#and now her continued reign and everything she's ever worked for | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brabblesblog · 8 months

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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 2: 𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

The gift arrives, and Astarion continues spinning himself into his little web of mistruths. Ban does some sleuthing.

Now professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Originally beta'd by @leomonae

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Ban and Astarion by @primopinku

Astarion stood with hands clasped behind his back, watching Roderich’s workers carry the mirror inside the palace. It was huge, and he absently wondered what he would do if it didn't fit through the doorway to the bedroom. He supposed having it in the ballroom wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but it might prove to be an issue when hosting parties; people would inevitably notice his consort’s lack of reflection.

Roderich approached him and gave a small bow. “My lord,” he said. “Which room would you like the mirror to be brought to?”

Astarion regarded the man before him; Roderich was frightened, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Perhaps rumors of the activities that had occurred in this palace during Cazador’s reign had reached Roderich’s ears. He deliberated between further terrifying the man for his amusement or placating him, and begrudgingly settled on the latter, as delectable an idea as the former was.

He draped an arm over Roderich’s shoulder. “Our bedroom, on the far wall,” he replied. “Take two left turns and you’ll find it.” He leaned in. “Would you like to join me for some refreshments, Master Glasscraft?”

Up close, Astarion thought, he could see the family resemblance. The shape of his face and nose were reminiscent of Ban’s - Ban, who had gone to Rivington today to see Shadowheart.

Ban, who had been rather quiet since the day she saw him hiding the contract.

The silence had been unnerving him, bringing out his insecurities at a frankly terrifying speed. While he normally would have sought to explain his feelings to her, he hadn’t this time; the sheer fear of her anger and the thought of losing her winning out over his better judgment.

Roderich flinched, but as the arm over his back was a normal temperature, felt himself relax slightly. Perhaps Cazador Szarr could have been the monster he had been suspecting Lord Ancunín to be, but presently there were fewer and fewer reasons to suspect the man beside him.

“Some tea would be nice, I suppose. But I can’t stay too long. My wife, Arlette… she’s waiting for me.” He doubted vampires ever stocked human food and drink, so that was a good sign, but he still felt the need to clearly state that someone would notice if he disappeared. His throat was a bit dry and scratchy, regardless.

“Tea it is, then.” As Astarion called a servant over and rattled off a request for tea and some biscuits, Roderich quickly instructed his men as to which room to bring the mirror and where to place it. Turning his attention back to Roderich, Astarion shot him his most winsome smile, taking care not to show his fangs this time.

“I’ve asked for the tea to be delivered to my study,” he said, arm still around Roderich, steering him in that direction. “So. Do tell me about dear Arlette. Children? I’d assume a son, considering…”

The shop’s name, yes. Astarion fought back the wave of indignation at the fact that Ban didn’t even seem to merit a mention there. Of course, they likely assumed her dead, and he had no idea why she had left them in the first place, but still.

Roderich, finding the small talk a bit peculiar but not impolite, nodded, clearing his throat. “Arlette and I ha-have a son. Adrien.” He entered the study, following his host, and took a seat on one of the plush armchairs in the room; Astarion took the one next to his, crossing his legs.

As the tea and biscuits arrived on a metal tray, Astarion noted the hesitation in Roderich’s tone. Fear, perhaps? He gingerly picked up his own cup, making a show of finding the tea hot, blowing across its surface, to further disarm the man.

“Arlette and Adrien.” He paused a moment, then offered some information in return, keeping the conversation flowing. “I myself am newly wedded, only about a year or so ago. Alas, the gods haven’t seen fit to bless us with offspring as yet. Grandchildren?”

Roderich shook his head, a heaviness settling over his features. “No,” he said. “It’s… Adrien-”

His voice was rough; Astarion noticed it, but did not comment. Instead he took a long sip from his cup, allowing the man a moment to recover.

“Adrien hasn’t taken a wife.” Roderich settled on saying.

Astarion let the silence stretch, picking up a biscuit with slender fingers. Taking a bite or two; he regarded Ban’s father. A brother, then, with something seemingly causing Roderich distress at the mere mention of his name. Interesting.

Astarion’s chamberlain entered the room, and made a small bow. “My lord,” he said, “they have finished.” At the man’s words Roderich stood, eager to be done with this conversation.

“Lord Ancunín.” He gave a small bow, “I really do need to take my leave. Arlette needs me to weed the garden today, and…”

Astarion waved his hand in a gesture of nonchalance, as if it did not trouble him at all. “Take some pastries with you, Master Glasscraft. I’m sure your wife and son will appreciate them. The kitchen will have a box prepared for you - just let him lead the way.” He nodded towards his chamberlain.

“Yes, my lord. Thank you. I shall be off.” Roderich followed the chamberlain and was soon on his way home, grateful to be away from Lord Ancunín, his questions, and his oddly piercing gaze.

Still in his seat, Astarion mulled over Roderich’s words. How much of this was old information, and how much did Ban know?

And whatever could have happened to Adrien that so disconcerted his father?

Ban stared at the mirror as she slipped her bathrobe off, draping it over the couch. She did so merely as a matter of habit - of course she no longer saw herself or the bathrobe, only the empty room staring back at her. The mirror was large and ornate with gold inlaid into the frame. Leaning against the wall of their bedroom, it gave the impression of a great beast looming over their bed.

She hated it. Not that mirrors have ever been something she liked - they reminded her too much of her past - but this one in particular felt ominous, a little too big and a little too oppressive a presence in their place of refuge. She knew Astarion would have it moved the moment she asked, but for now at least she was willing to let it stay. After all, he’d done a marvelous job introducing her to it earlier today; the memory of him fucking her in front of it so they could see what his cock did inside her - him spreading her apart, coming apart inside her, just for her - was one she thought she’d remember for a while.

Ban spied Astarion’s reflection in the mirror as he walked in from the bathroom, towel still wrapped around his waist. His expression looked conflicted, until he schooled it into something more neutral.

“I see you’re admiring our newest acquisition,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the back of her shoulder, then slowly trailing a path of kisses up to the base of her neck. He closed his eyes, hands resting on her waist. The fear of her leaving, now ever-present, fluttered in his breast; his brows furrowed briefly, but he managed to smooth them down.

All this, Ban could easily see reflected in the mirror. A small sigh escaped her, and she turned to face him. He fell still, eyes still closed, afraid to see or hear what she’d say next. She cupped his cheek, smiling a little when he leaned into her touch.

“I still stand by what I said. This feels a bit much.”

Her words were met by quiet, soft laughter, and he kissed her palm.

“You did mention that.” His hands shifted forward, fingers knitting together against her back, pulling her in close. Astarion debated between playing up his usual snark or letting his walls down, but there really wasn’t any contest. There hadn’t been any for a while now, in moments like this. “Do you dislike it?”

“Not dislike, I think, it’s just…” She frowned. “It’ll take some getting used to. I won’t mind as much if we do what we did today more often?” A small conciliatory offer, one Astarion grasped without hesitation.

“Of course,” he huffed, amused. Astarion leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “To bed then, love?” He finally opened his eyes, offering her a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Astarion’s fingers deftly removed the towel from his waist, throwing it onto the couch nearby; despite her nearness, there wasn’t any stirring of desire in him, the worry overruling every other thought. He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to bed. Crawling in after her, he curled his body around hers, holding her close. He tucked his face against the back of her neck, hiding.

Astarion had been waiting. Since she’d come home and seen the mirror, he’d been waiting. For what, he didn’t know - a word, a quick anecdote of her life before, anything. Even a snide comment would have been something.

He hadn’t meant to blatantly state the mirror wasn’t from her family, of course. It had slipped out in a moment of nervousness as he’d tried to reassure her about the new addition to the bedroom.

“Even for you, this is a bit much,” Ban had said as he’d walked in.

Astarion remembered dragging a chair with him, planting it directly in front of the mirror and sitting down. He’d placed it close to the glass; his knees had almost touched his reflection’s. There had been apprehension, a worry that she’d somehow immediately know the origins of his purchase and confront him right there and then. Her pithy comment and the fact that she’d almost caught him with the contract had simply exacerbated his unease. He’d defaulted into his usual defense then, the old act slipping on effortlessly.

“I didn’t buy this from your family, if that’s what you’re so concerned about. And…” He had kept his expression neutral, cooly leaning forward to tilt his face, making a show of admiring his own visage on the mirror. He’d sensed her watching him, likely entranced by his little display, as intended. His eyes had flicked towards hers and in one smooth, practiced move, he’d leaned back to spread his legs.

“Sit.” He’d tapped his right thigh.

Why he needed to do this, to dig at the truth of her past, he didn’t exactly know; after all, the issue of her family was something they’d never spoken of, and which had seemingly no immediate relevance to their life. However, he did see her occasional sadness, saw her pull away when whatever he said or did reminded her of something, and he wanted to understand. He had tried asking her - had done so gently, at times with a little more force, but it always ended the same way.

I don’t want to talk about it, Astarion.

That, usually combined with an angry huff and silence for the rest of the day, even when he acquiesced and let the matter go.

The anger had been a recent thing, an ugly creature borne out of her need to avoid anything even approaching the topic of her past. As their relationship had slowly improved, Astarion had taken it upon himself to learn more about her, figuring that her past would have shaped her; thinking that knowing her more fully would help him predict her better.

That was the logical reason, of course. At the core, all he wanted was to be entrusted with her heart, the whole of her self, in a way that was greater than before, in a way that indicated he’d been fully accepted back, forgiven - permitted to know and love her completely. He sighed, thinking about her most recent eruption.

“Ban, I just-” He’d backtracked, trying to salvage the situation before it escalated into yet another anxiety-filled day of barely being spoken to as punishment.

She’d rounded on him, eyes wild and full of fury and fear - although not of him, if her words had been any indication. “Stop, Astarion. There’s no point in asking, no point in prodding, do you understand?”

“I know...” He had tried to take her wrist and been rebuffed with a quick withdrawal of her hand; his fingers had closed around air. “I merely want to see you.” Like you see me.

