#him being an asshole on purpose. hes.... naive? is that the word? almost? which i can't.. fault him for. really

[pigeonrocks]

blitz being the youngest in the sr:df crew has never not fucked me up. btw.

like. even in his interactions! some of them show how young he is (freeing the feuerschwinge, the apex drone thing? meeting plotz- you get the idea) i think.

dialogues for these ^ under the cut. i guess.

[angelicmichael]

hoax - chapter two

Michael Langdon x Mallory

Summary: Mallory tries her best to put her feelings aside and to tolerate Michael; however she finds that she gets tested in other ways that aren’t so easily predictable..

Words: 6.3k+

Warnings: more death and general mentions of it.. sorry lmao, angst, blood, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, mentions of satan and satanism, slowburn, plot heavy, enemies to lovers, also reminder that this is a dark fic so.. it’s just generally not that happy of a story lol

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry if this seems random since we just got new cody content and a new character but I thought I would just upload this anyway since it’s finished 👉🏻👈🏻. But this is also the longest thing I’ve ever written.. like ever so hopefully y’all like it haha. Also fyi; Michaels and Mallorys POV switches quite a bit throughout this chapter lol.

Previous Chapter

Michael watched Mallory intently. Looking as she continued to be lost in thought. Her gaze fixated downwards at her black boots, which twitched slightly as she continued to most likely debate whether he was worth it or not… to say yes or no..

Michael swallowed, wishing he could do something to make her say yes, to maybe offer something but after all; he had absolutely nothing. Even Michael by himself seemed to be too much of a burden on its own, to Mallory.

He let out a dry cough; hoping to bring her back to reality, back to him.

Mallory’s head snapped up - brown eyes looking up at him curiously.. as if she really did forget that he was still waiting for a response or some type of agreement. She tried her best to relax her shoulders as well as her mind before speaking. Trying to silently convince herself to not snap at him, no matter how much she still truly wanted too. However, looking at him made that far more easier..

Michaels words; the pleading and begging that Mallory was almost convinced would never stop.. The pure desperation and urgency only really reflected onto his appearance. Sandy blonde hair that nearly looked brown due to the disgusting amount of dirt in it.. clothes that were still horribly stained and nearly doused with blood made him look hardly short of intimidating anymore, but the urge to yell at him still didn’t wane.

Anger still stayed present in Mallory’s chest, but it was starting to become something she couldn’t just ignore anymore.. it flowed through her veins, hot and fresh. It made her skin warm and her cheeks flush cherry red. Something she was typically insecure about but she really didn’t have the time or patience to try and hide it.. she doubted Michael realistically was even paying close enough attention to notice anyways.

“Fine,” Mallory finally answered. Her voice was soft and low which was merely a result of her biting her anger back - something she still desperately wanted to show but knew realistically would get her no where with him.

She tried her best to avoid Michaels gaze which still stayed solely focused on her figure. He seemed almost taken aback by her words, as if he was expecting to be further yelled at.. which wasn’t exactly a wrong assumption. The only reason Mallory found it in her to be nice was merely sympathy. After all they both had a long day - it wasn’t just her discomfort she had to take into consideration anymore.

“Do you trust me?”

The words almost felt impulsive to say but she didn’t regret saying them - after all; if they were really going to be sticking around by each other for a while then.. it was a valid question.

Mallory knew realistically what he was going to say and she tried to brace herself as she saw his mouth open hesitantly.

“I feel like I should.. why?” He asked in a tone which sounded purely dismissive and a bit annoyed.

Mallory wanted to smile, she wanted to grin and laugh that she was finally starting to get what she wanted but.. she did neither of those things. Instead she found herself immeadietly distrusting him.. wanting to know why on earth she would ever think to trust his words for a second when she literally killed him in the past.. and that’s not counting the other times where she attempted to do so or even thought doing it but; this Michael didn’t know that. This Michael barely even knew her name, let alone anything else about her but that didn’t matter to him - and she couldn’t help but to be a bit relieved at that feeling of finally being able to be free from her past.

Atleast for the time being.

“I need to go somewhere but I can’t go alone.. I think it would be good if you went too.”

Michaels brows furrowed at this; his face almost upturning in a sneer. “Where?”

Mallory took in a deep breath but didn’t exhale at first.. feeling irritated that he just had to keep asking questions that she didn’t have the answer too.

“I’ll tell you later, when we get closer, okay? But we need to go before the sun sets,” she explained.

Mallory hoped desperately that what she said would be enough reason for Michael to go along with her.. but thankfully it seemed to be. Or he seemed convinced for the most part, anyway.

“What happens before the sun sets?” He asked.

His blue eyes glared into hers - as if he was trying to get a read on her.. just like how he used too at the outpost.

Mallory’s throat suddenly grew dry at this realization.. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable at how he looked at her, and his question. Not necessarily knowing what to do about either situations but - she hoped for a second he would retract his words or rephrase but he didn’t.

He still waited.

“That doesn’t matter, we just need to get going. You said you trusted me right?” Mallory reaffirmed.

Her face was mostly expressionless as she watched Michael solemnly nod in response.

“Yeah.. sure. I trust you.”

His sentence cut off almost abruptly; as if he wanted to keep talking but knew that Mallory wouldn’t have the patience to hear him out - or that she simply didn’t want too.

Michael couldn’t really pinpoint exactly how he felt around Mallory. Every time she met his gaze he couldn’t help but to be overtaken briefly by far too many emotions than he could count. It mainly was a fight over feeling intimidated and being in awe. Even though Mallory hadn’t really let her powers show since she basically assaulted him earlier; he knew to keep his distance now.. to a degree.

He approached her now; feeling a little less intimated than he was before since she seemed to be acting civil.

Michael couldn’t help but to blame her behavior on himself; maybe he was too straight forward.. maybe it was him who was the true freak in this situation.. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time that he found himself in a situation like this, another situation that was surely his fault.

God.. why was he such a fuck up??

The closer he approached.. Mallory.. she said her name was right?? He felt almost sick to his stomach when he saw the look in her eyes when she finally bothered to look up at him. Her eyes (which he remembered were a golden honey brown when she stood directly in the sun) were nearly black now.. maybe it was the fact that the sun was finally dipping behind the trees.. or.. something else? Annoyance was really the only emotion he could read from her at the moment - the rest of her face was even harder to read. He guessed she was trying to remain expressionless on purpose.

Mallory was the first one to start walking - and Michael let her lead. She seemed to have a some kind of idea on where she was going since she had claimed she said a destination in mind, or somewhere for them to go.

Hopefully that wasn’t a lie.

Mallory didn’t look back once as Michael continued to walk directly behind her once the path she had chosen to walk on had thinned down to a trail. The sound of his footsteps were good enough proof that he hadn’t wandered off or turned around. She didn’t want to necessarily look at him longer than what she had too - she was more than certain that he still wore that kicked puppy look he had earlier. It was pathetic and painful.. and only a sharp reminder of why things currently were the way they were. Why she was here; still in the forest with twigs and leaves snapping onto her overly expensive dress which now had to be ruined.. (as if it wasn’t already from Michaels death fiasco’s) and not back at Robichaux.. with the witches where she belonged. Even if none of them necessarily knew her anymore.

Mallory belonged with other witches, her sisters. People that actually understood her and gave a fuck - not.. whatever she could even call Michael now. Who was not quite human but probably not the antichrist now, either.

That was just something else that Mallory would have to do and figure out on her own but, this wasn’t something that was meant to be done solo - she knew that deep down.

Michael was following her diligently and actually listening now for a reason, she came to the forest for a reason, and as much as she tried her best to avoid thinking about it; she also talked to satan for a reason.. And even though he was mostly a manipulative asshole- no.. not mostly. That’s exactly what he was. Michael was also proof of that.

No matter what, her and Michael would figure it out together.. on their own or certaintly without the help of him. They didn’t need him, not again.. not now.. not ever. It didn’t matter if he apparently owned her soul or not - she still felt the same.. nothing could’ve changed that quickly. Right?

That’s what she would tell herself anyway - and there’s no way she would ever dream of telling Michael any of that shit ever happened. It’s not like he would remember anyway.

Mallory continued to keep her head down as they kept walking .. deep in thought and trying to focus on just finding their way out until she felt something soft brush up against the back of her arm..

Mallory immeadietly paused when she felt Michael touch her, looking at her arm almost awkwardly and bearing witness to how Michael was now gently gripping her.. Hoping naively that it was something that happened accidentally but of course it wasn’t. Nothing happened by coincidence with Michael.

He let go after a couple seconds of awkward eye contact.. most likely realizing that she wasn’t exactly a touchy person. Not with him anyway. Not after the kind of day they’ve been through.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Michael said sorely.

His voice shook when he spoke.. and even though it was tempting to ask exactly why he was apologizing - she figured it didn’t necessarily matter. At this point it was the effort and the fact he even cared enough to say anything, that made her feel a bit better.

She gave a slight smile, not really wanting to say that any of this was ‘okay’ or that it was ‘fine’ because she was truly tired of lying.. it was something she lost the energy for a while ago.

“Let’s keep going. I think we’re almost there.”

Mallory turned around to keep walking - looking up and realizing that she could finally see something beyond the tree line.. something that looked like vaguely like a skyline of a city.. Was that Los Angeles??

Biting the bullet and choosing to make small talk had its perks - Michael affirmed her suspicion that they were in L.A which was really neither a good or bad thing. She definitely felt more unsettled now that she knew for a fact she was farther away from home than she would like to be.. and also scarily close to Hawthorne, and god knows what else.

It didn’t take long for the two of them to reach the city; and now that she was here.. she really didn’t know what to do next or why she had the odd instinct to walk here in the first place, but thankfully Michael seemed to know.

It was obvious that Mallory didn’t exactly have a plan, in the way that she was starting to physically stall.. her steps slowed, her fingers fidgeted a bit more and picked at her clothes, and her gaze kept falling down to her shoes.. All little, minuscule things but Michael picked up on them all.

He didn’t bother to ask outloud if she knew where she was going. Instead he took the lead.. walking in front of Mallory suddenly and only briefly pausing to turn into a dark alleyway. Something that seemed entirely random but honestly wasn’t. He had a feeling, an urge that they were meant to go this way.. something was waiting for them both.

Michael only looked back to make eye contact for a brief moment; hoping that just for once Mallory would trust him.. but as he looked back into her dark brown eyes which still abnormally almost appeared black - she was still reluctant. He wasn’t necessarily thinking when he reached out to grab her hand. Something he knew that she would hate but he couldn’t help it. Physical touch felt nice, and her hands were soft..

They still were.

He still held onto her hand as he gently pulled and tried to lead her into where he was going - frowning slightly when he felt her grip loosen but he continued to keep walking into the alleyway. He kept going, nearly stumbling on the garbage and various shit that was left on the ground.. but he managed to find a door that was left slightly ajar.. just enough for him and Mallory to slip through.

Michael quietly opened the door further; the room that they suddenly found themselves in was barely lit. A dark, dim, red light was omitted along with several small candles but other than that, the room was kept blanketed in a thick darkness. Both physically and emotionally.

As soon as Mallory entered what she now knew had to be some kind of church.. she felt almost as if she had been punched in the stomach. She noticibly winced, physically withdrawing from Michael and reflexively pulling her hand back even further than she had previously but he wouldn’t let her hand go. Not completely.

The nausea and just the sudden heavy energy she felt made the rest of her body tense up.. and she found herself sort of being thankful that Michael still held onto her and seemed to be leading her to a seat.. but the gratitude she felt only lasted for barely a second. Just until she could actually take a deep breath and focus..

Where exactly were they?

It was clear as day that they happened to be in a church.. but no.

No.

Something was wrong. Something wasn’t right.

This wasn’t a normal church, nothing about this seemed normal in the slightest - the dark red interior and dim lighting, the candles, the late timing of the service and just.. what everyone happened to be wearing seemed horribly wrong.

Just like earlier, and so many times before today she felt herself starting to submit to panic. Her breath quickening and her skin started to grow incredibly hot.. she felt as if she was suffocating from the inside out but she felt foolish for feeling this way as she looked at Michael, as well as everyone else.. they all appeared nonchalant and completely unbothered. Particularly Michael, who didn’t look upset but instead almost caught in a trance listening to the high priestess of the church talk.

Mallory didn’t even notice the woman was talking until she finally bothered to make eye contact. Whom of which walked straight down the isle way that divided the two rows of benches apart; her blonde curls slightly moving as she spoke and moved. She continued to slowly pace up and down, speaking about.. exactly what Mallory had feared.

Fucking exactly what Mallory was trying to avoid.

The immeadite gut reaction to stand up and leave was nearly impossible to resist; and that would be incredibly easy to do given that they were sitting in a otherwise empty back row. But.. instead she didn’t move. She sat still. Barely moving, barely breathing but merely watching and listening.

Now that Mallory actually bothered to listen; she felt completely dumbfounded that Michael was actually buying any of this shit. However, that didn’t make the words that she heard coming from the blonde woman, the leader, any easier to digest. Currently she was boasting and bragging about her sins and how ‘evil’ she was.. or something along those lines. It was still nearly impossible to focus with the feeling that still layed dormant in her gut that refused to leave.

She winced at the words she heard being spoken. Her black nails curling into the soft skin of her palm and gently digging in. Something she consciously chose to do to try to distract herself but it still wasn’t enough. She needed to know that they were atleast sort of safe here.. or that Michael had a vague idea of what he was doing.

“do you know where we are?”

Michael turned to look at Mallory slowly.. looking almost furious - his lips slightly parted as if he silently debated on how to tell her off for interrupting his focus. She waited with baited breath for him to ignore her or to say some snide remark.. only exhaling when he did neither.

“Yeah, don’t worry. We’re in good hands here,” He said. Barely speaking loud enough for Mallory to even hear.

She couldn’t help but to slightly pout, not wanting to argue anymore but not really trusting his judgement yet either. She waited for him to turn his head back to blonde ‘cult’ leader but instead it dropped down her to palm where her nails still cut in.. pressing down until the point where blood was about to be drawn.

Mallory didn’t wince or show any signs of discomfort but Michael still noticed anyway. His gaze quickly flickering down from her palm up to her eyes in pure confusion in what the fuck she was doing..

His hand quickly went to hers without a second thought.

His fingers gently pried hers off of her own hand.. She didn’t try to fight what he was doing but rather looked into his eyes in a questionable manner.. probably wondering why he bothered to touch her again. Something that he truly knew better than to do but couldn’t help from himself from.

“Stop.. Why are you doing that?” Michael asked genuinely. His gaze lingered on her fingertips which now had blood lightly indented on the tips of her nails.

Mallory looked at him awkwardly. Sort of appalled that he even cared enough to notice or to even stop her.. his kindness wasn’t necessarily unwanted but it was something new.. and strange to say the very least.

Mallory wanted to apologize or to just give him a reassuring look but instead she carefully met his gaze and found herself muttering a careful confession, “im sorry I just.. I can’t stand it here. This place-“ her voice broke horribly as she whispered.

She suddenly grew paranoid that the members of this.. ‘congregation’ could hear her sudden disdain for the establishment; which made the feelings of dread and guilt she felt only multiply. She wanted to keep apologizing or to convince Michael to leave but.. that wouldn’t work for the sole reason that she couldn’t even pinpoint exactly why she felt this way. But all she knew is that she had to say something else. Something to make Michael not stare her like how he currently was.

Mallory was still terrified to make eye contact with him. Only bothering to briefly do so to simply affirm that he was actually looking at her - and it wasn’t something she was imagining.

Reality was starting to become something Mallory nearly craved; the day still wasn’t over and yet the fact that some of the earlier events weren’t real.. was something she still needed to process.

The fact that Michael even dared to follow her here, sit next to her, and let alone even give a fuck that she was unintentionally harming herself was beyond her. She wanted to know why, but she knew she still wouldn’t trust his answer if she were to ask. He’d lie.

Mallory spoke again in a tone that was far more quiet than the last, “Where are we?”

Michaels gaze bore into hers.. his face nearly void of any expression as if he was weighing his options on the best response.. calculating and thinking but he stopped the eye contact before he spoke. His eyes went to examine his hands instead which were loosely clasped together over his knees that he slouched tiredly over.

“Somewhere I thought I could feel close to my father.. I know- you don’t want to talk about it-“

“No.. it’s fine,” Mallory reassured hurriedly. Her voice was light and high pitched - happy that Michael was finally managing to communicate and be honest with her. Even if he was inherently right, this wasn’t a topic she wanted to remember or discuss at all but if this was how she got him to open up.. then there was no other option.

“Before you ask.. no. It’s not working. I don’t feel shit here,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “All I feel is just fucking overwhelmed.”

His hands were brought up to his face and Mallory watched him deeply inhale. His finger tips rubbed his temples and fell down the sides of his cheeks - and Mallory didn’t know what to do.

Should she offer him sympathy that.. as bad as it sounded, that she didn’t necessarily really feel? Sure she could relate to him but it wasn’t in the same way in the slightest - and it wasn’t fair to either of them to pretend that it was.

“People here are beyond pathetic.. their sins,” he sneered with something that almost could’ve been considered an chuckle that followed.

Michaels hands fell down to his lap again - suddenly refusing to meet Mallory’s gaze. Perfectly intent on watching whoever the high priestess was, someone that Mallory was more than thankful that she didn’t know the name of.

“Michael.. I can’t stay here-“

He gave Mallory an apologetic look, and for a second she thought he might almost finally agree but to no avail.

“Please. Just ‘till the end,” His face reverted back to the kicked puppy look. The one that finally made her not necessarily forgive him but.. made her realize that at this point he didn’t necessarily deserve to be yelled at.

After all, he wasn’t exactly the same Michael that had planned the death of seven billion people.. not yet.

“Okay,” she quietly agreed.

So they waited until the end of the ‘ceremony’. Or Mallory waited while Michael watched and listened- looking both completely horrified and elated as he did so.. However, Mallory waited and counted each minute that passed.. every one seemingly longer the last.

Even when the blonde woman that was apparently named ‘Hannah’ finally finished talking and most members of the congregation had left; Michael still didn’t budge.

His back, instead of slouching was now pressed up against the bench as he sat.. looking for exhausted and more tired than ever. Tears (or what Mallory suspected were tears anyway) made his cheeks glisten in the dim lighting. She stared at him for a moment - wondering if she should ask if he was okay or if he needed a moment when she felt someone suddenly tug sharply on her clothing.

It was her top, a quick pinch but it was enough to make Mallory’s head turn back immeadietly.

Her resentment toward touch wasn’t just exclusive to Michael, then.

“What is this? Chanel? Loui V? Do I want to know what it took for you to take this?” Hannah spoke in a amused tone.

Hannah stood behind their bench, both equally between Mallory and Michael - like she had the intention of speaking to them both and not one or the other.

“I didn’t take this.. it was a gift,” Mallory answered truthfully and a bit.. bashfully.

She felt insulted that Hannah assumed she would ever steal but then again, with where they were, maybe that wasn’t exactly the insult that Mallory thought it was.

“Yeah.. okay. Like I’m supposed to believe that,” Hannah laughed with a snort.

Mallory was about to retort anyway, but Michael cut her off to her surprise.

“What do you want?” He asked curtly.

His words were cut short. Obviously irritated and put on edge - the fact that he still had tears left on his cheeks explained his behavior plenty.

Hannah immeadietly looked taken aback - disobedience wasn’t something she was used too.

“What do you I want? Do you even know who you’re talking too?” Hannah answered without missing a beat.

Mallory’s eyes darted to Michael. His jaw was clenched, his eyes sharp and focused and his mouth was drawn in a straight line that slightly curved downward.. he looked pissed.

Why was he bothering to argue with Hannah? Someone who he should inherently love or atleast respect with the shared connection of their love for his father.. And over something as trivial as Mallory’s dress? This wasn’t making sense..

“I think I could say the same to you,” Michael answered with a clenched jaw, standing up as his hands started to go to the left side of his face. Inevitably headed for his ‘666’ mark that Mallory heard he was rumored to have.. but certainly wouldn’t have anymore. Not after what she had done.

Michael.. couldn’t. He wouldn’t. This couldn’t happen.

It was clear he was still under the false impression that he had powers, but Mallory wasn’t going to let him find out otherwise this way. Not right now.

“Michael-��! Mallory said urgently.

It worked for a second, just long enough to make him stall.

His hands came to a stand still, pausing as his eyes watched her. Waiting for her to continue but her mouth went entirely dry once she saw Hannah’s hand quickly fly to his shoulders. Screaming words that Mallory didn’t even try to listen too - blood suddenly roaring through her ears louder than any sound that Hannah could make.

Mallory didn’t think when she suddenly felt herself stepping in front of Michael; her feet accidentally stepping onto his as she tried her best to push him back beforehand with her arm but even so - the space in between benches was minimal enough as it was.

Maybe under normal circumstances, Michaels body being pushed up directly behind hers would’ve been distracting but.. Michael was really the last thing she was thinking of now.

Mallory’s hands flew to Hannah’s shoulders - grabbing them (and feeling almost sick with herself how she had done this to Michael not too long ago) with the intention to push her back as hard as she could naturally muster up the strength too. But, of course, that didn’t happen.

Her powers came flooding out unwillingly - the sudden loss of control and ache that was rapidly being released caused her to scream.. something that almost sounded quiet with the contrast of her adrenaline still pumping full force.

Hannahs clothes suddenly sparking a bright orange didn’t cause the immeadite alarm to Mallory that it should’ve; however.. maybe it was due to the fact that the color already blended in with the red atmosphere of the church.. She could only hope.

Hannah’s clothes quickly erupted in flames - the close proximity of the fire made Mallory’s skin quickly grow uncomfortably hot. Forcing her to act on impulse. Selfish impulse.

She stumbled out from the bench and grabbed Michaels wrist clumsily, nearly dragging with him with her as they both stumbling back and away from her.

Mallory’s back was turned to Hannah.. her body shook as she hauntingly realized that the sound had stopped. Hannah wasn’t screaming anymore.. and neither was Mallory.

She couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look, only braving enough strength to look up at Michael who faced the general direction that Hannah was in.. or used to be in. She stared into his eyes and watched the reflection of the fire dance in them - not in wonder but rather pure dread and regret.

Fuck.. what the fuck?

Michaels expression was something she couldn’t really decipher.. the fact he wore a neutral face when she just.. had done something like this wasn’t going to be something she found solace in.

After all; he was still Michael Langdon.

And what she just did.. saying it was stupid wasn’t simply enough.

Forming more complex thoughts was simply impossible, she found herself stumbling away.. going the opposite direction as the room started to spin and melt into a blur of red and black. The ceiling, walls and floor quickly became indistinguishable - her legs were starting to feel weak..

Fuck!

Mallory’s vision flickered to black and her legs gave out from underneath her; but she felt someone’s arms hook underneath hers and pull her up before she could hit the floor.

Her eyes snapped open immeadietly - trying to balance herself back on her feet as quickly as she could so that Michael wouldn’t have to touch her.. still feeling entirely out of it from nearly losing consciousness.

Mallory knew immeadietly it was him without even having to look… and she hated that she was becoming familiar enough with his touch to even recognize that it was him so easily. The tempature of his skin - his palms gripping her upper arms a bit too tightly - was a dead giveaway.

She wanted him off.

Mallory stumbled forward, trying her best to appear nonchalant as she brushed his fingertips off of her arms. Trying not to look bothered by the smell that started to raid the church.. a mix of burnt flesh along with just general fire. She wanted to feel bad but if this really was a satanic temple; it probably had seen worse..

But that wasn’t the point.

Mallory’s gaze searched the walls, wanting to leave but not.. actually leave.

It was too much; she needed time alone. Time to maybe cry or to throw up until she couldn’t breath.. perhaps both, but she still didn’t want Michael to see her vulnerable. Not if she could help it.

Her hands gripped onto the sides of the benches as she passed them; stubbornly intent on walking on to the bathroom which she could now see - selfishly not giving a fuck that she would be leaving Michael but.. she deserved to be selfish for once.

After all, all her choices recently hadn’t been for her own sake.. it was for Cordelias, Madison’s, Zoe’s, The Coven, seven billion people, Michael.. but not her own. Never her own.. none of her choices were really her own lately.

Mallory tried her best to ignore the sound of footsteps following her. Pushing the door of the women’s bathroom open quickly but stopping once she heard Michael whine.

God, why was he always fucking whining?

“What the fuck was that?” He nearly hissed. His tone had no malicious intent but it still set Mallory on edge.

He looked alarmed, bewildered. Blue eyes widened and his lips slightly parted, his teeth clenched.

“What part?” She asked cynically with a dry laugh.

She met Michaels gaze for a second before fully slipping inside the bathroom - hoping Michael would get the memo to leave her alone but she paused once she didn’t hear the door shut behind her..

“Michael-“

“I know you don’t like talking to me but I’m asking you, just once. What the fuck just happened?? Did you-?” His voice quivered, breaking softly as he spoke.

Mallory was in tears, the thought and realization alone of what she did finally sinking in.

“No. No.. I-I didn’t.. that wasn’t me, okay? I would.. would never..” She spoke as a confirmation to both Michael and herself.

Her back was still turned to Michael - thankful that he couldn’t see how fucking close she was to full on sobbing.. her vision blurred by all of the tears that had gathered in her eyes that wouldn’t spill. Her throat clenched, growing tight and forcing her to stop breathing - but there was no way she was going to let herself cry in front of Michael out of all people.

Showing weakness, even now.. even when it was proven he was no longer a threat to her, was never something she would let herself do. She wouldn’t let herself become that stupid.

Pain centered itself in her chest, but the grief she felt, rapidly spread throughout her body. Consuming her until she felt herself succumbing to the feeling.

Fuck.

Mallory wanted to push past Michael and run out the door.

Mallory wanted to scream at him and tell him to get the fuck out of the women’s restroom.

It was so easy to blame him for everything she felt - but she knew better than that now. Even though it was easy; it wasn’t the right thing to do.. and it’s not really like she was used to take the easy route to things, anyway.

She didn’t exactly welcome the feeling but she gave up trying to fight it.. letting the first tear run down her cheek. She still tried her best to stifle her sobs, her throat still clenching almost painfully.. not really giving a fuck about showing weakness in this moment but more so just.. embarrassed.

Michael stared at her almost blankly - wanting to say something but he couldn’t help but to feel stuck.

He wanted to feel bad, and he did.. she was clearly hurt but he didn’t understand exactly how.. Did she feel remorse for what she did? Did she think that Hannah or whatever the fuck her name was, didn’t deserve it?

Sure he didn’t exactly know her intentions but it wasn’t anything pure.. and Mallory needed to know that.

He approached her carefully, knowing damn well that she had the capability to do the same that she had done to Hannah.. or to perhaps throw him up against the wall without even so much as laying a hand on him, but he wasn’t scared.

Mallory wasn’t intimidating.. she wouldn’t hurt him.

Her head was tilted up and her eyes watched the ceiling - avoiding eye contact. She slowly moved to the wall, leaning against it begrudgingly but still avoiding Michaels gaze. Patches of dirt and bruises decorated her arms along with some blood stains and a couple of nasty cuts. Her black dress looked like nothing special anymore. It was torn in some parts but - Michael wanted to laugh that he was critiquing her appearance in the slightest as if he had any room to talk.

He watched her carefully and curiously as he decided to stand next to her and mirror how she was standing until they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. Mallorys eyes which were previously closed suddenly opened. Darkly peering over at him and their sudden proximity, something Michael wasn’t going to apologize for this time.

“I still don’t understand you, or why you did what you did but it was completely unnecessary,” Michael said.

