Countess’. You were never a fan of her growing up, as you always considered her to have a fake personality, but you were never going to tell Ben that; that was something that he didn’t need right now. “I can’t imagine what that must of felt like.”

“It felt like I was being gutted,” he answered, his voice still full of heartbreak. He handed the bottle back to you and you took a baby sip before handing it back. You readjusted yourself, and decided to lie down on your back with your head in his lap. You stared up at him, and watched him take another sip from the bottle; it was his turn to stare off into the distance. "You don't plan on giving me up anytime soon do you?" No hint of joking in his voice.

"No," you answered quickly. You placed your hand on his cheek, slightly cupping it. "Never," you emphasized.

He took your hand from his cheek and kissed your wrist. You never really thought about where and how Ben usually kissed you, but this felt different compared to any other moment that you've had with him. A realization started to wash over you, the realization that once everything was over, you didn't want to be without him.

"You know Legend's house in Puerto Rico that he stole from me when Vought and Payback sold me out?" Ben asked.

"Of course," you said. "Why? Did he finally give it back to you?"

Ben chuckled softly, and you felt the reverberation in his chest through your body. "Yeah, he finally did...after some convincing," he said, a hint of a smile on his lips. You knew there was no convincing, as convincing meant threats. "Well, I was thinking, after everything is all over, I want me and you to stay there for a while. It would be nice to see the old place again; see how much Legend fucked it up," he chuckled.

"I'm sure he didn't fuck it up that bad," you said, and Ben just looked at you, scoffing. "What?"

"Did you not see his penthouse? The amount of fucking fake gold that's in there?" His voice radiating annoyance. "Can't imagine him doing that to my fucking place," he mumbled the last few words.

"I'll tell you what, if there's an absurd amount of fake gold in your penthouse, I'll help you redecorate," you offered. "But, I can't promise it'll be much better."

Ben chuckled. "I'm sure whatever you come up with, it'll be a vast improvement. My only condition, is that you don't get rid of the shag carpeting, assuming that Legend didn't fucking get rid of it."

"Ben, the first thing I would get rid of is the shag carpeting. No one in their right mind likes shag carpeting," you said, teasing.

"Well I fucking do, so fuck you," his tone serious, and offended sounding.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. As much as Ben loved teasing Hughie; you loved teasing Ben just the same. "Okay fine. Your shag carpeting is safe for now."

"Over my fucking dead body," he mumbled, almost inaudible; finishing off the bottle of Jack.

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[heartdoomed]

Quick long story short, I unfortunately lost the ask who asked for this fanfic 💔 hope ya find your way back to this!

| Hard To Crack

Chapter l

Pairing: Au Mafia! Lady Dimitrescu x Tutor! Reader

Genre: AU, Slow Burn, Multiple Chapters

Chapter Warnings: None

Masterlist

Mondays rarely made you excited, but today was different. Maybe it was the thought of finally acquiring a stable job outside of your freelance work or perhaps just the everlasting memory that your rent was due weeks ago. Either way, standing outside of such an imposing building made your knees buckle with anxiety. Everything about this place screamed old money, status, fuck it; these people could probably buy your soul if they wanted to. Yet, there you were, holding a small briefcase, dressed in the best clothes you could find, and walking straight towards Dimitrescu manor.

 

‘Dimitrescu’

 

You repeated the word in your mind, your lips silently moving in sync. You have been practicing that surname ever since you filed the application; the fear of mispronouncing your possible new boss made you paranoid towards the smallest of details. She was definitely European—maybe Romanian? You pondered against your thoughts, feeling your legs grow heavier with each step past the front garden— the view sure was something. The flowers were beautiful, the garden bushes were trimmed to perfection, and the cobblestone pathway had not a single trace of moss. Still, something about the Gothic architecture made you intrigued. The manor stood tall, sharp, and commanding, as if it mocked you by simply being there. 

 

The amount of daydreaming made you almost trip on your feet, and you thanked your lucky stars; there was no one nearby to see such a display.

 

Your shoes finally clicked onto the last doorstep with a halt, and your eyes traveled down to the doorknocker. A dragonhead made of dark metal—this couldn’t get any more gothic. Wrapping your fingers around the ring, you softly knocked against the dark wood of the heavy door. You waited, steadying your breath as the door gently opened.

 

A middle-aged woman, possibly in her late 50’s, opened the door and greeted you with a soft smile. She had a short stature, black hair adorned with lustrous silver streaks, a welcoming expression you were relieved to see. Unlike the gate guards, she was surely more welcoming of you, at least. Gosh, how embarrassing it was to prove you were in fact supposed to be there—maybe the family was just way too cautious with security.

 

“Y/N? Ah, yes. Lady Dimitrescu is waiting; let me take you to her.” 

 

Clinging tightly against your briefcase, you gave her an understanding smile and followed suit.

 

‘Lady.’ You’ve never met anyone with that status before. It was bold of you to go this far and to try this higher. Working for a countess seemed just too ambitious, dammit, you were cleaning bar tables last Saturday! Surely your history as a teacher was a great fate sealer, besides your multiple positive experiences as a babysitter for other families with good financial wealth. But a countess? She had the money to hire thousands of other employees and keep them around until her children made it to college, yet you dared to try, amongst many others.

 

The place was surely old but very well maintained. The floor was polished to perfection, the wood shined with cleanness, and you couldn’t see a single spec in any of the furniture or expensive vases. You dared to say those vases must’ve cost more than your immortal soul. 

 

Once far upstairs, you looked around as the maid entered the office to announce your arrival. Your eyes gently traveled, taking in all the smallest details until something caught your attention. Three little heads popped from the corner of the corridor you entered with the maid. Sprouts of red, dark brown, and blonde hair watched you with the minimum amount of care to not be seen—three little curious girls you had yet to proerly meet—each eyes shared different emotions and very own little personalities, as soon as you raised your hand to a friendly wave, they were gone.

 

“Lady Dimitrescu will see you in a moment.” The maid gently replied to you, closing the quite tall door behind her. You could hear a faint voice from what you were sure to be the lady’s office; she seemed rather stressed about a matter, but you couldn’t make much out of it. “Please wait here. I wish you good luck.” She whispered, giving you a nod and soon disappearing down the hallway.

 

 

 

 ///////

 

 

 

You somehow managed to keep your thoughts and sanity balanced. You didn’t have to wait much, but the few minutes that passed by seemed like a torturous eternity. You just wanted to get this over with, as part of you had a feeling this would be yet another failed interview. 

 

“Come inside.”

 

You almost jumped from the sudden voice coming from the office; it wasn’t a shout, but it was loud and firm enough to make you immediately steady yourself up. You quickly brushed your clothes, cleaned your throat, and gently opened the door. It was time.

 

The office was larger than expected, with many bookshelves against the walls with several books you haven’t even heard of. A golden chandelier illuminated the room perfectly, and the woman resting against the office chair, the chair was turned towards a large window that perfectly gave a view of the outside. Your face burned at the thought of her possibly seeing you trip earlier on, hells. You softly closed the door behind you, and once you turned, your eyes immediately made contact with the woman’s fierce orbs.

 

Lady Dimitrescu was a striking figure. She wore a lustrous ivory suit jacket followed by an inner black turtleneck shirt and a dark rose against her right chest. It was not everyday you laid your eyes on a woman with such a style of clothing; sure, it wasn’t impossible to see women wearing things outside of skirts, but her way of dressing was absolutely bold. Her hair was raven in color, some silver streaks ran down it, giving her looks a nice combination. 

 

“Lady Dimitrescu, It’s a pleasure to—“

 

She raised her hand, making you immediately stop talking. She leaned to open a shelf from her desk, taking out a cigar and a golden lighter, she swiftly lit it with a deep drag. As she turned towards you, she remained silent, her eyes looked you up and down, and she finally spoke.

 

“Sit.”

 

She motioned to the chair in front of her, and you immediately obeyed. You softly rested your briefcase against your lap. Nervously,  you thought about your next choice: Talk? Stay silent? What if you annoyed her by talking again? Or by staying too quiet?

 

“I have had a total of six candidates and three failed employments during the last month,” she started while releasing the drag she took. “The last employee was supposed to start this Monday, but as you can see, you are here instead. The interview didn’t go as desired.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear about that, but I’m certain that I will reach your expectations, ma’am.”

 

“You are the fourth to say such a bold statement.” 

 

“And it’s a statement I ought to excel with.”

 

Lady Dimitrescu silently raised an eyebrow at your newfound bravery; unlike the other candidates, you were the only one to reply back with that amount of determination. Brushing aside your thoughts about failing at this interview, you gently changed your posture—you couldn’t give up just yet.

 

“I’ve read your reports, Lady Dimitrescu. I understand your daughters can be very—“

 

“Difficult?” She asked with a grin; her pearly white teeth held the impression of amusement from her.

 

“Very complex... yes. But as much as my years of experience have allowed me, I feel confident in my abilities.”

 

You gave a soundless sight through your nose; anything maintained the confident posture you took. How could that woman do it all the time? You felt your shoulders weight from a few seconds alone. Carefully enough, you opened your briefcase, stacking important papers onto her desk as she took hold of a few. Leaning back, she took another drag before setting her cigar onto an ashtray as her eyes loomed over the machine-typed words.

 

“Not bad... nor extraordinary.” She huffed, and you fiddled with your fingers. “My daughters are not little angels, Miss...” She arched a sharp eyebrow at you. Your eyes almost widened upon noticing you forgot to even introduce yourself, but wouldn’t she already know from your application?

 

“It is Y/N—“

 

“Y/N, of course.” Your name rolled way too well against her tongue. “It looks like I will need more than just papers and ink; I need better convincing from your part, Miss Y/N.”

 

Before you could say anything, her figure rose from her chair, and just finally your eyes widened, at least. Gosh, she was tall, and you certainly didn’t expect it at all. Have you ever even seen a woman that tall? Maybe it was a condition, but flaming hell, she was at least well over 9’0 feet! You felt absolutely minuscule in comparison. Quickly snapping from your shock, you organized your briefcase as she made her way towards the door, pushing it open and waiting for you to pass through. 

 

“Ah, you want me to meet them already?”

 

Alcina gave a sharp nod, her heels clicking sharply against the ground. You barely managed to keep up with her along the corridor as a maid happened to come across you two.

 

“Send the girls to the living room, immediately.” She ordered. The maid gave a silent nod and scattered away even faster than you both. 

 

‘She has long legs, this isn’t far!’

 

You protested in your thoughts, and just as if she could read your mind, she started to slow down. Her right hand traveled to run some of her hair away behind her head, she gave a low hum as she noticed you finally catching up with her.

 

“You will have to run faster if you don’t want to lose them from your sight.”

 

“Well, I’m sure their legs aren’t as long as yours, ma’am!”

 

The tall woman managed to let out a hum; it was audible from your position and very well toned with amusement.

 

“You are rather bold when you want to be, aren’t you?” You wish you could properly slap yourself from spluttering that out loud.

 

“I apologize; I didn’t mean to offend you.“

 

“It’s refreshing,” She stopped on her tracks, turning to you, who almost passed past her before also stopping. “And do not apologize. I hate foolish apologies; if you wish to make up for something, show me results, not words.” That sank into your mind as you both kept on your tracks; this woman was like no one you’ve met before.

 

 

 ///////

 

 

Finally enough, you found yourself in the living room. Alcina dismissed the maid you two had come across, and the room was left to you five. The once-girls who once threw words against each other and shifted restlessly against the large sofa quickly toned down upon the sight of their mother, they rearranged themselves as Alcina squinted her eyes at them to behave. Judging by it, she was the type of mother to look, not warn. 

 

“Much better,” Alcina finally set down on a particularly larger chair than the rest; naturally, everything of hers was probably custom made. “Now, now. We have been through this a lot, and I hope you three cooperate more as my options are shortening themselves.”

 

“Yes mother.” The trio spoke in union, but you could catch the different tones and even personalities of each.

 

She gave an approving look and turned to you with a sharp nod. Presentations, naturally. You gently strode over, finally having a decent look at the girls. For girls not considered angels by their own mother, it was surely a surprise to see them behave this quickly. 

 

“Hello there, it’s great to finally meet you three!” You bended just enough to allow a handshake; the redhead was quick to chirp and eagerly took your hand while the blonde showed more decorum with your handshake. The brunette, on the other hand, kept her arms crossed, looking at you with clear defiance. Alcina rolled her eyes at the very same antics.

 

“I’m Bela,” the blonde started. “This is Daniela.” She pointed at the red head who wouldn’t stop shifting in her seat but rather from excitement than anything else. “And this grumpy frog is Cassandra—ouch! Mom! Cassandra hit me!” Bela cried out loud, holding the arm Cassandra delivered a punch onto.

 

“Cassandra!”

 

“Bela started!” The brunette protested, sticking out her tongue towards her sister, who replied with the same action. Daniela simply tilted her head before also sticking out her own tongue in solidarity.

 

“Ahem—amphibious aside, I'm sure it’s not polite to call your sister a frog, Bela.” 

 

“Hmph.” Bela pointed, turning away from Cassandra, who smiled in false triumph.

 

“And neither is it right to hit your sister, Cassandra!” You replied shortly after. Cassandra stared daggers into your eyes. “An angry face doesn’t make it any better, little lady.” Noticing you wouldn’t back down from this, she looked over at Alcina, who gave her an eye-narrowing glance. She then backed down from her defiant expression and allowed her back to hit the softness of the sofa.

 

“I won’t shake your hand.” She scoffed.

 

It was obvious that these girls were spoiled, even if by accident. Maybe they just needed a firm grip that was also understanding? No other tutor nanny was able to withstand how troublesome they were.

 

“I’m Y/N, and hopefully I will get to see you three if everything goes well. I’m looking after knowing you girls better.” The girls shot glances at each other; Daniela snickered while Bela rolled her eyes at Cassandra’s prideful expression. “And... is there something I don’t know?” You tentatively inquired.

 

“It’s just,” Daniela started, her feet shifting against each other as she stopped chuckling. “Cassandra bit the last nanny, and she ran away.” Alcina almost choked on her own air.

 

“Daniela.” She warned, and the girl squirmed behind Bela, who threw a fit of laughter. Cassandra narrowed her eyes at you, seemingly not sorry for what she had done. 

 

“A bite? Tsk, nothing out of the matter.” You were starting to see just how the dynamic between the trio worked, and your seemingly lack of concern made Cassandra shocked. “If you, young lady, think you can surprise me with your antics, I have my doubts.” You dully kneeled in front of the girls, now being the center of their rather fragile attention spam. 

 

Suddenly, you quickly darted your hand towards the side of Cassandra’s head. Alcina tensed at first before fully relaxing and letting out an incredulous scoff.

 

“WHAT?!” The trio practically screamed as you brought your hand back to reveal a silver, apparently taken from behind Cassandra’s ear. The small girl desperately pampered with her ear before grabbing your hand to examine it better— her sisters were just as equally shocked with the trick.

 

“Ah, and what is this?” You mischievously started, and Cassandra furrowed her eyebrows before looking down. Her eyes widened as soon as she noticed. She was torn between being mad and being impressed with your deceiving. You softly held Cassabdra’s hands as she now held the silver coin. You gently shook her hand, softly smiling at your own little victory. “Looks like little old me did manage to shake your hand; Id say it was a smooth move, no?”

 

Cassandra remained shocked as Bela and Daniela smiled towards each other. No maid has gotten this far! Excitement builds up within each of them; maybe things would take a turn around here.

 

“Well, well,” Alcina slowly stood up from her chair, her gaze shifting towards you with a less judgmental view. ”You are the first to actually get a handshake out of her... Not bad.” That made you smile, at least a tiny bit. 

 

With a nod and a sigh, she looked down at her daughters, who immediately looked up in expectation.

 

“Let her stay!”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“Mom, come on! She is fun, you can’t let her go!”

 

Each one protested as you shifted in place; suddenly the weight of the reason you were here to begin with finally crept into your consciousness. Alcina sighed, her hand performing a 'shoo’ motion towards her daughters, who quickly picked up the pace to leave the living room. As Bela and Cassandra left, Daniela gently stopped by you to give your legs a tight hug, to which you happily returned. She shyly smiled and attempted to hide her face in between her hands, making her way in an attempt to catch up with her sisters.

 

“You start next week.”

 

You jumped, hearing Alcina’s voice just behind you. Gosh, that woman could be scary when she wanted to.

 

“E- Excuse me?” Unbelievable.

 

“Do I have to repeat myself?” Absolutely not.

 

“No! Oh goodness. Thank you so much, Lady Dimi—“

 

“And you can stop with titles... Ma’am is still acceptable. Refer to me as Alcina, understood? 

 

A simple nod came from you, as you still tried to process what she had just said. You wanted to sigh, to laugh, to flop on a bed, to break something. You felt euphoric, you out of so many others? 

 

“But of course, I expect things to be stable. Many others were also approved but never made it past a few weeks in our house.” She squinted her eyes at you, mind lost in thought, before she bent. “The girls seem to enjoy your company, so don’t disappoint me." Alcina quietly rose to her full height; her eyes never left yours, and you wouldn’t dream of looking away nonetheless.

 

“I’ll have a maid scort you outside; your job starts next Monday." In the meantime, prepare yourself while I get a room prepared for your stay.”

 

As she left the room, you quickly trailed behind. Your heart was stomping against your ribcage; it was unbelievable, but it brought so much hope you had no capacity to think of negative scenarios. She could definitely catch the smile on your lips, perhaps she could use seeing more smiles like yours. 