“What else is there to see?” Ban had raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “I love you. I am happy with you. I am not afraid of you. What more do you need to know?”

Everything else, he’d thought, but that fear in her eyes had stopped him. Small steps. He knew trust to be a delicate thing; earning it would take time.

Perhaps direct questions might help.

“What was it that… caused this?” Cautious, careful words; he’d tried his best to keep his voice neutral.

After all, he still hadn’t even understood why the argument had started. They had been at Wyrm’s Crossing when a merchant had accused Ban of stealing a necklace.

The culprit had been Astarion, of course. The necklace had a pendant in the shape of a rose, and he had thought it would look wonderful on her. His fingers had moved before he could think, the necklace gone before anyone had been the wiser.

The vendor had eventually noticed the missing necklace. A cursory scan had shown it likely to have been the couple who had just passed by: a silver-haired elf, adorned in a beaded, gold-trimmed jacket, and his companion, a human dressed in nice enough, but rather simpler clothes.

Ban had vehemently denied the accusation, her voice rising in time to match the vendor’s, though still reining herself in.

“Rich,” the man had hissed, eyeing her, “and yet with scruples no better than a common thief. Your companion here picked you up from the streets, no doubt.”

Astarion had seen red then, the temptation to simply end the man’s miserable life almost overwhelming. Instead he had taken a step, encroaching on the man’s space.

“You do not speak to my wife in that manner, cretin,” he had growled, his fangs threatening to make an appearance.

Then he had said the thing that he was almost sure had caused her to recoil. “We could buy your wares, your sorry little shop, and even your sorry little self. ”

He had seen her blanch then, her hand disengaging from where it had been linked around his arm. She hadn’t looked scared of him so much as it had seemed like she’d remembered something, and whatever it was had upset her. Unsure, Astarion had dragged her away from the bristling vendor before the argument could escalate even further.

It had gone downhill from there until, hours later, he’d found himself once more trying to find his way through the mire of her anger and her secrets. What was it that… caused this?

Ban frowned at Astarion’s question, the words ringing in her head.

I could buy you!

Her father had loved saying those words, bandying them about whenever some unfortunate soul crossed him. The moment similar words had left Astarion’s lips, all those memories had come flooding back.

Of course, she would never tell him. It was the past, and as much as Astarion had inadvertently reminded her of her father, she knew he hadn’t meant to. She knew he wanted to know; the way those eyes pleaded and his voice trembled told her in no uncertain terms how badly. She worried, though, that if he knew of her past, knew what she’d suffered, his vision of her would forever be altered.

Ban knew Astarion had always seen her as strong. Resolute. Someone capable of protecting others. She wanted to be that for him, to be his rock - forever, if possible.

There was also the fact that she’d always loathed being weak, even for him.

The mirror was, he supposed, his last, desperate effort. He’d hoped seeing the mirror would bring the conversation to the fore… but then what would have happened?

He would have told her that he did indeed purchase it from her family. He’d have begged for forgiveness, explained he only did it to get her to open up, that she needn’t do anything with the information he’d gleaned about her family. That he wanted to understand her like she understood him, and why was that so wrong?

He’d have told her that he’d tried everything else: he’d spoken, he’d pleaded, he’d begged and tried to explain how important this was to him, and it had all fallen on deaf, if not angry ears, until subterfuge was the only option left unexplored. He’d have told her that it ate him up inside to know she still didn’t love him enough - trust him enough - to share all of herself with him, the imbalance a constant reminder of all the things he could never take back, of sins remaining unforgotten and of wounds unhealed.

Astarion shifted against Ban as frustration seeped in anew, a small grunt escaping his lips.

She knew everything about him, from his worst memories to his greatest fears. She’d seen him at his best, and at his absolute worst. What had he seen of her?

A carefully curated facade, which did sometimes crumble to reveal her soft, loving core - but what about all the parts of her that aren’t her love for him? What about her life before? What made her this?

He wanted to know those pieces of her, to pick them like roses amongst thorns; to love them, to help, to soothe where needed. To do what she’d done for him.

It tore him apart to not be allowed that. To not be trusted with it.

How long would she hide herself from him? He’d given her every ounce of himself; every single day he rested his heart upon her palms, ready to be crushed at a moment’s notice, and yet he was given so little in return. Was he to expect an eternity of this, of her holding back, never giving what matters most of herself? Had he been seen and deemed unworthy of her trust, of her?

And if so, how long until she decided this wasn’t worth it? That she could find someone worthy of sharing all of herself? That he wasn’t worth it, after all?

And just like that day in Wyrm’s Crossing and the countless other days before it, Astarion’s plan for the mirror to trigger a conversation had fallen flat on its face.

When she’d come home earlier today and seen the mirror leaning against their bedroom wall, it had stirred something. She’d definitely reacted to it; he’d seen her staring. But there had been no words, nothing to indicate any willingness to open up to him about her thoughts.

Panic had flooded his mind then. He’d slipped into seduction, hoping that would disarm her enough to say something in the glow of post-coital bliss. Instead she’d merely kissed him and stood up, leaving him to clean himself off and scramble for words that wouldn’t come.

He hadn’t been able to say it, the cold grip of fear squeezing his heart until all he could do was watch his own reflection in the mirror.

The man staring back at him had looked terrified.

Ban noticed Astarion’s frustrated noise as he snuggled more firmly against her back.

“You alright?” she asked, feeling the hand resting on her stomach tighten in response. He sighed, his warm breath tickling her nape. She knew he was troubled, knew that it had to do with whatever he was hiding, and also now suspected that the mirror was related to it.

Astarion cleared his throat. “Perfectly fine, if in need of rest,” he said stiffly, but there was no hiding that tone, nor the tension in his body. The fear had fully set in and he didn’t want to risk their forever by admitting his misdeed.

Besides, he reasoned, it’s such a small, irrelevant thing. Maybe she isn’t bothered by the mirror. Maybe those memories are just that - recollections not worthy of further thought. Perhaps there isn’t a need to even bring this up.

“Astarion. Talk to me.” Ban turned to face him; he closed his eyes as she did, refusing to look. “What’s with the mirror, and whatever you were hiding in your desk a tenday ago?”

No. No. His mind scurried for a response, looking for an excuse and finding absolutely none. He forced his eyelids open to meet her gaze. There was nothing for it; he had to at least say something.

“I thought it would jog your memory, and perhaps pry open your mouth.”

“Mem-” Ban swore. “ Gods. How many - I keep telling you. I don’t want to talk about it!”

Of course it had to do with her past. She tried to bite down the vitriol threatening to make its way out of her and entirely failed.

“Why are you so keen on knowing, anyway? Can you not keep your nose out of my business for once?”

Astarion gasped at her poisonous jab. For so long he’d been backing off whenever she snapped at him over this, but his patience had run out. “Because you won’t tell me anything! How can I make things right if you won’t trust me?”

The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them; his jaw snapped shut. She wouldn’t like that; any mention of anything regarding her opening up was met with anger or stony silence. Astarion quickly changed tactics, doing what he usually did at this point: placating her while panicking quietly.

“Ban,” he sighed. “That… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Probably not,” came her clipped response. She moved away, out from his arms, curling up at the far side of the bed.

Astarion watched her, the last embers of that defensive anger slipping away under the endless tide of his fear. He didn’t reach for her; simply drew the blankets over her body, tucking her in.

He pressed one small kiss to her shoulder, sighing as she made no move to indicate she’d even noticed him.

“Goodnight, Ban,” he murmured, as he allowed himself to slowly slip into trance. I love you. He didn’t say it, frightened of what her response would be - or worse, wouldn’t be. He didn’t hear a reply.

Ban waited until he was fully in trance, his breaths slow and deep, before she moved.

The hallways were bathed in moonlight, a beautiful sight that she had always loved. Tonight, however, they barely merited a glance.

A quick left down the hallway, and she was in the study. It didn’t take long to find the parchment Astarion had tried to keep hidden. To find the truth.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind@pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @girlygamer-blog

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helplesslyblue77 · 1 year

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Snow White Lily

first story in the ‘fairy tales with a twist’ series i’ve started(because i like creating more work for myself...)

Pairing: Step Dad!Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 12.6k(it got out of hand...)

Warnings: Smut, like not in full but its still there. bad parental figures, slight mommy issues, reader has some self esteem issues, also...this story has so much crying, like seriosly.

Summary: “Years ago, your father had died and your mother had remarried. You never liked your step father, simply because he was not your real father, and you made no secret of your dislike. Many years later, your mother died and your step father became the temporary reigning monarch. You vowed the feelings you were feeling were anger, but when you fall prey to a mysterious curse you realize maybe those feelings weren't hatred after all…”

Notes: soooooo...sorry this took so long. i was originally planing to post it on the 22nd but my computer died and like a fucking moron i forgot the charger...so yeah, so sorry about that. also Reader is more than legal. i ignored the traditional marriage laws of ‘yee olden days’ in favor of not being icky. her and Chan have a age gap of about seven or eight years or so.(side note but saw the barbie movie and fucking loved it, ‘im just ken’ has been stuck in my head for days now...)

♔♕♔

Let me tell you a story dear reader. A story of love, of loss, and all that is forbidden. Let me tell you of a beautiful princess who befell a dreadful curse. Let me tell you the story of Snow White. Now you may be thinking to yourself, dear reader, “But that is ever so common. How dreadfully boring.” I beg you not to jump to such conclusions, for everything you think you know about this lovely tale is, in fact false, and the real story will only be revealed today. So I urge you to sit back and listen to my voice as I weave you a fantastical story.

Once upon a time in a kingdom far far away lived a young woman of only sixteen. She was as beautiful, as she was kind, a true princess in her own right. Her loving father, the benevolent king of the land, doted on her. Her mother, a woman of extraordinary beauty but unpleasant disposition, could not touch her as long as the king treasured her. And thus the princess was raised with love from her father and cold indifference from her mother. Each day she became more beautiful.