He felt flattered that Mallory was fond of him enough to apparently kill for him but - this wasn’t adding up. And plus, Michael still had his powers (or atleast to the best of his knowledge he did) so it’s not as if he was completely defenseless. He felt almost insulted that Mallory would assume that he needed to be protected. He wasn’t a child.

But didn’t she hate him? She could still barely make eye contact with him and resented every time they touched - something which hurt Michael a bit more than he would like to admit.. No one (except for his family, of course) had ever reacted to him like that before.. most people, espically women, practically died for his touch.

Mallory was different.

That was one thing he was certain of. Every move she made, every word that came out of her mouth was never something he could predict.. and to think he once hated unpredictability.. but he didn’t trust her. Not for one second.

“It wasn’t a choice. I-I just.. it just happened and I don’t want to talk about it,” Mallory answered sheepishly.

Michael wanted to argue but instead he merely nodded.

“That’s fine.”

Mallory looked at him almost apologetically after she heard the tone of his words; which were a bit too harsh and forced in nature.

“So.. did it work? What you came here for.. to feel closer to him-“ She asked out of sheer curiosity.

“My father?”

“Yes.”

Michael swallowed and broke eye contact. “No. I still don’t feel a fucking thing.. Do you?”

Mallory’s eyes narrowed and she shifted her weight back onto her feet, ceasing from leaning on the wall. “What?”

“My father sent you to me, so I figured naturally you would have some kind of connection with him.. you do, don’t you?”

Sneaky bastard. Mallory knew this conversation was for the sole purpose of him finding out more information about her; perhaps to better manipulate? She didn’t exactly know.

“I don’t know. That’s something I still have to figure out,” she admitted truthfully.

“Together?”

Mallory nodded.

“Yeah. I won’t leave you,” she said. Her tone a bit softer than she would have liked.

Mallorys lips started to upturn in something that was reminiscent of a smile - their eyes lingered on each other for only a second but it didn’t last.

The door suddenly was pushed open; both Mallory and Michael snapped their heads up. The sudden intrusion gaining both of their full undivided attention - fear both running abundant in their veins.

The first thing Mallory noticed was the loud clicking of high heels against the tile floor of the bathroom.. something she was sure meant nothing to Michael but.. Mallory knew better.

This wasn’t a coincidence. After the day she had - nothing was a damn coincidence anymore.

The first thing she noticed was long blonde hair.. a black, tight fitting dress along with black high heels.

It was too familiar.. she knew all too well exactly who this fucking was.

Another witch.. her sister.. someone she was far too accustomed too but also.. no.

No.

Sure the woman who just entered the bathroom was Madison Montgomery but it wasn’t her Madison. After all, why the fuck was Madison at a satanic temple?

Taglist: @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakescoven @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @instinctsxbaby @melodylangdon @littledemondani @celestialrequiem @sojournmichael @ritualmichael @twilightzone24

Let me know if u would like to be added or removed to the taglist <3

[infinitegalahad]

Hi! Request with prompt “i’m not jealous!” “you’re clearly jealous.” With nixon please? I love jealous nix! Lol 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙 You’re the best!!!

WASHING MACHINE HEART

Prompts: "I'm not jealous!" and "You're clearly jealous"

Gif Credit: @andrewhaldane

Summary: Nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world. You are pretty much the only person who could change the way Lewis operates, and that's exactly what you do-change him.

Word-Count: 4.8k

WARNINGS!!!: semi-not healthy relationship, alcohol abuse, investment to lovers, sugar daddy/baby, semi-age gap (21-28?), a

Notes: Life lesson learned. Never listen to Mitski or Lana Del Rey when having thoughts about Lewis Nixon being your sugar daddy? Why you may ask? Because it will destroy you. This request was so fun to do, thank you op! I haven't written for Nixon before, so I apologize if he's a little too OOC. Also warning, this is defiantly not the most healthiest relationship, and I realize that. But they try to make it work. Also while writing this, I listened to @web-gott's lewis Nixon playlist and all of her playlists r GREAT BUT THAT DESTROYED ME. great job ily. anyways enough rambles! enjoy!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @now-im-a-belieber @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @ask-you-what-sir @web-gott

Masterlist | Send In A Prompt!

“You want me to be you’re what?”

Nearly spitting out drinks, Vat 69 mixed with vodka (A Nixon classic). It was quite a bizarre offer. Maybe Lewis had drunk too much, which was a common habit. But you made eye contact with him and he had a shit eating grin on your face. You let out an awkward laugh, and he followed suit.

You had been Lewis’s assistant operations officer since Caretan, there with him through a demotion, a divorice, and all of the other wonderful things that happened in his life. Not only was he your boss, but someone you confided in. He would confine in you, you would confide in him with stolen alcohol-it was a perfect example of mutualism. It’s as if you were his therapist at first, then a friend, and then a friend with benefits. Everything was kept under wraps, of course, for both of you to honor your diginites. Besides, you wouldn't wanna tarnish Lewis’s relationship with your father-considering that he was his boss, a Major general for the 101rst Airborne Division.

“A confidante. Companion. Confrère.” Nixon explained as he poured more vodka into your empty cup, which was not a good sign, “Miss Nixon won’t leave her baby boy alone. If I show her I have someone on my arm, she’ll shut up.”

“So let me get this straight. I go back home with you to New York, attend a party with you, be your arm candy, and you pay me?” You summarized his point, swimming the drink in your hands.

“Money, gifts, whatever you want, I can give you,” Lewis promised. He leaned against the railing as you looked at him. Your elbows grazed against each other. Resting your chin on your palm, you went deep into this arrangement.

The war had ended in The Pacific, so you could finally go home. As much as you were excited to leave and finally get back home, you’d miss Nixon. Sure, you’d be in Bronxville and he’d be Manhattan, only a train ride apart. Yes, he was a total asshole, but he was your asshole. The two of you had been together through thick and thin. Your parents would never approve of an alcoholic divorcee, but there was something inside of him that made you fill up with nervous excitement.

You could hear your mother’s voice, scolding you about the type of man Lewis was. Maybe he was a little too old, a little too broken, and a little too much for you, but that’s what attracted you to him. Over time, you learned that you and Nixon had much more in common. Both of you wanted to get away from your families. Hell, Nixon was paying for your college tuition at Sarah Lawenrece and when he had a weekend pass into Paris, you would come. For “work purposes”, but in all honesty it was for fine dining in Paris, shopping for the finest things in Champs-Élysées with Nixon, arm in arm wrapped under your finley manicured finger, and learning more about Miss Nixon’s best boy.

It was hard to let go of that. Everything he had done for you, and yet you were just friends with benefits. Still, after all you have gone through. It frustrated you. But after his divorce, you wanted to support him. He had lost everything, and without Dick, he was probably more lonely and hurt than ever. You wanted to be his comfort besides Vat 69. This arrangement could be an opportunity for the both of you. Maybe it would be more than an arrangement, but something bigger than that.

Lewis nudged your elbow as he raised a thick eyebrow, “Well, whatta’ say?”

“I say, why the hell not?” You accepted the offer, and the two of you clinked your drinks together. “So would we call this an arrangement? Be the pretty thing on your shoulder and you give me pretty things? Just like in Paris?”

“Just like Paris.” He reassured you, patting your shoulder. Sitting on a bench, he patted the spot next to you with his arm stretched out. “Sit with me?”

“Why I’d be honored too, good sir!” You dramatically stated for a comedic effect, which earned a smile from Lewis as you sat down right next to him. Moving close, both of your thighs caressed with each other. He adjusted and moved his free arm around you, bringing you close to him. You responded by laying your head on his chest, along with one of your hands.

Lewis didn’t say much besides drinking more from his cup, which kept getting refilled and gouged in seconds. There was a cold silence that filled the air. You kept adjusting in his hold, craving for that attention that wasn’t crude jokes or touch, but it always flew over his head. As he got lost in what the hell he was going to when he was home and the alcohol that poured in his system, you laid on his chest, waiting for that kiss, even though you knew that it wasn’t happening.

You closed your eyes as you laid there, pretending that Lewis was more than an arrangement for you.

The thing was, Lewis wasn’t dumb. He knew that too, but he didn’t know how to put it in words, so he used what he knew who to use best-money and gifts. Just as you always did.

~

A month after you had set up the arrangement, the two of you returned home. He went back to Manhattan, you went to Boxnville to attend Sarah Lawernce. Two months later, the week before you’re to head off to see your family in Florida, Nixon finally chooses to call you. After he ignores all your calls, letters, everything-he finally chooses to be a man. It doesn’t even feel like a relationship, which is what you wanted it to be. All of the effort you have made has gone to waste. Lewis looks as if he wants to keep it in an arrangement.

Normally, you’d appreciate the cash and all the lavish gifts, but money didn’t buy happiness.

His offer was simple. The Nixons were throwing a party at the Tribeca Rooftop, and it was bound to be full of every socialite in the Tristate area. Lewis asked for you to accompany him for the weekend. Separate rooms if you wanted, all of the dinners paid for by him, in exchange he gets arm candy and you get all the money you need. You considered using it to pay for rent, but after all-Lew was paying for everything, despite there being ignored communication.

It was hard to pass, and you were frustrated. But despite it all, you took up the offer. It was better than being stuck with your parents.

Once you accepted the offer, Lewis drove his Buggati down to Bronxville to pick you. You lived in a cramped apartment with a bunch of other Journalism majors. Seeing him outside of the window, you opened your window and waved.

“Look at what the devil dragged in.” You spat with a smile.

Lewis looked up at you, wearing those damn aviators he got in Austria. They had also been the ones that you had picked up for him, so it must have been sentimental.

“There you are,” He said, leaning against his car, “You coming?”

“Give me a minute!” You called and closed your window. Grabbing your keys and bag, you walked out of your room and towards the exit, only to see all of the girls who lived in your apartment ushered, admiring whatever the hell Nixon was to you. A friend, a sugar daddy, you truly had no idea.

One of the girls turned her head back to you, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe, “So, you’re the lucky one?”

You looked at her, slipping your boots on and tying them, “For?”

“A weekend in the city with a man who’s got money. Fancy dinners, fancy things, almost anybody would want it,” She explained, a tint of jealousy in her voice, “Just don’t come back pregnant.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” You confirmed. Once you finished getting your coat on, you waved goodbye to your flatmates, who all begged for you to bring nice things back to you, and even a man for them. The thought you made it chuckle, since they were truly all naive to what it was really like to be treated as an investment.

Walking down the stairs, you were greeted by Lewis, slouched on the front of the car and upon seeing you, straightened up. He began to walk towards you, and so do you. For once, he had cleaned himself up and looked like he was taking care of himself. It took you by surprise when he pulled you into a one armed hug, wrapping around your neck. You met with his chest, taking in his expensive cologne.

“Hey,” He mumbled into your shoulder as he held you close. Maybe for warmth, you thought. “I missed you.”

The cold layer you had felt upon seeing Lewis again had suddenly melted away. Normally, he wasn’t so sentimental. He was sarcastic and witty, but this time-he was different. Kinder, softer, just a little sadder. You put a hand up his armpit, also holding him close.

“Guess I did too,” You responded back. Breaking from the hug, the two of you looked at each other. You chuckled to yourself, not really knowing how to fill the silence.

“I’m glad you took up the offer, by the way.” Nixon added on. It made you look up and shrug your shoulders.

“It’s not like I wanna see my family.” Your shoes moved around on the icy ground, swishing the ice to the side. You were happy to see him, but there was just something about Lewis that was always sad. The same could be said about you, but he looked exhausted. Drained, emotionally and physically.

“Yeah, me either. But you make it tolerable,” Lewis said as he took your bag out of your hands, putting it on the back seat. The two of you got into his car. Before he started the car, Lewis threw a velvet case at you. You were taken by surprise and looked at him.

“Open it,” Lewis nudged his head.

Puzzled, you carefully opened the case and smiled. It was the Willsonite sunglasses, the tinted tortoise shell ones you had seen in Austria when roaming the streets with Lewis.

“It’s what all the girls in the city wear,” Lewis explained. He had picked out his gift with precision and care. Normally, all the girls would buy sunglasses for cheap at a stand at the beach, but hell-you were with the Lewis Nixon after all.

You put on the sunglasses and turned to Lewis, the glasses gently sliding down the bridge of your nose. “Is this your apology for neglecting me?”

Lewis leaned back, looking regretful. “I sent money, I sent the Mademoiselle perfume every month, I’m taking care of you-”

“That’s not what I want. I don’t-” You let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. It was easy to get angry, but you contained yourself, trying to hide your anger. “I love the gifts, but I want one thing. You. I want to actually spend time with you.” You bit your lip, and the only reason you were going to say it was to keep Lewis, “I’m supposed to be your arm candy, aren’t I?”

“You’re more than arm-candy to me, y/n. I enjoy your company. You’re a great kid.” Lewis began to explain his case. His sunglasses fell down his face, revealing the eyebags, “I didn’t want you to know that I went to rehab.”

“What do you mean? That’s all I wanted for you.”

“I know-it’s just. It wasn’t pretty, and you’ve got a lot going through you. I didn’t wanna drag you down with me.”

Guilt tugged at your head. The last thing you wanted to do was make Lew feel guilty. The only way the arrangement was going to work is if Lewis got the help he needed. He repressed his problems, and you were stubborn and weren’t going down with a fight.

“Lew,” You cooed as you put your hand on his. He looked at you as you inhaled and exhaled, “I don’t give a shit about whether it was pretty or not. I’m just glad you’re getting help. Take the worry off of my back. I care, y’know.”

Lewis put his hand on top of yours and his dark eyes connected with yours. He looked deep into your soul as you sat there, a smile on your face. It was your motto to just sit and act pretty. It was backwards, but If it was for Lewis, then it had to work.

“You make everyday worth living.”

You were unable to respond, frozen. The ice barrier that you surround yourself with had melted away. The one thing in your mind was a kiss. It seemed appropriate. As you began to slowly lean forward, not to scare him away, Lewis removed his hands and put them on the wheel as he began to back out of the parking lot. You sat there, your hands once we’re Lewis rested.

“Let’s have a good weekend, okay?” Lewis says, and you clench your hands together. Putting on a smile, you put on the facade of the arm candy. It’s all a part of the game.

“I’d like that a lot,” You commented and moved towards the window. Putting your sunglasses back on, it earned a smile from Lewis as he drove the car. Now both you matched.

“I like those on a lot,” He complemented, “They bring out the shape in your face.”

You moved them down, winking at him. “My oh my. Someone’s coquettish today.”

The two of you chuckled as you drove down the road. As you merged onto the highway and saw the traffic, you made a polite request.

“Can we go down the west side highway instead of the FDR please? It gets down to Tribeca faster.”

“Sure,” Lewis said, his hand resting on the wheel. “Anything for little miss/mister y/n.”

You leaned against the window and smiled to yourself. You should’ve been happy, you had everything you ever wanted.

But the one thing-Lewis’s love.

~

Lewis’s apartment in Tribeca was wonderful, located on the top floor of the most expensive building in the city with glorious paintings, velvet chair, and a built-in fireplace and bar. For such a large place, it was empty, all besides his Daschuand puppy named Pepper. He got the dog since he felt lonely, but made your heart twitch. He let you choose whatever room you wanted, despite the look in his eyes. So, you choose to sleep with him in the master bedroom.

That night, you expected Lewis would want to have sex, but he wasn’t in the mood. Normally, that’s what it was. Fucking and money. But Lewis had changed. He just felt you close in bed, and the two of you walked about mundane things. Pepper, of course, slept in the bed since she was Nixon’s little girl. You fell asleep in his arms, and enjoyed the change of the pace.

The next morning, Lewis took you down to a restaurant on the water. When ordering drinks, he asked for a bloody mary-virgin. You ordered a mimosa-virgin as well.

“You realize that’s just orange juice, right?” Lewis commented as you leaned over the table.

“And you’re drinking raw tomato juice,” You snarked back, which made Lewis smirk. You saw the change in him from yesterday and today. So, you decided to question further. “So, did you quit?”

“Trying. Whenever I think of doing it, I think of you, throwing out every single bottle in my cabinet and threatening to leave me. And I don’t want that, so go figure.”

Under the table, Lewis’s legs crossed and held the ankle of your foot. You felt your cheeks grow pink, grasping onto the napkin on your nap.

“Why me by the way? Think about it. You’re a hermit socialite, I’m a college student. Those two don’t click well together,” You itched the back of your neck.

Lewis looked at you, his leg itching up your ankle. He thought you were joking as he furrowed his thick eyebrows. He stopped, straightening his posture. “Well you, my dear, are someone that isn’t easy to forget. I like making you happy. Also, who else would be paying your rent and tuition?”

“Myself.”

“Waste of money.” Lewis threw his hand up to shrug off the matter, “Where’s the fun in that?”

The waiter came over and put your drinks down. Lewis gave the waiter a thank you as you laughed to yourself. He was really good at playing his role.

“Y’know, you’re good at this stuff. The whole sugar daddy thing,” You let out a snort, taking a sip at your drink.

“I like making others happy. That’s what money does. Not for yourself, but others. When I take you shopping and I see your eyes light up, that’s what makes me happy,” Lewis acknowledged. The two of you looked at eachother. Not in that joking way, but it was romantic. Sweet. He loved to see you happy, and you loved to see him sober. It worked.

“Also, wherever you wanna go today, I’ll take you. But I do have one rule.”

“And what is it?”

“We stop at Lord and Taylors. I have another surprise in store.”

~

The surprise in store turned out to be an outfit for the Nixon’s party. It was nothing too flashy, but regal enough to make you feel like you were out of a fairytale. His goal was to make you the belle of the ball, and he never failed to under the assignment.

Nixon's party was what you expected it to be. Awkwardly meeting Lewis’s parents and his mother giving you a death glare, seeing the dark haired solicates drink, a jazz band, and the best part of the party-Blanche. She was the only one besides Nixon without a stick up her ass. Most of the party you and Nixon were arm in arm. You would occasionally lean against him, yearnin for his attention, but he’d be too busy with the supply of Vat 69.

You had that feeling in your gut, and it wasn’t a good one. It made you sick, anxious, nervous-all around horrible. The more he drank, the more the pit in your stomach would drop. So you went outside onto the patio to catch some fresh air, to be alone and stroll around. Hell, you were even wearing Nixon’s jacket and clutching to it like a child to it’s comfort blanket.

Strolling across the patio and watching the skyline, your moments of peace were interrupted by the distant yellings coming from a room with an open door. You walked down the line, realizing that the voice was Nixon’s.

“An escort at this party? Lewis, you usually disappoint me, but this is unacceptable!” An older gentleman cried, setting down his scotch.

“Do you see the way they were dressed! What a vixen…” A woman cried, who you presumed to be Miss Nixon herself.

“There is nothing like that. They chose to come-”

“Stop lying to yourself. Someone of that age and you, someone with money, is a recipe for disaster. How much do you pay them to accompany you?”

The words kept breaking your heart. You leaned against the window, as fishguard as you were, listening to every single world.

Under pressure, Lewis threw his hands up, “Fine. You know what? You’re right. I pay for what y/n wants. To make them happy and for them to accompany me. They are nothing more than an investment to me.”

Those words cut like ice, like a bullet to the heart. A hand wrapped around your mouth as he pushed away and began to walk away, unable to listen to another word. An investment! How pathetic you felt to think that after all this time, everything you had been through together, everything he had brought you was all for nothing. Just like you had been told, Nixon was using you for your youth or as a way to cope with his many divorces.

Naturally, you would have felt like running out of the place and getting on the next train to Bronoxville, never seeing Nixon again. But there was anger in your heart that burned brighter than any fire you had seen. The ice surrounded your heart once more. It was a party, after all. And you didn’t want to leave without leaving a mark. After all, you 're a vixen.

Long story short, you stormed back into the party and met another young soilciate. Typical asshole with too much money and his way paid into an Ivy League. You didn’t even catch his name as the two of you conversed, and he kept the alcohol pouring. The two of you sat on a couch, and he eventually cozied up to you, wrapping an arm to pull you close. Just as he was on the topic of bringing you to Montauk to the summer, Nixon, of course, had come by.

“Hey, smartass. What the hell are you doing?” Nixon spat, the alcohol evident in his voice.

Smartass was now his name, and you couldn’t even remember it. Smartness looked up at Nixon, shrugging, “Talking to this pretty little thing. Why don’t you go back to drinking and ruining your family name?”

That comment was enough to make Nixon throw a punch, once again bring shame to his family, and get the two of you kicked out of the party. Lewis tried to talk to you, but you ignored every word he said until you reached the apartment.

“What is your problem?” Nixon asked, closing the apartment door. You threw off his jacket, throwing it onto the ledge of the loveseat.

You let out a snort at his unbelievable behavior. He acted as if he did nothing wrong.

“Are you serious? What is your problem!” You hissed back, “You can’t control yourself in drinking, let alone with me hanging out with other men. Face it, you’re just some spoiled , jealous, alcoholic.”

Lewis ignored all of those other comments and chose to focus on the most petty of them. “I’m not jealous!”

“Ha! You clearly are!” You quickly quipped back, walking towards him as he pointed your finger at his chest. “Look at you! Getting all angry, throwing punches. Just for a little investment! After all, I’m just what you use when you need a distraction from all of your other life problems. Just like all of your failed marriages.”

Your eyes began to feel watery and you spun around, biting your lip as he attempted to hold it together. This hurts more than you wanted it to, and no matter what you did, the waterworks wouldn’t stop.

Despite being drunk, Lewis could sense what he did was wrong, and he fucked up-bad. He was drunk, frustrated, and had no control of what he was doing.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean that.”

“Like I mean anything to you,” You sniffled, wrapping your arms around yourself, “The only reason I came was because I wanted...something more than an arrangement. I, fuck-love you, damnit.”

There was a silence in the room, and you felt cold. Goosebumps trailed all over your body as you bit your lip to contain your sobs. Suddenly, a pair of arms held your shoulders and turned around. Knowing it was Nixon, you wanted to punch him, but your head fell into his chest as you let out a long sigh.

He rested his head in your hair, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you close to his warm body.

““I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that but yeah, I love you too.” Nixon said into your hair, drawing circles into your back. “How mad would you be if I kissed you?”

“Absouetly fucking furious.” You tilted your head up as Nixon grabbed your chin, and your lips collided. It was a beautiful and messy lip with lounges smearing against each other. The messier it got, the more passionate it was. Eventually, the kiss calmed into a fiery disaster into a slow moving dance. Through the kisses, you let out a moan, which made Nixon’s hand go lower down your back. You separated from the kiss to catch some air.

“Why’d you stop, my dear?”

You playfully slapped his chest, “You’re lucky you’re hot. Can we go to bed, please?”

The older man swooped you and carried you to bed, treating you like the royalty you were. Once you were placed in bed with Penny by your side, Lewis crawled in next to you, holding you close.

“That’s why I asked you to come, y’know. I wanted to tell you, but I thought you’d say no.”

“For someone so smart, you don’t pick up on cues. Lewis Nixon, I love you, but you’re an idiot sometimes.”

“I’m your idiot, dollface.” Nixon smiled, leaning his forehead against yours. You felt his body weight onto you as you patted his shoulder, giggling.

“Have you ever thought about how much worse our lives would be without each other?”

Lewis pressed little kisses into your hair before stopping his kissing parade to stare at you. He moved the bangs from your face, letting his hand rest on your skin. “The world could be on fire and I'd still be happy as long as I'm with you.”

Once again, Lewis brought you close and the two of you made passionate love. It wasn’t out of frustration or anger or a distraction, but it was raw, genuine, and emotional. It was all you ever asked.

~

A patterned knock on the door prompted you to stop unpacking the books from your book and to call, “Come in!”

Turning around, you saw Lewis walk in, along with Penny, who was scrambling in on her tiny feet.

“Well look at what the cat dragged in.” You smirked, and Lewis threw his arms up. He held a photo in his hand. You returned to putting the last of your textbooks on your desk, gently patting them down.

“How’s the unpacking going?” Lewis asked as he picked up Penny, who was squirming to attack your face with kisses. You walked over and gave both Penny and Lewis a quick peck. You admired your brand new Burkburnett Desk with Hutch. Photos, memorabilia from Europe, books, and pencils decorated your desk for school.

“Good. Turns out, living in a penthouse is a thousand times better than being a dormitory.” You said, leaning your shoulder against Lew’s as you played with Penny’s floppy ears. After some decision, Lewis had made your relationship official, but to both of your parents distaste. Your parents thought Lewis was a creep, his parents thought you were vixens. As Lewis said, the thanksgiving we're going to be interesting. So Lewis decided that you should move in with him, which you didn’t reject. Tribeca wasn’t that far from Bronoxville.

“Good girl/boy. I’m glad you already like it here.” Lewis cooed into your ear, placing a tender peck. “I got an addition for your desk.”

Lewis pulled the photo and showed you. A smile appeared on your face as you took the beautiful frame. It was a black and white photo of you and Lewis, having dinner on top of the Refinery Rooftop. Both of you had your hands together on the table, smiling as the sun set in the sky. Despite there being no colors, it was a breathtaking photo.

“I know just where to put this.” You breathed, walking towards your deck. Right next to your light and glasses was where the photo went. Next to it, a photo of Lew holding a two week old Pepper, a gift from Blanche. More like Blackmail according to Nixon, but you didn’t care. “There. Perfect. Now I’m all moved in.”

Lew snuck up behind you, snaking his hands around your waist as he rested his head on your shoulder. You leaned back with a subtle smile, putting one of your hands on his own.

“Since you’re here to stay, I was thinking of dining in tonight. Blanche’s coming over too.”

“She is?” You hummed.

“Yup. I Want to see the new place, since you came in and cleaned it up.” Lewis mumbled, “How does that sound?”

“That sounds great. Just peachy, Lew.”

You and Lewis fell in love during the war. You were there for eachother in your worst moments and pulled each other up when you both needed it most. But nothing is ever easy in life. You fight. It’s rough. You fight, breakup, kiss, and makeup. With Lewis’s recovery and your family disowning you, the path down the road won’t be easy. You know that you and Lew will face thousands of hardships, but it’s ok. You have each other, and it’s not perfect at all. But it works, and that’s all that matters.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 4

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: When you and Din arrive at the village in Sorgan, you both learn that the universe is full of surprises.

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,300

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, angsty angst, pining (so...much...pining...)

Author Note: All the love and thanks to everyone who reads, likes, reblogs, and comments on this series! Seriously, the support is beyond words. I wanted to go ahead and spoil it now that Winta does not make an appearance. I love that little girl in the episode, but I just couldn’t get her to fit in this segment. Maybe she’ll appear later on in the future, I honestly don’t know how my brain works. 

Also, fun fact, this will be my 100th post 😱🥳

Links to Part 1 and Part 3 and Part 5

Photo Inspiration: (I love black and white photos if you can’t tell by now...)

Sorgan is a beautiful planet, covered in massive forests and several freshwater lakes filled with krill. There is a tiny, farming village that isolates itself in the midst of Sorgan’s swampy region which is where you hope to find Omera. Rumor has it she’d fallen in love with the community five years ago and bound her nurturing powers to the planet, shielding them against the harshness of famine and plague. Her powers also prohibited other immortals from teleporting directly into the village, even if they meant no harm, thus forcing you and Din to walk the five-mile-long road from the common house to the village boundary line.

Mud sticks to the bottom of your shoes and the humidity is absolutely murdering your hair, but you love the addictive burn of fresh air filling your lungs, the symphonic sounds of the wilderness encompassing you. Here on Sorgan, the positive attributes far outweigh the negative ones.