 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: bro, Idk how I start at point A and get to fucking outer space. Also happy bday to Steverino.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gardens of Astra Castle are unlike any you’ve seen before. Certainly, you’ve never been to a royal castle previously. Your father’s own hold is modest, still bearing the wooden foundation, whereas the rich lords have poured mortar and built in stone. 

So, it is a great honour to be among the noble women chosen to serve the queen. Most unexpected. As a daughter of a lower house, it is rather unusual, but it comes with the newly set writ tabled at the end of the uprising. That is how your father tells it anyhow. 

King Steven is as newly crowned as he is newlywed. After a lengthy revolt against the previous king, the land has settled, and upon his victory, the new ruler promises the expansion of prosperity to all. The very precedence of his war rested on the greed of the former court and its covetous lords. 

To those who took up his mantle, he has made good his word. To the commoners, he has sent bread and ale, livestock and alms; to the nobles, he has granted titles and lands. You were of the same doubt as your father, however, you expected to be forgotten in the disarray. 

Yet, you were not. You’re there with several other ladies. A set of blond twins borne of a duke and duchess, the sole heir of a widowed countess, and several earl’s daughters such as yourself. Unlike them, you do not wear satin or silk, not muslin either. You have only the dyed linen your mother attempted to enhance with some embroidery around the cuffs and collar. 

“Marcia and Marigold,” the twins introduce themselves as you cluster together in the gardens, grooms and servants bustling around carriages and chests. “Lady Calliope,” they call out the countess’ daughter, “we met prior, yes? Your mother is near Estrela.” 

“She is,” Calliope answers in her stern manner, herself seeming a widow in her black dress. The shimmery fabric makes up for its single tone. 

“Ameri, Dorida, and... Selene,” they point to the other girls, themselves clothed in scarlet, rose, and azure respectively. “We know the earls, your fathers. They gathered at our father’s hold for the battle near Caffre.” 

The twins take turns speak so that sometimes you cannot track whose lips are moving. It is even that they trade off in the middle of sentences. You find yourself almost as lost by their words as your new surroundings. 

“And you...” The twins turn their jade eyes upon you. It is there you have found the only difference in them; they have the same heights, the same hair, the same gowns even, but there is a sliver of grey through Marcia’s green iris. “We haven’t figured who you are.” 

“My father is an earl. In Woodsdam.” 

“Woodsdam,” they echo in unison and share a look. They are perplexed. 

“A minor house,” Calliope provides. “a farmer more than a noble, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“We have vast lands and we tend to them, yes,” you assure. You expect their condescension. Your father warned you for it but he bid that you keep your chin up. The king has given him a mission of his own and so you will represent the family for the time. “We keep our people well and we fed the king’s troops when they marched." 

“Mm, sounds very... common,” Marigold grins and her sister snorts into her hand. 

“We know many lords like us, yes. They work hard amidst their vassals. It keeps the lands strong so that we may better serve the crown,” you return evenly.  

Your mother helped you prepare. She coached you to keep your manners and your spine. The latter is much more difficult as you face these ladies and their bobbles with only a ribbon in your hair and a pair of patched gloves. 

“Woodsdam? I think I rode through it once on the way to my grandfather’s summer castle,” Ameri tuts, “it was little more than a swamp.” 

“It must’ve been the spring rains, perhaps, lady,” you offer. 

“Summer house,” she enunciates, “one travels there in the summer.” 

Your cheek twitches at her barbed retort. Very well. You are not used to their sharpness. Their chittering has thus far centered on gossip and the cost of their new caps. 

“A wonder the pauper’s daughter received an invite. Are you certain you can read, lady?” Dorida snipes and looks to the twins for approval. You notice how they all tend to do so. 

“It was sent to my father, Lord Eldon,” your voice quavers. You are not so strong as your mother bid you to be.  

They cackle at your meek response, “the precious maiden of Woodsdam.” 

You put your head down as the activity all around threatens to swallow you up. You wish the ground would rent and you would fall right through. All your excitement has dissipated to a sludge in your veins. You touch your cheek as you try not to show your embarrassment. 

“The Lord of Woodsdam,” a deep voice startles you as boots approach from behind, “is that what I heard?” 

You stiffen up as the ladies before you hush and blink, almost in tandem. They curtsey as their faces wash over in shock and you turn to face the newcomer. A man in a deep blue vest over black sleeves and grey breeches. He wears belt of gold and a circlet across his brow in a similar hue. It is that which betrays his statues. 

You lower your eyes and mimic the other women, mortified to be faced with new king so informally. You would not think him wandering out in the yard. Still, he has vowed to be unlike the former leige. That he would be of the people. 

“King Steven, your majesty,” the others titter in a messy chant and you murmur your own propriety as you back away. You find yourself still to the shoulder of the king as the other ladies give no room for you to join. 

The vision of him stains your mind. He is tall, with dark blond tresses that extend past his neck, and blue eyes which put his own attire to shame. He has a jaw which looks etched in stone and a bearing which matches his rank. He is tall and broad and a finely built knight. 

“It is an honour,” Marcia says most boldly. 

“You may rise,” he allows in a breezy timbre. “I did hear my wife would receive new ladies. Young ladies.” 

“Your majesty,” the murmur rolls across each lip. 

“It is much needed. We have so many established ladies at court and yet we need to think of the future. Of the next generation,” he declares as he emphasizes his words with his large hand. You watch his garnet ring to keep from so brazenly looking him in the face. 

“Certainly, your majesty,” Marcia and Marigold chime in unision. 

“And don’t worry for there are many young lords as well,” the king laughs galely at the quip which makes the ladies, yourself included, blush. “Ah, then, Woodsdam I believe we were speaking of...” 

You blink and glance at the other ladies. They are cowed, unsure if they were overheard in their derision. You hope as much as they that they were not. It is rather unflattering. 

“My father, Lord Eldon,” you explain, “your majesty.” 

“You? You are the young lady of Woodsdam I heard so much of.” 

“You did? Er, your majesty,” you curtsey apologetically; unnecessarily. 

“Certainly, I did. Your father was a great assistance in me holding counsel with the lower lords. He is very patient. “When not about his duty, he spoke of you oft. Though what matters are more important than family?” 

“Yes, your majesty,” you can’t help a smile, “my father is a very kind man.” 

“Kind and courageous. I’m certain you’ve inherited as much,” the king praises, “and these other ladies. The twins who belong to Mawsley, the Countess of Clovers daughter, and the three earls daughters from the White Plains.” 

The ladies each bow their heads as he proclaims them by their forebearers’ titles. You watch from aside, feeling even more out-of-place. The king recites them all proudly as he extends a finger for each. 

“Allow me myself to extend a welcome to Astra. When you are sorted, my wife shall receive you all and have you acquainted with the grounds. I hope you enjoy them, we’ve had the gardeners at work day and night,” he pronounces, “for now, I must be off, for a king has many obligations and not so much time.” 

He bows and turns on his heel, marching off with his shoulder straight and head high. He walks as a soldier does, not some lord. You’ve seen the difference before, more recently in the aftermath of battle. A soldier is more akin to a farmer, much as your father, whereas a Lord tends to keep his steps tight. 

“Wow, oh my,” Dorida fans herself, “he is rather handsome.” 

“Oh yes,” Marcia and Marigold say, the latter forging ahead, “we met him at our father’s castle. He is ever so charming.” 

“Hm, and the queen would love to hear it, I’m certain,” Calliope intones brusquely. 

“The queen is not here,” Ameri sneers, “so what does it matter? Besides, is it so wrong to state a truth?” 

“He is very elegant,” Selene agrees. 

“Much too kind, as well,” Marigold snips, “Woodsdam? He speaks as if it more than some paltry farmhouse.” 

“You’d never even heard of it,” Calliope remarks. 

“And how had you, hm? You seem the bookish type. Perhaps you should leave the maps to the men. What good will a river or road do for a widow’s welp?” 

“Needn’t be cruel,” Calliope rebuffs. 

“Pity if this is the lot they send,” Marcia shakes her head as the sisters share another cryptic look. 

You keep to yourself. That is all you can do. It is better to watch and learn than to leap and land wherever you might. Your mother always said so and she was your best teacher. 

“Right, there must be some maid who might show us to our rooms,” Marigold stands on her toes and waves at each passing servant. “I tire of the sunlight and boorish company.” 

👑

You have two trunks awaiting you in your chambers. Not as the other ladies who had at least a dozen each. Less humble than your lunger are the rooms themselves.

There is an antechamber hung with tapestries showing wildlife and flora, a table set for two and cushioned bench by the window. The bedroom is draped in similar hangings with a four-post bed and a grand hearth. A desk, another bench, a woven carpet, and fine accouterments on square tables. And a closet for the commode as well and a pot in the far corner of the bedchamber. 

If only your mother and father could see this. They would be just as amazed. You can’t help but admire all of it. To touch the curtains as you approach the window and stare off at the afternoon sky. The gardens are a medley of hues; petals and thorns; leaves and dirt. It’s all so wonderful, you can still hardly believe it. 

Seems those other ladies can’t either. You can’t help but think of their words anon. They said so outrightly what you doubted inwardly. You don’t belong here. It must be so clear to them. 

You lean on the ledge and peer down into the garden pathways. It is almost a labyrinth with how intricately they’ve laid out the hedges. You lower yourself down to your elbows and cross your arms as you sigh. 

Your eyes are drawn from the swaying roses to the dark speck that appears below. You squint at first. From the second floor, it is harder to discern. It is the glimmer of gold in his hair and the defined gait that gives away the king. For an instant, you believe you might be dreaming. 

He walks along one path and to the next. There is another with him. A man with darker hair and a stauncher figure. They speak and stop just as they enter a circled walkway centered by a large vase of flowers. The other man talks, though you can hear neither, and the king rubs his chin. 

You should turn away. They might think you an eavesdropper. Oh, too late! You don’t dare move as the king tilts his head. You wouldn’t want to pique his attention. You cannot tell if he has spotted you. Not until he raises a hand and waves. The other man stops and looks to follow the gesture. 

You stand up straight but before you can flee in horror, you recall yourself. It is improper to turn your back to the king. You lift your hand and return the wave. He dips his head and turns to clap his companion’s shoulder, pointing him onward. 

Oh, you hope he is not unhappy. If you pray, perhaps he will not have recognised you. You needn’t an enemy of the king as well. 

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Beetlejuice Helping You Through A Bad Day

Beetlejuice X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of gross stuffs, dead things, Beej being Beej, suggestive themes

Word Count: 1k

(A/N:) I got a little gross with this one guys! But it's Beetlejuice what do you expect?! Consider this my second Halloween fic of the season! Happy reading and hauntings! ~Countess

Your apartment door felt so far away as you trudged up the stairs. Work had been awful, you woke up exhausted, all your chores were piling up, and you didn't know how you were going to get enough energy to make dinner tonight. You decided to order out, though it would be the third time this week. Biting your lip you fought back the tears as several people elbowed you while passing you on the stairs. You were an emotional wreck and you refused to break down until you entered into your apartment where you could be yourself. As soon as your bag hit the floor and your shoes went flying, you broke. Tears rolling down your cheeks, you let out all the frustrations of the day. You never let yourself break in front of anyone, you always waited until you made it home. But there was one person you felt comfortable enough to show your real emotions to. He had a knack for making you feel better, no matter your mood and he could be by your side in seconds. Sniffing loudly and wiping your nose on your sleeve you said the word that could bring your best friend to you.

"Beetlejuice."

The air grew still.

"Beetlejuice."

The temperature began to drop.

"Beetlejuice."

A evil cackle rang through your ears as your apartment began to shake.

Immediately the atmosphere changed and you could feel yourself getting better.

"What's up babes," that deep rough voice sounded behind you.

You turned looking up at Beetlejuice. He had the usual smirk on his face but it fell instantly the moment he noticed the tear tracks down your cheeks and how you seemed paler than normal. He was pale all the time so it didn't matter what he looked like. Normally he didn't concern himself with the matters of living flesh bags but you were different. You made him feel wanted and he didn't like when you weren't feeling your best.

"Rough day," he asked.

You nodded, trying to fight the tears again but it didn't work. The waterworks broke through and you mushed your face into his cold, stripe suited chest. Stunned Beetlejuice stood there, his undead heart dropping into his stomach. You hung on to him tightly until you were able to control your emotions a little better.

"You have no idea," you hiccupped. He dug around in the liner pocket of his suit jacket. All sorts of bugs and critters leapt from Beej's searching dirty fingers. Bits of unidentified things fell to the floor before skittering away, the ghost constantly muttering to himself as he searched for whatever he wanted in his pocket.

He pulled one piece out that looked like a centipede, "Saving that one for later." He winked and went back to digging. Finally he pulled a soiled handkerchief from the pocket and offered it to you with a slight flourish. You shook your head and went to grab a tissue from your bathroom counter.

"It's bad if you're desperate enough to summon me."

"You're my best friend Beej. Unlike the jerks I work with."

"That's a little sad there babes."

"Beej!"

"Hey I'm sorry," throwing his hands up. "I make your world go round huh?!" That time his head began to spin and you couldn't help but laugh. "You make my head spin around apparently too. C'mon over here and give me a hug."

You snorted but went to him anyway, "You're such an idiot Beej."

"I'm your idiot though."

You sighed before leaning back a little bit, "You smell like death."

Beetlejuice preened, "Only the best for you babe. It's a new cologne Eau De Dead Opossum. Main fragrant notes of bloated opossum, with a hint of maggot swill, and ending notes of sun baked dog vomit."

"Mmmm no wonder you smell like an atrocity to mankind," you snickered and tried to pull away.

"Don't run baby! Let Beej take all those bad vibes away and replace them with nightmares beyond your wildest dreams. Need me to bio-exercise someone? Possess them? Make their life a living nightmare? Makes my heart beat in excitement. Y'know if it still beat in there."

This time you couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks Beetlejuice."

"Ah ah watch it. Don't make me disappear too soon. The fun is just startin'! You get me all hot and bothered babe."

"Beej you're dead how can you get hot?"

"Trust me," he grinned, suggestively waggling his eyebrows.

"Gross."

"Now how about me and you go out and do whatever you living people enjoy doing! Kicking puppies? Robbing graves? Arson?"

You shook your head, "How about I order pizza and you watch a movie with me."

"Only if I get to sit in your lap," Beetlejuice picked at his teeth and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"You can lay your head in my lap," you retorted.

"Fine take all the fun out of my life will ya!"

"I could just send you back," you threatened. Though your tone of voice was anything but threatening.

"I'll be good I promise," Beej exclaimed.

"Your fingers are crossed behind your back," you glared.

"Curses caught again!"

He took your hand leading directly to the little living room, his fingers interlacing with yours. He kissed the back of your hand and waited for you to order pizza for delivery. It wasn't lost on you how the living made your life an absolute nightmare but you found a great friendship with the most obnoxious ghost imaginable. But he could be more real than anyone you came face to face with. That's why you felt like you could trust Beetlejuice more than others. And he made you laugh. He always seemed to be there for you and it was more than anything you could ever ask for from a person. As you sat by his side waiting for the pizza and discussing what you both wanted to watch, you completely forgot of all the horrors that had happened today. It was just you and Beetlejuice and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[artyandink]

the art of heresy forged 2022

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, trauma, angst, smut, drinking, consumption of drugs, smoking, mentions of sex, blood, murder, gore, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), derogatory remarks, gunfire, murder, killing, lots of it, it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, crack, literal crack

STW: fingering, Ben being Ben, degradation, explicit spoken detail, practically manhandling

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

Song Inspo: Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift

keep it quiet

NICARAGUA, 1983:

The sun hung low in the Nicaraguan sky, casting long shadows over the dense jungle. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to every leaf, every blade of grass, and every breath the small town's inhabitants took. A deep, unsettling quiet had settled over the place, punctuated only by the occasional call of distant birds or the rustle of leaves. The tranquility of the town was deceptive, however, masking the turmoil that had gripped the world beyond its borders.

In the heart of the town, a small news station buzzed with a rare energy. Reporters shuffled about, their voices tense, their faces drawn with concern. The camera lights were harsh against the evening gloom, casting sharp shadows on the walls of the makeshift studio. Outside, a handful of locals gathered, their curiosity piqued by the unusual activity. News had traveled fast, as it always did in small towns, and the disappearance of Soldier Boy was no exception. For the people of this remote corner of the world, the arrival of a famous superhero—however dire the circumstances—was an event worth witnessing.

Inside the studio, the main anchor, a seasoned reporter named Esteban Garcia, sat behind a worn wooden desk, straightening the stack of notes before him. His dark eyes were set with a determination that had been honed over years of covering stories that often blurred the lines between the ordinary and the extraordinary. But today, the story was unlike any other he had ever covered.

Esteban had been one of the first to receive the report that Soldier Boy, the legendary superhero and symbol of American might, had gone missing during a covert operation in Nicaragua. The details were still murky, shrouded in a haze of classified information and official denials. What was clear, however, was that the man who had once been invincible, the man who had been the living embodiment of strength and bravery, was now feared dead.

As Esteban shuffled his notes one last time, the door to the studio creaked open, and in walked a woman who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Crimson Countess was a striking figure; her red hair, usually fiery and untamed, was pulled back into a tight bun. Her crimson suit, once a beacon of power and confidence, seemed to have lost its luster, the fabric dull and wrinkled as if it, too, had been drained of life.

She moved with a heaviness that Esteban hadn't seen before, her every step measured, her every breath labored. As she approached the interview chair, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly. This was not the Crimson Countess the world had come to know—the fierce, unyielding force that had fought alongside Soldier Boy for years. This was a woman on the brink, teetering between despair and the desperate need to hold herself together.