Her hair grew long and luscious, her eyes bright with knowledge, and her body grew curves as she matured. As she grew, her thirst for knowledge also grew. Much to the queen's disapproval the king allowed her to take up such thoroughly un-princess-like activities as horseback riding. The queen disproved, but to her satisfaction, the princess also enjoyed activities like embroidery and fashion, so the queen let her wild activities continue. But alas, as our princess turned upon her seventeenth year, her father the king fell deathly ill. Our heroine could only stand by and weep as her beloved father took his last breaths, as the spirits accepted him gracefully into the world of the dead.

Ragged sobs tore through your throat. Your father's hand lay on your own, still warm even though life had drained from his body only moments before. The soft silk of the king's grand bed accepted your tears wholeheartedly, soothing your wet cheeks and stinging eyes. The bed held so many memories for you. Memories of you curled up against your father's warm body as he told you story after story, all in an effort to lure you into a deep and peaceful sleep. Memories of crying in his arms as he stroked your hair and comforted you with sweet reassurances. The realization sank in that he would never embrace or gaze upon you again.

It took a long time for your tears to stop. The palace staff let you stay at the bed, even as your father's cold dead body was removed from the silken sheets, and life in the palace resumed. Only when the golden hour sunlight poured through the stained glass windows, painting the red silk sheets and the golden bed frame dazzling colors, did you lift your tearstained face from the bed and drag yourself to your feet. You stumbled out of the king's chambers, your bare feet making barely a sound as you walked listlessly down the large corridor with the heavy stares of your ancestors weighing on your back. Your hair hung unstyled around your shoulders, your cheeks were smeared with tears and your eyes red and puffy. You were clothed only in a thin nightgown and normally you would have been scandalized. It was highly improper for a princess to wander about in her underclothes, but you were so wrought with grief you could not even bring yourself to feel shame.

Your maids were waiting for you as you dragged open the heavy doors to your chambers. You felt their pitying stares on you but for once they didn't say a word about your disheveled state, only drawing you a bath and slipping away as silent as ghosts.

With heavy hands, you rid yourself of your only garment and slipped into the water. The pink rose petals danced across the ripples your body made as you submerged yourself completely. You closed your eyes and felt the heavy hand of despair settle over you. Tear after silent tear slipped down your cheeks, dripping into the water below. Maybe, if you continued to cry like this the gods would take pity on your sorry state and let you simply slip away, let go of this painful life and join your father in the afterlife. Such thoughts were unbecoming of a princess, but you had never been a perfect princess anyway. Too unattractive, too outspoken, nothing like your composed mother, the epitome of a perfect queen. As beautiful as a statue carved in ice and as cold as one as well.

You knew these thoughts, these ugly self-deprecating thoughts, were not true. But with your father's passing all your insecurities were rearing their ugly heads quite akin to a many-headed monster, dead set on devouring you and only you. You closed your eyes and ever so slowly let yourself sink down until your chin was barely brushing the water. You let the comfort of the water envelope you like the warmth your father had given you, the warmth your mother would never give you. And with one last tear, you rose from the bath, water cascading off your body, and came to a grim realization.

From this day on, you were on your own. And even as the room filled with people, your maids dressing you carefully, even as the mellow chatter filled the room, you had never felt quite so alone.

The next day your maids prepared you for the funeral. As they slipped the black dress over your head, pulled your hair into a modest bun and painted your face just enough to be suitable for such an occasion you desperately held back your tears. It was no such time for your sadness, you are a princess and to reassure your people you must look only appropriately distraught. There would be no breakdowns, no hysterical crying and screaming, none of the sort. As the maids slipped your black veil over your head and handed you the black lace fan, you take a deep breath, and shove your feelings into a deep well, one covered in moss and ivy, simply for another day.

A sea of black greets you as you exit the castle, the air filled with the cries of thousands. The day is gray as if even mother nature is distraught. Gaunt faces torn with sadness, the silent tears of men and women, the loud cries of children who are too young to understand but sense the forlorn atmosphere and respond. You take your place on the open carriage, your father's casket laying only a few feet away from you. The casket is grand, black with gold embellishments, but you can't bring yourself to look at it. It makes it all too real. Your mother steps into the carriage, her beautiful face pulled into its usual frozen expression. Her cold gaze drags over you, and you ignore her as she tuts disapprovingly but says no more. Even she can hold her tongue when she needs to.

The carriage starts its long trek to the royal cemetery, and you feel every rock as it bumps slowly across the road. You watch faces flash by, each hollow with a sadness you feel in your core. The ride to the cemetery is excruciating, as the sky starts to rain, big droplets that splash against the casket, and down your face. You're thankful, as it masks your tears.

The ceremony is grim, and mostly a blur. You watch as a little girl comes forward, and with small hands gently places a single white lily on the casket. More children follow, and soon the dark top of the casket was blanketed in white. Your tears are falling more frequently now, your hat and veil long gone. But these tears, instead of being pure despair, are also interspersed with gratitude. Gratitude for your kind maids, who treated you with such gentle warmth, gratitude for the looks of kindness and understanding you received from your subjects. As you finally leave the cemetery you turn back, laying eyes one final time on the grim black coffin covered in pure white lilies. Your father's favorite flowers were lilies.

The following weeks are a blur. The world seems to continue even as you morn, and you do your best to continue along with it. Your deep loneliness is pushed to the back of your mind and you soon begin to forget it. Months pass, and soon, your eighteenth birthday approaches. You find yourself engaged to a truly dreadful man, but per your mother's request, you are unable to do a thing about it. And then one day, your life changes forever.

The royal dining room is large, with high arching ceilings letting a draft permeate through the space. A huge crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the room, filling the large space with shadowy candlelight. Of all of the many rooms in the palace, this one has become one of your least favorites.

The large marble table is laden with food, untouched at the moment and the servants bustle around, serving wine and tidying various lighting fixtures around the room. Your mother, the star of the show, is late. You bristle, as she can't even show courtesy as the host of this sham of a party. Your mother has never been your favorite person, and as long as you have known her, those cold eyes, so dead of feeling, have always scared you.

The large doors slammed open and in waltzed your mother, her head held high. Your eyes narrow as you take in the full picture, the man escorting her to her place. He looks young, maybe eight or nine years your senior, and very handsome. With dark black hair and broad shoulders, he supported your mother as she walked across the room, pulling out the chair for her like a gentleman. Twinkling brown eyes and a sweet smile. Just your mother's type. Anger sang in your veins. How dare she bring in a cheap boy toy so soon after your father's passing. The man tried to send you a smile, but you turned, ignoring him. Your mother’s cold voice echoed in the grand hall.

“Darling, please welcome your new father.”

She didn't ask for your opinion, she simply barged ahead as she always did, as if you didn't matter. It angered you beyond belief, but it also made you feel so insignificant like you were nothing and if you simply went to sleep and never woke up, the world would continue around you, not even stopping to mourn. The room was dead silent as it awaited your response, eyes bearing down upon you. Your mother's cold expectant ones, the knowing eyes of the servants, the eyes of this new man. Emotions roiled in your gut and you stood suddenly, rattling the crockery on the table. You could tell your face was a mess, and you felt the tears start to slip down your cheeks as you ran from the room.

You heard voices fade away as you slammed the door behind you. The worried voice of the young man and your mother's cold reply.

“Is she feeling quite well? Was it something I did?”

“Don't mind her foolishness, she is simply a child.”

You fled down the hall, your skirts a whirl around your legs as you ran from the suffocating room. You were not a child, and most definitely not foolish, you seethed to yourself as you yanked open the doors to your chambers.

But as you entered your room, all the explosive anger drained out of you, leaving only cold acceptance and resentment. It was childish, you mused as your stomach growled in hunger. You crashed face-first on your bed, your hair falling from its updo and pooling messily around your shoulders.

Your mind was a mess, greatly resembling a dark and stormy ocean, a rocky shore tossed by tumultuous waves. Emotions raced through you, too fast to truly catalog. Angry thoughts of your mother's disrespect for your father's name. How could she bring this young handsome boy toy to the castle, so soon after your father's death? And to introduce him as your father? You vowed to never accept this man, to snub him at every turn and refuse to acknowledge him as your father.

(Somewhere, deep in your subconscious, you felt the vile monster of jealousy rear its head and stomp its many feet threateningly. You were jealous, jealous of your mother's goddess-like beauty, jealous of her power, and most of all, you wished the unnamed man could have been yours instead.)

♔♕♔

On that fateful day, the day your mother got remarried, you were notably absent. Your maids had searched and searched your usual hiding spots, but you were nowhere to be found. You were, in fact, in a very unprincesslike position, thrown over two bales of hay, your body bared to the heavy air of the stable. You lost your innocence to the handsome stable boy as wedding bells filled the air. And as you felt ecstasy, gripping the stable boy's broad shoulders, you couldn't really say you were sorry. At the moment at least. The lasting consequences were a bit of an inconvenience. The absence of such a notable figure, the daughter of the bride at that, sent scandalized whispers spreading around the castle.

“The Princess did not show her face at her mother's wedding.”

“She must not accept this new man.”

The rumors didn't bother you but what did bother you was your mother's response or rather lack thereof. There was only a slight tick in her perfectly arched eyebrows as she looked down at you, picking at her long scarlet nails. You met her gaze head-on, never one to show fear to a predator. She looked over at you, taking note of your disheveled appearance, the bits of hay tangled in your long hair, the red marks scattered across your neck, and shook her head.

She tutted disapprovingly. “Darling, if you must partake in those kinds of…” She paused, raising a perfect eyebrow delicately, “Activities…try to restrain yourself when you have official duties.”

You felt like stomping the ground, no matter how childish it was. Your mother always made you feel like this. Like a small, insignificant child, wandering about the world in dumb confusion, and not a fully grown adult woman. You opened your mouth to protest, but your mother waved a hand, dismissing you. You turned, your shoes pattering on the marble floor. You had just reached the door when she spoke last time.

“And for god’s sake, clean yourself up.”

You slammed the door behind you and made the long trek back down the twisting halls and into your chambers.