Din walks beside you, close enough your arm occasionally brushes against his  vambrace, and you find yourself glancing at him out of your peripheral every few steps, dazzled by how the sunlight reflects off his armor. He catches your eye more than once, inclining his head to stare back while puffing out his chest, preening like the kriffing asshole he is. Each time you swiftly turn away with a burning face, hating how his smugness changes to amusement at your inability to hold his gaze, even with the impeding visor.

You string together creative expletives in your mind, each one meant to strengthen your resolve to ignore him. Except, like clockwork, your eyes helplessly drift back over again mere minutes later, dooming you to a continuous cycle of torment and embarrassment.

At least up until you’re less than a mile from your destination and Din abruptly halts without warning. “How will I know?”

You nearly slip as you whirl around to face him, worried at first but then confused when the question registers. “Know what?”

“If I’ve met my match,” he answers, the hand branded with his soulmate marking restlessly clenching and unclenching at his side. “How will I know it’s my soulmate?”

It’s a question you’re extremely familiar with. Maker knows exactly how many times you’ve been asked it throughout your years as a Cupid, but it’s got to be nearing a couple hundred thousand at least. And yet your usual go-to answer—a speech fed to you by your bosses about the perfect plan of the universe—doesn’t feel right to give him. He deserves your own honest opinion.

The first time you ever matched two individuals, you’d naively expected literal sparks to appear when they shook hands. Or a beam of light to shine down on them from above, an unmistakable sign from the universe they were meant to be together. So you were crushed when absolutely nothing noteworthy happened, only that neither one was able to look away from each other, eyes as wide as moons and full of awe. The same kind of awe usually reserved for watching sunsets and hearing a baby’s first cry of life.

You’d realized then the exact moment soulmates experienced their connection was not something externally witnessed by the eyes of the world. It was an internal sensation felt only by the two halves finally becoming whole.

“They’re called your soulmate for a reason, Din,” you say, slowly drawing closer. You’re not truly cognizant of your actions, only your voice, and perhaps that’s why you reach out to take a hold of his gloved hand, rubbing your thumb over his leather-covered knuckles. Distantly, as if looking through a foggy window, you’re aware of the way his whole body freezes at your touch, but still you hold on, still the words keep flowing from your lips.

“The moment you shake their hand, there will be no doubt. It’ll be instant. Like you’re tasting air for the first time after being trapped underwater. Everything will be clearer, colors brighter. Your whole world will crumble apart at their feet because all that matters now is them. And the only thought you’ll be able to think is, ‘It’s you. All this time I’ve been waiting for you.’”

Din sucks in a ragged breath. It’s only barely audible because of your closeness, but it’s also just loud enough to snap you out of your daze. “Angel,” he says hesitantly. It’s your turn to freeze when he leans in, helmet pressing softly against your forehead. “Have you ever—“

You jerk backwards, cutting Din off and releasing your grip on his hand all in the same movement. Panic is swelling in your chest and you can’t stop it, clothes suddenly feeling too constricting and you force yourself to remember why you’re here on Sorgan, the importance of the mission at stake.

“We need to keep moving,” you say, looking anywhere but Din’s direction. “I don’t think the village is that much further.”

Din watches you silently, no doubt trying to make sense of your agitated state. You feel exposed, torn open at the seams with all your insecurities on full display for him to pick apart and criticize.

In the end though, he only heaves a sigh, respectfully granting you time to begin the slow process of stitching yourself back up.

“Lead the way,” Din says, gesturing towards the path with a nod of his head. “I go where you go.”

The rest of the journey would have been completed in silence, if not for how Din’s unfinished question seemed to float alongside you in the breeze, echoing in your ears.

Have you ever...

                                                 Have you ever...

                                                                                          Have you ever...

~~~

The villagers are scared of your arrival at first, panicked to be in the presence of Death. Parents clutch at their children and the elderly are ushered into huts, as if they’ll be better protected by being kept out of Din’s field of vision.

“I promise you, we don’t mean any harm,” you say, but your words do little to reassure any of them.

A woman emerges from the crowd, the only one whose expression doesn’t bear a hint of fear. Segments of her dark hair are intricately braided while the rest flows unhindered over her shoulders, long enough to nearly reach her waist. Her features are delicate, but there is strength in how she carries herself as she marches right up to you and Din, shoulders drawn back with determination.

“Omera,” you breathe, recognizing the woman for the goddess she truly is.

“Yes,” she says, sounding reluctant to confirm her identity. Her eyes flick between you and Din. “Who are you and why have you brought Death here? I have a formal agreement with the Guild that grants me permission to personally handle the passing of my people’s souls into the afterlife. Death should have no purpose here.”

This is news to you. 

Not the reference of the Guild—you’re very much aware of Greef Karga’s organization of reapers who assist Din in maintaining the natural order by collecting deceased souls on his behalf across the galaxy. Despite all the powers that come with being Death, Din is unable to be everywhere all at once. So the reapers bring the souls to Nevarro where Karga holds onto them until Din arrives to usher them into the afterlife. 

What you weren’t aware of is her claim that this village might be the one place in the whole galaxy where Death and his associates have no influence.

“I’m a Cupid. I help people find their soulmates.” You gesture to Din who stands so tense behind you, you’re not entirely certain he’s even breathing. “And currently, I’m helping him.”

The way Omera’s expression instantly brightens is almost comical. A smile grows across her face, warm and friendly as if she’s known you for years and not mere seconds. “Oh, forgive me my rudeness. That’s wonderful to hear. It’s been quite some time since we’ve had guests. Would you like something to drink?”

“Actually—” Din starts, speaking for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“Yes, I would love one,” you interrupt, digging your elbow into his side and eliciting a soft grunt. “I heard the spotchka here is exceptional.”

The villagers, who had relaxed once Omera deemed you and Din weren’t a threat, are eager to prove their reputation as spotchka brewmasters. Nothing brings people together like alcoholic beverages, and within the hour you are sitting on a log bench in the village center and chatting amicably with them.

It’s a happy, tight knit community. Omera’s nurturing powers have only further increased it’s natural conditioning as an ideal sanctuary to raise a family. Everyone knows one another and takes care of each other. You can see how easy it was for her to have fallen in love with the place.

“He’s different than I expected.” Omera interrupts your thoughts by nodding to someone behind you.

You follow her line of sight, and see Din standing distantly in a field of grass, surrounded by a squadron of younglings. He’s too far to be heard, but you can tell by the gesturing of his hands that he’s explaining to them the pieces of his armor. They’re hanging onto his every word, completely enthralled, if their wide-eyed expressions are any indication. You realize as you watch that they’ll never come to recognize Din as the true identity of Death due to Omera’s agreement with the Guild. In their eyes, he is just an interesting stranger wearing shiny metal who they can pester with an endless amount of questions.

“He’s got many layers,” you admit, turning back around before the bittersweet scene makes your heart melt into a disgusting puddle at your feet.

And it is only because you look away first that you notice how Omera’s gaze lingers just a beat too long.

“Does he ever take it off?” she asks. “The helmet, I mean.”

You hesitate, stalling by sipping at your spotchka. “Not when he’s Death.”

Omera looks at you like you’ve told her a riddle. “When is Death not Death?”

When he’s with me, the voice in the back of your head wants you to shout at her, but instead you ask, “You said earlier you handle the souls of the villagers when they pass away?” 

“They asked me if I could protect their planet for future generations,” Omera explains slowly, confusion still present in the lines of her face. “My powers are strongly connected to the growth of life, blessing both expectant mothers and nature’s saplings. After I chose to bind myself to Sorgan, the villagers offered to lend me their souls as sources of energy to further strengthen it. So now, rather than losing them to the afterlife, we continue to see those who have passed on in every blossoming flower and in each drop of rain, remaining part of our everyday lives despite their physical absence.”

“That’s beautiful,” you breathe, because it’s the truth. It’s also the confirmation you needed to hear to honestly tell her, “He wouldn’t be Death here. He’d have the opportunity to be anyone else he wanted.”

Omera lets the words sink in for a moment, then she returns to staring at Din, eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. You don’t blame her for being curious, especially since he’s barely said anything to her, subsequently forcing you to be the sociable one. 

You thought when you both arrived he’d try harder than this to make a good first impression. Omera’s his potential soulmate, he knows this and yet it seems as if he’s doing all he can to avoid her. 

Omera startles you out of your thoughts when she abruptly inches closer to you, as if preparing to share a secret in your ear.

“You said you were helping Death find his soulmate,” Omera’s voice is no louder than a murmur, seeming uncharacteristically bashful all of the sudden as she tugs at a strand of hair. “Does he...Has he been marked?”

It occurs to you then that this whole time she’s been fishing for information from you, gradually leading up to this particular question. This is a good thing, you tell yourself, despite the sickening pit forming in your stomach. It means she hasn’t been offended by his standoffishness. 

“Yes.” Your head dips in a jerky nod. Fortunately the goddess doesn’t notice your awkwardness as she peers down at her hands folded in her lap. You know what’s there without having to see it. “We came here because I knew you’d been marked too.” 

“I’d hoped so,” she confesses, showing you her palm. “I didn’t think it was possible, someone like me having a soulmate.” An immortal, your mind deciphers her underlying meaning. “But, then again, the universe always seems to be full of surprises, right?”

Soulmate markings all resemble each other as black lines forming the shape of a heart no bigger than a bottlecap in the center of one’s palm, regardless of what the person looks like themselves. They only appear on select individuals the universe picks for reasons known only by the divine Maker. Those without marks often make the ignorant mistake of comparing them to tattoos. A soulmate mark doesn’t fade with time like ink does, remaining eternally vibrant and warm to the touch, as if there’s a tiny flame buried beneath the skin.

You’ve seen thousands of marks on thousands of hands, yet your mouth dries up at the sight of hers despite it looking no different. An unexpected tremor rocks your body, worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s as if you’ve been stabbed by an invisible shard of ice, threatening to freeze you solid from the inside out.

When you speak, each word scrapes against the inside of your throat and tastes bitter on your tongue. “You should go talk to him.”

Omera’s face goes a bit pink. “You think so?”

You force yourself to smile, hoping it doesn’t resemble a grimace or, Maker forbid, a snarl. “I think you’ll never know if he’s your match unless you do.”

Not needing any more convincing, she spares you one last hopeful look before leaving to approach Din. She walks across the grassy field with unhindered grace, not once tripping over a rock or the bottom of her dress, and you can’t help feeling envious, knowing your clumsy feet wouldn’t be able to carry you three steps without an issue. You watch as she says something to the children, inducing several disappointed groans audible even from where you sit, before one by one they each depart, seeking entertainment elsewhere in the village.

Omera and Din fall into conversation, and you bite your lip, knowing you’re only making the ache hurt worse by watching but unable to tear your eyes away. Their conversation is too quiet for you to make out, but given the way Din’s body language is relaxed and without a hint of defensiveness, you’re convinced Omera’s definitely charming him.

They’ll make an attractive couple, you think before you can stop yourself. They’re similar, too, in that they both have protective streaks a mile wide when it comes to those they care about. As a divinely gifted caretaker, Omera will know just what to say to pull him out of one of his brooding episodes. She’ll soften his rough edges, lend him strength when he needs it most, and might even be able to convince him to settle down in the village where he can shed his persona as Death and actually experience life. Most importantly, though, you hope she’ll make him happy.

Because Din deserves someone who will make him happy every day of his existence.

You know it’s coming, but still your breath stutters when you see Din begin to remove his glove. He moves slowly, revealing tanned skin inch by inch as he pulls at the leather with his other hand. He has never been one to hesitate over things in the past, except when he showed you his mark that night at the train station. You really don’t want to think that Din could be nervous, but you also can’t determine any other reason explaining his behavior. Omera, for her part, is the perfect image of patience as she waits for him to initiate contact, if not for the way you spy her pulling anxiously at her brown locks again.

As Din reaches out to grab hold of Omera's hand, there is a second right before contact where his helmet shifts in your direction and you feel the intensity of his gaze cut through the distance, piercing your fragile heart.

In the next breath, an invisible explosive force sends you hurtling backwards through the air several feet. You bite your tongue when you collide with the ground and blood begins pooling in your mouth, causing you to gag at the coppery taste. Ignoring the pain emanating from your undoubtedly bruised rib cage, you force your body to roll over so you can spit out a scarlet blob onto the dirt. Gross, you think sluggishly.

Movement out of the corner of your eye has your head turning to look, but it takes several more seconds before your brain comprehends what you’re seeing.

The village looks as if a massive wind storm has swept through it in the last five seconds. Several villagers are slowly rising onto their feet, having apparently also been roughly tossed to the ground, looking just as bewildered by the state of things as you feel.

Your eyes next lock onto Din’s figure. He and Omera stand in the distance exactly where you last saw them, appearing completely unaffected by the unseen force. But rather than looking at each other with awe as all other soulmate pairs do, there is only unbridled shock on Omera’s face.

With newfound urgency, you stumble onto your feet, knowing something’s gone horribly wrong.

“Din!”

Your shout startles him enough he visibly jolts, increasing your worry tenfold.

Your feet skid to a stop closer to his body than you anticipated, nearly colliding face-first with his chest. It’s on the tip of your injured tongue to ask them what the hell just happened when Din beats you to the punch.

“What happened to you?” he demands, cradling your jaw. He’s using his gloved hand, you can’t help but notice. His other one—still uncovered from when it had touched Omera’s—is pressed firmly against the segment of armor protecting his upper thigh. His thumb starts to wipe at the blood staining the corner of your mouth, but you refuse to be tended to when there’s a bigger issue at stake.

“What happened?” you repeat incredulously, pulling away and resisting the urge to smack the side of his helmet. “I should be asking you that, idiot. Did you two match?”

Omera says nothing in response to your question, but there is something about the way she stares at you directly, like you’ve revealed a secret of the universe right in front of her, that brings back the same self-conscious feeling of being exposed you’d felt earlier.

“Look for yourself, angel,” Din answers with a tone full of scorn, gesturing widely to your surroundings with both arms. “Does any of this look like what you told me would happen?”

Taken aback by his hostile tone, you glance around the field, only to be stunned by what you’d initially failed to notice. In an almost perfect circle encompassing the three of you, the once beautifully green and luscious grass is now black and shriveled, entirely devoid of life. It crunches beneath your shoes as you nervously shift in place, eerily resembling the sound of bone breaking, and you’re beginning to understand the shock you’d glimpsed on Omera’s face.

“No,” you say, feeling slightly hysterical but doing your best to keep it out of your voice. “No, it definitely doesn’t.”

Omera had said that the universe is always full of surprises.

What a kriffing understatement that turned out to be.

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

prussia x reader: silly squabbles

Hello, lovelies~ I was plagued by images of this dumbass and his general ridiculousness, so of course I had to write it all out. This fic is pointless, but I hope you enjoy anyway.

"You are really annoying."

"And yet, somehow, I'm not detecting any real annoyance. Wonder why?"

His words hung lightly in the air, gentle and playful, just shy of taunting.

You did your best to ignore them, trying to focus on your book. But his fingers were moving again, trailing over your back in an inconsistent pattern, heavy enough a presence to register, yet just light enough to torment.

You were sure, in some long-winded, ridiculous, roundabout way, he would blame you for this predicament- for not reading as fast as him, for not paying him enough attention during a lazy day in.

Regardless, you tried to focus on the passage at hand, rereading the same paragraph for the tenth time now as he teased a particularly sensitive spot near your ribs.

He wasn't quite tickling you- not yet- but the shifting tempo and pressure all played upon the obvious threat.

Only mildly irritated- really, you were too familiar with his shenanigans by now to ever be truly annoyed- your focus landed on the bookcase, the only immediate target for your long-suffering gaze. "Do you mind?"

There was a hint of pride in his voice as he answered, a cockiness at successfully distracting you. "Nope!"

His fingers- now having tasked themselves with massaging more than teasing- paused between your shoulder blades. "Why? Do you?"

Rather than allow him another victory, you huffed quietly, pointedly making an effort to lose yourself once more in your book. "No... Not at all."

If he was amused by your answer practically being ground between your teeth, he made no indication of it. Instead, he resumed his massage, keeping his palm mostly flat against your spine, adopting a steady rhythm that lulled you into some semblance of security.

You allowed yourself to relax, turning your attention fully to your tale, praying he would at least let you finish this chapter in relative peace.

It was a hope to be short-lived alas, his posture shifting, bringing him near enough to read over your shoulder.

You were far too invested to truly pay him any mind, but then he was hovering near your temple, fingers drifting ever closer to your neck, once more dancing in that maddeningly light way which he employed solely in effort to agitate you.

You knew what he was doing, and you'd be damned if you'd let him win; summoning every ounce of self-restraint within you, you purposely, blatantly, chose to ignore him.

It took only a few moments for him to acknowledge your determination towards defiance (a few torturous moments where he had started tracing his nails against your hairline and whispered some of the passage aloud), his huff of displeasure bring you a small taste of sweet, sweet victory.

You would have been naive to think he had given up, knew it would be foolish to assume, to dare to presume, that he didn't already have other strategies in mind.

What you couldn't guess, regretfully, was exactly which plan he would attempt next.

When he sat upright once more, leaving you to lounge peacefully on your stomach, you unwisely surmised that he was actually finished with the whole affair, that he'd grown bored, that he would actually leave you to your novel in peace.

Feeling him shift back to the head of the bed, hearing him tapping away at his phone- these factors allied with his distance away from you all allayed your worries, letting you escape once more to the realm belonging to the pages before you.

The temporary tranquility was somehow less than simply fleeting; it had scarcely existed at all.

Not even five minutes had passed, and you felt teasing fingers once more, now grazing ever-so-softly against the bare skin of your ankle.

A jolt of panic fueled your reflexive movement away from him, your legs kicking, book falling to the floor in your surprise.

You shot upright and fixed him with a glare, hoping to convey just how furious you were with him. "I swear to God-!"

The villainous grin on his face revealed vanity in its purest form, and it did nothing to reduce your resentment.

Scowling now, and forcing yourself into an upright position, you narrowed your eyes at him. "What do you want, asshole?"

He was quiet for a moment, by all appearances still savoring his triumph. But then his smile shifted, the self-satisfied smirk falling slowly into something softer, fonder.

It took you by surprise, sent a stutter through your pulse, all irritation rapidly transitioning into confusion. "What?"

He shifted forward, leg bending beneath him as he drew closer.

Suspicious, but not too concerned, you offered an unimpressed expression, relaying your distrust. "Gil?"

There was a flicker to his smile, but it was soon replaced by something far more serious, his eyes languidly studying your features.

Briefly, more a passing fancy, you considered teasing him for his sudden quiet, yet there was something too tremulous tormenting him, and you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, instead offering your concern. “Teuton?”

Whatever spell that had held him within its grasp was finally dismissed, his head cocking to the side and a considering tone coating his next words. “You love me, right?”

It sounded innocent enough, and his behavior certainly suggested no ill-intent. But you knew him, and knew all-too-well not to fully believe in it. “Is that a trick question?”

You made sure to keep your words only just on the side of playful, but tempered with enough sincerity to assuage any possible self-doubts that may be afflicting him.

It was clearly the right approach, the left corner of his mouth only just hinting at a smile, a familiar spark almost tangible in the air. “It’s a simple question, Liebling. No need to sound so suspicious!”

You felt your eyes narrow as you studied him, his wording only heightening your wariness. “You know- The fact you feel you have to say so really isn’t winning you any points here.”

His grin was back at that, disorienting in its intensity, just enough that you nearly forgot his previous grimness. “I’m just asking if you love me, mein Schatz. ‘Snot like I’m asking you to sell me your immortal soul or something.”

You neglected to point out how those two things were near one and the same, instead choosing to offer a faux sincerity. “Oh no, you’re right. I hate you so much,” you quipped, each syllable oversaturated in sarcasm.

He scoffed, melodramatically pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning down just long enough to rescue your book from the floor, marking your page and setting beside you on the comforter. “I’m sure your pride will be just fine."

“I dunno…” His words trailed off, and you could make out the distinct, irritating sound of him sucking on his teeth. “I think it may be mortal this time.”

You decided to play along, content to lose yourself in the absurdity. “Oh no,” came your reply, emotionless a tone as you could muster, in spite of the smile playing on your lips. “How could I possibly live with myself?”

He hummed, running a finger over his chin as if he were seriously considering it. “You’d probably take my fortune, settle somewhere warm.”

You fought a laugh, unsuccessfully. “Mm, definitely. Have sordid affairs with all the cabana boys and the waitresses.”

“Sing drunken renditions of Mamma Mia during karaoke night.”

“And I’ll adopt some ugly, exotic pet that I insist travels with me everywhere.”

“Only after your third husband disappears after mysterious circumstances, of course.”

He was only half-serious, and you couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow in mock offense. “Only three?”

Your question made him snicker, his eyes shining in amusement, but he didn’t continue the exchange.

Several moments passed, and with them the lingering ridiculousness of the “argument” faded away. There were many of these odd backs-and-forths, all somehow sillier than the last. The quiet was just as pleasant though, and you embraced the comfort it carried.

That was, until, he was biting his lip in thought, his amusement long abandoned.

Concerned, you shifted closer, studying his features carefully. "Gil?"

His eyes were glued to some distant place you couldn’t see, miles and centuries away from the here and now. “You do love me, right?”

“Of course,” you replied almost reflexively, still taken aback by the sudden shift back to solemnity.

“Really?” His eyes turned to yours once more, unguarded, open, a haunting fragility shining in them that made your heart clench inside your chest.

Wherever this insecurity came from, you wished you could rid him of it, tear all traces of it from his psyche, make it so he would never question his self-worth ever again.

As it was, you did what you could, lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to his ring, meeting his gaze as you lingered against the silver. “Would you be wearing this if I didn’t?”

There was a smile, the one you fell in love with: fond, slightly shy, just a little cocky. “Good point.”

You couldn’t help but feel as if something was still off about him however, something bothering him that you couldn’t even hope to guess. “Why do you ask, anyway?”

He took to studying your features again, his free hand rising to trace his fingers softly against your cheek. His eyes were warm and gentle, posture completely at ease. His words however-

“Sometimes I can’t believe this is real, or how lucky I am; some days I swear you’re just a figment of my imagination.”

His words carried an almost unbearable amount of loneliness, layered among disbelief and adoration. They triggered several different emotions within you, stirring them into a frenzied muss of affection and sadness, leaving you breathless.

Several potential reactions came to mind, but were all dismissed as you weighed his words, compared them to the relaxation of his shoulders, the familiarity as he languidly brushed his fingertips behind your ear, lightly teasing your scalp.

You could easily surrender to it, could already feel your own posture relaxing with each steady shift of his fingers. Still, you weren’t quite ready to abandon your prior playfulness, offering a haughty hum to prelude your reply.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m very real.” You felt a passing smirk flicker to life for a moment, blazing brightly before it was gone again, sober sincerity settling once more in its place. “You’re stuck with me, Beilschmidt. Forever…” you finished in an elongated stage whisper.

He breathed a laugh, the slightest hiss, his grin irrepressible now. His tone, however, mimicked nonchalance. “Eh. There are worse things, I guess.”

The tease was impossible to ignore, especially as that all-too-familiar deviousness was taunting in its own right.

You tried to keep your words accusatory, but they came out entirely too fond. “You’re a dick.”

He smirked, offering a half-hearted shrug.

“Guilty,” he sang, almost entirely too proud.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he was cradling both of your cheeks, and before you could guess at his next move, he was shifting forward, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I’m a dick who loves you very much.”

Thanks for reading!

[wincestismyguiltypleasure]

Warnings: Weecest, a little angsty, jealous!Sam, bratty, emotional, and confused baby brother content, feminization, name calling, humiliation, sadist!Dean, spankings, and of course, that sweet, sweet fucked up codependency. 💋

--------------

Sam just wanted Dean's attention. He always had.

And when he didn't get it, Sam felt not only emotionally, but physically injured by his brother's "neglect." Like Dean had taken his switchblade to Sam's heart, cutting it open just a little bit to play with it. As if he was curious to what was inside. Like Dean had no clue know that every vein, artery, and nerve worked in unison for him.

And over the years, that small wound had ripped open wider and wider on it's own, even though it was no secret that Dean's life had always revolved around Sam.

Perhaps it was a product of Sam's jealousy? His resentment towards John and the unshakable devotion Dean showed him?

Sam didn't really know. But no matter the cause, what was once a dull ache in Sam's chest was now a blinding pain. The only hope of soothing it resting solely on his big brother's touch.

And the worst part about it? Dean knew. He knew Sam was desperate for something so simple as a sideways glance or a pat on the back. Sam would poke and prod and tug at the hem of Dean's shirt for just the slightest bit of recognition, like he really didn't know that he was already the very center of his big brother's entire world.

It was infuriating sometimes, and it made Dean want to be cruel just to prove a point. Besides, at the end of the day, Dean was still Sam's big brother. Ignoring him was part of Dean's job description. And maybe, just maybe, Dean got a sick sense of satisfaction out of making Sammy beg like a slut for something that was already his.

"Dean, c'mon! Pay attention!"

John had only been gone for ten minutes before Sam was shaking Dean's leg violently, trying to make his brother look up from the magazine he was reading.

"Jesus Christ, Sam. Can't you leave me alone for five fucking seconds?"

Dean doesn't have to see Sam's face to know the younger boy is pouting; the corner of his lips turning up in a twisted smirk at the thought of his little brother's pretty eyes starting to water.

There's no answer to Dean's question, just a loud huff and the sound of the bathroom door slamming, rusty screws barely keeping it on the hinges.

And if Dean didn't get such a kick out of being an asshole to his needy little brother he might have felt bad for hurting Sam's feelings. But he doesn't, mainly because this was all part of the sick, fucked up game they'd been playing since Sam had turned sixteen. This volatile give and take, back and forth, born out of Sam's misguided pain. The younger boy thinking that Dean loved John more than him and Dean's cutthroat determination to prove his little brother wrong. To show Sam that even if he isn't looking, he's still paying attention. And that he couldn't stop paying attention to Sam even if he tried.

Honestly, Dean still gets a little hot under the collar thinking about the first Sammy pushed his buttons like this. He'd been both mortified and so disgustingly turned on when he found out that his sweet baby brother knew just how to act bratty and coy to get fucked through the mattress. God, Dean was so pissed and guilty about it at the time that he'd almost thrown up afterwards.

Even now, Dean feels kinda queasy. But the feeling is so simple to ignore this go around because he's also rock hard and shaking a little from the anticipation.

Oh, and of course, Sam makes him wait. Almost two fucking hours. Tiny beads of water still dripping from the younger boy's long, dirty blonde hair when Sam finally emerges from the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of lacy blue panties and a triumphant smile.

"Seriously, Samuel?" Dean asks, trying his best to keep his voice steady as he tosses his magazine to the side and sits up.

But Sam, being the shameless little tease that he is, just grins wider and does a slow turn. Making sure to show off every sharp curve and flawless inch of sun kissed skin he had before looking over at Dean and giggling.

"Think you can ignore me now, big brother?"

Sam barely gets the words out before Dean is off the bed, marching over to him with purpose, not stopping until the two of them are only a few inches apart and his baby brother's eyes are wide with fear.

"What do you want, Sam?" The older boy asks through gritted teeth, even though the answer is so painfully obvious.

And even though it is, Sam can't say it. He's never been able to because it's Dean's job to know. Without Dean guiding the way, Sam's just a confused kid with a need so intense and overwhelming that it could swallow him whole. And it would, if it wasn't for Dean.

Dean knows what Sam wants, and Sam hates the fact that he doesn't hate his brother for making him feel this way.

But still, he can't talk and he can't explain, so instead Sam just whines. Taking a timid step forward into his brother's personal space, searching for pity with those big innocent doe eyes. And fuck, does that do the trick. Every. Single. Time.

"What, baby?" Dean asks again, this time softer, his expression lightening as he grabs Sam by the wrist to pull him closer.

"Dean."

Sam's knees feel wobbly. His heart threatening to pound out of his chest because there's nothing in the world more intoxicating and simultaneously terrifying than looking into Dean's gorgeous green eyes when they're full of rage and passion.

"You want this?" Dean's voice is rough, like cigarette smoke blown over shattered glass as he guides Sam's trembling hand between his thighs. Pressing his little brother's warm palm hard against his erection before he makes Sam squeeze just a little, the both of them letting out a breathy groan.

"Please Dean," Sam whimpers, knees nearly buckling when Dean leans forward with a filthy grin, cherry red lips ghosting lightly over Sam's. The older boy teasing him like he always did. Pretending like wasn't eventually going to give Sam everything he wanted and more.

"Say it."

Sam's stomach clenches at the command, throat going dry because he hates this part. (Or at least Sam pretends that he does.)

"I want..." Sam groans, eyes closed tight as Dean nuzzles against him, making Sam go crazy with need. "I want your cock. Please Dean."

When Sam hears Dean chuckle, a low, filthy sound that makes his insides feel unbearably hot, Sam almost starts crying again. He's so naive and inexperienced compared to Dean. And Dean knows Sam feels like an idiot when his big brother makes him talk dirty. Which is exactly why he does it. The bastard.

"I know you do, baby boy," Dean laughs as he takes a step back, and Sam swears he feels his heart detach and drop into his stomach. Long, bony fingers instinctively trying to curl around Dean's shirt but to no avail.

"Dean-"

Sam's temper tantrum is cut short when Dean sits down on the foot of the bed and raises a hand, the look on his face calm but dangerous and it makes Sam almost swallow his own tongue.

"C'mere and lay across my lap."

"Why should I?"

Sam's voice doesn't sound like his own when he challenges his brother. It's weak and breathless and honestly, Sam can't believe an apex predator like Dean didn't go for his throat right then and there.

"You've been buckin' for my attention all day, sweetheart. You got a better way to get it?"

God, Sam wishes he did because the last thing he wants is to give in so easily. But what Sam's been dying for is right here in front of him now. Ripped jeans wrapped tight around thick thighs that he'd sell his soul to be bent over and Sam isn't about to turn down an open invitation.

"Gotta hand it to you, little brother," Dean says when Sam's finally stretched out across his lap. Sam's pretty face, flushed and tear stained, hidden in the mattress as Dean starts to soflty rub circles against his ass. "Despite all that fuss, you really are an obdient little bitch."

"Fuc-"

Sam nearly gags on his insult when he feels Dean's palm, rough and warm, connect with his right ass cheek. The blow hard enough to make his whole body jerk, tears of frustration rather than pain starting to blur his vision as he squirms in Dean's lap.

"Dean, please," Sam begs, his tight panties completely soaked through as he rubs himself desperately against Dean's thigh. His cock so hard and swollen that he feels a little dizzy, pleasure and pain fighting for dominance in his mind. Every one of his nerve endings on fire as Dean continues his ruthless assault. Each gentle touch followed by a thunderous smack that Sam swears makes his teeth rattle.

"Hey, don't cry, baby boy," Dean whispers when one of his rough blows finally rips a sob from Sam's throat. "This is what you wanted right? My undivided attention?"

Sam chokes back the urge to tell Dean that he hates him. One, because he doesn't. They both know that. And two, because if Sam doesn't swallow his pride soon and play by Dean's rules, he knows he'll never get want he really wants. That's what all this is about after all. Sam's insatiable need and Dean's absolute willingness to provide.

"C'mon, Sammy. You're a smart kid, you know what your answer should be."

Sam's only response is a loud, wanton groan, his knuckles turning chalk white around the blanket beneath him when he feels the tip of Dean's finger, rough and slick with spit, tease his rim. Pressing just hard enough to make Sam's hips jerk, but not applying quite enough pressure to slip inside him.

"Yes," Sam croaks, daring to push back against his brother's finger only to be rewarded with a smack to his right ass cheek that makes him see stars. "This is what I wanted."

"I know it is, slut."

Dean's finger feels wetter this time, hotter. And Sam's not expecting his brother to push in so deep, his eyes rolling back in pleasure when Dean barely grazes his prostate, clearly torturing Sam for all the shit he'd put him through that day. An eye for an eye was most definitely the Winchester way.

"You want me to finger fuck this tight little pussy until you make a mess all over your cute panties, don't ya baby boy?"

"Yes! Fuck Dean please." Sam isn't even trying to hold back his sobs now, big salty tears rolling down his cheeks as he wiggles around in Dean's lap. Desperate for his big brother to fuck him deeper. But before he can get the leverage he needs, Sam's empty again, mouth hanging open as Dean's next blow makes his whole body rock forward involuntary, neglected cock throbbing painfully against the worn denim of his brother's jeans.

"I'll give you want you want, Sammy," Dean coos, caressing Sam's battered skin with his palm. "I always do. But first, I'm gonna teach you a lesson about acting like a brat."

Of course, Sam's been taught this lesson before and it hasn't seemed to stick. But it doesn't matter, because they both know as long as Sam craves his big brother's attention, Dean will gladly put him in his place give it to him.

[niksixx]

Number 73

~Part 2!!! Read Part 1 first please!!!~ 

Requested: By many of you 

Pairing: Axl Rose x Female Reader 

Description: A continuation of part 1!! This fic takes place over the course of about two months. (It’s most likely unrealistic, but when is fanfiction ever real? This also has 2,634 words!!!! I got so carried away lmao ENJOY.) 

Warning: Some cursing and mentions of sex (no smut...yet)

A/N: R E B L O G :) 

*GIF is NOT mine. Found it on Google, so credit goes to the owner!* 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I knew he was an asshole, but fuck that’s cold.”

Nodding at your best friend, you bend down to take a sip of your lukewarm coffee, shrugging. It’s been two days since you last saw Axl. The douchebag was all you could think about; Not even the sex you’d had.

You couldn’t fully place the blame on him. You were naive to think you’d mean anything to him, changing anything between the two of you. Like he said, you were just number seventy-three.

“Was it good at least?”

You grin, fighting the urge to spill all the details. “Hate sex is always good, Y/B/F, but hate sex with Axl? Unbeatable.”

She chuckles. “How many girls do you think he’s fucked since you?”

You think for a moment. “Well, I was seventy-three, so I’d say he’s probably at about seventy-eight now. I’m not mad that he has a lot of sex. I’m pissed off that I let myself be used by a man that doesn’t care about me. I wish other girls could see that, too.”

Commitment wasn’t in Axl’s vocabulary. He simply couldn’t bring himself to be loyal. In the years that you’d known the Guns N’ Roses singer, he’d never been in a relationship. Girls were simply his playthings. They served no purpose to him other than pleasure.

Still, even with his mood swings and deplorable attitude, you couldn’t deny your attraction. But you’d think twice about letting the redhead anywhere near you or your body. You wouldn’t be vulnerable. Not again.

On the way home to your house, you drop off Y/B/F. Before she exits the car, she turns to you, the corners of her mouth raised in a smirk. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“About what?” You ask, fixing your sunglasses in the rearview mirror.

She gives you a look. “Duh, about Axl. He humiliated you. He fucked you and threw you aside like you were nothing. If I were you, I’d give him a taste of his own medicine.”

You drum your fingers on the steering wheel, gears turning in your head. She had a point. “What, like, I should get even?”

Y/B/F shakes her head, eyes wild, and smiles wide. “Oh no, honey. You’re not just going to get even. You’re going to beat him at his own damn game.”