"Thank you for coming, Countess," Esteban said, his voice gentle but firm. He gestured to the chair opposite him, and she lowered herself into it, her movements slow and deliberate. "I know this must be an incredibly difficult time for you."

Countess nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak, her throat working to push down the grief that threatened to spill over. When she finally did find her voice, it was hoarse, raw with emotion.

"Difficult doesn’t even begin to cover it," she murmured, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance, far beyond the walls of the studio. "I’ve… I’ve been through a lot with Soldier Boy. We all have. But this… this is different."

Esteban nodded, giving her the space she needed to gather her thoughts. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, with the weight of shared history and the looming specter of loss. Outside, the gathering crowd pressed closer to the windows, straining to catch even the faintest whisper of what was being said inside.

"He was… he is," she corrected herself quickly, as if to banish the thought of his death from existence, "the strongest person I’ve ever known. Indestructible, or so we all thought. To think that he could be… gone… it’s like waking up in a nightmare you can’t escape from."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she closed her eyes tightly, as if that could somehow block out the pain. Esteban felt a pang of sympathy. He had seen many interviews like this before—family members of the missing, the grieving, the lost. But this was different. This was Crimson Countess, a superhero, someone who was supposed to be beyond the reach of such ordinary, human emotions. And yet here she was, broken in a way that no enemy had ever managed to break her.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Esteban asked softly, careful not to push too hard, but knowing that the world was desperate for answers. "Anything at all that you know?"

Countess opened her eyes and looked at him. For a moment, she seemed to be weighing her words, deciding how much to reveal, how much to hold back. Then, with a deep breath, she began to speak.

"It was supposed to be a routine mission," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "We’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times before—go in, neutralize the threat, get out. But something went wrong. I… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was in a different part of the field, but I spoke to him on the comms. He was… he was confident, as always. He didn’t think anything could go wrong."

She paused, swallowing hard, as if the memory of that last conversation was too much to bear. "But then we lost contact. Just like that. One minute, everything was fine, and the next… nothing. No signal, no word. Just… silence."

Esteban leaned forward, his brow furrowing in concern. "And you haven’t heard anything since? No communication from Soldier Boy or anyone else on the mission?"

Countess shook her head, her expression one of helplessness, an emotion she was clearly unaccustomed to. "Nothing. It’s like they vanished into thin air. The government’s been tight-lipped, as always. They’re saying it’s classified, that they’re ‘looking into it,’ but I know what that means. They think he’s dead. They just don’t want to say it."

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Esteban could feel the tension in the room rising, the weight of the world’s expectations pressing down on this woman who had spent her life fighting battles that most people couldn’t even imagine. And now she was fighting a battle of a different kind—one that she had no idea how to win.

"What does this mean for you, Countess?" he asked after a long moment, his voice soft with understanding. "For the team? For the world?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a deep, abiding sorrow. "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I really don’t know. Soldier Boy was… he was the heart of the team. The backbone. Without him… I don’t know how we go on."

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words sinking in. Outside, the crowd had grown larger, their faces pressed against the glass, their eyes wide with fear and fascination. They had come to see a superhero, but what they were witnessing was something far more profound—a woman laid bare, stripped of the armor that had always protected her, struggling to make sense of a world that no longer made sense.

Esteban knew that he had to tread carefully now. He could see how close she was to the edge, how fragile her composure had become. But he also knew that the world was watching, waiting for answers, for some kind of closure. He took a deep breath, choosing his next words with care.

"Countess," he began gently, "the world has always looked to people like you and Soldier Boy for strength, for hope. In times of crisis, you’ve been the ones to lead us, to show us that even the darkest times can be overcome. What would you say to those who are watching right now? To those who are afraid?"

Countess stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if looking for something—perhaps a lifeline, perhaps an escape. When she spoke, her voice was stronger, more certain, as if she had found some small reserve of the strength that had always defined her.

"I’d say that fear is a natural response to the unknown," she said slowly, the words coming out measured and deliberate. "But fear can’t be the end of the story. Soldier Boy… he wouldn’t want us to give up, to let fear consume us. He’d want us to fight, to keep going, no matter how hopeless it seems."

Her voice grew steadier as she spoke, the words seemingly giving her strength. "I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know if Soldier Boy is… if he’s really gone. But I do know that he wouldn’t want us to stop fighting. He’d want us to keep pushing forward, to keep believing that there’s a way out of this, even if we can’t see it right now."

Esteban nodded, feeling a sense of respect for this woman who, despite everything, was still finding a way to inspire hope. "Thank you, Countess," he said quietly. "I know that wasn’t easy."

Countess managed a small, tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Nothing about this is easy," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it’s what we have to do."

As the interview drew to a close, Esteban could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her body seemed to sag with the weight of it all. He knew that the moment the cameras stopped rolling, she would retreat back into the private hell she was living, the grief and uncertainty gnawing away at her resolve.

"Do you think he could still be out there?" Esteban asked, unable to resist the question that had been on his mind since the beginning of the interview. "Do you think Soldier Boy could still be alive?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a quiet desperation. "I have to believe he is," she said softly, the words laced with a fragile hope. "Because if he’s not… I don’t know how we move on from this."

The camera panned out, capturing the room in its entirety—the small, stark studio, the gathering crowd outside, and the lone figure of Crimson Countess, sitting in the harsh light, her face a mask of controlled despair. The broadcast would soon be over, but the impact of her words would linger long after the screen went dark.

NOW:

“Whatever you’re experiencing, it’s not real.” Your shrink - you still didn’t know whether her name was Emily or Earhart - assured you, but you knew better. “Vought only wants to help you get better.”

“They’ve been so called helping me for forty fucking years.” You gritted out, your fingers gripping the chair you were sitting on. The maroon chair, with some fugly beige cushions in this fugly beige room. You hated it.

Fuck all.

She sighed, leaning forward. “You exhibit signs of anger issues and PTSD. Vought is merely facilitating your recovery and return to glory.”

“They’re fucking with my head!” You burst out, standing up abruptly, surging forward and grabbing her throat, your eyes turning black, gleaming with wisps of purple. “Tell me the truth.”

Tell me the truth. It resonated through Eleanor’s head, and her eyes turned the same colour as yours, her jaw going slack as she stopped resisting.

“You’re not crazy.” She whispered, her eyes wide and unfocused. “You never were.”

You let her go, and her eyes returned back to normal, a shaky gasp escaping her lips. You bent forward, trapping her between yourself and the chair.

“You tell anyone what I just did, sweetie,” You warned lowly, “and I’ll snap your neck by the time I next come in here.”

“Of course.” She whispered, her voice cracking.

You sat back down on the armchair, cracking a smile as you examined the fear in her eyes. Good. “Shall we continue?”

They’d gotten into some weird shit.

“Is he always gonna be doing that?” Hughie whispered to Butcher, watching Ben crush some medicine and snort it like it was nothing. They’d broken him out of his cryogenic capsule, and it’s safe to say that he was an incredibly pissed off individual. Understandably so.

“Just let ‘im, it ain’t killing us.” Butcher replied under his breath, and then snapped into suave gent action when Ben cleared his throat and looked up. “Everythin’ alright, there, guv’nor?”

“Gotta add another name to my kill list.” He cleared his throat again, grunting distastefully.

“One more?” Hughie asked, eyes widening slightly, but he recovered. “Uh, w-who is that - the one you want to kill - who?”

Ben grunted again, snorting up more crushed pills. “Tricky bitch, she is. Superhero by the name of Psyke, she was my co-leader and fuck buddy. Real tricky to get past. She can create illusions that you’ll fall for if you’re a dumb piece’a shit, and if she gets her hands on you, game over.”

Butcher crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“One, she’s hot as fuck. And a great fuck.” Ben chuckled, reminiscing the days. “Second, she’ll just whisper a command and you’ll do it no questions asked.”

“No problem, guv.” Butcher smirked confidently, but Hughie raised his hand. “Put your hand the fuck down, we ain’t in school.”

“Cocksucker.” Ben snorted - not recreational drugs this time - drinking his beer. “What is it?”

“Psyke, she… she’s impossible to get to.” Hughie revealed, scrolling on his phone. “Apparently she had a psychotic outbreak after you were put in the freezer in ‘83. Vought’s holding her for rehabilitation and therapy. Has been for forty years.

Ben saw the picture of the old newspaper, the title blaring in his face. ‘Psyke in Rehab for Violent Behaviour’, but no explanation. It told him one thing— that you must have known something was wrong.

And Vought imprisoned you for it, the bastards.

There wasn’t a world in which Vought would imprison their darling, their golden girl. Not unless she went rogue.

“That means she’s deep in a Vought facility.” Butcher smirked, glancing between the two others. “We get the team together, launch an attack on the cunts holdin’ her, we can get her out quick an’ easy.”

Ben’s protective instincts over you flared up when he thought of what Vought could’ve done to you. “She gets out unharmed, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, guv. Not a scratch.”

Oh, fuck. You could go for one of those at the moment.

You were left on the ground, on your back, trembling. Your brain felt like it’d been stretched and then left to rebound against all four walls of your brain, close to turning into mush had you not been fighting the drug injected into your system with everything you had.

“She’s resisting.” You heard one doctor mutter to another, just as searing, white hot pain made the corners of your vision turn black.

And then they shaped into the nightmare land, taking over your vision until it was half reality half illusion, messing with your perception until you weren’t sure which was actually happening.

You could see Nicaragua.

The blood, being distracted by a legion only to find Ben being subdued by Novichok.

Fighting off every member of Payback, making them turn on one another with nothing but a hand on their shoulder and a persuasive whisper.

Getting hit with a cheap shot from behind, and both yours and Ben’s bodies were dragged across the dirt.

Only difference was that you were barely awake. Awake enough to see his unconscious face as they took him away and put him God knows where.

“Have we tried giving her a stronger dose?” A male doctor replied, the corners of your vision blinking from reality, back to nightmare, reality, nightmare, reality- nightmare—

Keys jangled. “We give her a stronger dose and she’ll go up in a stroke. Homelander wants her alive.”

“I don’t understand why, she’s a walking weapon.”

“Talking like I’m not there.” You rasped out, like you hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. A rough chuckle left your mouth as you shakily pushed yourself up, the pounding in your head still there but finding it easier to regain muscle control. “Ballsy move, especially for a couple of dickless scientists.”

You pointed at the lady. “You’re already dickless, so you don’t count.”

The two doctors looked between each other, getting more and more anxious as you found your feet, staggering towards them, almost shuffling, footsteps uneven.

“Uh, what are you-” They froze when you clapped your hands on their shoulders, leaning forward so you were speaking in their ears, your iris turning into gleaming purple mixed with black.

“Kill each other.” You whispered, and the command resonated. The urge to pick up their pens and go postal overtaking them.

Kill each other.

Kill each other.

It went through their mind, body, soul. Clipboards flattering to the floor as their irises turned black and swirled with purple, turning to each other slowly. Teeth gritting, veins popping as the two doctors looked into each other’s eyes with pure hatred and a chuckle left your lips as you watched them click their pens and go straight for the jugular.

Over and over again.

“Sleep tight, bitches.” You muttered in satisfaction just as armed Vought soldiers burst in, two forcing you to your knees while two others went to check the tangled, lifeless bodies of the two doctors running rampant.

And you did that.

It felt amazing.

1980:

Mmh, fuck.

“Bet you’re so wet for me, pretty thing.” Ben chuckled against your lips as you stumbled back into the his hotel room, the rapid undoing of clothes not privy to the two of you as the curtains were wide open. Everyone in the street below could see the filthy way yours and Ben’s lips joined together over and over again, eyes closed but hands familiar with where they needed to go to make the other moan.

Ben separated from you to go and close the curtains, leaving the taste of whiskey on your tongue, still in his slacks from the press conference while he’d ridden you of everything but that delicious fucking lace you’d worn under your dress.

He’d been eyeing you all day in that thing, and all he thought about was having it off.

“Didn’t have enough after coming like a faucet on my cock this morning, hm?” He added, toeing his shoes off and working on his belt, his lips descending to your neck and leaving hot trails of kisses and rough sucks. “Nah, you didn’t.”

Your hands slid up his chest, and then one went down to palm him over his slacks, which had the vein in his neck popping, jaw tensing as his head fell back for a quick second.

Then he took control of the situation, tearing your panties off and throwing you onto the bed, the bra going with it as he sank two thick fingers knuckle deep in your pussy.

“Shit-” You gasped, arching off the bed, your legs widening instinctively as he set a brutally delicious pace, leaning forward to lick and suck at your nipple, biting and tugging at it with his teeth at his fancy.

Ben only laughed, manoeuvring your body how he wanted, rocking your hips in time with his fingers, hearing your moans, seeing your eyes roll back, knowing you were close-

NOW:

“TMI.” Hughie groaned, putting his hand out and shaking his head. “Really, dude. Ew.”

Ben frowned. “TMI- the fuck does that mean?” He thought for a second, then waved Hughie off. “Eh, I don’t give two shits.” Then he chuckled at the memory, nodding and hitching his shield higher on his arm. “Psyke, man. Best fuck you could ask for. She’d ride me like a damn champ, knows how to suck you off too. Had a mouth like a goddamn vacuum-”

“As much as I want to hear about your old buddy’s jerkin’ off talents, guv,” Butcher cut in with a wave of his hands as they walked, “we have half an hour to get in an’ out.”

“We’ll get her.” Ben assured, finding a Vought guard and slamming his shield into their face, successfully breaking their nose and making them drop, crumpling like a wet sheet of paper.

“Fuck you.” He added, sneering at the unconscious guard before trudging further through the halls, Hughie and Butcher keeping up right as the alarms blared red.

The moment they did, you - in your cell - smirked, finding an opportunity. The guards were about to restrain you, but you used their grip on your arms to knock them into each other, rolling out of the way and grabbing their handgun, shooting them both once each in the head before anyone could react.

You barely dodged a bullet (literally), jumping and spinning, whipping your leg around so your heel could connect with the side of one’s head, snapping it sideways and sweeping another guard’s legs out from under them, grabbing their head and snapping their neck.

All the guards were down, so you got up, looking at the massacre - the art - you’d created with a small smile on your face and an approving nod.

“Cocksuckers.” You muttered under your breath before shaking your head, clearing the corners of your vision of Nicaragua, induced by whatever shit they put into your system. Wasn’t the good shit either, it was bad shit.

You really needed a smoke round about now.

But now wasn’t the time, so you picked up the guard’s assault rifle and pocketed a few rounds, making your way through the clinically white halls with it held up, popping a few rounds through the heads of the guards you met.

Eventually, of course, all your rounds were depleted soon enough, and you resorted to using your hands (and not in the sexy way), Nicaragua threatening to take over your vision

“You can check that way, guv, she might be there.” A voice with an accent said gruffly, and when you looked around the corner, you saw a boot disappearing down a side corridor, and two other guys. You stepped up behind the smaller one, your bare feet silent on the cold floor.

With a sharp movement, you grabbed the smaller one’s shoulders, yanking him against you as your powers activated again, ready to strike. “Move a muscle and I tell this one to dislocate his own shoulder. Maybe break a leg.”

“What the fuck- I don’t wanna break a leg!” The dude held to you squeaked to the taller guy, who turned around, taking one look at you and smirking.

“Guv, we found ‘er!” He yelled, and a large red and brown boot stepped out, connected to a much larger body that you knew all too well. Only difference was that his hair was darker and he had a trimmed beard. Oh, you’d have fun with that - you mused, right as a grin spread on your face.

“Son of a bitch.”

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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[witchymadness]

☆-《The Stakes pt. 2》-☆

[A/N: Part 2 to this fic, no proofreading, we die like dumbasses. Might do a part 3 :DDD. Also, Lilia is speaking Sicilian while (Y/N) speaks Italian.

TW: angst, character death, mentions of assault.

P.S. you get this pic of Patti for compensation.]

(Y/N)'s eyes fluttered open, arms wrapped around Lilia's waist. The latter was muttering something in Sicilian. "No, nun li pigghiari-- (No, don't take her--)"

"Amore, stai bene? (Love, are you okay?)" (Y/N) whispered, rubbing Lilia's arm.

Whimpers escaped Lilia's mouth as she began to toss and turn, taking (Y/N) aback. (Y/N) felt something enveloping her, an almost fuzzy feeling that left the hairs on her arms standing.

All of the sudden, the window of their shared quarters burst open, a gust of wind blowing through the air. (Y/N) thinks that maybe her mind was playing tricks on her but the resonance through the atmosphere seemed as if it was... "Amber?"

"NINE OF SWORDS!"

And then all of the sudden, everything stopped.

"Lilia! What happened, amore?"

"What... What did happen?" She held her head and an eye closed, pain shooting through Lilia's skull. Leaning against (Y/N), she tried to catch her breathing, matching her rapidly-paced huffs to the sound of her lovers own steady ones.

(Y/N) both curious and afraid, slowly shook her head. "Nevermind me, darling. It was probably just a nightmare."

Lilia nodded as (Y/N) pulled their windows shut once more.

"Come, my love. Let us sleep."

As Lilia's eyes started to flutter asleep, and a chaste kiss was given to the Countess, (Y/N) sat there awake.

She knew about Lilia's magic, the very essence of it, even if it remained unspoken between them. The horrors of Lilia's youth locked the truth of her being into a mere memory. It is, after all, what drew (Y/N) close to Lilia, the breadth of her magic surging through the air from the very moment they've locked eyes.