All through the short and unpleasant meeting you had avoided meeting the eyes of your new ‘father’, but if you had dared to look, you would have noticed the pangs of hurt and disappointment flashing through his dark eyes.

♔♕♔

Over the next few months, you did your best to avoid your new ‘father’. And soon, he gave up his little attempts to get to know you and treated you with the exhaustion of a man who accepted the fact that he was not wanted. Infuriatingly, he was never disrespectful of you, never treated you with contempt, and oh, how it angered you. It was hard to justify your hate when he was such a nice person. And so, a year passed, and then, only a few months before your nineteenth birthday, your mother died.

It was a carriage accident. She was on the way to a friend's house when the carriage was struck by lightning and thrown, burning, off the side of a cliff. It was a fitting end for your mother, fiery and dramatic.

It was sudden, and in your opinion a much-needed breath of fresh air. Maybe you were a truly vile person for thinking this, but your mother had never truly loved you, and you most definitely had returned that hatred. But she was your mother, so even though you loathed it, you couldn't stop the few tears that fell at the funeral.

Later that night, you go through your mother’s belongings and find a stack of leather journals, her personal diaries. Unsure of whether you want to know what these bound confessionals hold you let them sit untouched for a few hours. Finally, overcome with curiosity you open the volume marked with the earliest date and begin to read. As you read her diaries you let yourself cry in earnest. Your mother was a pitiful person, obsessed with beauty to a fault, and it in the end had doomed her, doomed her to a life of marriage to a man she didn't love, not allowed to love who she truly loved. Thinking back to the funeral you did notice the familiar and yet strange woman mourning your mother from the background. A friend your mother had called on at indecent times of the night. The pieces were beginning to fit together. You wanted to hate her, you really did, but as you read of her heartache, you felt yourself sympathizing with her. You hated that feeling, so you buried it deep in your heart, and burned the remainder of her diaries. As you watched the smoke billow into the air, you cried, your tears watering the vines choking your throat.

You watched in grim acceptance as Chan, your ‘father’, accepted the position of temporary monarch, at least until you got married. Truthfully, although you glared fiercely at him, you didn't mind. Being a monarch was a responsibility you were not willing and not ready to shoulder, and Chan was a fair, level-headed person. Those exact qualities were something you despised in him. It was hard to hate a man who was so easygoing and intelligent. But you hated him, you were certain of it. Every thought of him was accompanied by a pounding in your heart like the drumbeat of soldiers marching to war. When you laid eyes on him your body would flush with anger, your fists trembling and your breathing choking you with hatred. If this terrifying feeling was not hatred, you could not tell what it was. And you didn't know if you wanted to know.

♔♕♔

For the next several years, you settled into an uneasy peace, interspersed with dramatic fiery fights that left you running away from it all, on your favorite horse, and disappearing for hours on end. You would always ignore Chan’s worried face when you got back, intent on hating him.

You embroidered, chatted with your friends, rode your horse about the pastures, and begrudgingly met with your dreadful fiance. And just like that, four long years had passed and you were nearing your twenty-fourth birthday when Chan summoned you into his study.

You hated his study, hated how cozy he had made it with warm red curtains and dark cherry wood surfaces, hated the faint smell of woodfire, and Chan's deep musky scent that made you heat up with what you were sure was anger. You avoided this room of the castle at all costs, but even you could not ignore a direct summons, so you stood before him, avoiding his eyes.

“Name, please sit.”

He waved his hand and you wanted to refuse, but you valued your comfort over your stubborn nature so you sat across from him on the red satin couch, munching away at a few biscuits and avoiding his eyes. You watch Chan’s hands as he places you a cup of tea in front of you, and pours his own. You take a deep breath, the sweet scent of jasmine, your favorite tea, filling your nostrils. Chan sighed, the breath gusting out from between his plump lips as he spoke.

“I hear you did not attend your usual meeting with your fiance.” You do your best to portray your annoyance with your face as you speak, still not meeting his eyes.

“Lord Brandish is dreadfully boring and dull, I just could not stand to speak with him again.”

Chan sighs a sigh of frustration, one that only you can manage to pull out of his mouth, and sets his teacup down on the wooden surface of the table. He looks at you and you hate the disappointment leaking from his eyes.

“Name, you are nearing your twenty-fourth year already, soon it will be time for you to get married and take over rulership of this kingdom.”

You hate how level-headed and smart he sounds, and how in comparison you sound like a dumb immature child. What makes it worse is the way he handles you, so patient even after you treated him with such disrespect. You slam your tea cup on the table, the hot tea sloshing over your fingers. You hiss at the burn and Chan rushes to your side, his strong hands grasping your own.

“Name are you alright? Does it hurt?”

His hands are big, much bigger than your own, and the comforting warmth envelopes you, spreading from your hands all throughout your body. The warmth scares you, but in a moment of weakness, you let him caress your hands gently, smoothing ointment onto the burns. It takes a moment, but Chan meets your eyes, perhaps wondering why you haven't yanked your hands away and stormed off. You find yourself wondering the same thing and hurriedly yank them away, settling as far away from him as you can. He seems to sink in on himself, returning to his seat and clearing his throat.

“As I was saying, you cannot miss these appointments, they are vital to your future relationship with your fiance…”

He continues on, and you tune him out, your anger slowly building. How dare he, who is he to command you like this? As usual, anger is your first reaction, and you brandish it both as a shield and a sword.

“I refuse to go.”

Chan stops, his eyes meeting your own, and waves his hand around.

“Name, you're being childish. You must continue to go—”

You interrupt, your heart beating in your ears.

“I refuse!”

You hate your fiance, hate his crude remarks, his overall poor attitude, and the way his slimy hands feel up your thighs at every opportunity. Lord Brandish is a truly vile man, but of course, he puts on his mask, playing the part of the perfect gentleman in front of Chan and your servants.

Lord Brandish appeared to them a perfect man, as handsome as he was kind, and they simply could not understand your animosity towards him. And to you, you would never tell. The mere thought made you feel pathetic, running to your ‘father’, admitting you could not solve all your problems on your own. It felt like weakness, and you hated weakness. So you bottled it up and did your best to treat him with absolute contempt, hoping maybe, he would just refuse to marry you. Sadly, that day had not come.

Chan threw his hands up in exasperation, as you continued on. Your voice trembled embarrassingly as you jumped to your feet.

“Who are you, how can you make me go?”

You could see he was finally losing his patience as he stood as well, his hands waving annoyed patterns in the air.

“Name, I don't understand why you can't just listen to me for once!”

You are yelling by now, your usual defense mechanism, anger, spewing out of your painted lips like knives, flying at their target and embedding themselves deep in his chest.

“I can't! I won't!”

Your words are basically nonsense, the emotions you had buried deep in your heart, all those tears you had refused to let fall, years and years of loneliness and resentment crawling their way out of your heart. Akin to ugly black vines, the leaves long withered, and dead, weaving their way up your body, tearing through your internal organs, and exploding out of your mouth in ugly sobs. You bite the sobs back, they were a weakness.

Anger is burning in Chan's eyes. The two of you had indeed had fights before, but for some reason, this particular fight felt different. There was a quality in the air, floating around the two of you like a deadly wind, disturbing everything it touches. You were basically in hysterics by now, hands clutching and tearing at your necklace, and it was no longer about the conversation, no longer about Lord Brandish. This was about something much deeper, something darker, something you weren't ready to talk about yet.

The vines were back, tearing at your throat and teeth, and in a moment of weakness, you let them out. All your resentment tearing out of your mouth in three final words.

“I hate you.”

They were words you had never dared to say, never quite believed, and the moment they left you, the moment you looked up and saw his face, the anger melted out of you and you burst into tears. It was all too much, the pain on his face, the way he stumbled back slightly, the way his hand trembled as he reached for you. The tears were still burning a hot path down your cheeks, staining the collar of your dress dark with water. You felt pathetic and small, and most of all, you knew at that moment that you didn't hate Chan. You thought it would feel good to finally say those words out loud, that it would feel like a relief. Instead, the feeling that ran through you was regret. The vines that had poured out of your mouth were suffocating you, and all you wanted to do was cry and cry until it all went away.

You were still so young, so immature, and you felt so, so regretful. You were drowning in your tears, you were suffocating in your clothes and you just wished it would all go away.

Warm arms enveloped you, pulling you into a hard chest, caressing your hair roughly. You began to cry harder, the words coming out jumbled and croaky.

“Chan, I apologize. I never meant it, I just—”

His deep voice interrupted your choked apologies, his hands rubbing soothing circles in your back.

“Shhh, I know. I know.”

His kindness, his ever-present kindness, just made your tears fall faster, your hands knotting in the back of his shirt.

“You are just so kind, and I was so horrible to you and I apologize—”

He just stroked your back soothingly, murmured nothing into your hair, and let you cry, years' worth of emotions wetting the thin fabric of his undershirt. It felt good to cry, and those horrible dead vines wrapped around your throat slowly loosened, falling gently around your shoulders, and turning a brilliant vibrant green. Leaves sprouted and you cried and cried, until the sun sank below the distant hills, and you found yourself still laying in his arms, embraced on the floor. It had been so long since you had felt a touch of comfort, and you would have compared it to the times your father had held you like this, but for some strange reason, it didn't quite feel like that.

It felt comforting of course, but you also felt strange. Your cheeks flushed pink, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You had always assumed this strange feeling was rage, but maybe…

You hurriedly put a stop to that line of thought. For now, you should do your best to make it up to Chan and enjoy your time with your ‘father’.

♔♕♔

Over the next few weeks, you spent more and more time with Chan. The two of you would eat each meal together, and you found that he was actually very pleasant company. You found he shared your love of horse riding and promptly planned a picnic. The servants cooed over your relationship, most of them just grateful you were both happy, although you had heard strange whispers and giggles from the maids every time you interacted. You asked them, but they had just giggled and ran off. It was strange but you were too happy to dwell on it as you anticipated your picnic.

It was a beautiful day for a picnic, the sun smiling down and the wind tossing your hair around your head gracefully. Your favorite horse, Pearlie whinnied and reared playfully into the air as you stroked her pure white coat.