~~~

“Y/N?” Steven yawns, scratching his head as you push past him into the GNR apartment. Glass bottles and cigarettes litter the floor from last night’s party, and the place reeks of alcohol, smoke, and sweat. “What are you doing here?” He follows your eyes to the floor, wincing. “Sorry, I actually just woke up. Axl and Duff started cleaning but they went out to get pizza for lunch.”

“That’s actually perfect,” You’ve been over the apartment plenty of times before, almost as if it’s your own. The boys needed to find their own respective places, though, as four out of the five were ready to settle down. Grabbing a trash bag, you help Steven clean up the rest of the mess. “Look, I need your help. I trust you the most.”

Steven snickers. “Oh, no. Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m not the most reliable.”

“Maybe not,” you say, hands firm on your hips. “But I trust you to keep your mouth shut.”

Steven groans, taking a deep breath before situating himself on the couch. He waves his hand, “Proceed.”

“You all know Axl and I can’t stand each other,” Steven laughs heartily and you shoot him a hard look. “And after a long few days of thinking, I decided that what I hate, even more than Axl, is being used.”

“Yeah, he told me about your little uh…” He makes a face. “I know you had sex, let’s put it that way. You were number seventy-three, he wrote it down.”

“I’m sure I was the topic of--wait,” You furrow your brows, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Did you say he wrote it down?”

Steven nods. “Of course he wrote it down. How else would he keep track of all the girls he’s fucked? All the names are in a little brown book under his bed.” Steven’s eyes go wide, realizing his mistake. “I definitely shouldn’t have said that.”

Before Steven can react, you run down the hall and into Axl’s room, rummaging under his bed before your fingers graze a leather cover. You pull it out and flip to the most recent page, and there scribbled in black ink is your name, along with seven other girls’ names from the previous weekend.

“Son of a bitch,” you whisper, thumbing through the other pages. “Shelly Neilson, Diana Fox, Cait Burke, Jade Nichols, Ruby Thompson…”

“Wait a minute,” Steven says, peering over your shoulder. His jaw clenches as he rereads the last name. “Ruby Thompson?”

“What? She an ex or something?” You ask, skimming the first few pages, eyes bulging at the dates. “This book goes back seven years ago. Jesus, Axl.”

You feel Steven’s body tense beside you. You turn, and his face is stone-like. “Ruby Thompson is my goddamn cousin.” Mouth agape, you watch as Steven runs a hand over his face. “That fucking bastard. No wonder he never let any of us see this book.”

“Uh, what’s going on?”

You turn toward the doorway where Slash and his wife stand, eyeing you suspiciously. You give Steven a sympathetic look before turning back toward the door. “I need to find a way to get back at Axl for treating me like shit.”

“Look, I’m not defending him,” Slash begins, earning a warning look from his wife. “But you knew his track record and you still let him fuck you?”

“Okay, technically, because I rode him, I fucked him,” Slash and Steven snicker. “And yes, it was stupid, I realize that now. Having sex with him wasn’t going to fix any animosity between us. But he knows me personally, and he fucking hurt me. I won’t let him get away with it. Not this time.”

“So what’s your plan?” asks Steven.

“That’s why I came here,” you sigh, clutching the book to your chest. “I need your help.”

Slash thinks for a moment. “What does Axl hate more than anything in the world?”

Steven chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “A lot of things. Competition. Second place. Being used,” Steven shoots you a wink. “And Y/N.”

“Exactly. Axl prides himself on having the most sex out of his whole friend group, right?,” Slash says, and his wife grins wickedly when she catches on.

“If we can keep Axl from having sex for a few weeks, that will give you a chance to reach his body count. He hates when others are good at something he’s good at. ” She says. Slash offers an impressive look. “Y/N, what’s your count?”

Your face flushes, and the two men glance at you expectantly. “Seventeen.”

Steven grimaces. “Seriously? We’re going to need at least a month, maybe more.”

“Hey,” Steven cowers when Slash’s wife pins him with a look. “In this house, we don’t shame women for liking sex and having sex just as much as men do. And compared to some men, seventeen is nothing.”

You send her a smile as a thank you. She nods back, grinning proudly.

“Alright, look,” Steven says, lips curling back in a quick smile. “I have three cousins who would love to help you get back at Axl. He crashed the first one’s car, stole money from the second, and slept with the third’s girlfriend. Come to think of it, she might actually be in here,” Steven reads through the book until he stops on a name. “Yep. Here she is. Misty Evans,” he snaps the book closed. “That motherfucker.”

“I have a brother you can use,” Slash’s wife grins. “And he has a lot of friends.” She wiggles her eyebrows excitedly.