And (Y/N) had far too long feared that her nature, the horrifying hunger that (Y/N) battled with would push her love away. But she knew Lilia was bright, and she knew that there was more to her lover.

They both kept their identities at arms length at the fear of losing themselves and the other. They were two peas in a pod, creatures of the night; living life unlike those around them. They greet death like an old friend as she rains down upon the men around them.

Bathed in moonlight, they did so in the nights that they were together. The Divine Mother bore witness to their dances under her favor, and but the stars serving as their audience.

(Y/N)'s skin crawled at the idea that the lady of life was upon her doorstep once more. And if it was so, Lilia was too adamant, too stubborn to let her in.

Vampires, unlike witches, toe the line of life and death. They were a conundrum in Life's grandiose game, their lifeline like a wine flowing from water. One could say that Death despised them. A corpse they would not be able to take with them.

These thoughts lulled the woman to sleep, holding the witch with her wild curls close to her.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"(Y/N), my love. It is time for breakfast." Lilia whispered, lips resting on (Y/N)'s forehead.

"Just a moment more, darling." (Y/N) hummed, the thoughts of last night dissolving into nothingness.

"The Sun."

"Oh, yes, darling. The sun is indeed... Beautiful. But I'll be terribly busy with the preparations for the ball today."

(Y/N) forced her eyes open with a yawn, checking to see if her little white lie had slipped through Lilia's watchful eyes. But the girl only stared at her, confused.

"I... I suppose so, amore." Lilia let out a small, nervous chuckle. "Right, shall we dine then?"

(Y/N) nodded, fear creeping up upon her. And beside her, Lilia stared blankly at their headboard, wondering what prompted (Y/N)'s sudden answer. Could it be that she... No, she willed her powers away. How could it?

"Andiamo, amore mio?"

"Noi, amuri meu."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Marchese Girardus de Medici," Greeted a dashing young man, his hair a dirty ash blonde thay would've struck any maiden through the heart. Alas, he was another of Lilia's suitors she'd have to entertain through the night. "Piacere di conoscerti, mia signora. (Pleasure to meet you, my lady.)"

Girardus took Lilia's hand, kissing the back of it while keeping his eyes trained on the woman. Only a polite smile was returned to him, however, as her eyes flashed across the ballroom to a woman lurking in the shadows.

"Il piacere è tutto mio. (The pleasure is mine.)" She half-heartedly responded.

Smirking, the lad guided Lilia to the middle of the ballroom. "You look beautiful tonight, m'lady."

"Thank you, Marchese." Lilia responded with grace, all the while gliding effortlessly through the floor.

Her smile dropped as she looked over to the corner where her beloved had once stood, only to find it empty. "Marchese Girardus, if you would excu--"

The marquis cut her off, pulling her frame towards him feverishly, as if Lilia was a bunny to escape his cold, wolf-like grip. Lilia squeaked at the sudden movement, panic setting in as she couldn't sense (Y/N) anywhere.

"But Lady Lilia, the night is still young, 'no? Allow me to get to know my wife a tad longer."

The woman squeezed her eyes shut, disdain coating her tongue.

"(Y/N), no!"

"I must insist, dear Marchese. I really do need to find Lady (L/N)--"

Girardus chuckled, his breath tickling Lilia's ear. "Oh, her? Slippery little minx, your friend, huh? So unlucky, we would have wed if it weren't for her parents' sudden death. But alas, karma comes to those deserving."

Deep breaths. Lilia took deep breaths, letting what Girardus wa saying about her beloved and her family slip past her ears. Desperate to find the Countess, she turned to her refuge.

She divined, calling out to the Divine Mother herself. Her veins burned with amber, the power enveloping her. Through Girardus' incessant pestering, only visions of what was to come broke through.

Lilia could only see, a sharp blade, piercing her chest. Her own wails, begging the perpetrator to stop. It was all that Lilia could. She knew what was to happen. She told (Y/N). But it changed nothing.

"Good thing, I'm glad that I would not have a family of freaks to carry with me. Rumours had spread amongst our kingdom, and to those around that they were monsters; killed by their own subjects after they had fed on them."

"She tasted delicious, though. I would've given it to her, you know." Girardus' hand went lower. "Little whore had it coming, but she just had to scream and ruin our moment."

"You wouldn't do that, would you, m'lady?" This time, his hand had landed smack dab on Lilia's ass.

Just then, the voice she had been dying to hear, slipping through the noisy ballroom. "Let go of her, Girardus."

"I was just getting to know Lady Lilia. Do not tell me that you are jealous, (Y/N)?" Girardus bellowed, garnering the attention of crowds.

(Y/N) snatched Lilia's arm, pulling her close. She had no intentions of duking it out with the man and instead laid her gaze upon Lilia. "Are you alright, darling?"

"Unhand the lady this instance!"

Lunging forward, he grasped his sword, unsheathing it from his side and pointing it at (Y/N). She had managed to dodge it, pushing Lilia to the side.

Gasps fill the air as (Y/N) had suddenly disappeared, instead a small bat had taken form.

"You foul creature," screamed Girardus. "Come down here this instance."

Lilia sat on the floor, frozen. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, confusion yet relief flooded her. Just then, a vision, her vision of (Y/N), took over her. Finally, a full picture had laid itself out in front of Lilia. The hand holding the knife belonged to... Her father.

"(Y/N), no!"

Against all logic, (Y/N) threw herself down beside Lilia, transfiguring into her own body once more. "My love, I'm here."

"Do not harm the lady, loathsome beast. And I might just grant you a merciful death."

"(Y/N), no. Get out of here, please, amore. He's going to--"

Time slowed as (Y/N) looked at Girardus approaching, while Lilia looked behind her as her father, determined, marched forward with a dagger in hand.

She had to change fate.

A loud scream echoed through the ballroom.

A faint ray of yellow sent the king flying, landing on the table containing the feast laid out for the joyous night.

But alas, fate cannot be changed.

Girardus' sword pierced through (Y/N). He let out a victorious laugh. "The monster has been killed!"

Cheers filled the ballroom, celebrating the fall of the horrendous beast, Countess (Y/N) de Medici.

"And now," he huffed. "A witch amongst us. Princess Lilia de Calderu, surrender or you will be next."

She looked at (Y/N)'s almost lifeless body, a tear escaping her cheek. She pressed a kiss to her forehead for the last time before letting out a blood-curdling scream. It sent beams of gold throughout the ballroom, allowing Lilia to jump off a broken window from the impact of her magic.

She was falling.

Using what was left of her energy, she pushed herself up, flying. Only the bright full moon guiding her path.

[asifyoudidntknow]

All Time Favs

I began reading fanfic in my teens during the original run of the show. There were lonnng breaks from it, but coming back to the fandom in 2017 reignited my interest. I now keep a spreadsheet as well as a "to read" list. I already have almost 600 logged (not including 5 years), so I wanted to share my top favorites. Divided into my 4 favorite genres (AU, casefic, angst + romance, and smut + romance) and in no particular order...

*Alternate Universe*

I used to wonder why someone would choose to read AU. Then I read one of these and was completely blown away.

Katherine of Ireland by Jenna Tooms (gossamer)

Katherine, princess of Ireland is married to Walter, king of Angora. When Walter is killed during battle, Katherine is taken by the enemy, FitzJames. William is FitzJames right hand. When FitzJames orders her to be beaten (even after discovering her pregnancy) William devises a plan to save her, heal her and get her back to Ireland. Will William always be seen as the enemy or will Katherine come to see him for who he truly is?

By the dim and flaring lamps by @sunflowerseedsandscience (ao3)

Civil war AU’s are my jam and this was one of the first ones I read.  When Mulder discovers (disguised boy) Scully bathing in a waterfall by darkness and realizes what he is dealing with will remain etched in my brain forever.

In darkness by DKSculder (ao3)

What if Scully was married to Daniel?  What if Daniel was a serial killer?  What if Mulder was a VCU agent still?   This is an unfinished work, but the idea is unlike any other I’ve come across.

Blinded by the white light by DashaK (ao3)

Need I say more?  When Mulder and Scully find each other after colonization, will they remember each other and will they act on it?

The second side of light by @scapegrace74-blog (ao3)

Oregon Trail.  Mulder is leading scully and Melissa across the trail when Melissa dies.  They end up getting very close to one another on the journey.

Paracelsus by profuckslove (ao3)

Another amazing civil war AU.  When Mulder goes looking for his lost son and comes across a pregnant scully what will happen to them?

Hiareth by profuckslove (gossamer)

Wales 1215.  Scully escapes the king by marrying Mulder, the prince of wales.  Marriage leads to love and fighting off dangerous men.

Paracosm by @softnow (ao3)

This is an unfinished work.  College AU.  Mulder has a crush on the library girl, will she return his advances?

A companion unobtrusive by @slippinmickeys (ao3)

A college AU where scully is looking for a roommate and Mulder is looking for a room.  Melissa introduces them and the rest is history.

Qui Si by Trixie (gossamer)

After accepting an offer from a gypsy to go back to a life with Samantha in it, Mulder, a child psychologist, helps Scully, a PhD, get over her past.

You he did not fail by extraordinarily_ordinary (ao3)

Scully abruptly leaves TXF after surviving cancer and moves to LA to start anew.  She is dating when Mulder is assigned as a profiler to a case she is working and they have to deal with things left undealt with.

Five years and a lifetime by @monikafilefan (ao3)

Mulder is a Peds psychiatrist. Scully is a Peds neurologist. They meet at a conference and have a one night stand.  What happens when they come to work together 5 years later and Scully is a single mom?

Amish country by lolabeegood (gossamer)

Mulder and Scully go undercover in Amish country trying to catch a serial rapist while navigating very traditional values and roles.

You and me by lolabeegood (gossamer)

Mulder leaves his wealthy parents to serve under Scully’s father in the military.  In order for her to stay safe, fed, and clothed she needs to marry.

The mountain man by aka Jake (gossamer)

Scully is sent from nyc (where she was becoming a doctor) to Montana at her father’s wishes.  He wants her to marry a lieutenant under his command and not practice medicine, but she becomes intrigued with a local mountain man.

The countess/the earl by @slippinmickeys (ao3)

When scully is to be married to an old duke in order to save her family from financial ruin, a strange, alluring earl steps in to save her.

*Case*

There is nothing quite like a casefic. It's classic x-files and I am here for it. Writers in this fandom are so talented with their abilities to create a fic that rivals/trumps actual episodes.

Perchitor by @aloysiavirgata (ao3)

A little girl goes missing in the mountains with the superstition of Jenny Greenteeth to blame.  Mulder and Scully investigate while navigating a new physical relationship.

Omens by @lepus-arcticus (ao3)

I read this one as a WIP and was anxiously checking for an update every night.  There were several lines in this fic that made me gasp.  Cancer arc angst. Give me it alllll.

XII by fragilevixen (ao3)

A killer that romanticizes every victim.  His next target?  Guess who.  *coughSCULLYcough*

Hearts desire by malibusunset (ao3)

While in a small town scully runs into an old BF and starts wondering why she doesn’t prioritize her dating.  She decides to go for it.  The author makes me like Scully’s old flame.  That says something.  When the MSR convo finally does come, I thought I’d die from the slow burn.

Resurgam by opheila_interrupted (ao3)

One of the most xfiles like cases I have ever read.  Remains unsolved at the end and has our agents investigating ghosts near Mulder’s hometown while dealing with their own (Emily & Teena).

Universal invariants/laws of motion by @syntax6

Scully is engaged to Ethan throughout the first season while her and Mulder’s relationship is deepening and then consummated right before she is abducted.  How do two guys in love handle Scully’s abduction and what happens when she is returned?  

All the way home/head over heels by @syntax6

Mulder is pulled into a past unsolved VCU case of a killer with a shoe fetish while navigating a new physical relationship with scully.  When scully is targeted, Mulder has to gamble with his personal feelings while working to find the killer.

Queens gambit by Suzanne Schramm (gossamer)

Under Kersh, Mulder and Scully are assigned to a VCU case Mulder worked in Utah in 89’.  The killer was put to death and then revenge began.  Local mines and children involved.

*angst + romance*

This is my crux. Angst in any way, shape, or form. Add in some slow burn/ust and finally the rst *chefs kiss* particularly fond of Ethan fics and cancer arc.

Contact high by penumbra (gossamer)

Still feeling the residual effects of the spores post field trip, our agents try out Mulder’s new waterbed.

Early on by @sunflowerseedsandscience (ao3)

10 vignettes set during season 1.  Our baby agents are becoming close, but Ethan is still around.  How does scully navigate her relationship with Ethan while working with Mulder?

Center Mass by @kateyes224 (ao3)

Another Ethan fic set in season 1.  Mulder and Scully make an effort to get to know one another… in more ways than one.  And when Mulder gets aroused at Scully’s marksmanship it’s all over for me. 

One blue line by sarie_fairy (ao3)

IVF arc.  Scully is defeated by a negative pregnancy test.  When Mulder tries to comfort her, she suggests having sex.  I just remember wondering if I was reading or actually doing the act myself considering how detailed it was.

Salt by anjou (gossamer)

I remember reading this and being like WTF is happening to only have it all make sense at the end leaving me speechless.

Triptych by @iconicscullyoutfits (ao3)

My favorite FTF, post bee, how the f*ck did they get out of anarctica fic.

Snowbound by malibusunset (gossamer)

After missing their flight and being snowed in their rental on the side of the road, discussions lead to their relationship.  Once they’re recused they are put up in an inn with 1 room.  Dun, dun, dunnnn.

The ache by @storybycorey (ao3)

1999 Mulder has a visit with 2015 Mulder to urge him to get help with his depression and not lose scully.

Love bites by living_underground (ao3)

A review of vampirism cases throughout the years.  Hickeys from Ed.  Love bites from Mulder.

Goshen by bonetree (ao3)

Mulder and Scully are in a car accident where their car can’t be seen.  Major injuries lead to near death experiences and visions of Emily.

All that our senses can perceive by wonderland (ao3)

Mulder’s POV looking over Scully’s transformation from girl to woman and how all of his senses perceive her.

Caught in the Act I by parrotfish (gossamer)

Although the whole series is amazing, the first part is my favorite.  I love when scully lays into the review panel about being sexist.

The things she carries by @edierone (ao3)

One of my favorite cancer arc fics.  When Mulder confronts Scully 3 years later on the porch I literally stopped breathing.

Red valerian series by dashakay (ao3)

Scully looks to skinner for comfort during a grueling case, starting a 6 month affair.  Will scully ever love him or will the buried truth prevail?

Sex and Loathing by malibusunset (ao3)

Scully takes a drunk Mulder home after Roche.  He makes a move and they have terrible sex.  After 2 years of poking at each other they face things head on after Mulder almost dies in PBV.

Snakebitten by @onpaperfirst (ao3)

Set throughout season 5.  My favorite season. Say no more.

Five years and one night by Shalimar (gossamer)

When Scully transfers to LA and Mulder finds more babies like Emily, can they work together again to get to the bottom of this conspiracy?

The letter by Shalimar (gossamer)

Post TFWID, scully goes searching for more clues to her and Mulder’s past lives when she comes across a letter in a local Apison museum she sent to Mulder.

*smut + romance*

It's hard to have just smut when it comes to MSR, am I right? these two idiots are so in love that my smut category must also be romantic.

Undercover swing by 2momsmakearight (ao3)

What if Mulder and Scully go undercover as a married couple interested in swinging?  Can they both keep their jealously in check?  

Be kind, rewind by OnlyTheInevitable (ao3)

To help catch a suspect, skinner requests our agents watch porn together.  While watching, conversation leads to critiques about the performance and comments about personal preferences.

Girl 77 by mojo

A stripper is found dead with Mulder’s card on her.  She looks exactly like Scully.  Scully notices and confronts Mulder about it.

Dropped call series by @phillippadgettwrites (ao3)

Phone sex, but make it “not them”

December 31, 1984 by @phillippadgettwrites (ao3)

When Mulder saves an unimpressed scully from some jerk on NYE, they end up at her apartment having a one night stand.

Damsels by @sisterspooky1013 (ao3)

Scully is sent undercover as a stripper to find a missing woman.  Mulder is kept in the dark regarding her case, but pieces together where she is and what she’s doing and sets out to find her.

The Shirt by Audrey Roget (gossamer)

Skinner reconciles with Sharon leading to a vow renewal celebration. Skinner asks mulder and Scully to stand with him as his best agents. After slow dancing together, mulder bolts out of the celebration before scully catches the bridal bouquet and he crosses a line. When they end up in an accident while driving in a storm, things come to a head in an Elvis inspired motel suite out in the middle of nowhere PA.

[kotelok16]

I promised to start telling the lore of the pirate au, but I have a no idea how to do it carefully... Let me introduce you to the main pirate team for now! Let’s start with our main hero - Hinata Hajime!

Hinata Hajime is the second son of an aristocratic family. Unlike his older brother, he was not particularly successful in anything. When he stopped enduring the eternal bickering with his father, he went to another country to study at the university. Who knew that going to a bar with fellow students would lead him to a pirate ship?.. The drunk students did not begin to figure out who was in front of them, and came into conflict with the pirates, after which they were captured. However, the conditions are quite civil: the parents pay the ransom — the unfortunate child is landed safe and sound on land. But this option was not very suitable for Hajime…

Therefore, in the end, he is the only one left on the ship as a servant in order to buy his own life. Although later he will take the position of navigator on the ship! Hajime will have to get acquainted with the life of pirates, crew members, and at the same time be puzzled by some secrets

The captain of the pirate ship himself! The conqueror of the Six Great Seas, a one-eyed shooter and just a living legend!