Pearlie was a beautiful white mare, gifted to you on your fifteenth birthday by your father. You took one look at her pure white coat and promptly named her Pearlie. Your father had dissolved in laughter and patted your head reassuringly.

Pearlie was docile and playful, and you adored her with your entire being. Her long white main blew gently in the wind, the sun bouncing off her gold embroidered saddle and almost blinding you. You patted her reassuringly.

“Just wait a minute more Pearlie, it's almost time.”

A cough sounded behind you and you whip around, your eyes coming to rest on Chan. Your breath caught in your throat. He looks positively radiant, clothed in a thin white shirt and tight black pants, his hand grabbing the reins of a gorgeous black stallion. His brown curls blew gently in the breeze, he smiled at you, his dimples peeking out. You felt your heart heating up and again, your heart beating insistently in your chest, bumping against your ribcage and begging to be let out, if only to jump into his arms. Much like you wanted to do. A flash of gold caught your eyes and you looked down, blushing as naked flesh graced your eyes. The front of his shirt was undone, and a bit of fair peck peaked out at you. A golden pendant hung around his neck, swaying gently as he walked, drawing your eyes towards its golden glow and the swaths of skin available for your eyes to devour. You hurriedly yanked your eyes away and mounted your horse. Chan joined you, pulling his black stallion up next to yours. He smiled and your heart felt like it would simply rip from your chest and leave you cold and dead.

“Ready to depart?”

You managed a nod and urged Pearlie into a trot. You let the wind cool your heated cheeks, let it caress your face and toss your hair, and all too soon, you had arrived at your destination.

The lake was special, a spot you had discovered one day, running from your mother's wrath. The sunlight bounced off the pure blue surface, and the trees around it were such vibrant greens, rivaled only by the bright wildflowers littering the ground. The air was warm, and butterflies scattered as you dropped to the ground, Chan following suit.

He let out a noise of amazement. “This place is extraordinary.”

You smiled, happy that he thought so too. “Isn't it? It's my special place.”

You were busy laying out the blanket and missed the look he sent you, so full of happiness tinged only with a slight flavor of longing.

You plopped down on the blanket, and he joined you, laying out the spread of treats. Small bite-size sandwiches, little cakes and pies, and a large pitcher of iced jasmine tea. It made your mouth water and you delicately picked up a small raspberry pie, taking a bite. Your teeth sank into the flaky pie crust, the slightly tart filling making your taste buds sing in delight. You let out a moan of satisfaction as you finished the treat, reaching for another as Chan laughed.

“You like raspberries?”

You nod, your mouth full, and swallow a delicious bite. “The kitchen really outdid itself.” It is a picturesque afternoon, and in no time at all the large spread of food is long gone and the both of you are laying back, letting the breeze play gently with your clothes and gazing into the pure blue sky. Birdsong fills the air, and you can see butterflies darting around from flower to flower, never stopping for too long. Faintly, you think you can hear bees buzzing in the distance, and sure enough, across the lake, you spot a bees nest, hundreds of bees buzzing around it, little soldiers devoted to their work. The smell of nature fills your nostrils, wispy clouds arching gracefully and the sun blazing a path across the blue, blue sky.

Chan breaks the peaceful silence, clearing his throat before speaking. “I am really glad we could do this.”

You nod, turning your body to face him, your arm squishing uncomfortably below your side. He looks positively radiant beside you, beaming at you, his dimples doing horrible things to your heart. You cough and reply. “I'm sorry, I was stubborn.”

Chan sits up, waving his hand in protest. “No, Name I didn't mean—”

You sit up as well, your hair falling around your shoulders and tickling your bare skin. It all just feels so carefree, you feel a smile carving its way across your face.

“I know, Chan. I know how kind and forgiving you are.” You take a deep breath, stealing yourself to let your emotions show. “I should have noticed earlier. I took my irrational anger out on you and I apologize.”

You're not used to apologizing, and you know your dialogue sounds stiff and formal, but you can't quite think of another way to get it out.

Chan moves to protest, but in a moment of ill-advised boldness, you place a finger gently on his plump lips, bringing his words to a sharp halt.

“Chan. Let me apologize for this at least.”

He nods, and your hand falls reluctantly from his lips, finger hot from the contact. You're left looking at him, your eyes staring deep into his own deep brown ones and falling down, down, down. The world around you disappears, the birdsong fading away to nothing until all you can see is his face, highlighted by the sinking sun, his tousled brown hair, and those disastrous dimples disappearing as his smile fades, his eyes dipping from your own to focus on your lips. You're frozen in time, filled with a longing you finally understand. Those symptoms you for so long assumed were hatred were in fact desire. You long for his touch, for his warmth, and shamefully, for his love. The metaphorical vines curled lovingly around your neck begin to bloom, white lilies falling from their stems and plopping into your lap. The sun suddenly seems to shine just a little brighter, the leaves seem a more vibrant green, and the birdsong returns, louder and more beautiful than ever. You are floating, dancing in your happiness, the relief of realization rendering your body light, and now you're soaring, dancing on the cloud tops, but then, you fall. The guilt pours in, guilt over your love, your love of your mother's husband, a man who probably still devoted himself to her, even in her passing. And you know you could never compare to your mother, her beautiful face still etched in your mind, her cold expression glaring at you from her perch on the wall, her face immortalized in a royal portrait, frame made of solid gold. And you know, that you can never have this man, the man you want and have wanted for longer than you were willing to admit to yourself. And with that, the sun sinks below the hills, and the vibrant colors leak out of your surroundings. You break eye contact, turning away and standing up.

Chan jumps to his feet. “Time to go?”

You nod, forcing a smile, and grip Pearlies reins in your hand. You turn, away from Chan and gaze out over the lake. This spot will be forever intertwined with bittersweet memories, a place where you came to realize your unrequited, very forbidden love. A heavy warm hand lands on your shoulder and you turn, Chan's worried face greeting your own. You find yourself mesmerized by his lips as he speaks.

“Name, are you alright?” He scratched the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically and adorably shy. You took a deep breath and put on a smile. “I'm fine Chan, just a little tired.”

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes studying your face, and you did your best not to feel a little self-conscious. But then, he was done and you turned away, mounting Pearlie as he jumped atop his black steed, and you set off back to the castle.

The ride back was silent, the orange glow of the sunset bathing the hills in fire, and the fireflies had come out to play. It was a beautiful scene, but you couldn't bring yourself out of your somber mood and the two of you rode home in tense silence.

♔♕♔

Later that night, as your maids bustled about, lighting the lanterns one by one until the room was bathed in candlelight, you noticed the strange new addition to the room. A large mirror. Your head maid noticed where your eyes were going and helpfully chimed in.

“Was your mother”s, she left it to you.”

You frowned. It didn't look like anything your mother would own. It was old, the glass slightly foggy and no matter how you strained your eyes, you could not make out a reflection. The rim of the mirror was gaudy, gold with inlaid jewels, and for some reason, as you stared at it you got the unpleasant sensation of eyes on you, watching you as you crept closer.

You stretched a shaking hand out, and just as your fingers brushed against the surface, the fog within the mirror began to swirl violently. You jumped, pulling the offending hand back and clutching it to your chest as the fog congealed, coming together until a face was visible. You looked away hurriedly. It wasn't as if the face was ugly, no, you would rather describe it as unnerving. It was a woman, her face what you could only call perfection, and it was a woman who you knew far too well. Your mother's perfect face stared back at you, immortalized inside this strange mirror even as her corpse rotted in the graveyard far from the castle. The maids were gone now, and as you stepped closer to the mirror a breeze came in through your open window, ruffling your silk nightgown and tossing your hair. The woman in the mirror spoke first, but the voice that exited its perfectly painted mouth was not your mother’s, no, it was a strange amalgamation of voices, male and female, blending together in a truly unpleasant way.

“You must be my new master.”

The face in the mirror moved as it spoke, almost as if your mother was here in front of you again, and you hated it. You responded, trying to hastily tidy your unruly hair. You always felt so small next to your mother, so small and unattractive.

“Your master?”

The face in the mirror never changed, no emotion ever crossed its stone-cold face and the longer you stared at it the more dazed you felt, as if a heavy fog was suddenly blanketing your mind. The world seemed to fade away and all you could see was the mirror. The mirror spoke again, its words cutting like ice, pulling your insecurities out of your mind and weaponizing them against you.

“You can be the object of his affection.”

Every emotion was heightened, and you felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes as a sudden and intense desperation enveloped you and you rushed forward, gripping the sides of the mirror.

“Tell me! Tell me this instant!”

Your voice sounded desperate even to your ears but for some reason you didn't care. The mirror’s perfect face curved into a stunning smile, as its ruby lips parted one final time, and a poem fell from them.

You repeat the first line of the poem as you exit the castle, your heels clicking much too loudly on the cobblestone path.

“Enter the woods, under moonlight so bright…” You lift your eyes to the sky and breathe in relief as the moon decides to peek out from behind the clouds, lighting the path in front of you.

You were always told never to enter the woods, and you hear the words echoing in the back of your mind, but the strange fog in your brain quickly blankets it, and you step off the cobblestones and onto the well-worn path into the woods. You reach into your pocket, pulling out a compass as you recite the next few lines in the poem.

“A choice will be yours, surrender tonight, Walk to the north, not south or not west.” The woods are dark, the trees foreboding, their branches reaching desperately toward the moonlight. It's silent, unnervingly silent as you walk off the beaten path, your shoes touching damp grass, padding softly across its surface, and leaving crushed beaten grass in your wake. Not a sound crosses your lips, as you walk on, through the large trunks of huge black trees. You look at the little paper where you hastily scrawled the mirror's words, and read the next line.