“Okay, okay, hold on,” Slash holds up his hands. “It’s a good plan and all, but how in the hell are we going to stop Axl from having sex?”

~~~

73.

For two months, he was stuck at number 73.

Which was, by far, the best sex of his life.

And it just so happens it was with the person he hated most in the world.

Axl couldn’t get it out of his head. The way your eyes looked him up and down, daring him to leave and begging him to stay at the same time. Your soft lips that he was desperate to kiss again and feel on his skin. The breathy moans that were music to his ears. He’d be breaking his rule if he slept with you again, but Axl’s craving for your body had him considering wiping out the rule altogether.

His attempts to get you off his mind continued to fail as more and more women began to reject his advances. One minute he’d strike up a conversation, and the girls would be all for it, but as he returned from the bathroom or from a quick smoke break or the bar with another drink, they avoided him. Shot him dirty looks. Pretended they weren’t just all over him a few minutes prior. He didn’t understand, and it was driving him crazy.

Little does he know, whenever he leaves, you take his place, quickly showing the girls Axl’s book that hides in your purse, before urging them to stay away. So far, every girl that he’s tried to woo into his bed has shunned him. Many of the girls recognize their own friends in Axl’s book, and they promise you to stay away from him. It was dirty, it was evil, but no one ever wins by playing a fair game.

While he was constantly facing rejection, you were thriving. Axl noticed that whenever you came out with the group, men flocked to you instantly, more than they had before.  You’d barely said three words to him since the night you’d slept together, and hadn’t even looked him in the eye.

He’d buy you drinks, only for you to mutter a quick thanks without returning the favor. Despite not being the best dancer, he’d offer you his hand at the clubs, only to be met with laughter from his bandmates as you accepted another man’s offer. And what blew his mind? Many of the guys looked...familiar.

From his seat at the booth, Axl could see a man shamelessly flirting with you at the bar. He grit his teeth, hand clenching around the bottle in front of him.

“Uh, dude?” Duff signals to the beer. “If you want to practice your chokehold, I’m sure there are plenty of chicks in here who would be more than willing to help you out, if you know what I mean.”

Axl’s eyes never left you. “What the hell is going on with Y/N?”

“What do you mean?” Steven asks innocently, shooting Slash a sly grin. “She’s having a drink at the bar.”

Axl turns to Steven, narrowing his eyes. “I can see that, you dumbass. I mean, why the hell hasn’t she spoken to me?”

“The hell do you care?” Izzy answers, taking a swig of his tequila. “You hate each other anyway.”

“I just don’t think I’ve ever seen her so...relaxed.” Axl remarks, bringing his beer to his lips.

“I mean, I’d be too if I was having as much sex as she was,” Slash grins, dropping a teasing wink in his wife’s direction.

Axl pauses, brows drawn together. “What the fuck do you mean?”

Hesitantly, Slash’s wife clears her throat, chiming into the conversation for the first time that night. “Alright, look, this does not leave the table, hear me?” When everyone nods, she continues. “I promised I’d keep this to myself, but Y/N’s had sex with twenty guys in the past five days.”

Axl’s eyes nearly roll out of his head when the table laughs. He seems to have missed what was funny.

“No shit!” Duff laughs, clapping his hands together.

“That’s fucking impressive,” Izzy smirks.

“So what does that bring her count to total?” Steven asks, fully aware of Axl’s bright red face. He laughs to himself. The singer was hopeless, making it way too easy for the group to fuck with him.

“Seventy bodies,” Slash’s wife cocks her head to the side. Something about her words, her gesture, is taunting. “How many did you say you had again, Axl?”

“Seventy-three,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Wait,” Izzy and Slash say together, “You haven’t fucked anyone since Y/N?”

“Dude, that was over two months ago,” Duff says in a teasing manner.

“It’s not like I haven’t fucking tried!” Axl exclaims, slamming his palm down on the table. He takes a deep breath, finding his composure, and lowers his voice. “I keep getting rejected and I don’t fucking know why.”

“Oh, the horror,” Izzy says, rolling his eyes. “All will be right in the world when Axl finds some random chick to bang.”

Slash and his wife snicker and share a look. Axl shakes his head. He senses something is wrong, but he can’t call anyone out without proof.

Something about you having almost the same amount of bodies as him didn’t sit right. No one in his life even came close. Then again, no one was so obsessed with sex like Axl was. No one was so open about their sex life.

Against his better judgment, Axl finds himself striding toward the bar, visibly irritated as the man next to you rests his palm right above your ass. Axl grabs the man’s wrist and pulls it from your body, pushing him away from you. He ignores the man’s protests, throws back the rest of whatever piss warm beer the dude had been drinking, flips him off, before turning back to you.

The shock on your face is evident. “There is something seriously wrong with you. What the hell, Axl?”

“Seventy bodies?” Axl says, voice condescending. “Some prostitutes don’t even have that many.”

Your blood boils and you swear to yourself you see red. The audacity of this man to shame you. “I see you’re still a dick. What the hell does it matter to you, huh? What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Axl’s laugh is light, breathy, as he restrains himself from screaming. “My problem is that I haven’t fucked something in two months. I’m going fucking feral.”

“Seems like a you problem,” you retort, puckering your lips before taking a drink. Axl’s book suddenly feels heavy in your purse. You sneak a look to make sure the purse is properly zipped before glancing back to the fuming redhead. “What would you like me to do about it?”

It all comes out in a rush. “I don’t know! Suck my dick, ride me, do something!” Axl cringes when you giggle, face heating. Holy fucking desperate.

“Are you...is Axl Rose...begging?”

He throws his head back in annoyance. This wasn’t going as planned. “I--no. Fuck. Ignore that. Can’t we just go back to my place or something?”

“I thought you didn’t fuck the same girl twice?” You remind him of his words, and you can tell by his face he regrets saying them.

But he remains cool, standing up straight, all the while contradicting his previous statement. “I don’t.”

Finishing your drink, you set it to the side. Batting your lashes, you step forward, a mere centimeter apart from Axl’s face. His breath is raggedy, lips parted, and you see it coming. He leans forward to kiss you, but you’re too quick. Brushing your lips against his ear, palm flat against his chest, you utter the words as confidence floods your veins. “If you don’t want the same pussy twice, then what makes you think I want the same dick twice?”

[krreader]

the wrong victim | chapter 4.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader fandom: bts ; mentions of exo warnings: gang!au ; non idol!au ; language ; blood genre: angst ; fluff word count: 2.3k+ previous: 1 ; 2 ; 3

summary: in which jeongguk accidentally kidnaps the wrong person and begs you to play the part of the one he actually had to kidnap, just so he could become a member of the famous Bangtan Boys. And, well, you were always a sucker for boys with a tragic past.

a/n: I can’t believe it took me nearly two years to update this, I am so fucking sorry, but writing a new part now made me realize how much my writing style developed over the years and I am pleasantly surprised tbh. anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this ♥

“How is he?” everyone got up when Jin finally walked out with bloody hands that he wiped on a cloth, then brushing the sweat off his forehead with his arm.

“He's stronger than you all give him credit for. He's going to make it.”

Everyone in the room let out a relieved sigh, you plopping back down on the couch and brushing your hands through your hair, shutting your eyes so tight that you began to see stars.

What the hell were you doing?

You just got into a fight and shot someone - that deserved it -, to save the guy that kidnapped you, then afterwards, promising to stay with that same guy, just because you were afraid that it might be the last thing that he'd ever hear.

This was getting out of hand and what started as an action made out of the kindness off your heart had put you in a position that you didn't know how to get out of anymore and that scared you. And not just that, but you weren’t feeling guilty for what you had done. It was like... it had come natural to you. And that surely wasn’t a feeling you should be feeling after having hurt someone.

“By the way,” Jin looked at you, waiting for you to do the same, “He's asking for you. Might be nice for him to see his girl.”

Taehyung started laughing, Yoongi whistled, while the rest just smirked.

You didn't give any of them much attention, simply did what Jin had asked and walked into the room.

He had shut the blinds, one lamp in the corner of the room illuminated it only so much that you could see where you were going and where he was.

He was awake, but his eyelids were heavy. Though, despite all this, he smiled when he saw you.

“Hey..-”

“Don't you fucking hey, me,” you said angrily, “What the hell were you thinking? These guys were ten times taller than you and you just walk in and get yourself nearly killed?”

Jeongguk blinked at you a few times, then he chuckled, though quickly stopping and furrowing his eyebrows when that hurt his body, “You were worried.”

“Worried for my sake,” you lied, though at that time, you still told yourself that it was the truth and that you were worried merely for selfish purposes, “If you had died, it would be ten times harder to get away from here. And while we're having this discussion..-”

“You said you'd stay,” he interrupted you straight away, looking at you with wide eyes, almost disappointed already that you were thinking about breaking your promise.

“Listen to me,” you let out a heavy sigh and sat down on the bed next to him, “I don't know what kind of fucked up fantasy you have began to develop in your mind about me and you being in this criminal relationship..-”

“..-it's not about that..-”

“..- but it won't happen,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest, trying to act serious for his, but also your sake. It was like you had to tell him, but also yourself, “I said that because I didn't know whether or not you were going to make it. This has gone way too far and you know it,” you shook your head, “You got what you wanted, you're part of this wonderful gang that will definitely get you killed one day. I helped you, now you help me get out of here and get back to my boring life that I miss.”

“But do you actually?” he asked, then carefully sat up when you didn’t reply right away, “Because part of me thought you were actually beginning to enjoy this.”

You snorted, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But this was the problem, wasn’t it? He could see right through you, despite not knowing you for that long. 

It’s not a life that you ever thought would suit you, but maybe..-

Before you could think about this much further, the door got opened and the rest of his members walked in.

“You two done fucking?”

“I hope that's not what you did, that's surely going to open up the stitches,” Jin said disapprovingly.

You simply gave Jeongguk one last look, then got up and walked out, leaving them alone with him.

“Oh, oh.. trouble in paradise?” Jimin sat down where you had just sat, “Is she mad that you nearly got killed?”

“Yeah.. something like that.”

“By the way, who is (Y/N)?” Hoseok asked with a cocked head, “It's what you called her back at the scene.”

Yeah, of course they wouldn't let that go.

“It's just a nickname,” Jeongguk lied as he shrugged.

“That's... a weird nickname, because it sounds like a normal name.”

“Why is that weird? You guys all picked western names too,” Taehyung crossed his arms in front of his chest, “She's just like the rest of us, so I don't see an issue.”

Taehyung would always come to his rescue and Jeongguk gave him a grateful smile for that.

“Yeah.. like us,” Namjoon repeated as he watched you sit down at the couch outside of Jeongguk’s room with a smile. A proud smile, “Maybe we were wrong about her after all.”

“Whatever. Right now, Jeongguk needs to rest,” Jimin smiled and ruffled his hair, “Sleep, kiddo.”

And even though he was out of danger now, he could not find any rest the entire night. 

Deep down, he knew that he had to get you out of here, rather sooner than later, before this could escalate any further. Because instead of looking at you disapprovingly, Namjoon had actually smiled at you before.. proudly, so. And even if Hoseok had said that he doubted Namjoon had meant it when he had said you were part of the gang now, he might begin to consider it now that you've proven yourself to be a good shot and saved one of his members.

And getting you out then would be ten times harder.

On top of that, there was still the matter of your mother. If you didn't show up eventually, she'd file a missing persons report and then once that reached the cops, it might lead back to them and then they'd all be in deep shit.

Bad enough that the cops had a pixelated picture of you stealing something, but Yoongi would be able to fix that, he always did and led the cops into a different direction.

But once your mother would file that missing persons report... there might not be such an easy way out anymore.

And so reluctantly, Jeongguk pushed aside the covers, keeping pressure on his wound to be able to walk steadily and make his way outside, but stopping when he heard you talk to... Taehyung? Who he was sure you hated?

“Here,” he handed you a glass filled with what Jeongguk assumed was alcohol, “You look like you need it.”

“I never understood why you're so nice to me when I've been nothing but an ass to you.”

“You're nice to Kookie, so I feel like I need to be nice to you,” he shrugged, “That boy has been through a lot, you know? And I know he's labeled as this playboy guy, but you might actually be the first girl that he has real feelings for.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” you snorted into your glass.

“No, I mean it. The way he looks at you and back in the car, it seemed like all that kept him alive was the thought of seeing you again. He didn't have anything or anyone before us, but now he has more to lose than just six gang members.”

“In case you forgot, he kidnapped me.”

“I think YOU are the one that forgets that sometimes,” he got up from the couch, “From what we've heard, you've never quite had the cleanest slate yourself, as much as you'd like to pretend that you did. There is this rumor.. Namjoon never told me anything, but I overheard him talking to Yoongi hyung. EXO wanted you for a reason. They heard about your talents and wanted to recruit you. And not just them. Any rivaling gang had their eyes on you. We just got lucky that we got to you first.”

“You make it sound like you think I'm here for good.”

“Sooner or later you're going to understand that this gang life with us isn't the worst thing that can happen. I heard about the dump you lived in before, but here? You could have everything you want. You could be everything you want to be. And most importantly... you could be with who you want to be. I know that Namjoon won’t keep you here forever if you truly don’t want to be here, so as soon as he’s sure that you won’t tell on us, he’d let you go. But I don’t think that’s going to happen, Soomin.”

And with that, he walked away.

You didn't see him, but Taehyung did and he winked at Jeongguk who had hid behind a wall when he passed by him.

He thought you might yell something like your usual: 'You're full of shit' after him, but you didn't. You just sat there and stared into your glass, before downing it in one go.

Because see, when someone calls you out on the things that you've been lying to yourself about, it was time to reflect.

And you had a lot of that to do.

Because as much as you hated to admit it... shooting the balls of someone that had deserved it, after years of watching the news and seeing what kind of assholes were out there... it made you think that maybe it was time to change sides.

That maybe, you were on the wrong side of the law.

And that maybe, your boring life that you so desperately claimed that you wanted to get back to, was actually just a cover-up for the truth.

That maybe, you did want to be a part of this.

But admitting that to yourself... it made you sick. Because you tried to tell yourself that you weren’t like that. Like them.

But what if you were?

Jeongguk slowly approached you, not wanting to startle you.

“If you want to leave... then I'll get you out of here.”

“What?” you furrowed your eyebrows, turning around to look at him, “So suddenly?”

“I was naive to think that you might actually stay with me and maybe you were right, maybe I really did make up this fantasy in my head,” he sat down next to you, noticing how your hand immediately reached out to help him, but then you pulled it back once you realized what you were doing, “But it just felt like my life was finally complete now. I had my six brothers and then destiny decided to put you into my life and suddenly I went from having nothing to having everything I could have ever wished for.”

You didn't respond to that, simply let out a heavy sigh.

“I'm sorry for everything that happened, (Y/N), truly.”

“Jeongguk. Can you give me my phone?”

“Wh..- What?”

“You guys took it from me when you brought me here. But I'd like to have it back.”

He wasn't sure this was a good idea. In fact, he was sure it was a terrible idea. What if you were going to call the cops now? Would serve them right, but.. could he take that risk?

“Why?”

“Please. Just give it back to me.”

It didn't seem like you were going to elaborate on what you were going to do with it, so after a few more moments of hesitation, he finally got up, walked away and came back a few minutes later with your phone in his hand.

Before letting go of it, though, he said: “Please don't take my family away from me.”

And then he slowly, very slowly, walked back into his room, hoping to hear whatever you were going to do next.

What you did do, however, surprised him.

“Hey mom. I know, I know, yell at me all you want, you have every right to do so. I am still alive, I'm well and I'm sorry I haven't called earlier. I actually have... good news! I got a new job! Yes, I know! It's a little farther away from the city so I had to commute and I was just so stressed and tired and didn't get a chance to just sit down and call and I know I should have but...- no, it's a good job, really! The co-workers are really nice and the boss... well, he's a boss, you know? Can be a bit of an asshole, but oh well. Anyways, I'm not sure if I can stop by on the 23rd like we agreed on, depends on my schedule, but if I can't, I'll definitely call again. Yes, mom. I promise. I won't go as long as I did now without calling. Okay. Yeah. I love you too. Bye.”

And as you ended the call and stared at the screen, you knew that he was still there.

He looked at you with wide eyes and an open mouth, not believing what you had just done.

Then you said: “Here's the new deal. I will stay... for now. I will however not be your maid anymore or whatever the hell that you brought me here for in the first place. I will do what I want to do. I will call my mother whenever I want to and I will be able to go out whenever I want to. I will not be a prisoner here anymore. If you want me to stay, then don't treat me like a kidnapped anymore.”

“Then... what do you want me to treat you like from now on?”

You got up, brushing over your clothes to straighten them out and once you did and stood tall again, you confidently said: “Like a member of your team.”

You just hoped that this was the right decision.. because like Jeongguk, if you decided to go down that path, there was no going back anymore.

[a-blue-secret]

CHAPTER XXIII

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter XXII | Chapter XXIII | Chapter XXIV

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: (as always) swearing

WORD COUNT: 6.5k+

AN: On a scale of 'Filler Chapter' to 'A Shit Ton Happens Here', this is a firm 'Without This Chapter, Nothing Would Make Sense'. Fun fact, this chapter was the whole reason I wanted to write Court of Lies in the first place! Enjoy :)

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

The voice laughed. "You are all so entertaining! I've been watching you, you know. Some of your spy techniques are, I'm afraid, a little shabby. Climbing the palace ledges? Please. I'm surprised no one woke up from the racket you created."

Yeonjun snarled. "Stop mocking us and show yourself!"

"Fine." The voice sounded amused by Yeonjun's authoritative tone. “Allow me to reveal myself.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

The three boys had formed a circle, all positioned to fight. Then a tall, lithe figure nimbly landed in front of them, as silent and as poised as a cat. He raised his head, ever so slowly, and stared at Taehyun. A tall frame, slender shoulders, familiar dimples and twinkling eyes… Taehyun, Yeonjun and Hueningkai all gasped at once, unintentionally lowering their guard.

Taehyun stared in shock. His eyes were purple .

“Soobin?” Taehyun said, at the same time that Yeonjun and Hueningkai both said, “Wolfsbane?”

The man (Soobin? Wolfsbane?) chuckled. “I see our dear little Kang Taehyun recognises me.”

Yeonjun glared at the man. “So it was you! I saw you in the palace!”

The man bowed mockingly, violet eyes twinkling maleficently. “Indeed you did,” he said. “And so did Hueningkai, when you all went down to the basement of the library.” He gave a small laugh. “I’m afraid I scared you a little, didn’t I?”

Hueningkai didn’t answer the man. Yeonjun didn’t say a word, either. Both of them glared at the man, tension evident in their muscles, while on the other hand the man looked completely relaxed.

Soobin’s lips formed a mocking pout. “Why, I thought you spies would be delighted to see me! After all, I am a legendary spy, aren’t I?”

Yeonjun bared his teeth. “You and your clan are infamous for bringing down royals and corrupting Kingdoms,” he said darkly. “I’m afraid you’re not welcome.”

Soobin pouted again. “Oh that’s not very nice! And I thought you found me cute.”

“That’s before you showed who you truly were,” Yeonjun glowered. “Now you’re anything but cute.”

“Oh, that is a shame,” Soobin laughed. “I would have been more than happy to give you a kiss, but it seems that it is not wanted.”

Yeonjun only scoffed in disgust, crossing his arms.

Hueningkai hadn’t said anything. His eyes never left the stranger, but he spoke to Taehyun. “Taehyun, how do you know him?”

“Lord Soobin’s a member of our court,” Taehyun replied in a confused tone, eyes fixed on the man’s crystalline eyes. “But… he didn’t look like this. I don’t know who this person is.”

“I’m still Soobin, don’t you worry. I am a member of your court, in a way,” he chuckled. “And indeed, I didn’t look like this! Ugh, I hate wearing contacts. They hurt my eyes.” His violet eyes sparkled. “But it was all worth it, if it utterly deceived you.”

Taehyun blinked, confused. “But, you… you’re good? You told me you were the good guy!”

Soobin sighed sympathetically. “Dear me, you’re so naive. And here I thought you were smart. Kang Taehyun, did it not strike you odd that I entered the scene at the exact moment you needed me? Did it not seem a little strange how I was coincidentally there at the same time as Beomgyu when he was lost in town? Did you not become even a little suspicious of me when it were my cakes which made you sick?”

“You did that on purpose?” Taehyun asked, shocked.

“Oh, no, no!” Soobin chuckled. “God, no. My intended target was someone different. But your interference caused a little… setback regarding your health.”

Taehyun blinked, at a loss for words. No one spoke. The two spies regarded Soobin carefully, as if he were a dangerous explosive which could kill them any second. Soobin on the other hand, looked at ease, hands behind his back as he rocked on his heels carelessly, watching them. It was almost as if he were waiting for someone to speak. Taehyun narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side. He was the only one who had no idea who Soobin really was, and it was frustrating him. What he did know, however, was that Soobin was now Bad™, and he needed to know how and why.

“Are purple eyes a trademark of your clan? I don’t remember any clans having purple eyes,” Taehyun finally said to break the silence.

“Indeed,” Soobin said in an amused tone. “My eyes are a trademark, which is why I had to disguise them. Your eyes, also… they too are infamous. So piercing, and striking. And when you spoke… it sounded like you knew everything in the world.” He sighed sympathetically. “What a shame that you were barely educated in the history of spies.”

Taehyun raised his dagger point. “You’ll be surprised to know that my knowledge on spies is actually not that bad, despite what you may think.”

“Oh, you’re even more adorable when you’re acting scary,” Soobin laughed. “And I assure you, if you do not know me, you do not know spies at all.”

Hueningkai twirled a crystal ball on the tip of his finger, the rugged edges catching the light of the lamps. “Quit talking. How did you get in? Why did you get in?”

Soobin turned his purple gaze to the youngest spy. “Oh, I almost forgot! Since you spoke, I now get the chance to say the ‘stupid thing about you being mixed’. How has life in Aruyeo been for you, young Kamal?” Hueningkai flushed with rage.

“I left that name behind years ago,” he said, shaking with fury. “My surname is not Kamal anymore. How dare you bring it up!”

“You left it behind, hmm? Well you didn’t do a very good job, I have to say. Isn’t it your middle name now?”

“Shut. Up,” Hueningkai seethed. His grip tightened on the glass in his hand. “I’ll ask you again. How did you get in? ”

Soobin strolled around the three, seemingly at ease. He walked a full circle around them, before coming to a stop in front of Taehyun again. A small smile played on his lips.

“Oh, with great difficulty, I assure you,” he said. “That’s quite a power you have there Kamal,” Soobin added. “Matter manipulation. Fancy.”

“ Stop. Calling. Me. Kamal. ”

Soobin ignored him. “But why am I here? Now that is a more interesting question. I suppose I am here to… merely provoke you. For you see, I have already won.”

“Stop with the cryptic messages, you asshole,” Taehyun said. “What are you talking about?”

Soobin smiled wider, clearly delighted by their ignorance. “Why, His Royal Greatness Beomgyu, of course.”

Taehyun flared up, eyes sparking at the mention of Beomgyu’s name. “If you’ve so much as harmed a hair on his head, then I swear that I will kill you,” he seethed, gripping his dagger fiercely.

“Oh my, that’s a rather bold statement,” Soobin commented amusedly. “For these past months, I have been a trusted friend and ally, but I make one wrong move and suddenly I’m receiving threats? How very odd.”

“If Yeonjun and Hueningkai don’t like you, then I don’t like you either,” Taehyun replied coldly. “I trust their judgement.”

“You trust two seasoned spies over me?” Soobin said, widening his eyes and blinking them innocently. “Me, Lord Soobin? The Lord that you have been conversing with quite closely for some time now?” He leaned forward, eyes twinkling maleficently. “You should never trust spies like them, you know,” he said in an almost confiding manner. “You never know when they may stab you in the back. Figuratively and even literally.”

Taehyun hesitated, glancing at Yeonjun. Taehyun was closed off and hesitant to trust by nature, and the Aruyeonan could only imagine the doubts running through his mind at that moment.

“Don’t listen to him,” Yeonjun said insistently. “He’s a spy too, remember? He’s a much more seasoned spy than we are. Besides, you’ve known us for longer. We’d never betray you.”

“I know,” Taehyun said, and his eyes hardened. He turned back to Soobin. “You’ll have to do a lot more than that if you want me to turn against Yeonjun and Hueningkai. I trust them with my life.”

Soobin hummed, shrugging carelessly. “I like games,” was all he said. “I like entertainment. What I say is not always a basis for a manipulative scheme, no matter what you may think. Even the smallest game is of utmost interest to me.” His eyes sparked, as if he’d remembered something. “Speaking of games, I suppose now is time to tell you about my grand scheme. The one in which your King’s life is, unfortunately, something which I have no use for.”

Now. Taehyun was not an emotional person: far from it. He knew how to handle his emotions, and to keep his cool in the face of smug Lords and vile foreigners. But Soobin managed to rub him up the wrong way, getting on his nerves and making him feel increasingly more irritated. It was strange: he was never an outwardly emotional person, but when it came to be about Beomgyu, he couldn’t control it.

Letting out an outraged yell, Taehyun threw his dagger at Soobin, blinded by momentary anger. Soobin smoothly leaned to the side, and the blade missed him completely, hitting the metal wall before clattering onto the floor.

“Well, someone cares about the king a lot,” Soobin commented amusedly. “A great deal, I would say.”

“You have no idea,” Taehyun said darkly. He drew another dagger from one of the many hidden pockets of his uniform, raising it in the air. “And you’d better explain what you mean right this second before I throw this dagger at you. This time, I definitely won’t miss.”

Soobin raised an eyebrow, as if Taehyun’s statement amused him. “A nice threat, Kang Taehyun. You certainly have a considerably intimidating glare. And to answer your question, you might want to turn to your little spy friends. They would probably know. Am I right, Yeonjunie?”

Yeonjun hissed at the mocking nickname, but it was weak. His face had grown pale.

“You fucking monster, ” he spat at Soobin. The violet-eyed male only laughed.

“Oh, no, I’m not the monster here.”

Even Hueningkai had gone white. The hand holding the explosive trembled, and he quickly tucked the ball away before it fell from his grip and smashed on the floor.

“You… Why?” Hueningkai whispered. “Why Beomgyu?”

“Oh, I’d forgotten how fond all of you were of the king,” Soobin said casually. “Whoops. And why? Because it had to be done.”

“Not to Beomgyu, it didn’t,” Hueningkai said, voice wobbling. Soobin sighed condescendingly.

“Of course to Beomgyu, you idiots,” he explained. “He’s the start of a new line. He’s weak. When they’re young, and inexperienced, it’s so much easier. That’s why it has to be Beomgyu.” No one said a word. Soobin raised an eyebrow in amusement. He strolled around the bare steel room, taking in the rusty oil lamps and shelves of explosives which took up the whole of one wall, from top to bottom. He noted the tiny greenhouse in the corner which held rare and common herbs, acknowledged the small furnace and bags of sand which were used to make glass, glanced at the lead box filled with ancient books. Soobin sauntered over to the shelves of glass bombs, delicately tracing the veins of each of the handmade crystal balls.

“If you break them, this whole room will explode or set on fire, and then everyone will know you’re here,” Hueningkai called out.

“Oh, I know,” Soobin dismissed. “As dear Yeonjunie said, I am a seasoned spy. I can recognise explosives when I see them.”

Again, Yeonjun hissed at the mockingly affectionate tone, its degrading quality jarring against his nerves.

No one spoke as Soobin leisurely walked around the room, running his finger along the dusty shelves and rolling some of the smaller marbles in his hand.

Throughout the whole time, Taehyun had been growing increasingly frustrated. He still had no clue what was going on, and it was making him more and more infuriated.

“Will someone please enlighten me as to what the hell is going on?” he exclaimed finally, frustration and irritation bursting out of him. Soobin turned his violet eyes to the vizier, and laughed aloud with delight.

“You really don’t know who I am?” he asked rhetorically. “Gosh, they truly didn’t teach you, did they?” He stalked towards Taehyun and leaned down so they were eye-to-eye, purple irises sparkling with mirth. “For all the rumours and tales of your wisdom, you really are just a clueless young boy, aren’t you?” Taehyun growled and punched Soobin in the stomach. The elder let out a small ‘oof’ and doubled over slightly, chuckling. “For a young boy, you still pack quite a punch.”

“It’ll be more than just a punch in a minute,” he snarled.

“Easy there, pet,” Soobin chuckled. When Taehyun growled again, he mockingly growled back. “You don’t even know my clan, do you?” he asked, eyes twinkling. “My, you are indeed clueless!” Before Taehyun could make some cutting statement, Soobin carried on, still smiling. “And think, my dear Kang Taehyun. Does ‘Wolfsbane’ really mean nothing to you? Think. If Wolfsbane is hard to think of, consider the flower it is the nickname for. Think Aconitum. Think bedtime stories. Think flowers. Think poisons. I’m sure if you use your brain you’ll figure it out.”

Taehyun opened his mouth to snark back, eyes fierce, but Soobin’s eyes flashed warningly. It was obvious he would only play nice for so long. Taehyun glared, closing his mouth. He cast his mind back.

“The maids told me stories about a beautiful yet deadly Queen called Aconita,” he bit out, still staring at Soobin with suspicion.

Soobin smiled. “Ah yes, Queen Aconita of the Four Kingdoms. The Queen of Poisons. An intriguing story. Sadly, Aconita was never even a person. What about flowers?”

Taehyun hesitated, beginning to actually think about what Soobin might be getting at. “Flowers… The poisonous purple-blue flower called wolfsbane, whose Latin name is Aconitum .”

The violet-eyed male chuckled. “Now we’re getting somewhere. They're the reason I make flowers for a living, by the way. It's almost like a homage to my spy name, Wolfsbane. Now, what about poisons?”

“Um, poisons…  there’s this one poison named after the wolfsbane flower, Aconitum, which Hueningkai thought I’d had when I’d been sick.”

Soobin nodded amusedly. “Yes, but what about ‘wolfsbane’?” When Taehyun looked unsure, he turned to Hueningkai. “Would you care to help Taehyun out?”

“The potion ‘Wolfbairn’, which renders people insane, is of most similar spelling to wolfsbane. Wolfbairn is an extremely old potion which has gradually stopped being used overtime, since the effects of the potion only drive the person into insanity, rather than kill them. People have had no use of an insanity potion, so its uses have eventually died out.” Hueningkai spoke quietly, as if the words were being forced out of him. Even now, while sharing information he did not want to say, Hueningkai still spoke about everything he knew. It was almost like an instinct: ingrained into him from such a young age. “It is often described as having… werewolf fever,” Hueningkai said, still rather pale. “And they call it werewolf fever because it’s similar to the state of insanity werewolves go into just before the full moon.”

“Very good,” Soobin said. “And now Taehyun, does ‘Jeju Choi clan’ ring any bells to you? Specifically, alarm bells?”

Taehyun paused. “They– they refused to teach us about that clan,” he said. “I even looked, but no records held any mention of the clan, so I assumed they died out.”

“We have almost died out,” Soobin sighed regretfully. “As of now, it is just myself and my sister left. And the reason why you could never find anything about my clan is because I took it out.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled ball of parchment. He tossed it to Taehyun, who caught it in one hand. Taehyun unfurled the ball to find the parchments were all ripped-out pages of textbooks.

“These… these are all pages from the books the scholars use to teach us about clans,” Taehyun said, confused.

“Indeed they are,” Soobin said, folding his arms casually. “I had to take them from Beomgyu’s cottage, you know. For some reason he had the books at his house, and I needed to take these pages out before he found them.”

Taehyun glared at him. “You broke into Beomgyu’s house?”

Soobin gave a lazy chuckle. “This was after he’d been crowned. Don’t worry.” Taehyun continued to glare at him, before Soobin gestured to the pages. “Go on, read them.”

Taehyun hissed angrily, before turning his attention back to the textbook pages in his hands. His eyes widened as he scanned through the pages. “Your clan is so old… you have two abilities?”

“My sister, rather,” Soobin said. “Only a rare few have both. Most have one or the other. Mine is to curse.”

“You… you curse people?” Taehyun said, eyes wide.

Soobin almost laughed at Taehyun’s dumbfounded expression. “Dear me, you really are adorable. Yes, Taehyun, I do.”

“How so?”

“Well…” Soobin shrugged carelessly. “I make people unlike themselves. Turn them angry when they should be happy, or insane when they should be sane.”

“So was it you who turned the public so suddenly against Beomgyu when he announced the alliance?” Taehyun demanded, eyes turning fierce. He threw the papers at Soobin’s feet, the crumpled-up ball rolling pitifully. “Do you know how many days Beomgyu hid himself away after that? Do you know how guilty he felt?”