Fuyuhiko has been sailing on the Star Dragon for 20 years. He lost almost his entire family, previous crew and ship in an incident involving Countess Enoshima herself. Cap dreams of putting a bullet in her forehead, while simultaneously trying to get information from Junko about whether his younger sister is still alive or not.

In fact, the Star Dragon is not just a bunch of sea bandits. They are mercenaries in the service of one of the states (in France they were called corsairs). So most often their target is warships. But others are not averse to profit.

The quartermaster of the ship is at your service🥰

Peko got on a pirate ship when she was very young, when the crew rescued her after a shipwreck. The girl belonged to a famous family of knights in the past. Kuzuryu's father left her on the ship and raised her as a warrior who would protect his children.

As a result, after the tragedy, Peko is the only survivor from Fuyuhiko's previous crew. He values her very much, and she is still ready to put her head in the defense of her captain.

Quartermaster is a significant position on the ship. At its core, he shares the duties of the captain, is responsible for the condition of the ship, is in the very center of the fighting during the attack, the distribution of loot and determines the punishment for guilty pirates. And also executes this punishment.

The gunner and just the main combat unit on the ship 🔥

Akane was one of the street children wandering around the port city, surviving by selling caught fish and stealing. And one day, hunger forced Owari to try to steal food from the sailors who had just arrived at the port. How could a little girl know that they were pirates?

But Fuyuhiko liked such arrogance and fighting spirit, so he took the girl on the ship. The promise to feed turned out to be more than enough for this. Thus, Akane spent a significant part of her life on the ship, she was actually raised by Fuyuhiko.

The gunner on the ship is responsible for the condition of the guns and gunpowder, that is, for combat capability. But Akane likes hand-to-hand combat much more. Akane dreams of a duel with the captain, but for this it is necessary to defeat Peko, which she has not yet succeeded

Boatswain, forward looking and sea rat (nickname from the captain)!

Nagito is another "foster child" on a pirate ship. He was born into an aristocratic family, but his parents tragically died. Having lost the influence of his name, Nagito became a servant to a rich man. The relationship between the servants in this house was extremely strained, so in order to survive, they had to be cunning and adapt to the situation. But in the end, everything turned out so that the man was killed one day, and Nagito was taken on board the ship as a servant. But the boy adapted extremely successfully to the new conditions, with the help of Peko he learned how to use daggers, and simply showed himself to be an extremely brainy and rather cruel pirate.

Nagito spends most of his time up there under sail, because he doesn't really like interacting with the team. He plays the role of a boatswain — monitors the condition of sails, cables, and gives signals to other ships. He can also play the role of an executioner, in case of a crew member's fault.

The ship's carpenter

Kazuichi was an ordinary country boy, lived with his grandfather and did woodwork. However, in his youth, the wind was walking in his head, so he drank a lot and was a rowdy. Which, in the end, his grandfather could not stand and died. Kazuichi took it all extremely painfully, went into an even heavier binge because of his worthlessness.

On one such day, pirates came into the bar. They were looking for new people to join the crew, including a carpenter. A drunken Kazuichi agreed to take such a job. He sobered up already on the ship, and it was… Not a very gentle awakening. He swore to himself never to drink like that again.

The ship's doctor

Mikan was the daughter of a doctor. Unfortunately, not a particularly beloved one. However, she liked to help people and study medicine, she had a dream to travel the world in search of medicinal herbs and various discoveries.

One day, on the street, she came across a wounded young man. Mikan brought him to her house and began to take care of him. It was only when he woke up that she found out that she had sheltered a pirate. However, it was more important for her to provide help, so she continued to nurse him. By the time of his correction, it turned out that Mikan was going to be married to a not particularly pleasant person. Fate smiled on her, because the young pirate whom she had saved returned for her and took her to the ship with him. The team needed a doctor anyway.

Teru

A randomly picked piggy during one of the crew's forays for supplies. He followed Peko, and she took him on board the ship. The team planned to make a dinner out of it, but it turned out that the piglet copes perfectly with the role of a cat and perfectly destroys rats. So he was given the name Teru and left as an important member of the crew guarding supplies.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

🪷:

Hii , this time I made sure to catch the inbox open (unlike the last time around, I am still sorry for that ← I don't know if you considered that request or not so I am resending just in case)

Please ignore if you find this uncomfortable

M6 reaction to MC and LI's relationship being considered taboo or forbidden?

Mini or full is upto you

The Arcana Mini-HCs: When MC and M6's relationship is forbidden

Julian: might get just a liiiittle too caught up in the romance of it - a wretched murdering doctor, on the run with his forbidden love - if it starts to get to you, though, he'll address whoever he needs to

Asra: it was another layer for their distance early on. not only did you not know your past, you didn't fully understand what you'd be taking on if you chose to be with him. will happily move elsewhere if it'd help

Nadia: it's taboo, you say? what about it? let Vesuvia bring their concerns and outdated assumptions to her, and she'll address the city as their Countess to challenge them. she will love you proudly

Muriel: like that's going to stop him. you both love each other, you're both consenting adults, who's going to come all the way out to the woods to annoy him about it anyways? this is your place now

Portia: mostly intrigued. she knew from the start that you were "off-limits", which only made her want to get closer to you. your taboo relationship might make diplomacy harder, but it's all worth it

Lucio: "forbidden" is a word that doesn't exist in his vocabulary. neither does "bad idea" or "taboo". if he likes you, he likes you, and anyone who takes issue with that can shove it up their - uh - chimney

[thesilmarillionblog]

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part: 4

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, hurt, smut, cruel Soldier Boy, mention of drugs, reader gets hurt in both ways, violence, Soldier Boy gets hurt, Crimson Countess is a bitch

Word Count: 3584

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

It had been a week since Ben fired you from Payback, and you did nothing but spending your whole time in your home since that day.You made up your mind not to go back, even though the authorities tried to talk you out of it. Your idea wasn’t important actually, everything was all about Ben and his stupid ego. You wished you punched his arrogant face that day.

He was your ally, friend and lover, but he had make you his enemy in the end for nothing.

It was hard to swallow what happened between you, but it wasn't as though you lacked pride. It would be best, after all that, to just walk away. You didn't need to ask Ben for anything anymore. After he made his decision, your anger subsided. But you were powerless to avoid the agony in your heart. There was nothing you could do if he was really in love with Crimson.

Being a good person is not enough to love or be loved after all.

You could feel Ben's presence and hear his noises about your house on a Friday night. You wondered what he would say to further hurt your heart or what else he would discuss. Your heart was cursed for continuing to race while he was around. But you knew that all you really needed was a little time to let go of the emotions that were burning in your chest. As they say, what's out of sight is out of mind.

You let out a long sigh as he entered the home silently and opened the door with ease. You hadn't seen his face without that dumb mask in a very long time. You hated how well it fit his haughty persona.

“Ben, what are you doing here?” you said, seeing him inspect the house as though it was his first time.

He said in an arrogant tone, “I came here to talk,” as he moved closer to you and closed the door.

While sitting on the couch behind, you sighed and said, “I don't think there is anything left to talk it out.”

“You know, it's not like I want you to come back. Don't believe otherwise,” he murmured as he sat next to you as if nothing had ever happened between you. “However, those cocksuckers don't let you leave so easily. I have to bring you back to the team because of them.”

It was stupid of you that, for even a split second, you believed he would apologize, make amends, and put things right. Ben was right; you didn't know anything about him at all. It took you a while to find the right words to respond.

With a disappointed expression on your face, you turned to face him and muttered, “I can't believe you. How do you keep yourself so insensitive?”

He got annoyed by your tone and said, “I am what I am,” in an icy voice. “Perhaps your brain is traumatized from creating so many romantic scenarios about me.”

How weak you were when it came to him made your eyes tear, both with rage and anguish. You were unaware of how your heart could possibly desire him in spite of his cruel nature.

“I just feel sorry for you, Ben,” you said with all sincerity. It was true. “You think you have power over everything, but you’re actually controlled by everyone around you. Get out of here now. I’m not going back and I never ever will.”

You made a move to stand, but his rough hands stopped you, saying, “They won’t simply let you go. You have no chance.”

“No one can force me to do anything. I can do whatever I want, unlike you,” you said firmly. “And everyone will leave you alone if you continue to behave like this, like a jackass. Crimson will be the first to betray you; keep that in mind. Noir will leave the team too; you’ll see it.”

You couldn't help but bring up the Crimson issue, even though it wasn't your primary intention to bring it up. You weren't God's greatest soldier when it came to love.

“Is he the cause of your current behavior?” He stared at you hatefully and questioned you, raising his voice. “Did you get fucked by him?”

You shouted at him, “Of course not!” as you avoided his hard touch on your arm. “How on earth are you able to say such a thing to me while you are one who ruined everything? I can't fucking believe you.”

“I want you to get out of here,” you added, cutting him off from further conversation. Ben, I'm not turning back. This is where we end it. The discussion is over.”

He was looking at your lips as though he wasn’t listening to you at all. Before you reacted, his warm lips were on yours. Your hands immediately pulled him closer. You wished you were stronger than this, but it didn’t feel wrong. You missed him way too much to be able to resist his kisses and touch. Maybe he felt the same about you.

Remembering your first time on that same couch with him months ago, you felt like it had been years since he’d touched you. His tongue dominated your mouth when he pushed you to the couch and got on top of you with a quick move. It seemed that your transparent pride was high on cocaine, but your body needed him more than anything.

His mouth met yours for a long, passionate kiss before his hand found its way into your sweatpants and then your underwear. As his hand touched your wetness, you let out a gasp of excitement. He was staring at you in an unidentified way, and you blinked. He took a moment to measure your response and see whether you desired it as well, but as soon as he realized everything was okay, he continued kissing you and put his meaty finger inside. You nailed his

back, feeling his thick finger inside yours. You knew that once he got his hands on you, you would quickly reach climax. You locked your legs around his hips as he continued to fuck you with his fingers.

With a sly smile, Ben asked, “Do you miss me?” and inserted another finger inside of you. You urged him to go harder as your legs began to shake. “Want me to give you a hard and quick fuck? Would you rather it was my cock inside of you?”

As you got closer to your climax, your lips parted, and he added a third finger, making you moan loudly. Without letting you talk, he started kissing you again and silenced your moans. You missed him so much that your eyes got teary from both pleasure and longing. You told him you’d never say that you loved him ever again, but you wanted to say it so much at that moment. You didn’t know how to make him believe you about your feelings.

You moaned in his mouth when your walls clanched around his meaty fingers. It’s been long since you’ve masturbated, so you couldn’t stop yourself from coming that easy. Your face was blushing because of the intensity of the moment.

He continued to finger you until you became very sensitive, at which point he pulled his fingers out of your wet pussy and placed another strong kiss on your lips. Based on the way his hardness felt on your stomach, you assumed he was going to take you there. You could even start over. When he didn't move, you waited anxiously and looked bewildered.

“It seems that I still have power over you, though, baby,” he remarked, smirking as he licked his fingers covered with your slick as your face flushed with both anger and shame.

Outrage rising in your heart, you pushed him back by his chest from on top of you. He'd done a lot to you already, but now he was doing this too. It was the final time he let you down. Even though what you said was a complete lie, you felt as though you meant every word as you said, “I hate you.”

“Yeah, that's more realistic of you,” he said in a harsh voice, adjusting his supe as he stood up. “You'll return to the team in a week; otherwise, I don't know what they'll do to you. I'll give you a little more time.”

You gave him an angry glare and said, “Get the fuck out of my house,” but he had already left.

You started crying like a crazy person while sitting on the floor, so you grabbed the closest chair and threw it against the door. You wished he had died that night with Crimson because you loathed him so much. Up until that night, you had hopes for him and yourself, but it was now clear that Ben had never loved you back and never would. All he liked was how you responded to him and your loyalty to him. Never in your life have you felt so humiliated.

Even though you were undoubtedly the strongest supe woman on the planet, you were vulnerable and in need of Ben's tiny attention. You cried more, realizing that you had become a pathetic creature. You never ought to have signed up for Payback.

When Ben heard you crying, he considered talking to you again, perhaps to soothe you. In reality, he only intended to persuade you to return to Payback; he wasn't aiming to upset you or finger you when he visited your home. However, he did cause you distress and sorrow. He listened to you cry a little longer, but at that point lacked the courage to confront you. After all, you were simply too furious to have another discussion. He was aware that you would always be alright, though.

You arranged to meet with an older director from Compound V Company in his house two days later in an attempt to stop drawing attention to yourself. Although you made an effort to stay out, they made every effort to get you to rejoin the team. You decided not to say anything about Ben when asked if it has anything to do with his attitude or anything else so as not further aggravate a situation that is already complicated.

While sipping his tea, the elderly guy remarked, "The company can raise your wage as much as you want." Behind him was a stupid painting of Payback.

“I’m already rich,” you answered with a smile.

You are, of course. With a fake smile, he said, “Thanks to us,” getting up and positioning himself in front of the window with his hands in his pockets. “You know, we discussed what happened on the battlefield with Soldier Boy. We made it extremely clear that the way he handled you in front of everyone who was there was completely inappropriate. His actions are not acceptable to the company. He'll be happy to have you back on the squad and wants to make amends with you. Presumably, he has already spoken with you.”

“He did, but I’m not going to change my mind,” you said, trying to sound nice and clear. “It’s not about him. It’s just that I’m very tired of everything: the media, movies, ads, etc. I’m not sure if that’s the life I imagined for myself.”

Even though you weren’t sure if you were telling the truth or not, the truth is, you joined Payback for Ben. If there were no him with you, it didn’t mean anything to you.

“Well, I offered everything I could, and it doesn’t seem like I can convince you then.” He gave up and raised his eyebrows with a fed-up look. “We've known each other for a long time, but I guess it’s time to say goodbye, huh?”

You said, “I'm sorry,” having absolutely no idea how to proceed.

You were relieved that leaving the company wouldn't be as difficult as Ben mentioned. He was vile in his attempt to frighten you or anything. Additionally, you didn't have to worry about money because you had earned enough to live comfortably for a long time. You were at last free.

You ran into Ben on the road after you left the house. He will most likely be given information about your situation. He moved to put his hand on your arm to stop you, but you managed to ignore him and continue walking by.

You knew that what he had done to you in the last few months wouldn’t be forgotten, as he gave your heart a big and deep scar, but at least you wouldn’t let him cut you even deeper.

You sold your house and moved to a place only Earving knew in order to ensure that Ben would never find you again. After all, he was the only trustworthy person you knew, and you had faith that he would keep his word. Perhaps all you really wanted was to be found, but that wasn't very significant anymore.

You tried to enjoy your fortune while you were finally free by going to the movies and spending time by yourself. To those who recognized you, you still gave them your signature, but you took great care to avoid drawing attention to yourself. Even yet, you felt sick seeing Ben and Crimson's posters all over the

city. Seeing Ben enjoy himself with Crimson while you were suffering because of him was just so unfair. He didn’t even try to find you when you left so many traces.

One day, when you were about to go into your house, you saw another car that was parked nearby your garage. Seeing the shiny red color of the car, your eyes narrowed. Realizing that someone was in your house, you went by the threshold and took a deep breath, sensing Crimson’s presence.

“Have your parents not taught you to never enter a house without permission?” You asked in an irritated tone.

She paused, pulling off a flower from your vase, and laughed as she took in the scent.

“It appears that you have become a gardener, Y/N. How far you have fallen,” she said in such a haughty voice that you felt like laughing at her ignorance.

“I don’t know how often your little brain gets railed by idiocy, but if you ever touch my flowers again, you will go back to where you came from without your big red head,” you said with a serious face. “Now tell me, why are you here?”

Her face fell with your your statement and she frowned her eyebrows.

“Something terrible happened.” She stated, “I thought you would want to hear it,” wearing a worried expression.

“What happened?” You muttered. The thing that brought her to your house worried you.

Earving was the first thing that came to mind. He informed you that Ben was bullying him severely and persistently and that it had gotten worse just a few days before. That's why you were afraid Ben had finally hurt him. As you waited to hear the worst, your heart paced with fear.

“It’s about Soldier Boy,” she said. She was looking at your expression very carefully.

“What about him?”

You wanted to sound cold and distant, but in fact, you were worried. You knew that he was the strongest, but he wasn’t the smartest considering his trust for that woman.

“As you may know, he hasn't been seen recently on screens or anywhere else. Because he is a little out of control, he is no longer wanted as the leader of Payback.” She stated, trying to read your face, “They are planning to find a way to kill him and tell people that he sacrificed himself for this country, etc.”

It was impossible to get underneath Ben's skin. There was no way they would have managed hurt him, not even with thousands of people or supes.

“What are you saying?” You whispered, unsure of what she was even talking about.

“They simply tricked him by sending him on some sort of mission. I'm not sure what kind of gas it is, but they are exposing him to a kind of gas which is making him to stay unconscious day and night, and he's going to be shipped to Russia tomorrow in the morning. He will never wake up, so I need someone to help him.”

The way she described him made your heart race. In an attempt to picture him as helpless, you took a deep breath to calm yourself. But knowing Crimson wasn't a reliable person, “Where were you when he needed you? Also, why don't you help him?” you asked aggressively with an obvious tone of suspicion.

“He is well guarded. Even some other supes are waiting outside of his box,” she licked her lips and murmured. She was so calm that it disgusted you. “And I'm not as strong as you are, as you know.”

She obviously lacked the guts to get her hands a little filthy. She didn't care about him enough, as you know, to take a small risk.