“Until in a grove, she grants your request…”

Sure enough, ahead of you, your eyes catch on a break in the trees. The dark trees gave way to green moss and stones, and the moonlight poured into the clearing, illuminating the strange statue in the center. It's made of a peculiar black stone and almost shines by itself. It's big, much taller than you and the edges are rough, like it was hastily carved. It mesmerizes you, as you stare deep into the black interior you suddenly feel the urge to touch it. You move your hand, almost in a trance, and brush the rough surface. The surface is smooth, and ice cold, and as your fingers leave its surface it begins to melt away slowly, black goo melting off its surface and sizzling into the ground. The goo swirls, and the ground below it seems to melt away until a shining glass statue is revealed. The statue is large, almost your height, and of a woman. Her face is covered with a strange mask, round and smooth and without any features at all, her hair cascades down her shoulders, reaching all the way to the ground. She is clothed in a skin-tight gown, with a revealing slit up the side. Her feet are bare upon the grass. In her hand, she holds a single object, a shining golden apple. The paper in your hand flutters to the ground, long forgotten as you stare wide-eyed at the apple. Its shimmering surface mesmerizes you and you find yourself reaching out, and gripping its smooth surface in your hand.

It's cold, and as you bring it to your lips, you have the vaguest feeling of foreboding. In the back of your disordered mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Chan, screaming at you to stop, to put the apple back and turn, leaving the woods for good. But the mirror's promise echoes in your mind and you open your mouth, taking a single bite of the apple. The skin is thin, the flesh just the right amount of sweet and tart. The apple is delicious, and as you chew it, you suddenly hunger desperately for more. Your gaze zeros in on the apple and you bring it to your lips again, but just like that, it slips from your hand. You look around in confusion, only for your vision to start to fade around the edges, your hands are suddenly limp and as your consciousness fades, you have one clear realization.

“I should have never listened to that mirror.”

The last sensation you feel is the soft grass beneath your legs, as you fall gently to the ground, and slip into a dark, dreamless sleep.

♔♕♔

Something was wrong. Chan could feel it, even as the clock ticked on endlessly, as the words scrawled on documents began to blur over, as you waltzed through his mind, your smile consuming his every thought. It was unhealthy, and so, so wrong. This woman, this young, beautiful, and when he had enjoyed the chance to know you, kind woman was someone he could never even touch. This woman who he lived too close to, was a woman forever out of his desperate hands, a woman he could never have, never kiss. The thought killed him. And that was why Chan took the long journey to your room, down the dark empty halls, past the portraits that judged his every move, and knocked quietly on your door. It was late, he knew that. Much too late for him to be visiting you, and Chan felt his face heating up as he realized how improper it looked. Him, a young man, visiting a young woman in the dead of night. But, he reassured himself as he stood in front of your door, his first thoughts had been innocent, a desire to talk to you, to laugh with you, even if his later thoughts had turned less proper.

The silence worried him, and he knocked again, harder. The door cracked open, light pouring into the dark hallway and Chan frowned. You were up? At this hour? He realized how hypocritical that sounded, here he was, awake and trying to visit you, but in his defense, he hadn't been thinking of anything besides your smile. The smile he had glimpsed this afternoon, shining like the sun after rainfall. Chan had thought he might die. You looked radiant among the flowers, a forest fairy masquerading as a human, a being so perfect and radiant he might die if he dared to lay a hand on her skin. He truly wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. Your smile was like the sun peeking its way from behind the clouds after a storm, the storm of your hatred. Chan never wanted to be on the receiving end of your hatred ever again.

He pushed the door cautiously, and peaked around it, taking in the fully lit candles and the strange mirror standing in the corner of the room. He stepped inside, taking the opportunity to look around your room, usually a forbidden place for him. Your room was large, with high sloping ceilings giving it a breezy feel. Your window was open, curtains flapping in the wind, and the moonlight poured into the room, illuminating the white sheets on your bed.

Your perfectly made bed. Your dreadfully empty bed.

Chan ran to the window, his heart pounding in his chest. What was going on, where had you gone at this late hour? He feared the worst, even as he leaned out the window, and spotted the imprints in the grass. Footsteps. His body froze, ice water coating his insides and dread in his thoughts. Where could you be going at such a late hour. He prayed you had not headed into the woods. The woods were home to many things, some good, some terrifying, and the thoughts of what could happen to you turned his mind to stone. You were the woman he loved above all else, he could not let you die. Chan knew it was illogical. He should have waited until morning, gathered an armed search team, and departed into the woods, but he could not help the way he ran down the stairs, and flung open the castle doors, running barefoot into the woods.

Alas, his searching was for nothing, because as he stumbled back in the morning, sleep deprived and emotional, he still had not found you.

♔♕♔

And thus, six uneasy days passed. Chan pulled together a search team. He insisted on coming along, even if the head butler protested, and the team of strong volunteers turned the woods upside down in search of you. Night after sleepless night passed, and the dark circles under Chan’s eyes grew and grew. The servants whispered, their concern for their employers spread to the townsfolk and finally on the morning of the seventh day, they received a tip from a huntsman. A tip that told of a woman, asleep in a glass coffin, deep in the woods.

Armed with this information, they stumbled through the woods, exhausted men led by their relentless king, a man driven by a love he didn't even realize. And as the sun set on the seventh day, Chan found you.

The clearing was bathed in the rays of the dying sun, the light illuminating the intricate glass coffin taking up the center of the clearing. And laid in that coffin, still as death was you, still clothed in your white nightgown, hands crossed gently over your chest, holding a perfectly preserved golden apple. Chan feared the worst, stumbling to the coffin with a cry and throwing it open. His hands desperately felt for a pulse. Fear poured over his heart, as he felt nothing…

…a pulse, faint but definitely there. Chan collapsed to his knees, his head falling against the edge of the coffin, his hands desperately clutching the glass sides, and cried.

And that's how the rest of the search team found him, crouched against the glass coffin, tears streaming down his cheeks, knees grass-stained and dirty, looking nothing like the king he was, only a man brought to the ground with relief.

They moved you to the castle, careful not to disturb you, and laid you to rest in your bed. Only then did Chan allow himself to sleep, although his dreams were nightmares, plagued with you, encased in glass, dead to this world. He awoke the next morning and rushed to you, certain you were awake but when he arrived in your room, took in your form, now changed into a white silk nightgown, still fast asleep. The maids shook their heads, and he rushed to your side, desperately calling your name. He tried and tried, but you remained as silent as death, faint pulse the only evidence that you were even alive, and he finally collapsed, sinking into a chair the maids had provided and taking your cold hand in his own. He took you in, your hair, now washed courtesy of the maids, fanning around your head, your eyes closed, lashes kissing your cheeks, your pretty mouth, open slightly as you breathe. Your skin was cold to the touch, and you made barely a sound in the room, cold and silent as death.

Cold and silent as your mother had been.

Chan was never in love with your mother, and in turn, she had never loved him. It had been like a contract for her, to hide her secret lover from the public. She said lover, but Chan was not sure your mother could truly love anymore if the way she treated you was any indication.

Chan still remembered the day the queen had shown up to his small house, in all her royal glory, and asked him to marry her. He had agreed, if only to support his siblings, and moved into the castle. He remembered the day he had met you, a woman so beautiful and full of life, so bright as she glared at him, so angry as she ignored him, such an opposite of the woman he married. He had admired you since the day he met you, your glowing beauty seemed to light up the room, your smile like the sun after a rainy day. Even your anger was vibrant, so much better than your mother's cold treatment of all living things. But soon he hungered for more. He longed to be on the receiving end of your smiles, to no longer be subject to your hatred. And then, one day, his wish had come true. After years and years of receiving your glares, one of your brilliant smiles had been reserved specifically for him. Not for the stable boy you favored, not for the new butler who the maids gossiped about, not even for your gossipy friends who smirked in his direction, no, this smile was reserved simply for him. It was karma, he decided, that the night after he received such a privilege, you disappeared for seven days, and then refused to wake up.

Chan brought your ice-cold hand to his lips and pressed one gentle kiss upon your soft skin. Tears fell silently down his cheeks and dropped onto your hand. Chan prayed your fingers would twitch, that your eyes would flutter, and then open slowly, that your skin would warm and the color would return to your cheeks, but alas, no such thing happened. Your eyes remained closed, your skin remained cold, and the only thing he felt was a tap on his shoulder. The doctor had arrived.

♔♕♔

The only sound in the room was the flip of paper, the rustling of pages turning. Chan glanced up from his book, hoping that your eyes would open, but alas you remained as still as ever. The doctor had come and gone, unable to do a thing, and the maids, having grown tired of his constant staring, had provided him with some books to occupy his mind, at least until the next doctor came to visit. Much to his chagrin, he had found himself being sucked into the world of the characters. He found himself sympathizing more and more with the main character, a man who was in love with a woman he could not have. He turned the pages eagerly, absorbed every word, and found the world melting away. He understood John, the main character in the novel, as he pinned over Elain, the young woman he loved and soon the characters were no longer John and Elaine, but they became Chan and you, and he imagined every interaction as you and him. It helped him escape, helped him hold hope that one day you would wake up and interact with him again.

The book had a happy ending. John and Elaine got married and moved into John's large house together. Chan felt satisfied as he put down the book, leaning back in his chair. He could picture your wedding. You would look stunning in white, just as you looked now. And he would watch you walk down the aisle, smiling from ear to ear. Your vows would be exchanged, and you would retreat to the wedding bedroom. Chan felt his cheeks heat up, but he continued with his fantasy even as he glanced around nervously. There you lay, asleep and peaceful on the bed. He could not dare to do such a thing in front of your sleeping form, so he stood up and turned the chair around. It was much better to face a wall and do such a thing as touch himself thinking of you, right in front of your sleeping face. He still felt like a degenerate as he imagined the scene.

You would tease him, you liked to tease. He could imagine it now, your first layer of skirts falling gently to the floor, leaving you only in your thin underlayer. He could see your nipples, perky and rubbing against the fabric.

Chan gulped, palming himself slightly over his pants. It was embarrassing how quickly he rose to hardness, over a simple fantasy.

You would let the last layer fall, and sit on the bed, your perfect body on display for his greedy eyes. He watched as you smirked, spreading your legs and bearing your core for his eyes. Chan gulps as you beckon him forward, falling to his knees before your core.