This time, Soobin really did let out an amused laugh. “Taehyun, dear, do you know what a curse is? It is something of supernatural power which is used with the intent of harming or punishing something.” He paused. “Well, if I put it that way, it does sound like I cursed the people, but I did not! I simply… convinced another Lord to do it in my stead.”

“Ah, so Lord Namjae’s son must be the spell-caster,” Taehyun said, scrunching his nose in disgust. “So when he said, ‘It was Lord Soobin’s idea’, he really meant it.”

Soobin laughed again, violet eyes sparkling with malevolent mirth. “My, you have a good memory! Indeed, it was my idea. I even suggested the explosives in the chandeliers. I held the triggers in my hand, you know. That Lord really did trust me.”

“I don’t know why anyone would trust you,” Taehyun said, glaring. “Did you have everything planned out? Did you orchestrate everything from that day?”

“Oh, way before that.” Soobin grinned maliciously. “Whose father do you think came up with this plan? Whose sister do you think holds a considerable amount of power in Aruyeo, and ordered the sending out of ambassadors to Gojongja? Who do you think talked to Beomgyu in an abandoned hallway under the guise of an apology? And…” He bent down in front of Taehyun, until they were practically nose-to-nose. “Who do you think cursed the King?”

Taehyun gave an outraged cry, punching Soobin across the jaw. Soobin’s head jerked back, and he clutched the side of his face, chuckling.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” he yelled, launching himself at the taller male. Hueningkai and Yeonjun quickly grabbed his arms to stop him from punching Soobin again, holding the furious vizier back. “Hueningkai– Yeonjun– let me go!”

“Taehyun, no, he could literally curse you in the blink of an eye,” Yeonjun hissed as Taehyun continued to struggle.

Soobin had taken a step back, rubbing at the reddening spot on his jawline with an amused smile still on his face. “Yeonjun’s right, Taehyun dear,” he said. “Besides, you need me to tell you what’s going to happen to Beomgyu.”

Taehyun snarled, but stopped resisting and let the two Aruyeonan spies pull him back. “Go on then,” he spat. “What’s your plan? What do you want? Tell me.”

Soobin grinned. “Not with that attitude I won’t. Here, sit down.” He gestured to the velvet carpet. Taehyun scrunched up his nose, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Just hurry up and fucking say it.��

“Hmm, should I?” Soobin mused. He folded his hands behind his back, and began to walk around the room again. He inspected his reflection in one of the larger marbles, sighing. “Oh, that’s annoying. I will most definitely have a bruise on my cheek tomorrow.”

By this time, all three of them were glaring daggers at the famous spy. Soobin looked back at them, raising an eyebrow. He chuckled again, walking back up to them.

“Let me tell you, then. The Jeju Choi clan dates back several hundred thousand years. Though we are not as old as some clans, we are old enough to be known for two abilities. However, one person can only ever have one ability. Though some rare ones, like my sister, have two.”

“I didn’t want to know your clan’s history,” Taehyun interrupted. “What’s your plan?”

Soobin tsked. “Patience is a virtue, dear vizier. Be patient.”

Taehyun bared his teeth. “Fine. I’ll entertain you. What does your sister do?”

Soobin paused, before chuckling. “Well, I suppose there is no harm in telling you. Even if you did figure it out, it would be too late.” He leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Her abilities are to curse and to transform. She can transform herself into any shape or person she likes.” Taehyun frowned, about to speak again, but Soobin was already moving on.

Soobin folded his hands together, nudging his foot against the ball of papers on the floor. “These papers will tell you all about the history of our clan in relation to royal families. Over the centuries, we have accumulated a vast amount of wealth from our times in court, all of which my sister and I now own. Which is a lot, I assure you–” he spread his arms, revealing the several silver rings adorning his long fingers– “as you can see. My sister is busy gaining more wealth, and I’m here to complete the most important part of the plan.”

“What’s your plan, then?” Taehyun scoffed. “World domination?”

Soobin’s eyes flashed. “Domination over all the Four Kingdoms.” He leaned forward, violet eyes practically glowing in determination. “Do you know? Each of the crowns hold power. The reason the Four Kingdoms work in harmony is because each Kingdom has their own power. However, being the oldest and most successful, the Gojongja crown is more powerful, which is why its monarch remains at a higher position than the monarchs of the other Kingdoms.” He gave a grin. “If one person were to potentially gain access to all of these crowns… well, they’d be invincible.”

“Well, you’ll never be able to take the Gojongja crown,” Taehyun said, crossing his arms. “You need someone of royal blood to crown you, and you need to be of royal blood yourself to be able to be crowned.”

Soobin stared at him, before laughing. “Dear, Taehyun, please read through your facts before you start to try and find holes in my plan.” The smile dropped from his face, and his eyes flashed maliciously. “I am of royal blood, idiot,” he said. “Why do you think I was only a rank below Beomgyu, in court? My ancestor was the son of one of Gojongja’s Kings.”

Soobin gave a dramatic sigh, staring into the distance. “My clan used to be a favourite in court. We were favourites in all of the courts, once. But then Gojongja turned on us, calling us witches because they thought we had cursed the late King.” Soobin paused, giving a chuckle. “We had cursed him, but that was not the point. We were banished from Gojongja after that. Even the King – my ancestor – was murdered by the citizens, simply for being one of us. But even with this banishment in place, we managed to live in Gojongja still, patiently waiting to strike back.”

“Let me guess, you were resentful for having been banished and vowed to take over everyone?” Taehyun snarked, raising an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That’s a shit reason, by the way.”

Soobin chuckled to himself. “Why, you…” He suddenly leaned downwards, until he was nose-to-nose with the vizier, who didn’t even flinch. His face was hard and cold, completely unlike the smiley, warm Soobin that Taehyun had once thought him to be.

“Look down on my family again and I may have to get rid of you,” Soobin said in a low, dangerous voice. “You’re of no use to me. The only reason you’re still alive is because I want to see you be destroyed as Beomgyu is taken away from you.” He leaned closer, cold breath tickling Taehyun’s ear. “Imagine how much fun that would be, hm? He’ll crumble away, slowly forgetting who you are, and you’ll be powerless to do anything about it. And it won’t matter to me, at all. It’s just one little game within this grand scheme of mine. You’ll be insignificant. To me, and to Beomgyu.”

Taehyun flinched, breathing in sharply. Soobin smiled darkly, leaning away. Yeonjun and Hueningkai looked at him worriedly, neither of them having heard what Soobin said. Judging by Taehyun’s shaken expression, however, they knew it was something bad. Hueningkai reached out to Taehyun, concerned, but the vizier brushed off his hand.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”

Yeonjun glanced at Taehyun, still slightly worried, before glaring at the elder spy.

“Why Gojongja first? Why didn’t you go after one of the smaller Kingdoms, like the Barumin Kingdom or Yeojing Kingdom? Those would have been easier. Why come to Gojongja first?” Yeonjun demanded.

Soobin stared at him for a few moments, eyes twinkling maliciously. “Wow,” he said, in disbelief. “You truly didn’t know?” He laughed to himself. “You're a spy for Aruyeo, but you didn’t notice what happened in…” he trailed off, waving a hand. “Oh, nevermind, nevermind. You don’t need to know.”

“What? What happened in where?” Yeonjun said, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’ll find out later. And to answer your question, Gojongja is the largest, most powerful Kingdom. If I can take this Kingdom, it’ll be a breeze with the others.”

“What about Aruyeo, then? They’re almost as powerful as Gojongja.”

Soobin grinned, violet eyes triumphant and mocking. “What about Aruyeo indeed. I wonder how I would have been able to take over such a Kingdom all by myself. Unless, of course, I had help.” His eyes flashed. “It would be difficult, unless I could transform their mindset.”

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes further. Suddenly he gasped.

Soobin leaned back, pleased. “So you finally understood.”

“You! I can’t believe you– argh!” Yeonjun jabbed his finger in Soobin’s direction angrily, before running his hand through his hair.

"Don't worry. When you and Hueningkai were recruited, it was under good intentions," Soobin said, smiling maliciously. "It's only after your recruitment that things... transformed."

Yeonjun growled, stalking up to Soobin. Though he didn't quite meet Soobin's height, his rage made up for those few last inches. "I swear, I will fucking kill you."

Soobin just gave him a dimpled smile, unruffled by the Aruyeonan's close proximity. “Please try to calm down, Junie. I’m just getting to the best part.” Soobin grinned, violet eyes flashing in the light of the oil lamps. “This is the part where I tell you what my curse is going to do to Beomgyu.”

Yeonjun glared at him, muttering a string of curses under his breath, but stepped away from Soobin.

“Ah, you’re right. Say it, before I cut your leg off,” Taehyun glared, spinning his dagger in his hand.

Soobin ignored him, eyes crinkling. “But if I think about it, I’m not the only one who knows what will happen. Yeonjun here knows what curse I’m talking about, as does Hueningkai. Which brings about the question: should I explain it to you myself? Or…” He tapped a slender finger against his chin, eyes alight with cruel mirth. “Or am I evil enough to make one of the spies say it? How about you, Hueningkai? You’re fond of the King, aren’t you? It would most likely break some part of you to have to detail Beomgyu’s demise.”

At that, Hueningkai looked up at him, gaze sharp. “Don’t you dare make me. If you do, I swear...” He showed Soobin a small glass marble. “This will just kill you, and not any of us. You don’t want to die, do you?”

“Alright, alright, I won’t,” Soobin chuckled. “It’ll sound more dramatic if I tell you, anyway.”

He leaned down in a confidential manner. He paused, and leaned back teasingly. “Hang on, should I tell you or should I not?”

Taehyun’s hand tightened around his dagger, and thorny vines began to appear on the metal floor around Soobin’s feet, growing and snaking up around him, threatening to strike. “Fucking say it before I have to force you to,” he snapped. “And I will force you, you know.” The thorns on the vines thickened, becoming more gnarled and vicious. A threat.

Soobin smirked amusedly. “Fine, I will. Put away your thorns, Jeo.”

Taehyun barely flinched from the use of his surname. “Hurry up with it then, Choi.”

“Alright, calm down. I’m getting to it.” His eyes sparkled, clearly delighted with how irritated Taehyun was getting. He leaned forward again, and Taehyun almost instinctively leaned towards him.

Soobin paused, smiling. “You really want to know, don’t you?”

Taehyun gritted his teeth. “Get on with it.”

“As you wish. There have only been five known cases of this curse throughout the whole of the Four Kingdoms’ history. There’s no official name for it, so most people call it the ‘Beast Curse’, because, well, I’ll get to that later.” Soobin grinned as Taehyun snarled at him again. “Once the curse fully takes place, he will rapidly lose his strength. The symptoms can often be misdiagnosed as Aconitum – which is partly why I took up the name Wolfsbane, by the way – and this misdiagnosis can become fatal for the person. But the one thing which differentiates the original symptoms from Aconitum are his feral days.”

Soobin leaned back, folding his arms. Taehyun almost punched him again, thinking the spy was done speaking, but Soobin continued to talk, this time addressing the Aruyeonans.

“You all know what happens next, don’t you? Would anyone else like to take over the storytelling?”

Yeonjun was white in the face, but he still spat at Soobin viciously. “You already said you’re going to say it,” he said, glaring. “So go ahead and fucking say it. Stop stalling.”

Soobin grinned. “Very well.” Then, the tone of his voice changed, becoming more sinister as his smug grin darkened into something scarier.

“From this point onwards, he’ll become weaker, at an even faster rate than he is right now. He’ll barely be able to speak. There will be no wild outbreaks, but he’ll become so weak he can do nothing but lie down. Breathing can even become difficult for him. This will go on for a few days, and then…” Soobin gave a grin, dimples doing little to soften the malicious edges of his smile. “There’s a reason this is called the Beast Curse. One day, he’ll change. You all know the unexplained monster which is always present in the tales of the Four Kingdoms’ histories, right? That’s the product of our curse. He’ll become that monster. He’ll slowly become insane, losing all parts of himself, until he’s just a beast: a crazy, destructive monster who you can’t stop. And then, his own people kill him. With you, Taehyun,  at the head, giving out this order.”

Taehyun didn’t get angry easily, nor did he get scared easily. But what Soobin said made him the most terrified he’d ever felt. He stared at the spy, eyes wide, as Soobin leaned back, grinning maliciously.

“You…” It was only a single word, but his voice shook.

“After that, you’ll be too broken to do anything. Yeonjun and Hueningkai will be killed by my sister, and I can take over Gojongja. Then…” Soobin shrugged, looking smug. “Yeojing and Barumin will be a breeze.”

Yeonjun cracked his whip angrily. “There’s no way in hell that Hueningkai and I are going to be killed by your stupid sister,” he hissed. “We’ll kill her first.”

Soobin stared at him, eyebrow raised, before slowly bending down in front of Yeonjun, their noses inches apart. “Talk like that about my sister and I might kill you right this second,” he hissed. “No one talks about my sister like that.”

Yeonjun, undeterred, raised an eyebrow. “Ooh, looks like I hit a nerve there. You must care about your sister a lot.”

Soobin rolled his eyes, leaning away. “I could say the same thing about you. You care about your brother a lot, don’t you? You wouldn’t want something to happen to your poor brother, would you?”

In a flash, he was lunging for Hueningkai, but the younger managed to spin out of the way, pinning Soobin against the wall, arm on his throat.

“I can fend for myself,” Hueningkai glared. “And try to threaten my brother like that again and I might kill you right this second.”

Soobin stared at him, before laughing. “Alright, alright. I yield. For now.”

Hueningkai slowly released Soobin, still glaring at him.

“You might want to start saying your goodbyes to Beomgyu, you know, instead of messing around threatening me,” Soobin said, rubbing his neck. “He doesn’t have a lot of time before he turns. And what’s up with you lot harassing me? Along with a bruised jaw, I’ll most likely have marks on my collarbone too.”

“Shut the fuck up, you deserve it,” Yeonjun said.

“Whatever you say,” Soobin grinned. “But I’m going to go now.”

“What? You’re leaving?” Yeonjun scoffed. “Why did you come for a chit-chat if you’re going to leave not even an hour later?”

Soobin smirked, stepping into the shadows. His eyes sparkled bright purple. “Why, to waste more of your time! Your king now has less than five days left!” he called gleefully. “And time is precious, you know!”

Yeonjun let out a yell. “Come back here, you son of a–” he rushed towards the darkened corner, trying to find Soobin and drag him back. But he was only met with an empty wall, the infuriating purple gaze and mocking silvery voice having already disappeared with their owner. Nevertheless, he punched the wall angrily, still muttering curses.

“Yeonjun, just stop,” Hueningkai sighed. “He’ll only show himself if he wants to.”

“That prick,” Yeonjun snarled. “He’s been deceiving us this whole fucking time. I can’t believe he was Wolfsbane.”

“I know right? I– wait Taehyun, are you okay?”

Taehyun had collapsed onto his knees, feeling too weak to stand any longer. Hueningkai rushed over to him, shaking his shoulders. Taehyun moved with the action limply, eyes glazed with fear. He had gone pale, and was shaking.

“Beomgyu…” he whispered, voice thin and wobbly. A tear spilled from the corner of his eye. “Beomgyu…”

It was only a single tear, but Hueningkai’s eyes widened. The Taehyun he knew was calm, and the Taehyun he knew was collected: but this Taehyun was crying. This Taehyun looked so scared and vulnerable that Hueningkai felt like crying himself.

Yeonjun also came up to them, putting his arm around Taehyun. “It’s okay, Taehyun,” he said softly. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Hueningkai nodded, handing Taehyun a handkerchief. “Things will be okay. They will.”

Taehyun smiled shakily, and the Aruyeonans smiled back.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Things will be okay.”

All of them knew that things would not be okay, but no one wanted to admit it out loud.

“You’re okay, Taehyun, right?” Hueningkai asked, concerned.

Taehyun looked up and nodded weakly, smiling a weak smile. The smile on Taehyun’s face worried Hueningkai, because it spoke volumes about how decidedly not okay Taehyun was, but he decided not to push, talking to Yeonjun instead so that Taehyun could gather himself.

“Hey Yeonjun, why were you so mad at Soobin’s sister?”

“Oh, that.” Yeonjun sighed, clenching his fists. “Just thinking about it makes me so mad. Soobin’s sister is impersonating Queen Erajin.”

Hueningkai gaped at Yeonjun. “What?”

“Yeah. That’s why Soobin was going on and on about ‘transforming’, because his sister has transformed into Queen Erajin.”

Hueningkai blinked, mouth hanging open. “Wow. I can’t believe it.” He paused, furrowing his brows. “Actually, I can. That’s why your missions became weirder and weirder.”

“Yeah. I thought it was weird why she made me burn half of Barumin’s crops last year.”

Hueningkai blinked thoughtfully, arm still around Taehyun. Taehyun stared blankly at the floor, leaning against Hueningkai. When the spy began to jostle around, gesturing with his arms as he spoke, Taehyun’s body also moved with the action, the vizier’s expression blank and listless.

“But they can’t have killed Queen Erajin, could they?” Hueningkai asked. “That would have been too suspicious. They have to be keeping her captive somewhere. I don’t know much about the transforming ability, but the thing you are impersonating needs to be nearby, or at least alive, right? So if Soobin’s sister is simply dethroned, Queen Erajin can come back, can’t she?” Hueningkai’s eyes widened as he realised what he just said. Yeonjun stared back, eyes equally as wide.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Hueningkai said.

“I think I am,” Yeonjun said, grinning.

Hueningkai grinned back, and stood up onto his feet. With the sudden loss of his support, Taehyun almost fell onto his face, and Hueningkai quickly crouched back down before the vizier fell over. “Oh, Taehyun, sorry. Here.” He offered his hand to Taehyun, and was surprised when the vizier actually took it.

Once Taehyun was on his feet, Hueningkai placed his hands on his shoulders, trying to bring Taehyun back to the present. “Hey, Taehyun, do you think you’ll be okay getting back to your room yourself?”

“Hmm?” With some difficulty, Taehyun’s gaze focused on Hueningkai, and he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s good. Yeonjun and I need to plan something so we can’t take you back to your room, if that’s okay.”

Taehyun gave a smile, properly engaged in the conversation now. “I’ll be fine,” he said, even though he still looked rather pale. “But what are you planning?”

“We’re going to get back our Kingdom,” Yeonjun said cryptically. “You’ll be fine, right?” he checked.

“Yeah, I will. You go on then.”

Hueningkai nodded, and followed Yeonjun out of the chamber’s door. Taehyun stood there in the middle of the room for a moment longer, staring at the steel wall opposite him.

Hueningkai popped his head into the chamber, tilting his head. “Taehyun? You coming?”

Taehyun snapped out of his trance, brushing away his tears. “Yeah, I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He stared down at his hands, with their barely healed scratches, before walking out of the room.

taglist: @my-moarmy-heart​ @arohabangtan​ @a-fragmented-world​

[babyybitchhhwrites]

Karma x Reader 18+

Title: Feel the Sickness

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 1541

Warnings: bondage, anal hook, slight yandere vibes

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011826

♥♥♥♥

The thing Karma likes about you, really likes about you, is that you're adaptable. Flexible. Some days he’s sure he could approach you with the wildest, most degrading sex act he can conceive and you’d probably agree to it with very little coercion needed on his part. You’re just so damn willing to please no matter the cost to your own ego and that gets his cock straining at attention quicker than anything else he’s yet encountered. It’s undeniably titillating to know he has you wrapped around his finger, perfectly pliant and ductile under his palms like freshly wrought clay. Primed and ready to be molded however he so chooses.

There’s a certain order to these things though and Karma respects that. He knows jumping from zero to one-hundred would only succeed in overwhelming and frightening you, and he simply can’t have that. You’re much too precious a commodity for him to risk chasing you away with his overzealous advances, the thrumming desire that sears his veins every time he can feel your body bowing under him crying out with the urge to truly test your limits. But he’d rather avoid having to drag you back by force, if he can help it, so instead he’s adopted a slow and steady approach he never would’ve seen himself implementing for anyone else up until now. You’re not just any other woman though.

You’re his.

It works, just like he’d known it would, and he’s not at all surprised when you shyly agree to let him try out the shiny new hook he bought special for today. He can see the hesitance etched across your face like creeping shadow, anxiety and nerves and high strung fear bleeding so seamlessly into shy arousal that it makes his stirring cock twitch. The tension curling knots in Karma’s gut only increases to the point of near discomfort when you naively ask where it goes. You’re so delightfully stupid sometimes he could just kiss you.

“In your ass, of course.” He tells you in that placid tone of innocence he’s long since mastered, though it does absolutely nothing to distract from the sharp gleam in his eyes. Predator and prey. There’s no other way to describe this dynamic, the give and take ratio much too unfairly balanced in his favor.

He wouldn’t have had it any other way though and your face pales in response. Of course it does. You’re much too innocent to know what these stainless steel hooks are used for or what their purpose might be when they look like they came straight out of a torture chamber. That’s not an entirely inaccurate description, if he were being honest, but it's not honesty you want. It’s the warmth of his hand on your cheek accompanied by the gentle reassurance that he’ll make it good for you and this, too, works like a charm.

Karma takes his time prepping your tight little sphincter with his fingers, using so much lube to get you ready that it feels like he’s working your pussy loose. You’re nothing if not a receptive victim though and the vulnerable, undulating groans that slip from your mouth have him leaking precum all across the inside of his underwear in a matter of minutes. But with your wrists bound together and secured to the foot of the bed, you have no hope of escaping his persistent attention. Helpless and entirely at his mercy, of which he has very little.

Even knowing that you’d still agreed to this, given him your consent, and now your pitifully clenching asshole was paying the price. He could have played with you like that for days, perfectly content just to watch you squirm as your greedy ass sucked in three of his fingers straight down to the knuckle and he toyed with the notion of working his whole fist inside you. That simply wouldn’t do though. It was still much too soon.

He finally pulls from your body a small eternity later with a sticky wet squelch that seems to reverberate off the walls. You shudder at the sound, no doubt embarrassed by the unseemly noises of your own body, but it’s nothing compared to how you absolutely shake when he slides the hook into you. One torturous fraction at a time, Karma makes sure the bulbous tip breaches the puffy ring of your asshole in daunting slow motion until it finally pops past the muscle in the most literal sense. He can see the exact moment it enters you reflected in the way every muscle and tendon down your back jolts, lurching as if you’d been struck.

That’s not a bad idea, actually, but he decides to shelf it for the time being.

“How does that feel, darling? Even better than my fingers?”

Your only response is a frazzled, gasping whimper that makes his balls tighten. God, he’s going to wreck you. Put the pieces back together and then wreck you again, just because he can, and the further he pushes the curved hook into your anus the more he can see your body tensing up.

The sloppy mess of lube coating your insides does its job though and no matter how hard your contracting passage bears down on the unrelenting steel, trying to stop it from reaching any further into your guts, there’s hardly any resistance at all. It makes him wonder if he really could fit his whole fist inside you, the thought alone making his breath come harder. Faster.

Within moments the simple torture device slides right home, fitting snuggly between your ass cheeks, and Karma can hardly believe how how good you look like this. Kneeling at the foot of his bed with your bound hands stretched taut in front of you. The beading perspiration on your flushed skin almost seems to glisten in the light and you start at his touch when he reaches out to caress your trembling thigh, making him sigh out a quiet groan of malicious pleasure. He’d never thought such perfection could exist in this screwed up world and yet here you are. A beautiful, willing sacrifice to his sadistic perversions.

He gives you time to adjust to the sensation of being penetrated by unforgiving metal while he ties a neat little knot into the hook’s o-ring with a length of twine he prepared beforehand. It seems like it's taking everything you have to maintain your composure but that thin facade breaks down when he grabs a tight fistful of your hair and yanks your head straight back.

Breathlessly keening, you bend underneath his hands like an obligingly obedient pawn but he can see the helpless fear clawing at your hot face as clear as day. It’s such an attractive look on you, and he offers quiet praise meant for your ears only as he secures thin rope around the hair gathered in his fist. A messy, unyieldingly tight ponytail that keeps your head up and your back arched, forcing you to jutt your ass in the air like a bitch in heat. Effectively immobilized, unless you want the hook to forcibly stretch your sphincter out some more.

So simple and devious. He’d never expected such a benign implement to be so effective and yet Karma simply couldn’t argue the results. You looked exquisite and as ripe for the taking as any forbidden fruit. His very own kryptonite in the flesh, sweat slick and panting like you couldn’t quite get your breathing under control. He hadn’t even really begun yet though. There was still so much he wanted to do to you, so many different things he wanted to try out, and you already looked this fucked out?

It was sickeningly adorable.

Softly humming to catch your attention, Karma reaches into his pocket and pulls out the little bullet vibrator he’d neglected to mention earlier. He makes sure you can clearly see it with nothing more than a sidelong glance and he laughs when true panic flashes across your expression at the sight of it. Just like a little lamb to the slaughter. So oblivious and trusting.

There was absolutely nothing you could do to squirm away from him now that you were already fastened into place though and both of you knew that. You, perhaps more than him, if the faltering moan that erupts from your mouth is any indication.

“These hooks accomplish a few different things,” He tells you as casually as if he were discussing the weather. Cloudy with a ninety percent chance of rain. Zero percent chance that someone would come calling at the door and ruin his fun. “But posture training is one of the most important. I can’t wait to see how long you can last like this!”

The red vibrator buzzes to life in his hand with a simple twist and you shudder. Wince when the involuntary action makes the rounded end of the hook dig into your upper wall, barely stretching it further open but it's enough to notice. You quickly adjust your pose, tracking Karma with wide, blown out eyes as he shifts behind you and out of sight.

He’s true to his word and you, oh, you are the self flagellating martyr laid bare at his altar.

[simsadventures]

After All This Time

Summary: You’re Steve’s sister, who fought with him and Bucky during the war, but one day after Bucky’s death, you disappear. Steve believes it’s because your hidden feelings for Bucky. Almost 80 years later, both men see someone long lost from their pasts, and the welcome is not as warm as they both would like.

Warnings: angst, violence, swearing, did I mention angst?

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Steve x platonic!sister!Reader

Word Count: 2403

A/N: So this is my first ever request, so be patient with me, please. The full length request is here: Bucky x reader. Where the avengers are sent to intrude destruction of hydra and shield bases and when they find out who has been doing it they are horrified to see that it is Steve’s little sister who they were forced to leave behind when they went to war. (Y/n went to hydra with the goal being to kill her brother and Bucky for abandoning her and forgetting her)

I changed the request a little, hope the nonnie who requested it is ok with that. I listened to this song while writing it, so here you go. Let me know what you guys think. I might have made a mistake with some of the history/geography things, so feel free to call me out. Love you all so so much.

Masterlist

Steve knew his mission. It was actually fairly easy, easier than the last few missions he had to endure. Buildings associated with both HYDRA and SHIELD were being blown up almost every day. Although neither of the organisations existed anymore, the person or the agency behind these attacks could have easily destroyed valuable material, crucial for Earth’s further development. Moreover, whoever was doing was being reckless and hurt a large number of people in the process.

It’s been going on for almost two weeks. When the first blew up, nobody really cared, thinking it was a coincidence. But by the end of week one, 5 facilities were destroyed. Nobody really cared about the buildings as such, even though they could still serve some purpose in the future, reconstructing them into inhabitable properties.

It was the fifth one in a row which cause the biggest fuss because it was precisely that one in which a few civilians were injured. None of them fatally, but that didn’t matter to the Avengers. Steve and Bucky decided that they could take whoever was doing it on their own, taking a few days away from the whole team to recharge and catch some assholes in the process.

Because they didn’t have any idea who could be behind something like that, destroying buildings of agencies working in direct opposition to each other, they had to calculate their next move. There have been two mishaps, once they thought the destroyers would come to Siberia, HYDRA base near Omsk, but they later found out the people actually blew up HYDRA’s another base, in Kazakhstan. Steve and Bucky knew that SHIELD was next because that has been the pattern for all of the attacks. One HYDRA. One SHIELD. And repeat. But they couldn’t catch them there either.

Their next best guess, based on the trajectory of the attacks, which were all situated in Eastern Europe now, that they wouldn’t want to stray too far from that. There was one particular hidden HYDRA base that Bucky liked for the attack. It wasn’t the best-known location, but the attackers proved that they knew a lot about hidden places. This one was in Georgia, in the Northwest region, because it was excellent political placement. It was extremely close to Russia, but the Georgian government has been more lenient ever since its independence. And because there were still two different sides of revolutionaries fighting against each other, giving HYDRA a perfect hiding place in the midst of it all.

Steve and Bucky were laying on a hilltop, hidden by a bunch of firs, and looking down at the base. It looked just like any bunker, but at a closer look, one realised that it must be massive, because of the door and the construction itself.

They felt like it was a dead-end after another half day, and were close to giving up and telling the rest of the team to come up with a different strategy. But then, from the corner of Bucky’s eye, he saw careful movement. The whole team thought that it must have been at least another team of people, being able to pull something as big as this mission.

But Bucky could see only one, slim person, and from the movement of them, he assumed it must have been a woman. Bucky nudged Steve lightly, and he immediately gave his full attention to the target. They both watched the woman nearing the bunker, but then, as if she could see them, she turned around, faced the hill and crossed her arms.

The men shared a confused look but stayed hidden. They weren’t sure if the girl could really see them or if she was waiting on somebody, just coincidentally turning in the direction of their hideout.

“You know, I can see you, boys. And I’m pretty sure the serums in your bodies are making you hear me. So what do you say, will you come down or should I go up to you?”

As soon as she spoke up, the blood froze in both Bucky’s and Steve’s bodies. They knew that voice, and they both knew it intimately. But it couldn’t have been. No. You were supposed to be dead a long time now. You were supposed to have a normal life and then died peacefully. This wasn’t possible. It was some kind of trick to lure them both out. And by the look on Steve’s face, it was working.

Bucky wanted to stop his friend, but he was in too much shock himself to be able to move. They told him you were dead, that they killed you because he misbehaved.

Steve was the first one down the hill, walking cautiously with his shield in front of him, but fast enough that had there been any mine, he would’ve blown up. But he didn’t care about any of it. If it was right, and he prayed to God every step he took closer to you, that it was, he would’ve been the happiest man on Earth. His little sister.

You were one of the few women admitted in the US Army, the lack of volunteers made the government take few skilled women as well. You always like to fight, being more a guy than Steve used to be pre-serum. You ran around with him and Bucky, always bugging them and tailing them, making your mother sick with worry. You used to be grounded so much that Steve actually thought that you’d never see anything else than the school.

It was a few days after Bucky fell off the wagon that you disappeared, and because Steve knew about your crush on his best friend, he never made too much of it. You were tired and heartbroken, losing who you called the love of your life, even if Bucky didn’t know anything about it. He assumer that you finally had enough left for good for Brooklyn, and you were safe. The whole war was so chaotic that he didn’t really have the time to look into it. And when he woke up, he just assumed you died alongside your husband, or whatever, and that you had a happy life.

But here you were, clear as day.

“What is it, big bro, you look as if you saw a ghost?” You smirked at him, and he took in your appearance entirely. Your hair was much longer than you used to keep it in the 40s, and the right side of your skull was hairless. At a closer look, he could see a shining metal covering where should have been your bone.

“Y/N, what, what are you doing here?” He stuttered, and he could hear someone coming behind him, realising that it’s Bucky, finally getting up and running down to meet you. The look on his face was no less cautious than Steve’s, but a great sorrow was displayed alongside it.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Stevie? I’m making the world a better place, without HYDRA and Shield,” you said, your face and voice completely void of emotions. Steve wanted to run to you and pull you into a bear hug, but the hand on your holster was telling him that it wouldn’t be the best idea he had.