“Where is that location? Just give me the address,” you said in an aggressive yet unhesitating voice.

You were annoyed when she handed you a small piece of paper and sighed in relief as she said, “It's not far from here.” But at that point, you didn't give a damn about her. After all, if she hadn't told you, you'd never know what had happened to Ben.

You wouldn't allow them to treat Ben that way in spite of everything he has done to you. How could you go on living while he was unconscious and under the care of strangers in another nation? Though you were certain that they would never be able to murder him, the thought of him being tortured was much more unsettling. Without saying anything more to Countess, you left your house and drove directly to the address stated in the paper. If they discovered that you were the one who saved Soldier Boy, it would make no difference. You would think about such things later.

You cautiously examined the modest building, guarded by just two guys in uniform, after you had parked the car. You thought that would be easy. You were not interested in paying attention, even though they were very easy for you to handle. You decided to make some noise, so you picked up a big rock and tossed it out the window. Moving quickly to the back of the building, they exchanged glances and tightly grasped the weapons they were carrying.

When it comes to idiocy, men never let you down.

You hurried inside the building and effortlessly unlocked the large door. The dimly lit interior of the strangely dark building made you anxiously listen to every breath and voice around you. Feeling perplexed and irritated, you began looking in every room for Ben.

“Hey, you!” someone shouted at you. “What the hell are you doing here? Any entrance to this area is restricted by the government; you cannot simply go in.”

Well, you can.

Without saying a thing, you hit his head hard enough to knock him out, but not hard enough to kill him. You murmered an apology.

But then you heard the alarm go off, and you hurried to look for Ben. Inside the building, there was loud chaos, screaming, and gunfire from the people who showed as though they could harm you.

Ben was nowhere to be found when you finally made it into the last room at the end of the hallway. Nothing at all could be found showing his presence. Though you were both supes and could easily smell and hear voices, you were certain Ben wasn't around.

When the door was slammed behind you, you tried to get out, but the strong gas in the room caused you to cough, and you collapsed to the ground, feeling weary and numb. You realized then that you would be the one sent to Russia. Before you passed out, Ben was all that was on your mind. Your eyes filled with tears when you noticed the gas was making you cough in pain. Maybe Ben and Crimson worked together to trick you. But why would he make you suffer like that?

Next Chapter

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A/N: Here we go… We haven’t finished yet. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! You can check my Masterlist for other Soldier Boy / Reader fics. There is still so much to come. <3

Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @xmariakx @spnfamily-j2 @suspicious-stain-in-spain @atomicsoulcollecto @yvonneeeee @starryperson @mfnqueen1 @chaand-sitara @boywivlove   @stilinskisthings

Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series! -`♡´-

[briarscreek]

Mediaeval Prisoner!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley had a plight

his letters from knight mctavish in recent days were all the same questions. how’s the new countess, does she need anything from the crown to support her, and the most annoying one he had written back to simon. when can we start calling you the count?

cheeky bastard.

although the title of count did not entice him, the title of your husband was what he was really after. he didn’t care if you never promoted him to anything more than his knightly status, he just wanted you. he could still taste you on his lips and tongue from earlier that morning too.

during his patrol around the castle one afternoon, he had noted how the drapes and accent clothes around the castle were different. exchanged by your orders. in your favorite color.

he happened to cross paths with you and your newly appointed head chef as they asked you for your favorite dishes. you stated for them to surprise you on that front because you hadn’t had anything except stew and assorted cheeses all your life. simon could only imagine the way you’d light up at something new. once the chef took their leave, simon walked straight into your line of vision.

“countess” he bowed.

“sir riley.” you curtsied in return.

“the new colors of your house are marvelous. is everything exactly as you wanted?”

there’s that blush that spread across your cheeks and down your neck. his favorite color.

“yes, it is. thank you sir.”

he smirked under his shroud as he extended his arm to guide you through the castle doors. the most gentlemanly thing he could do despite being ravenous towards you in your bed this morning.

your conversation continued as you both walked the outer gardens together. the gardens were nothing special, just a few hedges that led to a secure private dock on the ocean. wherever you were didn’t matter to him, as long as he could just listen to you he swore he was in heaven. a sweet thought entered his mind, unlike any he’s ever had before.

your favorite color and his would look most exceptional together at your wedding, wouldn’t it?

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[ctrlsatoru]

DIABLO CH2 - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. protective!toji and also asshole!toji. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to being roofied. toji being toji. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k tags: @liitlesushi a/n: ok so this might be longer than I anticipated and also semi slow burn. it'll be worth it, trust. summary: It's Gojo's anniversary party, you're doomed by your Satoru's whims, haunted by your father's scheming, and now a devilish third player appears: Toji Fushiguro. And he's here to collect.

Toji opens his eyes, manually focusing on the ceiling above him. The strange pattern spun in slow circles, and then it settled.

This bed is not his own. The pillow feels too flat under his head, which is throbbing painfully. He feels like a dozen horses ran over him. A voice, distinctly female, unnecessarily loud, makes him wince and curse under his breath.

“... If I agree, and I haven’t, you’re not picking my outfit. Know that .”

This is unlike him. He can’t remember a thing. The one good thing about not recognizing the bed is that he’s not gonna have to deal with a strange woman in his place–

“Because your conception of what’s socially acceptable to wear to a formal function is not tethered to earthly reality, Satoru.”

Oh.

It’s you .

You’re on the phone, standing by floor-to-ceiling windows. The sunlight casts off your ring like white laser when you turn, blinding him.

“Mornin’” he croaks, pushing himself to sit against rough the rattan bed frame. The room moves from side to side, like you’re both stuck in a boat, and not in one of Haibara's many guest rooms. It’s all coming back to him, the party, watching you and your boyfriend’s fight, the deck–

“Oh. Hey, buddy.” you say idly, looking over your shoulder as you sit on the other side of the bed, your ring-covered finger tying some slutty sandals around your ankles like some kind of shibari countess. The strap of your top falls as you lean over. Toji’s buffering.

His ears must be fucking deceiving him. 

Buddy?

The fuck?

He can’t for the life of him remember anything after the deck. You’re zooming through the room, texting furiously. On top of that, you look fresh and plump like lettuce out of the fridge, don’t you? But he had to blink several times to break through the layer of crust around his eyelashes, and his body is telling him you two fucked like animals for the past 12 hours.

Or he spent the weekend in the trenches. 

He feels wildly unprepared for this morning after, and it’s a just fucking relief that you’re keeping your distance until you start tap tap taping your little heels to the door.

“The hell do you think you’re goin’?”

You stop, surveying him over your shoulder like he’s coming close to being some sort of inconvenience. 

And then the corner of your lips lifts, the mole on your cheek jumping with the motion.

“It was fun.” Your phone starts ringing again. The sound drills a hole into Toji’s temples. “Too bad that it never happened.”

With that, you’re gone. 

You abandon Toji with a bunch of unconscious people scattered around the house and Haibara, who’s still young enough to not know what a real hangover is. The kid will just not shut up about some hardcore surveillance system he had installed around the house recently after he noticed someone was stealing from his Kaws collection.

Toji listens to the whole story, sipping on the cold pressed green juice Haibara made himself, simply refusing to use the crystal straw, and makes a promise to himself. You’ll pay for whatever it is you did to him.

Even if he doesn’t remember what that was. Yet. It doesn’t matter. You’ll pay anyway. Nicely. 

“Say, kid.” he asks Haibara, licking the green foam off his lips and putting down the empty glass on the counter. The juice tasted just like it looks, which is cow puke, but his mind is somewhere else. Machinating. Scheming. 

“This system of yours, does it cover the whole house?”

Here’s the thing.

There are many things Toji isn’t. 

For starters, he’s not easily bothered by most things, a trait that people usually mistake for a personal attack, like it has anything to do with them and isn’t just the hand that he was dealt. People assume others, in this case him, think about them more than he can be bothered to. 

He’s not a control junkie either, not anymore. He left those days behind.

Control isn’t something he needs to worry about anymore. He has plenty of it. If something gets out of line, it gets back on it automatically. That’s just the way life is. Sure, he had his vices back then; lactose, gambling, adrenaline, women. 

But the thing is, you learn a few things with age, right? Shiny things lose their sparkle. The excitement wears off. Nothing is safe from becoming predictable, not even the rush of hearing bone crack under his fists or the juiciest, tightest pussy presented to him on a tray.

And this sheds a light on the fact that he’s way past the age of being pussy whipped.

“You cannot be serious.”

So why the fuck is Shiu Kong looking at him like that? 

And who does he think he is standing next to him, all up on his screen, and mind you, only alive thanks to the fact that Toji has lost some edge from his gory days?

He shuts down the tab like a kid who got caught watching porn on the family PC.

“You listen to me. Don’t you ever fucking do that–”

“The Gojo kid?” 

Toji’s eyebrows dig into his face because you’re certainly not a kid. No. Kids don’t look like that. Kids most certainly don't go around passing people horse tranquilizer or whatever the fuck it is you fed him with that glossy mouth of yours.

And that’s what you did. That’s as far as he can remember. 

“Is that what’s been–”

“I’m gonna stop you before you say some dumb shit and piss me off any further.”

Shiu’s been pestering him for days now about the upcoming iteration and the threat of several deadlines. Toji has been brushing it off. No nagging back or shutting down his complaints. 

Somehow, his silence only pushes the stick further up Shiu’s ass. Like he’s his sexually neglected wife of 40 years.

Truth is, he hasn’t given the dynamic with his CFO/best friend much thought lately. Why would he when there’s an infuriating, mouthy woman with siren eyes that somehow look down at him even when he’s about two heads taller than– 

You.

“–stalking the poor girl on the desktop version of Instagram.”

Toji returns to the conversation. “I don’t stalk people. I’m a grown-ass man.”

And you’re not a girl either. You’re something else. He hasn’t figured what yet.

“Mm. So am I.” Shiu says, still standing there with his hands in his pockets, head tilting down at some forgotten paperwork on his desk. “And even I know looking at someone’s profile on a desktop computer is a concerning level of unemployment, which you’re not at. Yet.” 

Toji’s not that thick-headed. He knows he’s been distracted, but he can’t just brush that night at Haibara's away.

You pop up in his head unannounced and make yourself comfortable, rent fucking free. Like a little squatter. In the middle of meetings, when he's driving back home, at the gym, when he’s at the club with a gorgeous woman on his lap. 

It’s becoming so frustrating that he’s started to despise you for real, and not just the made-up version of yourself he created when he met you and decided you were an ill-mannered bunny that he wanted to toy with for a bit.

In this scenario, of course, he was a wolf.

No one ever talks about how sometimes the bunny knocks the wolf out and bolts the morning after.

Days pass and his mind is blank of memories, no glimpses, no time-stopping sex flashbacks, just a bunch of strange vivid dreams about you that would make any mid-century french cult film director weep and the Soviet Union recoil. They distract him to the point of him nearly knocking the front teeth off his trainer’s face, or spilling orange juice all over his clothes this morning.

Toji’s positive you didn’t fuck. Sure, you had a bit of bed hair, but your face lacked the I-was-fucked-by-the-Toji-Fushiguro glaze he's used to seeing in women and takes pride in. You looked perfectly fine, collected enough to be giving your dimwit brother hell on the phone and fuck with him before disappearing.

It was fun.

He was also wearing underwear, and you walked just fine. No wobbly legs or tilted hips. No bruises on your neck or scratches on his back– 

Too bad that it never happened.

You had shared a bed, that much he knew. He caught a whiff of your perfume after you left. He had cursed you then, feeling like a pathetic fucking dog sniffing up some pillows, but now the confusion and annoyance faded to a curiosity that extends past the time in his head he gives to the best lays he’s had. 

So today he put up an incognito tab and looked you up hoping to find something annoying, corny or pathetic about you to make you unappealing, and somehow he landed on your personal IG profile. 

You posted a set of pictures three days ago of meaningless corners at some random location. The fourth picture is a snap of what looks like your desk. There’s a polaroid of you and your fiancé next to a stack of notebooks.

You’re standing in front of him, leaning your head to the side with his chin resting nice and cozy on your shoulder, his nose pressed against your neck. Toji's lip curled in distaste.

He found your twitter account as well, because why not? And found nothing of particular interest. You stick to promoting your work and that's the end of it. Other people in your circle, on the other hand…

Toji went through a twitter phase not too long ago. He found endless amusement in pissing people off with less than 140 characters and replying to those who enjoyed his work. He uninstalled the app the second he found people selling mugs with screencaps of his tweets. 

Safe to say the decision made Shiu’s and the PR team quite happy. 

He’s out of the loop with the overall discourse, but it’s clear that you have farmed your own dedicated micro following online and your boyfriend is some kind of A24 flowerboy on the rise. 

Toji heard of him before meeting you. His newfound success is the byproduct of his dreamy looks, a melancholic breakout role and the occasional activism, something that's been often questioned due to his relationship with you, and the consequential ties to your family.

Both of you, as a couple, act like viagra for a very specific, insufferable and presumptuous crowd. They’re hyper-focused on the fact that you haven’t posted him on your stories for weeks, that Hiroki allegedly deleted some posts with you on Instagram, and that he's been caught dreamily staring at his female co-star during press conferences.

Why people choose to waste their time with their noses up stranger's ass is something Toji does not understand, life being as short as it is.

“Please tell me that’s not her twitter account,” Shiu says. Toji inhales sharply. “This is more pathetic than I thought. No wonder you haven’t gotten anything done in days.”

He kills the rest of the tabs, spitting over his shoulder “I can’t very well do my fucking job if you’re breathing over my fucking shoulder, can I? You know how I fucking feel about people standing behind me when I’m trying to get shit done.”

“Twitchy .” Shiu notes and takes his sweet time walking around his desk, plopping down on the chair.

“Yep, take a seat, why don’t you.” Toji grumbles.

Shiu drums his fingers against his knee, a sign that he’s craving a cigarette, surveying him.

“So I’m gonna take a leap of faith here and assume this is some kind of executive-level scheming, and you’re just exploiting a vulnerability.”

Toji’s face twists like he sucked on a lemon at the mere thought of it. 

“You know damn well the day I do business with that old cunt will be the day your ex-wife comes clean about what she did at that yoga retreat in Bali and asks for forgiveness.”

“Figures. So?”

“You’d probably take her back. Fucking cuck.”

“She really got under your skin, didn’t she?” Shiu notes, unbothered by the unprovoked attack. 

Toji sniffs, comes down from the spike of anger, and finds a more comfortable position on his chair.

“She owes me.”

Shiu leans his head back, mildly amused. 

“You adding usury to your ledger now?”

“Not money.”

“Alright then, I don’t want to know.”

Lies. But Shiu knows better than to push too much. Toji’s the type to hoard details not because he’s afraid of compromise, just to be an asshole. 

It’s refreshing to see him almost… desperate. If you were anything like your brother, Shiu thought, you might be just the perfect little karma agent for his best friend.

“Fine. You get that business sorted. You’re no use to me if you’re distracted.”

“You worry about sorting your own business and I’ll worry about mine, Kong.”

Shiu stands up, fighting back a smile until he opens the door, stopping at the sight of Toji’s assistant about to knock.

“What is it?” Toji asks, scratching his eyebrow, already exhausted.

Keiko looks down at the tablet in her hands, hesitant.

“The team at Gojo Corp has reached out, sir. It seems Gojo Shinobu would like to invite you to dinner next week.”

The look on Shiu’s face as he slowly turns to face him is priceless. Toji rests his elbows on his desk, a sinister smile pulling at his scar.

“Well, isn’t that interesting?”

“Interesting indeed.” Shiu agrees. Keiko eyes them skeptically, because her boss smiling like that cannot mean anything good for society, or her sleep schedule.

“I better get to work then, eh?”

“Anytime would be nice, yes.” Shiu says, turning to Keiko. “I guess I’ll finally find out about Bali, then.”

So you might be thinking, look at him backtracking like that. 

Don’t get him wrong, it’s nothing like that.

Toji’s sitting across from Gojo Shinobu, the man, the myth, the bigot himself, with absolutely no intention of making business with him.

He’s just sniffing the territory.

In person and up close, Shinobu's a disturbing aged mix of you and your brother: the hair and the uncanny valley eyes went to him, but the eyebrows, the slope of his nose, it’s you. Even the handshake, firm and tight like a war general, reminds Toji of you.

Gojo Shinobu’s old as the fucking bible. His eyes are graying, eyelids sagging but it's clear that grandpa's still sharp.

For the record, Toji doesn’t like the old fart. He represents many things that he despises about older generations, and his business model is one of the many reasons for the country living in the past, but he’s not about to get political. 

Not liking Gojo Shinobu doesn't mean he has no respect for him, so he’s honest and immediately shuts down the proposal of Gojo Corp. being involved in future Diablo releases.

Dignified, not happy, but never one to accept a no, Shinobu just smiles, brushes his beard like a Ghibli villain, and switches the subject.

Alcohol involved and pretending to put business talk aside, the conversation flows easily. Your father has a surprisingly entertaining dry sense of humor. Toji supposes you stop giving a shit when you have one foot in the grave, he also imagines the borderline cruel wit had something to do with your mother getting knocked up with you at the peak of her career as an actress and sex symbol.

“I hear you have a kid.”

“Two.” Toji corrects, remembering that he’s supposed to pick up Tsumiki in an hour. Ballet class. She’s getting rather serious about it. “A girl and a boy.”

“Ah, good balance.” Shinobu nods with a knowing smile. “They listen to you? How old are they?”

“15 and 16. And they do.”