The Chan in reality refuses to actually pull himself out of his pants, electing instead to press harder, his palm doing its best in the circumstances as he falls back into his fantasy.

You grip his hair, smirking down at him, and with enough force to startle, shove his face into your—

A knock sounds on the door, interrupting his dirty fantasies and Chan hurriedly does his best to hide his hardness, pulling himself as the maids lead the next doctor in. If they notice his disheveled appearance and how the chair is now facing the wall, they don't say a thing.

♔♕♔

For the next few days, the castle was abuzz with worry. The news spread fast, and soon villagers were lining up with gifts. Everything from jewelry to a bouquet of wildflowers given to him by a small girl, who sobbed and asked if the princess would wake up. Chan did his best to reassure her, even if on the inside he felt like crying.

He summoned every doctor he could, but none of them seemed to have an answer. You seemed to be stuck in time. You didn't need to eat, or drink, and you didn't change one bit, from the moment they found you laying inside that glass coffin, deep in the woods. Hours turned to days and you didn't wake up. Chan despaired. He posted desperate notices around the kingdom, begging for any information regarding endless sleep. He tried any and every doctor he could, he prayed to any god available, but alas, nothing.

Days turned to weeks, and the word seemed to move on around him, even as you slept, so beautiful but so lifeless, and even as Chan despaired. He did his best and ran the kingdom like he was supposed to, but everyone could tell his heart wasn't in it. His eyes looked glazed and distant, and he spent all his free time sitting by your bed, holding your hand. The villagers and nobles cooed at his dedication, calling it the love story of the century, but the servants did their best to keep the rumors from him. A month passed, and Chan feared you would never wake again. He was so close to giving up, when one day, a strange woman entered the palace, and with her dirty robes, she brought his hope.

The woman appeared old, but with witches, you could never be so sure. She smiled at Chan, looking calm and complacent, a sharp difference from Chan’s harried look. She was wearing a long red dress, a woolen cloak covering most of her body. When she first appeared, it had been covered in mud, but between the time she had entered the door and Chan had brought her to your room, the cloak looked brand new.

Chan spoke first. “Do you think you can help her? She won't wake up and I don't know what to do anymore—”

The witch raised a manicured finger, and Chan stopped talking, effectively shushed. The witch spoke, and her voice echoed in your large chambers, years younger than her appearance.

“I'll see what I can do.”

Chan blinked, and when he looked back at her, she had de-aged, looking closer to thirty than ninety. Her blond hair, cut in a sharp bob at her chin, peaked out from her hood as she smiled at him. Witches and their disguises. Her blue eyes lined heavily with black, took in the situation and Chan watched nervously as she walked to the bed where you lay, still as cold and silent as ever before. She looked at you for a second, her eyes scanning your features, frozen in time before her eyes moved to the golden apple, sitting inconspicuously on your small bedside table. Chan frowned as she picked it up, turning it around in her hands, her nails filed to lethal sharp points, and painted a dangerous red. He had never given the apple much thought, too concerned with your state, but as she turned it around he noticed the one, small bite, perfectly preserved, on one side.

Chan can't help himself, he rushes forward.

“Is that what it is? Is she poisoned? Is she never going to…”

He can't bear to say it and lets the sentence trail off. The witch stares at him for a moment, chewing something in her mouth, before she takes pity on his sorry state and sets the apple down, turning to him.

“Yes, cursed apple. But…”

She turns and walks to the strange mirror that had been sitting in the corner of your room. Chan watches in horror as she lifts a pointy heeled shoe, and gracefully kicks the mirror. The surface shatters, the pieces clattering to the ground like rainfall, and Chan opens his mouth to protest but shuts it as he watches.

The pieces have risen in the air, distorting and twisting until they crash to the earth, and with a strange howl, one that sounds a lot like despair and fills his soul with sadness, they vanish. The room seems automatically lighter, like a disturbing presence has been removed from the room, and Chan suddenly felt a bit more optimistic. The witch turned to him with a sigh, tossing the apple in the air. Chan watched it spin, slightly mesmerized.

“Alright, it seems like that vile mirror convinced your lover to depart into the woods and eat this apple.”

Chan frowned, questions spilling from his mouth.

“How did the mirror do that? What kind of mirror was it and why would it do that? Also—”

The witch held up a hand, silencing him as the apple spins in the air again, coming to rest in her manicured hand.

“It's a cursed mirror. A vile human soul, doomed to trick unsuspecting people into death.”

How did such a thing end up in your possession? He can only imagine the horrible thoughts it must have put into your head. Chan’s horror must show on his face because she chuckles a little as she continues.

“It must have played on her insecurities, impersonated a person she feared or respected, and convinced her to go into the woods.”

The witch moved over to the window as she spoke, and drew her arm back, and with all her might, threw the golden apple into the sunlight. It spuns in the air for a moment, before it exploded with a bang, disappearing into thin air. Chan staired. The witch laughed.

“That apple,” She said, dusting her hands of imaginary dirt. “Is a cursed item. It's the usual thing,”

The witch held up two fingers, and pitched her voice, mimicking someone. “Cursed to sleep until she receives true loves kiss,’ it's so cliche but some witches still rely on the old stuff—”

“True love’s kiss?”

The witch looked at him like he was stupid. “Yes, true love's kiss. Should be easy for you.”

She pulled the hood of her cloak up, and Chan watched as wrinkles grew on her fair skin, her hair turned a dark gray, and she aged about fifty years. Her voice was still clear and young when she spoke. “Unfortunately, I have to go.” she waved an old wrinkled hand and smirked at him. “Good luck.”

And with that, she was gone, like she was never even there, leaving Chan to deal with the bombshell of a declaration she dropped on his head.

Chan deliberated long and hard about this dilemma, his brain in conflict with his heart, worry constantly etched across his handsome face. He knew his kiss would work, he loved you more than he thought he had loved anything before. But as much as he longed to press his lips to yours, he was too afraid of the consequences, afraid of what would happen when his kiss worked and you opened your eyes. Afraid of the disdain that would cross your face once you realize your stepfather had inappropriate feelings for you. The thought of your face carved into a mask of disgust made his heart ache desperately in his chest, but he would rather live a life with your hatred than live a life without you entirely.

He sank into the chair beside your bed and turned his eyes on your still form. You were so beautiful, but silent and cold as a statue and Chan longed for anything, your laughter, your screams, even your sobs, anything but this cold shell of a woman laying deathly still on the bed. Your lips, slightly parted in sleep, taunted him. Blushed a pretty pink, curved and sultry and teasing him even now. You were a temptress incarnate, and Chan would do his best to resist your charms until the very end. You were carefree, wild and the exact opposite of your mother, and as a result you had no shortage of admirers. Your fiance, who in Chan's opinion was a jerk, the stable boy, a handsome new butler, a young lord at a ball. And some of them, you favored them back, disappearing off for secret trists that your mother had scoffed at and Chan wished desperately that he was one of those men you snuck off with. He still remembered the fateful time he had accidentally heard you, panted moans and pretty cries painting a forbidden picture. You sounded so beautiful, and Chan had longed desperately that he was the one teasing those sounds out of you, not some upstart young lord. He was ashamed at the way he leaned against the wall, guiltily listening to your symphony of sounds, unable to bring himself to leave until you reached your high, sneaking off to take care of himself. It was a shameful memory, one he blushed at even now, even as he desperately prayed to any god available, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to your own in a chaste kiss. A kiss so full of longing, a forbidden taste of something he could only pine for, a woman constantly out of his reach.

♔♕♔

The world was a sea of black. It stretched forever, all you could see. Your body felt weightless, and you blinked, looking around for something, anything. But there was nothing. You faintly remembered an apple, a mirror, and then the sensation of falling, but your memory after that was blank. You decided to walk forward, looking for anything. Your feet made no sound as you pattered across the nothingness, and after what seemed like only a few minutes, your vision began to waver. You felt a creeping sensation on your back, and a voice you could not hear urged you to run, run away from the thing behind you. You knew subconsciously that if it caught you, you would never wake up. And so you ran.

You flew, your desire to wake propelling your feet, even as your throat begged for water and your legs burned. Somewhere in the distance, you saw light, and in front of that light, a figure. A familiar figure, a figure of a man you loved with all your heart. You ran and ran, and the Chan in the distance held out a hand that you longed to grab. Your feet moved impossibly faster, and you practically flew towards him, even as the sound of slithering behind you grew louder, the creeping sensation sending shivers up your spine. And as you came into the light, as you grabbed his bigger hand in your own, as he pulled you into a warm hug, the world around you faded. The strange dreamscape blurred, and you opened your eyes to the familiar colors of the ceiling, in your private chambers. You blinked, and looked around, your eyes catching on the figure seated beside your bed. Chan looked haggard, his eyes were highlighted by dark circles and his hair was a mess, but the relief in his eyes trumped it all. Your mouth felt dry as you opened it to speak.

“I'm hungry.”

You watched in confusion as tears slipped from Chan's eyes, and he tackled you on the bed, hugging you tight to his chest. You fell back against the bed, your back hitting the silky covers as pounds of muscle crashed onto you, suffocating you in his embrace. You melted into it, albeit a little confused, and stoked his large back as he cried into your nightgown. Your voice cracked as you spoke again.

“What's wrong?”

The door crashed open, and your head maid and bedroom maids crashed into the room. As soon as they lay eyes on you they were running to the bed, tears running down their faces. You were beyond confused but no one bothered to answer your questions. It took a long time for everyone to stop crying, and the maids promptly heard your complaint and brought you a bowl of warm soup and bread. Chan, still sniffling, sat in the chair by your bed and looked deliciously disheveled and desperate. You munched happily on your food as the castle staff piled into your room, and answered their questions.

Chan asked the first question.

“Why did you go into the woods?”

You remembered the thoughts that had sent you into the woods, and now that you thought back on them it seemed oftly extreme. It seemed the mirror might have been the cause of them. You chewed thoughtfully as you answered.

“This strange mirror, it told me I could be beautiful…”

You play with your spoon, a little ashamed and blushing deeply as you continue.