“What happened to you? I thought you left the war and led a happy life. I went into the ice, knowing that you were taken care of.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “You’ve always been the naive one, Stevie. The day I “left”, I was abducted by HYDRA. You were their target, the serum and all of that, but because they couldn’t get to you, they got me. And oh boy, did they have their fun with me. They trained the Winter Soldier and me here side by side, and we were created as a deadly duo, at first. Right, Soldier?” You turned your attention to Bucky this time, and so did Steve, and he could see the hurting all over Bucky’s face.

“Why, why didn’t you tell me when you woke up that my sister was still held captive, Bucky?” Steve asked with disbelief laced in his voice.

Bucky dropped his head between his shoulders, breathing heavily, trying to not let the situation get the better of him. He needed to stay calm and controlled.

“Because they told me she was dead,” Bucky whispered, and if the two people in front of him weren’t superhumans, they would have no chance catching what he said.

“Why are the two of you so trusting, huh? One trusts his instinct to the fault, and the other trusts the organisation making a monster out of him. Wow, you two are extremely stupid, I never realised this.”

Steve and Bucky stayed quiet, knowing that you were right. They automatically believed that you were either safe or dead and moved on, never looking into it.

“That Steve believed such a thing, I’m not surprised. Pissed, sure, but not surprised. But you Bucky? After all, we’ve been through together? How could you just forget all about me so easily?”

You wanted to stay strong, but your voice betrayed you. The little crack made both men look up to you. Bucky could see tears welling up in your eyes, despite you trying to keep your game face on.

“I never forgot, doll. I’ve been thinking about you every single day! They took you away from me, and I never forgave myself for it!” He was screaming now, tears streaming down his face. He always thought that your death was his fault. That he lost you because he was disobedient. Hydra came in after a failed mission, grabbing you by the neck and dragging you away from him. He was in his Winter Soldier mode, he couldn’t feel much, but he knew you were important to him. And when they came back without you, they told him that you were dead because of him. That his failing resulted in your death.

“They did things to me that I never dreamed off in my worst nightmares! And every night I hoped you would remember me and would come barging in the door, saving me. I wasn’t strong enough without you, and the second they realised it, I was just a test bunny for them. All of the things they needed for the new generations of Winter Soldiers, they tested on me.” You were now crying as well, letting your emotions run for the first time in a while.

Steve was so confused that his brows couldn’t furrow any more. He was looking between the two of you, both crying and shaking with all the bottled up emotions.

“They tried to breed us, you know, Stevie? They told us we would be the perfect specimen, so they had us out of the Winter Soldier mode for a while, letting us be humans and breed. But when it wouldn’t happen for months, they used some kind of chemicals to prevent us from ever running away and trying on our own.”

“And we fell in love during those time,” Bucky whispered sadly.

“Obviously not enough for you to fight for me,” you said bitterly and turned around from them, wiping your tears away.

“You were the two I could always count on, or at least I thought so, and when I realised that I was all alone, it broke me. I got free from Hydra and roamed the Earth, trying to do some good with the powers I acquired. But then I saw you in New York, Steve, fighting the alien ships, all glorious and famous. And then Germany happened, and I realised that both of you were alive and that neither of you ever looked for me.

So I made a straightforward plan, destroying both the agency that built me and the one that created you, Steve. I hope they would send both of you, so we could have some fun one last time.”

Bucky made a step towards you, but you quickly pulled out a little device, which looked like a detonator. Neither of you stood close enough to the bunker for the explosion to hurt you, but the boys still didn’t want to risk anything.

“I wanted to see you one last time. I thought I’d kill us all, but seeing the two of you,” you scoffed a little at your own emotions, “I can’t do that. I love you two too much, I might be a ruthless killer, but I can’t hurt my boys, however stupid they are.”

“What are you talking about, Y/N? Don’t talk about death when we just found you.” Steve pleaded with you, his face constricted in pain.

You smiled and took the few steps that were between you and hugged him tightly. “I’m in so much pain, Stevie, and no matter what, it will never go away. The things they did to me and the things that I did… I can’t move on. But I love you, even if I hated you for the longest time. Be brave and do good, big brother.” You whispered against his cheek and kissed him lightly.

You then stepped away and looked at Bucky, who looked like he might blow up from all the tension in his body.

“You. Forgive yourself for everything. You are a good guy in the core, I know that for a fact. I’ve always loved you even if I blamed you for a lot that happened to me. I’m sorry, James. You’ll be fine, you got that punk right here, and you two can tackle anything that will come your way.”

You kissed his lips, remembering the feeling of his plump lips against yours. You were meant to be, but the fate hated the two of you and didn’t want to let you be happy.

You smiled at them sadly, and before they could react, you sprinted towards the bunker and pushed the button in your hand, and for a split second, you finely felt free.

The scene left behind you was heartbreaking. Both men were crying hysterically on their knees, flames licking around them, but they didn’t see nor feel them. They just felt the anguish inside their souls, losing you once again. They both hoped that a new era was starting, the three of you together again, but it was ripped away from them again, and this time, there was no turning back.

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten​ @sebbbystaaan​ @paradisiacalsparks​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @owlyannah​ @lassini​ @s-trawberryv-eins​

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @lumar014​ @ptrs-prkrs​

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone​ @sasbb23​ @p8tn0lish​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @waiting4inspiration​ @caswinchester2000​ @mogaruke​

[things2mustdo]

I doubt anyone needs to be reminded that the media is rotten to the core; even the most reluctant and closed-minded people are accepting this as a given now. But despite the media being widely condemned nowadays (my special thanks to Germans for bringing the word “Lügenpresse” back), few people know or understand what’s really going on in the journalistic kitchens, where the foul slop of lies that people are fed every day is cooked up. However, there is always a way in—through purposeful infiltration or, in my case, by accident.

I have an old friend—let’s call him Sven—whom I always knew as a kind-hearted and sincere man. However, these traits are also coupled with always assuming the best of people and being rather naive. Due to this, he keeps ending up in awkward and sometimes dangerous situations. One of them turned out to be a short stint as a journalist for a popular online newspaper. He barely maintained contact during his employment and eventually went completely off the grid. In about a month, he resurfaced a changed man, and not for the better. As he explained, he quit the job and then shut himself in for a while, armed with nothing but alcohol, to cope with the depression working as a journalist gave him.

Now, this probably sounds very soft to many of you, including myself. Men don’t sink into depressions or try to drink themselves out of problems. While I granted my friend the clemency of explaining his failures to him, I also recognized the usefulness of his experience and started questioning him about what he saw and heard at the job. I will relay his findings below; however, I will not disclose his true name or the name of his employer—given the “free” country we live in, this can land him in very hot water.

Whoever pays you, owns you

Sven joined the ranks of journalists to tell people the truth. To his credit, he believed he would be doing exactly that. His first assignment sounded so simple, after all—talk to a person, record the conversation, write an article, publish it. The reality turned out to be diametrically different—after our fresh-baked journalist returned from his first interview, he was immediately ordered to transcribe the recording and email it to the content manager. Half an hour later Sven received a heavily edited version of the transcript, with the parts he considered most crucial replaced with meaningless buzzwords or removed completely. When he went to the manager to voice his indignation, the manager simply replied: “This man did not pay us for an article that would disparage him. Get back to your desk.”

This was far from the only case of Sven witnessing how much pull money has in journalism. His numerous colleagues almost never produced independent content—they were too busy publishing one paid article after another. When Sven asked whether these articles should be marked as sponsored, the only reply he got was a bitter laugh. Very often the content manager would come over to his desk and say something along the lines of “Do you know the guy you are writing about is a close friend of our boss? Do not screw this article up.” Sven was also surprised to see that many interviewees (usually politicians) would not even bother to talk to him, instead referring him to their secretaries or assistants. One of them even went as far as to hand him a pre-written speech, tell him to work with it and walk away.

However, our Sven also happens to possess a burning sense of justice, which has several times led him to ignore the “recommendations” his content manager gave him, deviate from the official story and allow small snippets of truth to make their way into public view. For each of such occurrences he was called to the manager’s room, given a strict admonishment and had his paycheck for the month reduced. Any “unsanctioned” things that he wrote were quickly edited away afterwards—even if the article had already been read by thousands of people. And his was supposed to be a “neutral and objective” media outlet!

Standards? Never heard of ’em.

It was a big shock for Sven when he finally realized that his employers were beings without conscience who whored themselves out to the highest bidder. It was an even bigger shock when he discovered how nonchalantly his colleagues treated their responsibilities. Investigative journalists relied on information they got from Google searches and Twitter posts, editors and sub-editors used rumors and hearsay to write scathing op-eds, website managers just posted any content that caught their fancy as long as they could come up with a flashy enough headline for it to attract people. Fact-checking was almost unheard of, unless someone specifically paid for it.

When it came to choosing topics and writing articles, the guideline for the entire establishment was simple: do not make the people angry. Not the regular people, mind you—those were not even considered human beings, just a faceless mass that one threw articles at and got pageviews and money in return. No, the label “people” was reserved for people who mattered. This included representatives of the powers that be, well-known public figures, moneybags with fingers in the political pie and, of course, personal buddies of the outlet’s owner.

These were to be protected, coddled and praised at all costs, while everyone else was fair game. Needless to say, politics held as much sway in the outlet as money did—whenever something noteworthy happened, “protectors of truth and objectivity” immediately went to work spinning the events in a way desirable for those holding their leashes. Hit pieces against political opponents and undesirables were churned out, smokescreens were cast, facts were omitted, denied and misinterpreted. Sven confessed to me later that the day his outlet covered the parliamentary elections was the first day in his life when he spent the entire evening drinking. Journalistic ethics, a term that the media loves throwing left and right, turned out to be nothing but hot air.

In the media omelet, you are an egg

The title says it all. For top dogs in the media business, a rank-and-file worker is not just a pawn—he is a condom. Contrary to what many people think, a typical journalist’s existence is quite pathetic: underpaid, undervalued, thankless and constantly bossed around. Staff turnover in the “kitchen” is very high, and not because people are getting promoted. In this field, the term “veteran employee” frequently means a poor sod who has no alternatives and cannot quit.

According to Sven, plenty of his colleagues worked only for the sake of getting their paycheck, which explains their negligence. Grey faces, pinched mouths, shifty eyes and sour attitudes—whatever it takes to get through the day. In addition, the higher-ups avoided any responsibility for the published content: whenever an angry reader called the office and complained about an article, the guy who wrote it was immediately thrown under the bus, even if his work was reviewed and approved by the management before publication. After all, what does it take to find another office drone with half-decent writing skills?

However, Sven also describes those of his coworkers who enjoyed their job. They arrived at the office with a spring in their step, a smile snaking across their faces and a mischievous glint in their eyes. These were the “talented” favorites of the outlet’s boss—unfeeling, cold assholes who would sell their own mothers for a juicy piece of gossip that they would later smear all over the website. Whenever they got a chance to write a hit piece, spread a nasty rumor or ruin someone’s life, one could almost see them light up from within. Remember all these smug, holier-than-thou, oh-so-intellectual articles churned out by rags like Salon, Dagens Nyheter and Huffington Post? You can bet your pinky finger they were (and are) written by these people. Which brings us to the next topic.

No wrongthink allowed

As you have probably noticed long ago, the media field is a huge and accommodating Petri dish for all varieties of Kulturbolschewismus. In Sven’s case, it wasn’t just a fear-based company policy of snitching and self-censorship, but an actual agenda at work. He told me there was a flowchart hanging in the newsroom explaining what to do when reporting crimes and incidents. It went something like this: “Was the perpetrator native (white)? Y = report in detail, amplify, N = gloss the details over, downplay.”

Sven wrote an article about a national holiday once, but his content manager refused to approve it for publishing due to it being “too patriotic,” advising him instead to “write more inclusively about minorities’ participation in the festival.” Anything praising the country and its indigenous inhabitants was undesirable and omitted whenever possible, while any piece that brimmed with self-hate, praised inhabitants of other (read: African and Muslim) countries or attacked the natives and their way of life was a big hit and flew through approval like a bird.

Needless to say, the outlet’s newsroom was crammed full of women, their pet cucks and, of course, Jews. The former enjoyed absolute power regardless of their position—a simple complaint to HR was enough to fire anyone, no proof required. The cucks, represented by twig-armed, piercing-laden, wispy-bearded creatures in Che Guevara shirts, were very pleased with the way things were going, sipping lattes and snitching to HR on those who expressed ideas incompatible with the narrative. Jews were in their native element in the newsroom, doing their usual “arrogant intellectual” schtick and getting promotions out of nowhere. The majority of articles bashing natives, their culture and values came from them, as later study of the newspaper’s website showed me.

Liars for hire

So, to sum it all up: the media is not composed of good but misguided people, as many still think. On the contrary, it is a very purposeful and self-aware entity that positions itself somewhere between an unscrupulous opportunist and a loyal lapdog of the state. At best, it is faux-patriotic (“such a wonderful country we have, let’s invite more immigrants!”), while at worst, it is openly hostile towards the indigenous population of the country it exists in.

Moreover, it allows for consolidation and self-affirmation of globalist forces—the traitorous governments, the world Jewry, the multinationals, the entertainment industry and the like—against the increasingly disenfranchised and declining native population. And last but not least, the media is complicit in crimes committed in the West by non-White immigrants due to purposeful obfuscation of them and, if that fails, rabble-rousing to pressure the courts into letting the criminals off scot-free. To me, the latter reason alone is enough to send all the journalists and their owners to the gibbet.

The bottom line is to always remember that the media is not your friend in any way, shape or form, even if its lowest tier operatives fit the description of hapless victims rather than nation-wrecking enemies. The media must be opposed, exposed and boycotted at every turn until it starts bleeding money and choking on its own venom.

Read More: Is Washington Post Writer Adam Taylor A Shill Or Part Of Something Larger?

While reading  Roosh’s article about Adam Taylor and the Washington Post, I noticed quite a few things I would like to share with people here. The direct link between Adam Taylor and the Radio Free excerpt is an anomaly. Such blatant copying is a very rare thing to occur because it gives away a possible collusion between entities.

Looking for these open relationships is long and hard. The better way to analyze  the relations and motivations of certain publishers, policy makers and other manipulators  is to study the various themes they put out and where these themes repeat. While Roosh  might assume that Adam Taylor is the paid shill by himself, I’ve noticed that his writing changes to whoever publishes it. Therefore the Washington Post Worldviews section may be the one that is parroting US State Department themes not just Adam Taylor.

As is shown in Roosh’s article, the similarities between Adam Taylor’s piece and Radio Free Europe are quite telling. It is a possibility that it is a coincidence but a small one. People that try to influence public opinion go to great lengths to ensure things like this do not happen which is why I’m assuming that Adam Taylor is  part of larger machine and not a shill by himself.

Looking back at Adam Taylor’s writing for the Huffington Post, he wrote fluff pieces about gay dogs and other mass consumption items for that audience. His writing about geopolitical intrigue only takes the current form when he begins writing for the Washington Post. All his articles are the Who’s Who of what the US State Department doesn’t like. The roster includes Russia, China, Venezuela, Syria, and Zimbabwe. He writes nothing critical of any American allies.

Could this mean that his change in format indicate that someone turned him? I doubt it. Compare his work at the Washington Post to the rest of the “world views” section there, his writing is merely a contribution to a giant echo chamber and not unique to him.

As I said earlier, it’s very rare for open evidence of collusion such as the similar quotations to present themselves. A better technique to discern propaganda and collusion is to analyze trends and themes.You should look for such things as what the work attempts to convey, does it try to get you to think or act in a certain way, and does it try to get you to disregard other things.

In the Adam Taylor case, the pattern changes significantly from the Huffington Post to the Washington Post. You can also apply this trend analysis to pretty much any author. You can even apply to the contributors here at  Return of Kings and see what you get. Do the trends indicate that the publisher may dictate what the writers write about? Do the trends indicate whether or not the writers have freedom to write about whatever they want? To help you readers out on this exercise I’ll inform you there were two articles I did at the direction of the publisher. They were my article for fat shaming week and my article for #backtothekitchen.  Feel free to comment on any other trends you might notice and if they do not line up with the “about” page.

[antique-teacups]

Look Beyond the Lens, pt. 2

Hey kids, I finally wrote part two. I actually worked on it off and on for the past couple of weeks. I struggled with where I wanted it to go. Hope you enjoy it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the weeks that followed, Y/N iced David out. It was more than just ignoring his phone calls. It was skipping out on group hangouts, leaving as soon as he arrived, removing herself from his social media presence. Practically scrubbing him out of her orbit. It was the whole nine yards. If the video didn’t exist, no one would have connected the two. Suddenly the tundra of the Arctic Circle seemed more welcoming than being in the presence of the two.

The tension between the two seeped into the group, especially Matt. Y/N didn’t give Matt an ultimatum, but knew if he chose David, that was answer enough. Matt understood where she was coming from but also stood at odds with it in a sense. Some of the group sided with David, while others choose Y/N’s side. The group faced a great divide, one that she felt guilty and responsible for. Was it her place to divide people who stood for one another before she came into the picture?

“Matt, he’s trying to buy my forgiveness, which I refuse to give. I am not sure David even understands the magnitude of what he did. He brushed it off like he could fix with a signature on some extravagant gift.”

“I know that, I see everything he’s doing. But you must give the guy a chance to make up for it. You aren’t even giving him room to speak. I guess I just don’t understand that part.” Matt explained, a sorry look in his eye. “I am not saying that you two need to go frolicking in some field holding hands, I am just saying this is effecting everyone. I understand you’re hurt and angry about losing your job, but what about my relationship with all these people? My relationship with you?”

“I never meant to make you feel like you had to play mediator between us. I never meant for it to become this battle either. I know these people are your friends, some of them are mine too. I guess I just…I don’t know what I expected honestly.” You explain, looking Matt in the eyes. Trying to make him understand was difficult. You wanted to blame the entire thing on David, paint him the bad guy.

He was misguided in his choice to put that clip up, that much you knew. David showed loyalty to those he loved. He was someone to put his neck out there, no matter what it might cost him. Matt displayed the same quality. Matt was warm and loving. Seemingly reading your mind without much effort.

“Can I talk to him? Friend to friend. I want to fix this if I can. I know that your job was really important to you. But I also know David is sorry. Trust me, between me and Natalie, he has gotten an ear full. Sometimes people do things without thinking about what might happen, which is exactly what he did. Heath and Zane, you’ve forgiven them. I mean, Heath did bribe you, which you accepted. Why can’t you let David?” Matt questioned. He was really trying to unite the entire group again.

You didn’t know how hard this was for him, to be stuck between everyone. He felt that either way he leaned he was making a mistake. All of these people were his family, you especially. He didn’t want to push you to forgive David but he also wasn’t sure if he could survive being stuck in the middle.

“I can’t have you fighting my battle, Matt. I’ll talk to him myself. This is between David and I, right? It should have never of seeped into dividing the group. It also wasn’t my place to put you between us, which I am sorry for.” You said, feeling a bit ashamed.

“I know that was never your intention. I know you would never make me choose, but I am worried that if this goes on much longer, it will be expected of me.” Matt relented.

“Matt, I’ll meet him for coffee or something and talk about everything, I promise. I owe it you. I owe it to myself. I love you and I’m sorry for not seeing what kind of situation I was putting you in.”

Matt eyed you up, “Do you want me to go with?”

“I think I can handle this one along, bub.” You cheeked, tossing a wink in Matt’s direction. Nervousness settled in your chest. David was hard to understand sometimes, his motivate was muddy and his reaction was malicious, but you owed it to Matt. The two of you agreed to meet at a small café on the north side of LA. It was small and quiet, a place with a bit more privacy than a bustling Starbucks.

The entire drive, you tried to think of what you might possibly say, of what David might say. Your nervousness grew and quelled like the ocean. You never meant for this to snowball, the entire thing felt rather naïve. The amount of hurt and shame you felt from losing your job was exponential, but in time diminished. Yet, you couldn’t forgive David. He was trying to win you back over with gifts and didn’t feel bad. Forgiveness rested just beyond his reach if he were willing to admit he was in the wrong.

Whipping your car into a vacant spot, you scoure the parking lot for David’s Tesla. Not seeing it, you figure he’s just running a bit behind schedule. Hoping out of your car, you head inside to grab a table and wait. Surprisingly enough, David’s waiting in line to order. He wears his emotions on his face, his mind clearly dominated by nerves.

“Hey, I didn’t see your car.” You mention.

“I had Natalie drop me off. I figured if this goes horribly, my punishment is walking home.” David jokes, his eyes settling anywhere but your face.

You chuckle, “So optimistic Dobrik. Decide on something to get yet?” You wanted to keep the conversation light till you sat down. There were far to many people in ear shot for you to risk saying to much. Once the conversation started you figured they would all be listening in for bits.

David looks at you with confusion written on his face, “I really only drink Starbucks and that’s pretty rare.”

“If it’s cool, I’ll wing man you and order for both of us.” You wanted to try and smooth this over so if it meant swallowing your pride, so be it.

“Only if you let me pay.”

“I think you owe me.”

“Right for the throat.” David chuckles, a sheepish look on his face. You didn’t mean to let it slip but it just came out. While you two waited for drinks you tried to keep the conversation light and banter to a minimum. You didn’t want him to think he was totally off the hook. You weren’t yet extending an olive branch.

David led you a table near the back of the shop by the windows. The sun shone through the window brightly, glaring off the shiny table to your eyes. Your side facing the window was warmed instantly, yet you could feel the chill of anxiety run through you. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, before you started.

“I guess I need to know why. Why you were so naive and blatantly ignored my request. That’s the part I cannot wrap my head around. You ruined one of the best things I had going for me.” You said, a mixture of anger and hurt painting your features.

Guilt swarmed in David’s eyes and for a moment you wanted to console him. Then you remembered who put you in this situation.

“Honestly, I am not sure why. I knew you were worried about what might happen, but I thought maybe it you were blowing it out of proportion. It couldn’t possible end with you jobless and me the biggest asshole around.”

“We both know that’s one weak excuse. David, do you still not see the capacity of what you’ve done? Because of us, the group sits at odds like some middle school playground fight. My relationship with Matt is strained. I lost my job. Do I need keep going? You really weren’t thinking. You have people to fall back on, brand deals, people want you. I’ve got nothing but my writing. I do not exist in the same public eye you do, I knew what might happen. I choose to intervene because no one else was. I did the right thing and got fucked over.” You sternly state, looking him right in the eyes. You wanted him to see all things you couldn’t say, like how you cried because of him, for him.

“Y/N, do you write because you enjoy it or because it gives you purpose?” David inquires.

Visibly you are taken back, “I write because there are parts of me that never feel real expect when I’m writing. I can fabricate something to transport people. I am the words at the same I’m not. What does this have to do with anything?” David has an expression that’s unreadable. Settling somewhere between contemplation and sadness, his brows deepen, and his smile lessens.

“When I started YouTube, it was purely because I loved creating videos. That was entire motivation behind it, that was my purpose. I recognize that I should be endlessly thankful for the life I have, the opportunities I’ve gotten. Yet, at the same time, I almost wish I could revert back to that old version of me.”

“I’m confused what this…”

“I am only important when I can offer something to people, when my personality fix whatever algorithm their trying to use. My identity is my YouTube videos. Yet, I see myself as more. Most people see me as a dollar sign. I read a lot of your writing was entranced. I couldn’t believe that I knew this incredible writer who could turn a simple scene into wonderland. This jealousy sparked in my chest.

“I felt wronged by the industry. I could never be on that level. I think the primal part of my brain took over when the clip saved to my memory card. My jealous burned bright and I posted it for an entirely wrong reason. I wanted to see if you could survive like me. If I could survive like you.”

“You cannot actually think that David,” you glossed right over the rest of it. “People love you because of your heart, your humor, your persistence. No one in the group sees you as a dollar sign. I do not see you as a dollar sign.”

David practically rolls his eyes, “I ruin your career and you end up consoling me.”

“And?”

“Shouldn’t you be screaming, telling me how terrible I am?”

“What would that fix? I just want this over with. I love Matt and this is straining our relationship. I had an entire speech about how much of an asshole you are, were, but it seems fabricated. Mostly, I want you to know that what you did really hurt me. I knew we weren’t close but I didn’t expect you stab me right in the back like that. If you thought I was such a good writer, why did you ruin a chance I had at making it.”

“I know, what did was seriously fucked up. But if you would’ve answered my calls, you would have known. I had a chat with the directors, greased some palms, and you have your spot back. Granted, they said it’s on a probationary basis, but they should be lucky to have you back. I want to spend however long it takes making it up to you. I was blinded by jealously because I want what you have. I want my art to speak for me but still be my own person. Which, is why I would like to ask for your help.”

You couldn’t help but feel elated, “It was never a bribe, it was my job back. Is the bribe me helping you?”

“No, you helping me is on the premise that you’ll help me publish local youth. You seem like the kind of person will follow, I seem like the kind of person see dollar signs from.”

“David, I never saw a dollar sign from you. I saw David and I saw my friend. I see my friend here today. This is the guy who world needs to see. I know I still need to work on getting over this, but we are heading in the right direction.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“And thank you David, for proving both of us wrong. You’re a great guy, one I would love to help.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist:

@winchestergirl907​

[iwritefanficion]

Can you do a Roman jealousy smut fic?

Of course my dear! I think I’m getting better at this stuff. It may be a little bit different than what you were expecting but here you are! Also because you didn’t put a ship I’m going to assume you wanted x reader. 

Warnings: Smut, swearing. 

~

The day had been going well, so, so well. The two of you were having a lovely time together. It was date night, so Roman took you to a fantastic restaurant with wonderful food, delightful wine, and so much class one could feel like they were being executed in the French Revolution just by entering the place.

Like any date with Roman, it hadn’t ended there. He took you for a walk in a nearby park, stunning, especially late at night. The evening was gorgeous, clear sky so the stars shined above. It wasn’t chilly but Roman still gave you his jacket because that’s just who he was. 

Then everything went to shit. 

Your ex, who had just happened to see you, decided to make himself invited to your date. It was in the middle of a public park, so you couldn’t make a scene without drawing unwanted attention. 

Your relationship with him did not end well, especially after you found out he was hooking up with other girls on the side. You had then blocked him on all social media and effectively cut him out of your life. He did try to talk to you- for the first month or so anyway but after being ignored, he stopped. 

Why did the world seem to hate you?

Oh, and Roman was such a sweetheart. When your ex wandered up to the two of you and tried to chat you up, asking about your life and such, you told Roman who he was in a very flat voice. He knew you didn’t want a scene, you didn’t like fusses, you just wanted him to leave with little argument. 

“So, you’re the guy she replaced me with?” Was the first thing he said to Roman after you didn’t respond to any of his questions. He looked your prince up and down, obviously finding Roman not suitable. “Wow, she lowered her standards considerably.”

“Shut up, asshole,” you hissed, shooting him the nastier glare you could muster. Replacement was a strong word, Roman didn’t replace him because he was so much better. It’s like using a microwave all your life and then learning to use an oven. 

You just wanted to leave. You didn’t even want to argue with him. 

“You’re trash,” Roman said, anger flickering in his eyes, his face hard. It was almost terrifying, seeing him so calm and angry. When he got angry, he mostly just insulted people and threw a bit of a fit. But this… this was something new. “You never deserved her, you are worthless. I have never seen someone so horrible, someone who would take something so beautiful and discard it. She deserves someone who will love her like the princess she is and unlike you, I will do just that.”

You blinked in surprise at Roman, mouth ajar. You loved him so much, and just hearing those words made your heart flutter. A grin danced on your lips, genuine and incapable of stopping. 

Your ex, however, laughed at his words. “Oh, please,” he said, amused. His hand shot out and grabbed onto your wrist, tugging you close to him so you were chest to chest. 

“What-”

His hand cupped your cheek, silencing any words that would have come out. This was so familiar, something you experienced with him in the best moments of the relationship. It would be naive of you to say the whole relationship was horrible because it wasn’t.

“Y/N, don’t you miss it?” He was smiling, a look in his eyes that he used to give you when the two of you shared the softest times. You hated to admit it but you did miss it. “Don’t you miss us? The way we used to dance in the middle of the living room? The way we laughed at horror movies that were too stupid not to laugh at? Don’t you miss the way our lips moved together?”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, which parted slightly from the top lip. All the memories came rushing back to you. The relationship, besides how the two of you parted, was going so well. 

“What about the way we made love? Or the little food fights we would have when we made cupcakes?” He leaned closer, breath fanning your face. You hated how much his words affected you. You hated having all these great memories being shoved down your throat. “Don’t you remember?”

“I do,” your voice was nothing but a croak, keeping your eyes locked with his. He was grinning, the grin that used to make your heart melt. But… it didn’t anymore. 

You would never have what you once did. Besides, you didn’t love him, not anymore. You loved Roman. 

Roman’s stomach churned, a spark of anger firing through his veins. He never would have thought you would ever be even considering him again. Jealousy burned through his chest, flushing his skin. 

“We’re going home,” Roman grabbed onto your arm, not hard, but enough to pull you into him instead of your ex. There was no room for argument. 

You looked at your boyfriend, a bit shocked at the hostility in his tone as he glared down your ex. A silent nod was the only response you gave, unable to form any words. 

He dragged you away, the faint yelling of your ex coming from behind you but your ears were ringing. All you could focus on was Roman. 

~

As soon as you got home, you were shoved into the door, Roman’s lips covering yours in a fervent kiss. He nipped at your bottom lips, tongue invading your mouth as soon as he gained access. 