They don’t, because they’re teenagers, not soldiers. Megumi and Tsumiki are good kids, certainly better than he was at their ages, they don’t need him ordering them around, watching their every step.

“Dangerous, dangerous age.” your father hums. “You make sure they do that, save yourself the bitterness in the future.”

Damn. Alright. Toji lifts his eyebrows and leans back, listening. That’s all it takes.

“You’d be surprised. You get a little too light handed, and a perfect sapling can get ruined just like that.” he snaps his fingers. “It’s harder to straighten them up as they grow up.”

Toji takes a long, good sip, fighting back a chuckle. He has no concerns when it comes to who or how people choose to fuck, but the blatant homophobia is always amusing.

“And then they gang up on you.” Shinobu scoffs. Toji can imagine you and your brother scheduling a year worth of publicly terrorizing Shinobu. “No wife? You raising them on your own?”

“I am.”

“Good man. It’s hard, honest work. Make sure you look for a good one to settle with, not all of them are in touch with their motherly instinct.”

His assistant comes in, tells him someone has arrived, and Shinobu makes a noise with his nose or mouth that reminds Toji of an exasperated horse.

“Take the advice from me. You see–”

He leans over the table, brushes his beard. 

“If, and I am not wishing this upon you, your daughter comes of age and– after years of picking up and dropping all sorts of interests with no interest in commitment,"

He pauses, chuckling humorlessly.

"–comes to the conclusion that she wants to waste her life playing with cameras and hanging out with gender-bending creatives,”

The word is said with so much despise Toji feels like there should be a new phobia for it.

“You have to sit down and choose what’s more important; letting her waste her potential away, or being in her good graces. More often than not it can’t be both, that’s just how it is.”

Perhaps Toji hasn’t given you enough credit. You could’ve ended up a lot worse than you are. Knocking him out was nothing. You could’ve chopped him up, kept his dismembered body in your fridge, and he’d see where you're coming from.

“But when she tells you she wants to let some vulture into your family and make him blood, you take matters into your own hands.” he nods firmly, like it’s Toji he’s mad at, and finally looks over his shoulder, nostrils flared.

Asaya Hiroki approaches the table. Jetlagged eyes, tail between his legs.

“Fushiguro, this is Asaya Hiroji, my daughter’s boyfriend.”

Hiroki looks like he has half a mind to correct him on either the name or relationship status but he’s too fond of keeping his head attached to his body.

Hiroki’s pretty. Toji can’t compete in that department. He looks like he puts sugar and milk on his tea and smashes the china on the floor when he’s told he can’t have more, like a psychotic puppy. 

In other words, you make sense together. 

You like to look at pretty things so your boyfriend’s cute. No harm in acknowledging that, though he remembers Tsumiki mentioning that when noses dip down like that it means there’s some kind of prosthetic. 

And if you pay attention, really read between the lines of his 90’s film heartthrob face, something’s off with him, isn’t it?

But what does he care? A nose job is no crime. Hiroki has other flaws to offer. For example, he has a rather shitty way of hiding the fact that he’s doing something he’s not supposed to. 

Perhaps, even, going behind someone’s back.

And the guy calls himself an actor.

Satisfied with the results of what he thought would be a waste of an afternoon, he excuses himself. He’ll be just in time to get to Tsumiki’s class before it’s done and have the other kids’ moms and nannies ogle at him. Tsumiki hates it when he does that.

“Don’t be a stranger, Fushiguro. I’d like to keep this channel between us open. I hope to see you at the anniversary party.”

“Pardon?” Toji stops, surprised.

“The company’s anniversary party this Friday,” Shinobu says, like it’s obvious. “I’d like you to meet my son, and well, you’re already acquainted with my daughter.”

Hiroki’s round bobba eyes follow him all the way to the grand crystal doors. Toji has the distinct feeling that he was just part of Shinobu taking matters into his own hands. 

He’s both disturbed and impressed. He never mentioned meeting you, and he’s pretty damn sure that this detail didn’t slip from your lips either.

 

Every year the company throws an anniversary party, and you and your brother and every high-level employee have to attend and listen to your father’s rendition of why diesel was better and how you’re all wimps for being born after the extinction of smallpox. 

The one year that you didn’t attend, because you were stuck in Norway with a canceled flight, your father spent exactly 11 months reminding you of it like you had any say in the weather conditions of the North Sea.

Tonight might be his last speech as chairman, since he’s about to step down from his position after growing health concerns. The company has gone all out; live music, huge venue, ice sculptures, people are dancing. They've put so much effort your father's probably more annoyed than anything.

Suguru approaches you at the empty family table and sits down next to you with a knowing smile, like he's thinking the same thing as you while you're watching people waltz. He’s looking as handsome as ever, you just miss the bangs framing his face.

“So, when do you think he’s going to publicly execute the medical staff that diagnosed him with Alzheimer’s?”

“Probably after he declares war on Gretha Thunberg.”

You’re wary. He might have everyone convinced, but it’s not like him to step down quietly. Your instincts are telling you to expect shenanigans tonight, and they’ve never once failed you.

“Seems too good to be true, don’t you think?” you say, eyeing the crowd. “I don’t know how Satoru’s so cool about it.”

Suguru sighs, craning his neck. “I wouldn’t say he is.”

And that’s when your brother slams his palm on the table, making you jump in your seat. He leans over the two of you, eyeing the room like it’s the school cafeteria and he’s the king of prom.

And he kind of is. Today your father will officially name him his successor, so the sour look in his face makes you and Suguru share a look.

“Do you see Hideo Kojima on steroids hanging out with Nanamin? I guess next year we’ll have the Yakuza on the jazz band.”

You laugh, only half weirded out. Suguru looks up at your brother, confused.

“Who? ”

“Toji Fushiguro. ” Satoru drawls, icily amused, and your neck turns so fast Suguru worries it’ll break. “And his underling.”

Remember your intuition? Red sirens start ringing in your head, and the edges of your vision start staining in with a deep burgundy color.

What on earth is he–

“Dad invited him.” Satoru says, still not sitting down, still scanning the room with deadly eyes. You feel the urge to look around and pinpoint his exact location, but you wait for him to point with his chin. “They’ve been seeing each other. Mimosas and manicures, I heard.”

You find him across the room, several tables between you, just over the elevated candles in the middle of your table, talking with Nanami and some man you don’t recognize. 

You fight the weak but sensible urge to look away when he suddenly turns to your table and lifts his glass in your direction, like he felt the shit talking from a distance.

The room is vast, but you recognize the feeling of his eyes looking straight at you. Your brother is too occupied cursing under his breath while he mockingly lifts his glass to notice you gulping.

“You think dad’s hitting that?”

You try not to gag. “You’re sick.”

“Cause someone will owe me a loooot of money if that’s the case.” he taunts. You both placed a bet on whether your father is bisexual or not years ago. “Look at him, standing there like he’s threatening to swipe all the fertile wives in the room. Freak.”

You snort. A bit of your goes down the wrong pipe, Suguru helpfully pats your back.

“You better hold on to yours then.”

“Nah, he’s locked in. Ain’t cha , babes?”

You roll your eyes, feeling Suguru shake his head with a lovesick smirk. Your brother replies with a wink, lazily dropping his weight on the chair next to you, like you need to be in the middle of all that.

You lean back, stretching your neck and stranding up. “Ok, you can back up a little. It’s embarrassing enough to be matching with you.”

Satoru stretches his arm over your now empty seat. They’ve been purposefully keeping a distance, him and Suguru, people assume it’s for appearances' sake, but you know them better than that. They’re playing some game tonight, and you’d rather pluck out your lashes one by one than learn the details.

“And I distinctly remember asking you to stop feeding into those fucked up theories online about me terrorizing you as a child, but you had to take those creepy family portraits with the heads cut off. We don’t always get what we want, sis.”

And don’t you know that. Tonight was stressing enough without 6’ something with a lip scar, ever so subtly following with his eyes as you make your way around the party. Not too obvious for an outsider to notice, but just enough to make the exposed hairs at the back of your neck stand up.

You’re a little too energized. Like too many shots of espresso and Ritalin after an allnighter.

It makes no sense to start feeling threatened by Toji Fushiguro tonight, when he’s in your territory, but you do. 

But you weren’t raised under the same roof as Gojo Shinobu and Gojo Satoru to be so easily intimidated, so you mingle, let people stop you for quick, boring catch ups and questions about being excited about your brother and what-have-you-been-up -tos, even those whose faces or names you can’t recall.

You smile, entertain and even ask people about their whereabouts, until you’re out of social battery for the rest of the season.

“Took you long enough.” you say, making a point of not looking at him.

His voice comes closer than you expected or feel sane about. Smooth and dark, in through your left ear.

“Patience is a virtue, haven’t you heard?”

His presence is more unnerving than you geared up for, and just like the first time, a shiver cuts through you. Something urges you to move and take a step sideways, out of the magnetic pull around him. 

You finally take him in. Tailored tuxedo, slightly tousled black hair that you know for a fact is unfairly soft, exuding confidence. Never in your life had you encountered someone as infuriating and intoxicating as him.

“So, are you my new stepdaddy?”

A slap to his face would’ve stunned him less. Hell, he might’ve enjoyed it. You don’t give him a chance. His pants have no business getting tighter from that fucking question. Toji buffers again.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He hums, hands in his pockets.

“Depends.”

You tilt your head.

“You into that kind of thing?”

You scoff, dismissive as always, but suspiciously purse your lips to one side before taking a sip of your drink. Perhaps gatekeeping a chuckle.

Head held high, nose up in the air. Toji takes your profile in. The light bouncing off the high points of your face, the deliberate, doll-like curl of your lashes, the soft slope of your neck and the dips and curves of your shoulders. Your dress painted a nice image in his head of your body from afar, so he refrains from going past your collarbones like the honorable man that he is.

“What? No backtalk? I’m disappointed.”

“I didn’t expect to see you any time soon.”

“Like I said, patience is a virtue.”

You roll your eyes and laugh dismissively. “You don’t believe that.”

“Bold assumption.” he counters. “I wanted to see how long you’d last entertaining guests, but then your right eye started twitching and I suppose took some pity on you.”

“Aren’t you an empath.”

“Even to those who don’t deserve it.”

Your chin quivers, but you keep the smile to yourself with a quick sigh. Toji could look down at the way your chest rises and drops, but he’s not in a rush here. 

“Why are you here?”

“Is that any way to speak to a guest? I’m sure Shinobu raised you better than that.”

Name dropping your father gets the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Why are you here?” you repeat, enunciating slowly, but the words you want to say are don't fuck with me right now.

But you’re too precious for him to deny himself the pleasure. Not when your eyebrows tremble like that. 

“Your father was kind enough to invite me. It would’ve been rude to turn him down.”

“You’re not here to entertain him. He’s stepping down soon and you can’t stand him.”

“Doesn’t mean that I don’t respect him. Why else would I waste a perfectly nice friday night surrounded by a bunch of suck ups? Are you suggesting I have some ulterior motive?”

Your squint at him, like you don’t believe he has the guts to say it.

“Did you perhaps assume I’m here for… you?”

Toji wonders if your silence has anything to do with the white haired manchild looking your way for the second time.

“We do have something to settle. You owe me something, if I remember correctly.” 

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Nice try. An explanation, does that ring any bells?” 

Your head snaps up to him, the wisps of hair hanging from the sides of your face flow with the movement. The tip of your nose and your cupid’s bow catch the light, if he couldn’t see your face this close he’d mistake that for sweat. 

He’s reminded of how you looked at the deck in contrast to the sight of you right now. A sheer layer of sweat was covering your skin, your plump thighs spilling on the wood surface, he'd kept his hands in his phone and held on to his own sanity.

“What is there to explain? Nothing happened.”

Toji tilts his head. “Lying is a bad, bad thing,” 

“We didn’t do anything, Fushiguro.” you insist, lowering your voice. Toji looks over your head, bored with your attempts at gaslighting. “If you–”

“You wanna dance?” 

The nonchalant act drops, you unconsciously lean back and open your mouth like there’s not enough air in the room. Toji smiles at your hesitation, cold and challenging.

“It’s in your best interest.”

“How?”

“Because the old cunt that kept kissing your hand earlier is coming our way and I’m about to leave you alone with him” he lies and you don’t dare look over your shoulder to check, not wanting to risk making eye contact with the slimmy fucker.

It’s a bad idea. Being near Toji is a bad idea, dancing with him is the equivalent of putting on a vest bomb. Your father is somewhere in the room and your brother might act aloof but not a single interaction of his interest is going unnoticed. 

Putting your hand in his is a bad, bad idea. The worst. But you suspect figuring out Toji Fushiguro’s intentions will take some compromise on your part, so you don’t hesitate when you grab his hand.

With his arm around you, he's reminded of a particularly striking dream he had about you days ago. The first thing he did when he woke up from it was open his app notes and write two words, perverse angel.

Now he knows it was actually deja vu; you close your eyes for a bit, the breathing image of reminiscing. This isn’t your first time in his arms.

The melody gets rather slow. You hold yourself with all the poise of a reluctant little heiress, defiant but serene as you look at him, arm resting over his.

While he’s growing quite fond of the sight of your neck exposed, he’d rather find the main pin and let your hair down. Let you get comfortable, not taut like you are in his hold.

“You look like a tall pint of guinness.”

Toji could do this all night. Just watch your expression drop, annoyance pinch at your temples.

One ankle betrays you, but he’s not about to let that happen. The arm around your waist keeps you steady, moving along with him. His grip is firm, but not overpowering.

“You’re an asshole.” You say like you just discovered it tonight.

He’s right. You know it and you hate that he described it so right. You’re dressed in a black, sleek and form fitting dress that goes down to your ankles and the top is made of an off-shoulder white band that wraps around your shoulders.

Toji laughs with that shark grin of his, his scar stretching. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He adds helpfully, hand coming up to straighten the white fabric around your left shoulder. The air turns colder with the absence of his arm, but it returns to the spot in no time. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice, granted, but it’s a lovely dress. Perfect for a night at the pub, watching the game with the boys.”

“I think I’ll pass on the unsolicited fashion advice, thanks.”

“Come on. You can never go wrong with a red dress.” he counters, eyes dropping briefly. You wrinkle your nose, he takes offense. “What?”

“Not my style” you shrug.

“Now that’s just tragic.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure to wear one to your funeral.”

The couples closest to you turn with different looks of controlled distaste. Toji laughs heartily, head thrown back and everything. 

“I’ll hold you to that. I might just return just to see it with my own eyes.”

“Not sure doors open both ways in hell, but hey, more power to you.” 

“So you wanna hear my theory?”

You sigh. “Nothing happened, Toji. I mean it.”

What a terrible liar you are.

“I think you had a little alcohol in you, were fresh off a fight with your boyfriend, and just couldn’t help yourself because you have a thing for problems.”

You nod sarcastically. “And of course, you’re the problem in question.”

“Well, yes.” he blinks. “And also, you don’t have half the self control you believe you have. So you freaked out and put me to sleep to stop yourself from doing something you thought you might regret.”

This is how it was. You had forgotten the rush, despite replaying time and time again your past conversations. Interacting with Toji Fushiguro is like playing five finger fillet, thrilling and grueling and high risk, but it’s a whole other thing with people around you. You can’t let up, all your senses need to be on guard.

“Aren’t you too old to be throwing a fit because I gave you more than you could handle?”

Toji’s eyes dig into yours, a hint of amusement and something else.

“Here’s a piece of advice: choose your words very, very carefully. They might come back to haunt you. ”

“It never happened. And it won’t.” You repeat with a cool tone. The pulse on your wrist drums against his own. 

“I have to say, you’re a better actress than he is.” he mentions. “But denial does not suit you. We’re gonna have to do something about that or things will get very awkward real soon.”

“Actually I think we should focus on your rejection issues first.”

“I’m not a problem for you to solve, sweetheart.” he chuckles darkly, eyes knowing, never leaving yours.

Years of practicing the art of bullshitting in your household could not help you deny the fact that you're maddeningly, disturbingly attracted to him.

“What you see is what you get. And you could, if you stopped being a little coward.”

He makes you turn effortlessly, that’s when you see him. Hiroki. The words die on your lips, your stomach drops, all resolve wavers. He releases you and your arms hang limp on your sides.

He licks his scar and smirks sideways at you, eyes twinkling. You could push him off the roof of the building.

“You should fix your face, angel, ‘cause I won’t behave if he wants to pick a fight.” 

You’ve always liked Nanami Kento. He’s one of your father’s closest, youngest and less... spineless advisors, the pathological victim of your brother's pestering, and always impeccably polite to you, sweet even.

But right now, when he’s introducing Toji Fushiguro and his friend whose name you didn't catch to Suguru and Hiroki, you’d love to hit him in the head with a hammer.

At least your brother is nowhere to be seen.

"Pleasure to meet you." Suguru says.

Hiroki has his arm around your waist. He's not looking at you. You know what the dimpling of his cheeks mean. 

“We’ve met before actually, haven’t we?” Toji turns to him, brow burying into his face like he’s not too sure, shaking his finger in the air. “Correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t remember too well.”

Your heart is stuck in your neck, threatening to crawl out of your mouth. Suguru gives you an odd look.

“We have.” You don’t see the look on Hiroki’s face when he replies, but his tone is controlled.

“Yeah, I thought so.” 

Shiu Kong says something, and Suguru responds another thing. It's all noise to you. 

You grab a drink from a passing tray and the corner of Toji’s mouth tilts, his attention on Suguru’s conversation. You feel irrationally mad, like slapping him, but then he’d probably fix his jaw and look at you like you should've gone rougher and–

There’s something seriously wrong with you. Officially.

You grab Hiroki’s hand and pull him with you.

He’s confused, but follows you nonetheless. “Can you just wait for a–”

“We should ditch the party.” You tell him, but he doesn’t agree like he usually would and grabs your arm, stopping you at once, brown eyes searching yours.

“You’re not even gonna ask why I’m here?”

“My dad invited you?” you reply, confused by the offended look on his face.

“No. Why would he? You know how I feel about this kind of thing.”

Now you’re confused. You smell his breath and notice his flushed cheeks. “But you’re here.”

“Wow. Try to contain the excitement, why don’t you.” he scoffs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fly across continents and interrupt whatever the hell that wa–”

He’s starting to raise his voice, drawing attention, usually composed demeanor nowhere to be seen. You catch a whiff of alcohol on his breath.

“You’ve been drinking.”

His face drops. The volatile look in his eyes is not something you can deal with tonight.

You’re forever grateful for the woman announcing your father’s speech. Hiroki’s expression clears up, but he gives you a look that says you’ll resume the conversation later, soon, tonight. 

Then he pulls you to his side and leads you closer to the podium.

Your father looks into the crowd with piercing blue eyes. You, like you have for the past few months, have a bad feeling. Like if you were to take a picture right now, it would later be displayed as the moment before hell broke loose.

“... And as many of you know, the time has come for me to step back and allow a new generation to lead us forward."

The crowd hangs on his every word. You scan the room for the 10th time, looking for a head full of white hair.

Hiroki notices your unease and looks down at you, rubbing your arm. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t see Satoru.”

Your father continues, voice unwavering. 

"It is with great confidence and optimism that I announce my successor, a person who embodies the values and vision of our company." 

You finally find Satoru at the back, he’s with Suguru and Nanami. Waving his arms around him, hair a mess, pissed.

"Please join me in welcoming our future CEO, Noritoshi Kamo."

The room bursts into applause, but before his words can fully register in your mind, a sudden, sharp crack echoes through. For a split second collective confusion takes over, and then it turns to full blown panic.

You watch your father duck under the podium. Your legs move on their own.

Gunshots.

People are running, crawling and diving for cover all around. Tables are overturned, glass shatters. It's all white noise.

"Get down!" someone shouts. 

Something slams into you.

Toji picks you up from the ground. Exit located, going for it.

“My dad," you protest with wide eyes, hastily trying to look over your shoulder. Toji has half a mind to throw you over his shoulder.

“He’s fine.” he assures, hand covering your head, pushing it down.

Security sprung into action in no time at the first gunshot, formed a barrier around your father and hurried him down the stage. Toji saw it with his own eyes right before he caught you running like a tweaking baby reindeer, right before some piece of shit shoved you to the ground.

You keep protesting, resisting, trying to go in the opposite direction, so Toji has no choice but to lift you up and thrown you over his shoulder.

A colorful string of panicked and enraged expletives follow. You’re livid, fists slamming into his back without mercy. Toji pays no mind, pushing through the crowd, making his way to the emergency exit.

He doesn't put you down until you're both alone in the emptiness of some sterile corridor. And you're still rambling.

“Shut up for a second, will you?"

That does it. You're flabbergasted, opening your mouth again in full Karen fashion.

Toji doesn’t care for it. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” you reply furiously, fist tight on your sides. You catch your breath, step down from your heels and start to speed walk down the corridor. “I have to find my father– I need to– Satoru–”

“They’re safe.” Toji catches up to you in two or three long steps. “Gojo’s security doesn’t fuck around. I mean– yeah, they did fuck up letting a guy bring a gun inside the premises, but they were quick with it.”

Your nostrils flare. Toji hears voices at the corner and pushes you behind him. He sees a couple of guys in black in the reflection of a fire extinguisher cabinet. Dressed in black, wired ears, walking like they know they might lose their jobs tonight.

“Hey, I got the heiress here. She’s looking for her old man.”

They escort you both, eyes hopeful, looking at you like you're their ticket out of unemployment. Your father and his people are gathered in some conference room one floor above. The altercation can be heard from outside. 

“It’s for the best. You're too out of it to see it now, but you will.”

The room is packed. Your father, his disciples, your brother and his boyfriend, a very uncomfortable looking couple of cops. A woman approaches you, asking you if you're ok, but your eyes and attention at stuck on your father and your brother dueling for the whole room to see.

Your brother stops his pacing and turns to face Shinobu. 

“No, that's not it. I see it, I see you. You’re too prideful to let me clean up after you.”

Getting caught in a family brawl was not in Toji’s plans tonight, but he stays put, watching you approach them with confusion all over your face. They don’t seem to notice you. 

Gojo Shinobu levels his son with warning eyes, finger pointed at him. “Watch your words, Satoru. You don’t know what you’re talking about. My decision is final.”

He turns around, beckons the woman who approached you to him, but your brother is not done.

“You know I can do it." he says, your father stops and turns to him with death in his eyes and his lips pressed into a thin line. "You know I can. You just can’t stand the thought of me succeeding where you fucking failed.” 

The look on your face says it all, you don’t know what your brother is talking about, and that you’re in no headspace to ask either. Satoru's not just pushing the limits, he just sped past them.

The words hit your father square in the chest. 

Things are about to get bloody.

“You’re nothing but a spoiled, entitled brat who thinks he deserves everything handed to him on a silver platter. Look at what you’ve made of your life, acting like everything is a fucking game. You think I’ll let someone like you lead what I spent my life building?”

You turn to him, mouth falling open. “Jesus christ, dad.”

“Over my dead fucking body.”

Your brother’s face contorts in rage. He -predictably and unpredictably at the same time- lunges forward, fist aimed at your father’s face.

The room springs into action. Your father's guard dogs, the cops, Nanami Kento, you beat them all to it, but it’s ultimately Toji who gets to him.

In another situation, Toji would've found a comfortable seat for himself, perhaps a drink, and watch the havoc unfold. Let the son champion the decade long cause of union workers, environmental hippies, human rights, consumer advocacy activists alike, and punch the lights out of his father's smug face.

Then he'd spare no details for Shiu over a nice dinner.

But he grabs Gojo Satoru's arm instead, stopping him mid swing.

Blue, crazy and uncanny eyes land on him.

As a general rule, he avoids getting involved in other people's affairs, especially when it comes to love spats or family drama. However, when he says, 

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” 

He means it.

Your father chuckles dismissively.

Your brother watches as he walks away, chest heaving up and down. 

“Toru?”

Surely those two syllables did not come from you. If denial did not suit you, this uncertainty is just disturbing. It’s not right.

“What was that?” The question comes from the depths of your throat, voice nothing like Toji has heard before. 

“Not now.” your brother snaps, turning around and walking out. Geto Suguru on his side.

Toji’s phone starts ringing, he tries to shake off the unsettling image of you before walking out of the room to answer.

It's Shiu. He's waiting outside, watching the police drag the gunman into a car, and wondering where he is. Toji sighs, comes to terms with the fact that he's on a streak of sorts tonight, because once again, against his own code, he tells him Shiu to leave without him, not answering any questions about his whereabouts. 

People have dispersed with your father gone from the scene. Toji walks back inside, pocketing his phone, and finds you by a corner of the room. Your boyfriend has found you again, fuck knows where the came from.

He's pulling his phone out, ready to call Shiu and tell him he's on his way down, but you're shaking your head, running your hand through your hair like you forgot it's pulled back.

Hiroki gets in front of you when you try to walk away. You put your hands between you, like the last thing you need is someone coming close. You must've just said something nasty, hit a tender spot, because he freezes where he stands.

Toji drops his arm.

Once again you try to walk around him, but this time Hiroki gets a hold of your arms.

“Why?” he asks. You’re looking at him like he grew a second head. “We talked about it all the time, we always said–”

Toji's wandered close enough to catch your reply.

“What do you mean why? Have you lost your mind? I can’t leave Satoru alone right now, Hiroki.”

“In case you didn’t notice he just fucking left you here.” he snaps at you. 

You flinch. Recoil. Push against his hold.

“Let go. I’m sorry but I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“You can’t? Right. You can’t. Tell me something, do you have any idea what kind of shit I’ve had to put up with–”

You snarl at him, baring your teeth, bare feet stomping on the carpeted floor. Hiroki doesn’t even sway with your attempts, or flinch at the near animalistic way you look at him. 

“I fucking don’t. And I don’t want to know. I didn’t ask you to be here tonight.”  you reply, tone vicious, jaw locked. “You don’t get to hold it against me.”

The next thing Hiroki says pours out of his mouth like it’s a known fact, or an acceptable thing to say to the woman you’re going to marry. 

“They don’t give a shit about you. You know that.”

By now, you two have caught Kento Nanami's attention. He wraps up whatever he's discussing with a couple of men and approaches the scene.

Hiroki does not let up, it's easy to see that he will not. He fixes his grip like you'll turn to liquid and spill between his fingers if he gets distracted.

You wince.

Toji walks over with four or five committed strides until he's between you two. The abrupt interruption and breach of personal space startles Hiroki, gives you the chance to step back.

“I think that’s enough.”

“Well, this is just great.”

Hiroki chortles, looking away like he’s collecting his thoughts. Biting his lips in contemplation. Nodding to himself once or twice. Toji regards him coldly, lets him gather his thoughts, or the guts to attempt something idiotic like, who knows, get himself pummeled to the ground.

“You know, I keep seeing you everywhere lately, why is that?”

Toji shrugs, uninterested and unintimidated. Hiroki won't get his face cut even if he deserves it, and it's not that Toji's against the idea of being a vessel for some sort of long time coming retribution. In fact, he'd be doing it just for his own satisfaction.

But the night should end now. He’s gonna have a hard time forgetting how you looked earlier when your moron of a brother stormed past you and left you standing there, in the middle of a room full of people that did not care about you, heels hanging from your hand, shoulders sagging.

Doesn’t mean he’s not gonna give the boy something to pop a vein about.

“Why don’t you take a guess, hm?”

Something snaps behind Hiroki's eyes. Toji's front row this time, and he confirms everything he suspected about him. 

And he makes his mind up.

Hiroki looks at you, lids heavy, ears red. “Are you fucking him?”

How predictable. Toji looks at you over his shoulder, and somehow, you understand. It's barely noticeable, but you shake your head.

“You have to leave.” you sound a lot more like yourself this time. Only tired. Really exhausted. Like your feet are about to give out under you. Toji's not blind to the way you’ve been putting all your weight on one foot.

Hiroki pauses, realization lands on him that you’re talking to him, and not Toji.

“Get on a plane, fly back to Spain, and stay there for as long as you have to.”

“This is fucking unbelievable.” 

“I disagree. Have a safe flight.”

Hiroki stomps out, shoulders past unfazed Nanami Kento, who looks at him like he’s a speck of dust. He approaches you, asks you if you're ok.

You ask about your dad, he tells you he’s currently talking to the police and insists on getting you a car and someone to accompany you. Says you should rest.

“I can take her home.” Toji says. You peer at him like that's the last thing you were expecting to hear, and then you nod.

Nanami watches Toji carefully, studying him intently. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Keep me posted?”

His features soften just a bit, he touches your shoulder, promises he will.

He doesn’t keep his eyes off Toji until you two make it to the door. Toji might find the guy agreeable, stick up his ass and all.

[melaniekatewrites]

Just thinking about how easily Franchaela can work (for all the naysayers):

1. Francesca does love John. There's no debate (or, shouldn't be) about that. Just because her sparks with Michaela are altogether different doesn't negate her peaceful, quiet comfort with John.

2. Her infertility issues still very much have a place within her story—with John. They are married. They will have these issues come up. That part of her story has not been thrown out the window.

3. Michaela will still very much help—and join—Frannie as she grieves after John's death. John and Michaela are still cousins, close as siblings.

4. I know that many claimed they were disappointed in the change to Michaela since part of Francesca's fertility journey is that she does have a child with Michael pretty quickly. This could be easily included by Francesca having been pregnant again at the time of John's death, or by Francesca and Michaela adopting a child/children. Because of course Michaela would help raise John's child, her own relation as well. That could look a bit like Sir Phillip's situation.

5. There could be a number of ways the Bridgerton world approaches queer relationships. Either the influence of the Bridgerton's (and the Stirling's, another family of the ton) will lead the Queen to deem queer couples accepted by the ton, or Francesca and Michaela can be presented as companions, as many real life queer couples of the age would have done. If they go this route, it's unlikely that they would be questioned or face much scrutiny. They are relatives by marriage, Michaela should still inherit the title and Kilmartin, and Francesca would be afforded more freedoms in society as a widow: she has already experienced the marriage mart, would be the dowager Countess, and still comes from an influential family besides.

All in all, this scenario can work out really easily. If this post alone helps convince even one person of that, I'm happy. We all interpret characters in different ways, and for Brownell, that's envisioning Francesca as a bi, neurodivergent woman. Considering that Julia Quinn approved this change, and affirmed that it will be keeping to the heart of the story, I'm not too sure why there continues to be a debate about this (or a call for a re-do, which logically would never happen). If you have any other ideas of how the showrunners may depict Franchaela, please share! I'd love to discuss their coming story more ♡

[sunnycanvas]

Could you make one where fem! was blackmailed to leave Baldwin?

"Please you can't do this to me, I love him so much" (Y/N) said with tears streaming down her eyes. The Byzantine princess scoffed annoyed and grabbed (Y/N)'s throat. (Y/N) gasped in fear and the Byzantine princess smirked sadistically. "Say one more word and you will be begging for air instead". Angry (Y/N) tried to claw her hands out.

"Oh no! Don't even try to think about it". "You will be in more trouble" "After all you are no longer queen" Fearful (Y/N) handed her annulment papers (Y/N) couldn't help but think about events while back she said to her husband king Baldwin IV of Jerusalem

"What do you mean you have fallen in love with another man" Baldwin IV yelled in anger. (Y/N) let out frustrated sigh and said "Just what you heard". Baldwin IV got up so fast from his chair that his chair fell and table moved. (Y/N) backed up against the wall in fear. With Baldwin IV cowering her. (Y/N) gulped in fear staring wide eyed to her husband who said "Moment a man lust after some one else in heart that moment itself they have committed adultery" . (Y/N) retorated "You can't control whom you fall in love with". (Y/N) looked him strongly in eyes daring him to challenge her. (Y/N) was confused when she heard him laughing "You think a Leper like me, who was fortunate enough to marry you a commoner because of love would simply divorce you. "(Y/N), you are lying. I can tell" (Y/N) didn't let disappointment noticable in face and scoffed and said "Suite yourself". As (Y/N) left the hall. (Y/N) was grabbed by a noble man who dragged her to isolated room. "Did you convince him for an annulment". (Y/N) couldn't help the tears streaming down her eyes. That man was Byzantine ambassador whom she recognised had originally orchestrated the plan. The noble man let out frustrated sigh and warned her again "This alliance is important for both empires" "A useless commoner like you will ruin everything" "Do us all a favour and leave him, or else we will kill that little boy in the palace with whom you have grown attached to". "Countess Agnes was smart to accept annulment unlike you " (Y/N) red faced with trembling voice cried out in anger "I am trying my best" "You don't understand how difficult it is for me as well". The noble man covered her mouth with his hand and warned her "Don't you dare yell or else consequences will be severe". Their conversation with a knock on the door. Both of them separated from each other. The noble gave a glare to (Y/N) one last time before saying "Come in". The maid hesitantly entered the room and could sence the tension in the air. She nervously looked at (Y/N) and said "Your Grace, his majesty has asked for your presence in hall".

Your thoughts were interrupted and brought back to present. When you heard the sound of glass and wine. You recalled the next thing you knew that before entering the hall and metting the king and high court of Jerusalem the noble man asked to you meet the princess. Byzantine princess who was drinking wine smiled in victory and said "I will finally get to marry a king and get to be queen of Jerusalem". "Don't worry I will ensure to give you place as a maid in palace, I am sure your ex husband would agree as well me". The Byzantine princess smiled as she watched your face flush in embarrassment

Just then then the door was opened with loud thud.

"Who the hell dares to interru-Oh your majesty". The princess quickly composed herself and stood gracefully. You watched in amazement how quickly her character changed. "Nobody would believe that she is so cruel". You thought sadly. Baldwin IV was quick to recognise your change in mood. He quickly addressed the princess "You are under arrest for threatening and blackmailing the queen". The princess looked at Baldwin IV in shock. Before she could defend herself. The king presented beaten up noble man and continued his statement from before "With your ambassador". The princess shed crocodile tears and pleaded her innocence. Baldwin IV not hearing her cries signalled her to stop

Baldwin IV continued saying "I knew my wife appeared to be distressed by quite some time" "So I asked my spies to follow her". "When she said that she fell in love with someone else I knew for sure that she was being threatened and I secretly followed her as well". "I hope God forgives you because I sure won't for how you treated my wife". "We have enough evidence to convict you" The princess was forcefully dragged away shouted "You won't get away with this, my relative Emperor manuel Ī will ensure that". King Baldwin IV calmly replied as he watched the princess and the noble man being dragged away. "We have enough allies to defend ourselves". Baldwin IV soon turned his attention to (Y/N) who refused to meet his gaze. Baldwin IV slowly approached her. He gently put his hand on her shoulder and said "As much I am angry with you, I am willing to forgive you since I knew you were scared but next time if someone threatens you please let me know about it first". (Y/N) finally turned her gaze to her husband and nodded shyly before both of them embraced each other. Finally happy that they are together again