You moaned into the kiss, melting against his warm body pressed against you. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, bringing him as close as he could get. This was forward, even for him, and you loved it. 

“You miss him,” Roman growled, jealousy brewing in his voice, “you were actually considering taking him back?!” His teeth skimmed your jaw before sinking into the spot right below your jaw, drawing a small whimper from your lips. 

“No,” was your breathy reply, “Roman, no.” Fuck, he was taking this way out of proportion. And as great as this felt, you knew it wouldn’t solve anything. 

“You said it- you admitted it-” he cut off his own words with another bite to your neck, fingers digging into your hips. You let out another moan, muffling it by tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Roman- ah fuck!” He bit into your neck again, moving down the skin. “Please, listen. Yes, I miss the memories of him, not him! I love you, it’s not even a choice, I would never leave you for him!” 

He pulled away from your bruising neck, gazing at your flushed face, feeling your chest heave up and down as harsh pants left your lips. Oh- oh. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, guilt overriding the jealousy he felt, “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not mad,” you smiled, your tone sultry and full of lost, “that was so fucking hot.” You pulled him close again, capturing his lips. The kiss was passionate, heated but still full of love. 

“Fuck me,” you pleaded, grinding against him desperately, “please.” 

The anger, the jealousy, the way he used those negative feelings for such rough pleasure was so fucking good. You wanted more. Heat pooled in your stomach, and you could feel the cloth down below soak in your juices. 

Roman smirked, the gesture sending jolts down your body. God, why did he have to be so fucking hot?! 

“With pleasure,” came the husky reply, strong hands lifting you from your thighs. A small yelp left your throat, and you clung to him. A chuckle erupted from his throat before he pulled you into another searing kiss. 

You didn’t even realize you were in your bedroom until you were thrown on the bed. Out of breath, you gazed up at your lovely boyfriend as he stripped himself of his jacket and shirt. Eyes scanning over the torso, you bit your lip with a grin. 

“Strip,” he commanded, eyes locking with yours. Authoritative, determined, dominant. Oh, that voice sent shivers down your spine. You obeyed, unzipping your dress and letting it fall off your body before throwing it to a corner of the room. 

Before you had the chance to remove your panties, Roman was there, pushing you down and crawling on top of you. He rutted against your clothed heat, pants removed, and face buried in your neck, biting and sucking any skin that was unmarked. 

You mewled, your body growing warm. The delicious friction made your knees weak and you were thankful you were already laying down. Warm fingers trailed down your body, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. They went all the way down to your heat, rubbing the wet fabric between your legs. 

“Tease,” you grumbled, growing impatient. That earned another smirk from the man above you, one that made you glare and pulling him into another kiss, biting his bottom lip in retaliation. He chuckled, purposely slowing the kiss, which you growled at. 

As he kissed you, Roman pulled your panties to the side and wet his fingers against your folds. You gasped into the kiss, nails digging into his bare shoulders. Bucking to try and gain more friction, you whimpered pleadingly. 

“So needy,” his laugh was right in your ear, soft and sexy. “You’re so wet and I’ve hardly touched you.”

You opened your mouth to give a snappy retort but his fingers entered you. Instead of words, all that came from your mouth was a shameless moan. Fuck- oh your bastard of a boyfriend was so going to get it- oh shit. The way he curled his fingers hit that spot in you that felt so fucking good. Revenge could wait.

“Fuck me already!” You cried, wanting to be filled. Fingers were nice but it was no substitute for his hard cock. You were so close to begging because you were so turned on it hurt. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Roman said playfully, taking off your underwear in a single fluid moment. Then off came his own. He lined up his cock with your heat, looking at you for confirmation, in which he received a nod, before plunging in.

“Fuck!” You screamed, letting out a loud moan. He fit you so well, filling you, stretching you. There was a burn, so wonderful and divine. “Please, Roman, move!” 

You were sobbing as he started thrusting into you, not bothering to go slow. Just how you liked it. The pleasure was overwhelming, white-hot heat bubbling beneath your skin. Every snap of his hips hit deep inside you, reaching that one spot that made you cry out. You were a blubbering mess, the only thing you could say- well, scream was more accurate- was his name. 

White spots danced along your vision, your brain going mushy. You could hear Roman grunting above you, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. You were so close, so fucking close, just a little more, a little… more. 

“I’m cumming!” Roman groaned, head falling to your shoulder as he rode out his orgasm, his thrusts becoming sloppy as ropes of his seed shot out, coating your walls, his cock twitching inside you as he came, hard. 

You called out his name, your legs spasming as your own orgasm took over, coating his member in your slick fluids. 

Exhausted, you both slumped, Roman on top of you. You panted harshly, still coming off your high. A lazy smile stretched across your face. Your fingers combed through his sweat-soaked hair, a feeling of peace and love settling in your chest. 

“That was wonderful,” you commented with a laugh, your eyelids growing heavy. Fuck, that orgasm was intense. 

Roman managed to pull himself up, a proud smile decorating his face. He kissed you, slowly and softly, a gentleness that was much appreciated after the rough session. 

“We should clean up,” he said, though there was no real conviction in his voice. You pulled him to you, switching positions so he was laying on the bed and you were beside him. 

“Tomorrow,” you promised with a yawn, snuggling upon his chest. “M’tired.” 

Roman’s arms encircled you, giving you some much-needed warmth, and pulled a blanket over the two of you. He kissed the top of your head, listening to your breathing getting slower and eventually watching you fall into a peaceful slumber. He followed your lead, smiling a tender smile.

~

Hope you enjoyed! This was fun to write! I wish you like reading it as much as I liked writing it.

[mystech-master]

Some other BBTAG scenarios that’d be cool

(I will now try and limit myself to the o.g. 4, b/c I barely know jack about Arcana Heart, Senran Kagura, Akatsuki Blitzkampf)

I might’ve mentioned some of these before, but I’m including them here for completionists sake

1. Ragna hanging out with Gordeau. I like his interactions with Ragna in BBTAG’s story okay, he treated Ragna with respect. Maybe Ragna meets Gordeau in Kanzakai and he goes to Gordeau’s bar and they chat. Ragna learns about how the Hollow Night works, they could chat about how annoyed that are by their usual aquaintances (Goedeau about Hilda and Chaos, and Ragna about.....well almost everyone in his life). Maybe Gordeau and Ragna get on the topic of revenge, since Ragna wants revenge on Terumi and Gordeau has a vendetta against Wagner. Ragna talks about how he had Terumi at his mercy once (CS’ climax) and Gordeau asks if it was worth it. Ragna notes that it was unsatisfying due to Terumi laughing during it when Ragna wanted him to suffer, AND recalls how Lambda died for him, and says it wasn’t worth it. (I see this as between CS and before CP).

If you want to go even further, maybe Gordeau introduces him to the rest of Amnesia (or Hilda and Chaos show up at the bar as Ragna and Gordeau are talking), and they offer Ragna to join Amnesia, sensing the power he has and saying that they share similar goals of taking down their world’s organizations of Order (Amnesia vs Licht Kreis and Ragna vs the N.O.L.). Of course Ragna tells them to fuck off b/c “When I did it it was for revenge, you’re doing it for shits and giggles” (TFS reference). I mean Hilda says that Amnesia’s purpose is just a bunch of people who want to be powerful and have fun. But they don’t kill, that rule was made clear by Chaos in Ekidu’s Chronicle Mode (following the death of Roger and Ogre in Gordeau’s Chronicle Mode).

2. Ragna in Remnant, like his first visit there. Of course Ruby might want to talk to him more, Yang gives him the benefit of the doubt for saving Ruby, Blake is in the middle considering I think she’d understand the situation they were in but also be wary of his Soul Eater ability (I think Blake would notice that), while Weiss would be against him due to her seeing his wanted poster for 90,000,000,000 PD. Ozpin could have Qrow tail Ragna since he is Oz’ informant and Ragna does seem to be a more active/immediate threat to those who don’t know him (if you want comedy maybe Qrow’s Misfortune semblance causes more grief for Ragna. Assuming that RWBY still have their System Crystal from RWBY’s ending, they could tell Ozpin about this and Oz will be up to speed.

So when Ragna shows up at Beacon he gets called to the Headmaster’s Office where the Ozluminati is waiting for him to just get the run down on things. Ragna’s bad attitude would attract Grimm, and also his Soul Eater makes him quite dangerous in a world where the powers are based on the Soul. Oz doesn’t want to start shit and Qrow probably has enough info to see he isn’t AS bad as people say, and that the situation is far more complicated. But Ragna is still a criminal with a dangerous power. The only reason he’s only being given a warning is due to Ruby’s good word, and if he tries anything, no matter the cost he WILL doe everything in his power to stop him from harming his students or the world he has sworn to protect as a Huntsman. Plus the fact that they can’t exactly enforce the las of a whole other Dimension.

Glynda is a bit wary of Ragna but respects Ozpin’s decissions, but Ironwood is in the camp of “This guy is a danger to us, so we should either contain him or kill him”.

If you want to go a bit more into the adult interactions, maybe after Qrow hears of Ragna’s shit lif ehe tries to take Ragna out to drink, but I think Ragna isn’t one to drink b/c he’d see it as a bitch’s way of dealing with probelms. But if Qrow annoy him to a point they have a drink off, butRagna out drinks him b/c his Azure Grimoire has a healing factor against toxins too (as shown how he shook off poison in one of the mangas) so he can’t get drunk.

Or you could have Taiyang seeing Ragna fight (Grimm, sparring with Qrow, who knows) and he picks up on how Ragna’s fighting is like Yang’s: prefering to go trhough everything and rely on your power when you get in a jam. But it can’t always save you. Maybe even have Tai give Ragna a thanks for saving his daughters, or this could be the only way you imagine Burnie Burns as Tai channel his inner Church and have him sass Ragna.

3. Referencing back to the post about the scene in CS where Ragna is with the Kaka Clan, you know the one I constantly reference. I'd imagine that after a week or so of everyone just chilling with each other Ragna is WAY more chill with everyone. So what I thought was maybe Yang and Akihiko, along with a few others maybe, are at a boxing gym and then Ragna shows up being......oddly more friendly/chill than usual, and just have them all have a friendly spar and just have Ragna be chill and friendl with people who don’t insult him or treat him like ass. I wish there was another cool brawler in UNI that Ragna could get along with to even it out.

4. Something smaller, just put anyone in the Kaka Village and watch cuteness overload. You guys saw how Weiss was with Zwei and Adrien, and Kanji wanted to pet Jubei so imagine how he’d react to the Kaka kittens.

5. Just something simple and cool for fighting shit: The I.T. go through the Emerald Forest in the style of Beacon’s Initiation Exam. With the 4 o.g. members of the I.T./current 3rd years (Yu, Yosuke, Chie and Yukiko) for one team, with the later members/2nd years form the other team (Naoto, Kanji, Teddie and Rise).

6. Adam Taurus and some other W.F. members are raiding a Sector Seven outpost/storage facility only to be intercepted by Makoto and Blake. After some fighting maybe Kokonoe talks over intercom or through a video screen so we can have some philosophical discussion between her and Adam,. Adam saying she’s kissed up to humans, while Kokonoe calls Adam and the WF bitches for letting the humans’ insults get to them this far. Makoto and Blake are a but uncomfortable, b/c while Adam is too heated about the animal people racism resulting in him going to murder people, Kokonoe has become a cold hearted bitch who, while not evil, has some issues.

7. How does Raven react to all this Cross-Dimensional bullshit? One idea I had was Yu talking with her to try and get her to see the Power of Friendship! He notes how her power also works through bonds, being able to make portals to those she has an emotional connection to (her former husband, brother, and daughter). Maybe then he unleashes his Wild Card aura to show how powerful Friendship can be (you know, the same aura that makes Elizabeth, the one who oneshots Erebus every other month, step back). Raven could still call Yu a naive idiot for thinking he can stop the horrors of Salem, although even she finds it hard to beleive that when Yu most likely just showed off Izanagi-no-Okami aura which was said by Izanami to possibly be near godlike power.

8. Sho Minazuki and Carmine Prime meeting. Both are vulgar fight happy assholes who have a blood moon motif going on. Sho goes to Kanzakai b/c the Hollow Night is full of assholes he can fight for fun. He and Carmine can fight and mayeb vibe off each other a bit, but Sho at leats has a tragic past while Carmine is just a loser who doesn’t care if he dies in a gutter. Mabe Labrys could say something like “I’m glad that Sho-kun finally has a friend he can relate to.....but.....I don’t think he’s a good influence.” As Sho and Carmine are laughing manicaly as they fight.

9. Ozpin learning about the Insulator and just....needing to sit down. Because as we all know from Vol 6, he had No plan to defeat Salem and was playing the long game defense. But now thanks to this cross-dimensional bullshit, here is the perfect weapon to FINALLY end it! Oz tries to talk to Linne about convincing Hyde to let him use it. But Linne has told Hyde to guard the Insulator with his life, and Linne doesn’t trust anyone else with it. Eventually Ozpin’s desperation leaks through and Linne connects the dots about Salem’s Immortality and Ozpin hiding her immortality. She then holds it over Oz’s head that if he tries to force the Insulator from Hyde she’ll spill his secret.

DRAMA

10. The main heroes (Ragna, Yu, Hyde, and Ruby) all talking with System just wondering what it would’ve been like if they all lived in a merged world. How would their lives be different, imagine them all going to school together? The possibilities are endless.

11. Doctor Oobleck beign fascinated by these other worlds and wanting to learn about their histories. Espeically the Persona and Under Night worlds (as thye are “Earth” worlds where things are very normal, no Grimm to limit humanity to 4 kingdoms and some small villages that get razed to the ground on a weekly to monthly basis. That sounds like it would be FASCINATING for a historian like Oobleck. Unfortunately since Earth doesn’t have dark monsters to unite against, we have a shit load of wars against each other. Which could lead to a lot of philosophical discussions about how people can only band together if they have a mutual enemy.

Just imagine Oobleck talking with Jubei or Bang about the Ikaruga Civil War, just Oobleck and Bang talking would be fun.

12. The robot girls: Noel, Aigis, Labrys, Vatista, and Penny all hanging out. Vatista is the most Robotic, Aigis has the most “life” expereince, Noel is the most “human”, Labrys and Penny are both very human like but naive and lack life experience. So they could all talk about shit.

13. Weiss wanting to spend time with Mitsuru, b/c Mitsuru is basically everything Weiss wants to be: she is an exceptional leader (commanding both SEES in her school years and current leader of the Shadow Operatives), a skilled fighter (Mitsuru flawlessly summons her Persona and Weiss struggles with summons at Beacon, AND her 1 v 1 Win-Loss record is kind of iffy), and she is on her way to redeeming her family name and company (after Mitsuru’s grandad caused the Dark Hour Incident 10 years before P3, and Weiss wants to redeem the SDC from her father) although IDK if it is still going on because A. people are still against Kirijo for the explosion accident 10 years before P3, or B. people are just against a woman being in power. Like Mitsuru is liek a perfect role model for Weiss.

I might add more later, lemme know what you guys think and if you guys want to take these to use them for fics.

[leonawriter]

In The Moonlight

Also on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Chuuya, Dazai, Atsushi, Kyouka, others.

Pairings: Dazai/Chuuya

Notes: BEAST AU fix-fic. Dazai-typical suicide references. Book Dazai AU.

Chuuya finding the Book isn't entirely an accident. Chuuya falling out of the mafia building after Dazai wasn't an accident at all. Neither was pushing himself to breaking point to make damn sure both he and Dazai survived hitting the ground.

But surviving is one thing. Picking up the pieces of the world in the aftermath of it all, would be another thing entirely.

...

Chuuya leaves, figuring that whatever Dazai wanted to do, he could damn well do without Chuuya - he'd done well enough by that account for the past several years, after all, so what'd be so different about now?

He almost trips, almost falls-

shouldn't be possible like that with his ability he  shouldn't and yet andyet-

-and remembers that he'd left something in Dazai's old office. The one Dazai used to have as his home base of sorts, when they were still basically dorming together in the mafia stronghold, having nowhere else to go and no one else to take them in.

At one point, they'd hated each other and worked seamlessly, almost as if where one stopped the other one started.

Then again, at one point, the room he'd just left had been the same one he could still remember pledging loyalty to the mafia - to one man - in, and now, here he was, with all of the reasons he'd sworn that oath having been burnt away over time into the smouldering ashes of could-have-beens.

(He'd seen Dazai plot and set traps around Mori around the time of the Mimic incident; something about the entire thing had left him feeling vaguely sick afterwards, an ache in his side, watching as his world crumbled, fell, and then neatly rebuilt and rearranged itself around him.

Ah, he'd thought sometime later, that's why, he'd thought, remembering how Shirase had stabbed him by getting in close. It was just another betrayal, after all, just another organisation he could have - should have - done more for, where he was slowly being taken for granted.

Again.)

You've forgotten something, his feet still said, taking him back. Who even knew why, it wasn't as if he could change anything.

It wasn't as though he could go back into their past, and somehow change things - it wasn't as if he'd know what to change. He didn't have Dazai's mind for that sort of shit. But then, given where Dazai was right now-

Maybe that was for the best.

...

The Boss' old room from when he wasn't even an executive yet was barely touched from the time when that'd been the case, and this was the only office Dazai'd had, and part of that was because of how little time he'd spent here before moving on to bigger and better places higher up in the food chain.

Or at least, that's what he seemed to want everyone else to think.

'Everyone else' wasn't Chuuya, though, and Chuuya found it all too easy to see the differences - a little less cluttered here, perhaps, a little less full of life. Much like the man it belonged to. The couch they'd bothered each other on before things had started to change was in here, and so were a few other things, although all of them seemed to have been thrown onto the floor rather than treated with any sort of respect or, god forbid, sentiment.

He must have forgotten what he'd come in here for, because he couldn't for the life of him think what could be his in this memorial of a room that he'd want to take with him, that he might have left behind.

That damn bastard had even just left a torn up notebook full of his own writing just scattered on the floor, the binding pretty much coming loose in places.

He bent down to pick it up.

One gloved finger brushed a page.

...

One moment he is crouched on the floor of Dazai's old office.

The next he is seeing himself, frozen in time, outside of space and everything, and at the same time, a part of it.

At first, it is quiet. 

Then, he hears something, at the edge of his awareness, a papery sound, as if-

...

His awareness spreads from one page to every single page, and it is too much, too fast, and he thinks he hears himself screaming-

(Hears himself screaming Dazai's name and sees himself shoving an entire skyscraper down a dragon's maw in the midst of Corruption, and Dazai is dressed in white, the white of death, and yet he wakes and touches Chuuya-)

-until he almost can't hear himself any longer, or he would say that, except, something about the thought feels wrong.

Was it even his scream? 

Visions of their very own White Reaper, the weretiger Atsushi, flicker in his mind, dressed in a different kind of black-and-white, more white than black, screaming out the name of the Agency's newest recruit in rage.

It all passes him by in an instant, like old camera footage on film, but he can hear it and feel it at the same time. As if he's there.

He doesn't understand.

...

Dazai is standing in front of him, looking roughed up, which sets Chuuya on edge immediately, even before he takes in any real notice of the Boss' clothes, because anyone or anything that could get that close to the Boss, could hurt the Boss, was on him. Keeping the Boss safe from harm, even if it was from himself, was Chuuya's own job, damn it.

And then he looks down at Dazai, and sees the brown coat, the beige trousers, the waistcoat, the tie... more colour than he thinks he's ever seen on Dazai, even on undercover missions. And not a hint of black or red.

Then again, he looks at himself, and he looks much like he did when he was first taken in. How he'd stayed for years, until Dazai had taken over. Before he'd had to resign himself to staying indoors, and barely even seeing or walking the streets of the city he loved.

"If I step in too late," Dazai was saying, "you'll die. It's your call."

He watches himself go.

Trusting Dazai with his life.

Watches himself let go, and give in.

He closes his eyes, and wonders just how long it had taken for him to doubt that trust.

Because he can't look, can't watch himself go like this, and it shakes him when he opens his eyes to see-

Nothing, and everything.

He closes his eyes again, and wonders when it was that he had begun to not bear to look.

...

"Stop it," he says, even though he doesn't truly have a voice here.

"Stop it," he cries out.

He curls in on himself, reaching for a hat that doesn't exist, although the universe has the ability to make another, or a hundred thousand hats the exact same, each one with the handwritten word "Rimbaud" inked into the brim.

It doesn't matter here if he's human or not, because his ability doesn't exist, and all that does are the images and scenes of lives as they could have been, a countless number that are tearing him to shreds.

"Please," he says, the word getting torn out of him, "I just want to go back."

...

The whirlwind dies down. 

He starts to be able to think again.

And then-

...

Liar.

...

The  word comes from everything, all around. The entire world telling him that he had to be telling a lie.

Liar, the world said, again. 

You could have any one of these. You could change the world to your whim. 

You don't want to go back.

Liar.

...

"I just want to go back," he couldn't help repeating, as if saying it would make it true. 

Seeing those things made him want so badly, made him tempted, and yet...

...

I can't be him. 

...

That was right.

Whoever the Chuuya in there was, every time he saw him, he seemed so much younger, so much more naive, and as if he'd barely seen anything of the world.

That wasn't him, he couldn't be that person - maybe he could have, once, but not anymore.

...

...can't be-

...

Chuuya just wishes, for a moment, that the one he was stuck with could be just a little bit more like-

...

I CAN'T BE HIM - I CAN'T BE THAT PERSON.

I CAN'T BE HIM.

YOU CAN'T WANT ME, ALL ANYONE WANTS IS THE ONE WHO ISN'T ME, AND I CAN'T-

...

Knowledge and understanding flood his being in a split second. One moment, there's the confusion of wondering where the voice was coming from that spoke directly into everything so that his very bones (or where bones should be) shook him and gave him such an all-encompassing sensation of despair.

He was inside the Book.

Everything that he had seen was an alternate timeline, an alternate version of events, a possibility.

Dazai would tell Atsushi and Akutagawa that only three people could understand the Book's true use and purpose at a time, and that this would be a lie, as he simply knew that the Book would not be able to withstand being used even one more time.

The incontrovertible truth that Dazai Osamu, regardless of the fact that he seemed to not be aware of this himself... was the Book itself.

Or at least, the part that Chuuya was in right now, was the part made of paper that couldn't burn or be destroyed by normal means, and yet had been used to destruction by Dazai's  very own self.

He could find out anything, he realised. Anything at all.

Instead, he simply closed his eyes.

"Put me back," he said, using the same tone of voice he used on jittery subordinates who'd never killed before. Gentle, but firm. "And stop assuming you know what I want, asshole."

...

Chuuya opens his eyes, and catches a sheet of what he had been assuming to be notebook paper, that had blown free from the carpeted floor, and puts it carefully with the rest. Neither it nor the rest of the ripped-out pages will go back in the way they went, but that's not the main issue right now. the important thing was not losing any.

And then, when it's secure and safely tucked away in an inner pocket, the Book - snug against his heart - feels almost as though it's telling him to find a window, to be quick-

...

It's not easy, getting Dazai down. It involves a lot of stopping and starting, running down windows and aborted attempts at going ahead to break one and get him inside before they reach the ground, before having to simply catch the falling fish again and the times when he's just carrying his boss, reacting like someone who's never had an ability - which isn't something that comes naturally to him, more so than for anyone else, given he's never known what it's like to live without it.

By the time they're on the ground, Dazai's staring at him with a single accusing eye (strange, now that he's seen the Dazai-in-brown with both eyes open), as if he's just interrupted something important.

Which, he thinks, according to Dazai, he had.

Not that he gives a flying fuck what Dazai thinks right now, because he's pissed off, and trying to not look too much like he is, because Dazai or not, suicide attempt or not, this was still his Boss.

"...You stopped me," Dazai says eventually. There's a hint of real anger in his voice, but for once Chuuya isn't intimidated. 

"I don't remember ever resigning," he says, out of breath. He's pretty sure he can feel bruises he's going to feel for ages, and his suit's torn from broken glass, sticky from it too, from where the glass slid in a touch too deeply when he was holding Dazai and couldn't push it away in time. "I don't remember quitting, either," he adds. "You know, I almost forgot just how much you've always pissed me off, Dazai." 

"I'm your Boss-"

"And I'm saying as someone who used to be your partner, I hate suicidal idiots who don't think about anyone else more than anything!" His voice is hoarse. Maybe it's the wind he had to put up with on the way down. That'd count for the way his eyes are watering, too. He's not used to having to deal with high pressure wind like a normal person would, after all. "Damn it, I fucking hate you."

Dazai, damn him, tenses in Chuuya's grip, and then stills.

(Part of him remembers the way another Dazai had floated down effortlessly to the ground, Chuuya the one in his lap instead of the other way around, and it having been a soft, peaceful moment rather than the tense one full of the sound of alarms and people rushing out and surrounding them, since the Boss is on the ground, and with a single touch Chuuya's ability could be turned off, their final defence brought down.

It isn't fair, he thinks, that some other Chuuya got that, and he's stuck with this.)

"The Book," Dazai breathes out, single eye wide, "you found it - Chuuya, what did you do? What did you do?"

"Nothing!" The word rings out around them, and if Chuuya's hurt that Dazai is more concerned with the idea of anything happening to that friend of his who wasn't even his friend here, than his own life, or Chuuya's, or anyone else's in the whole damn world, then - apparently, that doesn't count for much. "I didn't write a single fucking word on a single damn page, Dazai," he says lowly, so that this time Dazai's the only one who can hear him. Dazai just stares at him, clearly not believing. "Not one."

"I... could have died, I think," Dazai says.

There's something tired about the way he says it, that makes Chuuya feel like there's a cold seeping into his bones.

"Yeah," he says, remembering all the numbers of times since they were kids that Dazai's tried and failed to die, the times when he'd floated along the river and should have drowned, when he's hung himself and added yet another rope line to his neck, thrown himself into the line of fire, off of buildings... 

Dazai'd somehow always survived, no matter that he hadn't wanted to, had always been vocally disappointed to be able to open his eyes again.

This time, though-

If only a diamond can polish a diamond, does that mean that the only thing that can destroy the Book, something that can't be damaged by fire or any other sort of ability, no matter the kind... is the Book itself?

The pages strewn across Dazai's old office, and the broken state of the self that had been crying out when he'd been inside of it, suggested that maybe they were right.

"You could've," he allowed. "But you're not gonna."

"I'm... not him," Dazai says, closing his eyes. 

"Yeah? Good. Means I don't have to get my eyes checked for throwing myself off a building for a ghost, then." He thinks about it, if the Boss had suddenly been replaced like that, and shudders.

He can't finish the thought of wondering, because the very idea of him, the way he is, being looked at - through - by a Dazai who was so much better than both of them, who knew a Chuuya who was so much better than he was, had so much more... it makes him feel like he'd almost prefer never to have known they existed, because that way he wouldn't feel like the memory of their existence was constantly judging him.

...

They both wind up taking a short trip to the A&E, somewhere they haven't been for a while just because usually, Dazai's status as Boss of the Port Mafia tends to mean he's kept safely inside the headquarters building and seen to by Port Mafia doctors, or those they trust. But with the headquarters made a complete mess of by first Atsushi and Akutagawa, and then his own descent, it's no longer as secure as it should be, and anything else would just take too much time.

Dazai's in the next room, guarded by several mafia Chuuya trusts, both to protect him from any threats, but also - after the stunt he'd pulled earlier - from himself, and for his own good. 

Chuuya's been getting updates from them and the nurses whenever anything changes. So far, Dazai seems to have sustained mostly non-lethal but inconveniencing injuries that'll put him out of commission for a while.

So when Atsushi and Kyouka come by, the men direct them into Chuuya's room instead, because Dazai's asleep, like he should be.

He doesn't miss the way the weretiger's eyes widen at the sight of him, one of the most feared mafia executives and the Boss' right hand man, covered in bandages just like the Boss, and wrapped in a hospital yukata.

"S-sir!" Atsushi bows, as if they were just in the main office (he thinks he'd tried to blow that window in, too, but the windows hadn't given, just buckled somewhat, and he winces at the thought of how much effort is going to go into repairing and replacing everything).

"Atsushi." The boy's eyes widen at the sound of his name. Then again, he probably expects to be punished, for being up there when a suicidal idiot decided to try and kill himself again.

Chuuya sighs.

"We came because- b-before, Dazai-san... he..."

"He told you to do something, and then fell off the fucking roof, didn't he?" Chuuya summarised. 

Atsushi nodded, sharply.

"Yes, sir."

"What was it?" And when neither of them answered, he tched in frustration, and pushed himself a little further upright. "Dazai's in the other room asleep and alive, currently the only one other than you guys and maybe that Akutagawa who'd know what was said up there. As an executive member, I have every right to order you to tell me what he told you to do."

Atsushi paled, and began to shake, but Chuuya couldn't find it within himself to feel too guilty, even knowing just how strong the kid had grown in any other version of events.

"Dazai-san, he... he asked us to protect something," Atsushi said, voice still shaking, seemingly rooted to the spot. Kyouka next to him didn't move a single muscle. "And - he..." his voice trailed off into almost nothing. "He told me to defect from the mafia, sir." The words were barely audible, Chuuya only just able to hear them. "He told me-"

"Then what're you still doing here?" Atsushi, cut off by his superior - former superior, it looked like - stared blankly. "He fired you, kid. And her too, right?" After all, Chuuya had seen the girl doing better elsewhere too, and if he'd seen that, then Dazai definitely would have. "Then why come back like a stray dog to the place that's kicked you out? If you're wondering what to do next since Dazai's not dead, just... do whatever you want. You don't have to do what he says anymore, if he says he's not going to take you back." Hypocrite, he thinks to himself. Dazai had basically thrown him aside, and here he was, still clutching onto the last rags of something he didn't even know was worth keeping anymore. "If the Boss himself has told you to do a thing, you do it. And since I know what what's going on," in more ways than he'd let them know about, even if he had a strong suspicion he knew what they'd been tasked with protecting, and why, "I'm not going to let anyone hunt you down for following orders."

Atsushi began to back away, first one foot, and then the other, backing away and not turning around until he was in the hall, at which point Chuuya saw him begin to run.

Kyouka takes a little longer, studying him, eyes narrowed, before she turns away, a little more confident, a little less twitchy like a spooked cat.

"Good luck, kid," he can't help saying as she leaves. "You'll both do better there."

He thinks he sees her tense at his words, but can't be sure, and then she's gone too, and all he's left with is the knowledge that a part of Dazai's soul is still in his inner jacket pocket, and a sorry sense of attachment to two kids who he barely even knows, but knows can be so much better and more alive, just like them, and he's tired, he's tired of knowing.

So he closes his eyes, and hopes that when he wakes up, Dazai will still be alive, and the world won't have ended, and that when he next looks in that jacket pocket, he won't just see a dissipating mass of ink and dust.

It's as he's just drifting off, not quite asleep and not quite awake, that the thought comes to him-

Ah, he thinks, you're just like me.

...

AN: I'll be honest, this actually started several weeks ago when I was browsing pixiv and saw someone's art of Odasaku, Akutagawa, Atsushi, Kyouka, Kenji, and Dazai all standing in the light, and it made me go, "okay, but AU where they're all able to work together. Where they're on the same side, even if they're not in the same organisations."

And that's how this happened, although the part about Dazai being the Book's squishy human form comes from my other fic "The Rest That's Still Unwritten", which is technically canon to this one and vice versa by pure simple means of "same characters, different stories" even in-universe. Originally I wasn't going to, but... it worked just too well not to, especially after a random idea-thought had Chuuya going "this book's so beat up it looks like it barely even remembers it's a book."

...Though, I'll admit that I haven't gone through more than a summary of the BEAST AU book itself, and all events depicted from it are my own understanding of them. I'm writing a fix fic because I don't really like how things happened there, y'know. It's sad and I don't like sad.