“I was a little erratic, I am in love with this man and so I listened to the mirror’s rambles, even if they were irrational.”

You're too focused on your embarrassment to notice the giggles and looks traded among the staff, the way your stepfather's shoulders sink slightly, his disappointed gaze. Because he could never imagine that you love him, you must be in love with some young lord, a man who doesn't deserve your love, who could never give you what you want. He shook his head, putting a stop to that presumptuous line of thought. He knows you deserve someone younger than him, unmarried and full of youthful energy to match your carefree spirit.

You keep glancing at Chan out of the corner of your eye, looking for any change in his expression, and you watch in delight as his shoulders sink, and his face darkens. You feel a flicker of hope spark in your chest, small and pathetic, but there nonetheless. You decide to test the waters a little. Clasping your hands together, you keep your eye on Chan as you speak.

“I'm just so in love, I think of him every day, and I long to spend the rest of my life with him.”

You feel a little bad as you watch Chan’s face fall, watch his hands clenched in his lap. The small flame in your heart sputters and grows, roaring to life and heating your heart in a joyful fire. You are now sure he loves you back. He sends you a strained smile, trying to be encouraging.

“That's, um, wonderful!” The servants giggle behind him, trading secret smiles hidden behind their hands.

“So, when will I meet this wonderful man?” The emphasis on wonderful makes you want to laugh, and you choke back your giggles as you continue.

“You know him.” Confusion flashes across his face. “I do?” The staff is muffling laughter behind their hands, but Chan remains ever oblivious. You smirk. “Yes, very well.”

You think he might be the only person in the room, stuffed to the brim with castle staff, that hasn't gotten it. His brow furrows as he thinks. “Is it Lord Brandish?” You emphatically shake your head. He frowns. “I really can't think of anyone else…”

Your head butler coughed, running a hand through his perfectly combed silver hair. His voice is resigned as he speaks.

“It's you, sire.”

The room is dead silent. Chan stands, his eyes wide as he turns to the head butler. “Really?” The butler nods, and Chan turns again, tripping over the leg of the chair and crashing onto the bed, narrowly avoiding your soup. Your head maid rescues the food from your lap and you grin as Chan blushes, pulling himself into a sitting position. His voice is uncharacteristically shy as he speaks.

“Is it really me?” Your beaming as you nod and a hopeful smile lights up his handsome face. You throw the covers off your legs and stand, your feet hitting the soft carpet with a thud.

Chan takes your hand in his own, and bows before you, bringing his full lips to it. Your heart pounds as he presses a delicate kiss to it. He straightens to his full height “I love you more than you can imagine.” Someone coos in the background, but all you can see is the handsome man in front of you, your hand still clasped in his. He drops your hand, and you feel his hand heavy on your waist, his other hand coming up to caress your jaw, tilting your head up. His voice is so soft as he speaks.

“When I looked into your eyes, my heart felt like it would escape my chest and run into your arms.” Your own heart feels the same, and you wonder if you might die. He's closer to you now, and all you can see is him. Around you, the servants begin to creep out giggling and smiling as they leave. The door shuts behind the last of them but neither of you notice, too caught up in each other's eyes. His voice is raspy now, and his gaze drops to your lips, darting back up to your eyes and back down. “At that moment… I knew I loved you.”

He's so cheesy, and if any other man was saying such sugar-coated words, you would laugh in his face. But when Chan says it, your heart pounds in your chest and your cheeks burn with the fire of your heart. You suppose everything is different with him. His breath hits your lips, intermixing with your own as he comes ever closer. His voice is a whisper when he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?” You smile, your hand winding around to grip his shoulders, as you reply. “Please kiss me.”

And so he does.

♔♕♔

Your wedding is a joyous occasion, the townspeople clap happily, and as you kiss your new husband, under a rain of lilies, clutching the precious flower in your hands, you think back on what an odd set of events had preceded it. To think, in a way, you had your mother to thank for your husband. After all, it was she who brought Chan into your life, her death that had indirectly caused the two of you to have an opportunity to become closer and her magic mirror that pushed you to go trecking into the woods in the first place. And as the joyous wedding bells rang through the air, as you and Chan boarded the carriage and sat side by side, your head on his shoulder as the driver whipped the horses into a trot, you found it in yourself to be thankful to her. For although she had caused you a great deal of pain, in the end it had shaped you into the person you were today, a person full of flaws, yes, but those flaws just made you human.

“Why are you so quiet. Having second thoughts?”

You giggled, and snuggled closer into your husband's strong embrace. “I would never.” You replied, and tilted your head up for a kiss.

And as your lips locked, and you drove off into the sunset, you were sure this was the happiest you had been in your whole life, but you knew, there were only happy days to come.

♔♕♔

taglist: @angieknght, @moasworld, @lofasofabread, @smhlino, @elizalabs3, @orrrgannnic

#bang chan #bang chan x reader #chan smut #skz #skz smut #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz x you #bang chan x you #mariannacrxss

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macbethsymphony · 3 months

Text

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 22

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 2k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3

Chapter 22: The Calm Before the Storm

That was the final straw. The sea? Utterly loathed. As if to underscore your sentiment, the deck beneath your bare feet turned treacherous, slick with seawater from an enormous wave that nearly capsized the ship. You fought to maintain your balance, cursing the unending, unforgiving expanse of ocean that seemed determined to thwart your every step.

With a muttered curse, you clung to the railing, knuckles white with tension as you weathered the onslaught of wind and water. Each crash of the waves against the hull felt like a personal affront, a reminder of your rapidly growing disdain for this tumultuous expanse of blue.

The chill gnawed at you mercilessly, penetrating your thin pajamas now thoroughly drenched from the relentless assault of sea spray and blinding rain. You’d just spent the last half hour securing all the tools in your forge. Your thighs burned as you wrestled to keep upright, nonetheless, you pressed on, navigating to the tables, aiming to fasten them to the deck too.

As the ship rocked and pitched beneath you, you couldn't help but wonder what possessed you to embark on this voyage in the first place. The promise of adventure? Ha! More like a death wish.

Nami's voice struggled to pierce the howling winds, her instructions almost lost amidst the deafening roar of the storm. It had descended upon you with startling swiftness, catching everyone off guard in the predawn hours. Yet, despite the lack of warning, Nami had somehow sensed its approach mere moments before the first punishing wave crashed against the hull. It was a testament to her unparalleled skill as a navigator, her intuition bordering on the miraculous.

As chaos reigned around you, you marveled at the seamless efficiency with which the crew sprang into action. Zoro and Sanji moved with practiced agility, securing the flailing sails with expert precision. Chopper and Robin worked tirelessly in the galley to secure loose objects and prevent potential disasters. Meanwhile, Franky and Usopp, undaunted by the storm's fury, kept a watchful eye on the ship's mechanical systems, ensuring that everything continued to function smoothly amidst the tumult.

Beside you, Brook offered his assistance to Nami, his skeletal hands deftly aiding her in whatever tasks she required. And then there was Luffy, the damned daredevil, perched atop the figurehead of the Sunny, his infectious laughter ringing out above the tempestuous din. Despite the danger that surrounded you, he seemed utterly unfazed, his carefree demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around him.

With the final knot cinched tight, you ensured the tables and chairs remained steadfastly anchored to the heaving deck. Rising to your feet, the disorienting sway of the ship made every movement feel out of sync, as if gravity itself was conspiring against you.

Fuck.

You were going to hurl.

The taste of bile flooded your mouth as you bent over the side of the ship.

A monstrous wave suddenly crashed against the hull, sending everything careening off course with a violent lurch that nearly catapulted you over the railing. In an instant, the world tilted at a perilous angle, and you found yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion, the relentless pull of the ocean threatening to claim you.

With a surge of adrenaline, your eyes widened in alarm as the deck vanished beneath your feet, replaced by a gaping void of churning water. The air rushed past you, whipping at your clothes as gravity seized hold, menacing to drag you into the icy depths below.

Your heart pounded in your chest as a firm grip closed around your waist, wrenching you back from the brink of disaster. In a blur of motion, you found yourself onto the safety of the deck once again, the sensation of solid ground beneath your feet a welcome relief.

Gasping for breath, you turned to see who had saved you, your eyes meeting the swordsman’s.

"Get back inside" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the sudden thunderstrike. "Can't afford to lose you out here."

Your expression twisted into a scowl. "I’m not gonna fucking wait for death in there!" you yelled defiantly.

"This isn't the time to be stubborn, witch," he jabbed a finger toward the galley door. “Get inside.”

Your gaze sparked with annoyance. "Let me help," you insisted, refusing to back down, to be useless.

He examined your face, trying to find a crack, a way for you to back down. With a begrudging sigh, he relented. "Fine," he conceded, his tone clipped. "Batten down the hatches, then," he ordered, turning away to attend to the next task.

But before he could move, you grabbed his sleeve, halting his progress. "What the fuck does that mean?" you demanded, confused.

An expression of exasperation crossed his features at your question. "For heaven's sake," he snapped, clearly annoyed.

In one swift motion, he hoisted you over his shoulder, catching you off guard. Before you could protest or regain your bearings, you found yourself unceremoniously deposited inside the galley.

"Don't come out," he warned sharply, his tone laced with frustration as he spat the words in your face. You tried to argue back but he flashed you an angry stare and slammed the door shut behind him.

“He’s just worried,” Robin said behind you, snapping your attention towards her and the doctor still busy tying everything down in the kitchen. “You can sit and relax, Chopper and I are almost done here.”

Your teeth clenched, the unwelcome feeling of uselessness gnawing at the back of your mind. You sank into your chair, thankful for once that the seat was bolted to the floor as the walls seemed to move unnaturally around you. You closed your eyes trying to ignore the violent sway.

“Here,” Chopper presented you with a lidded cup, steam escaping the small opening. “It’ll make you feel better.”

The smell of peppermint hit your nose as you brought the ceramic to your lips. “Thanks, doc,” You took a grateful sip of the steaming liquid, the warmth spreading through your chilled body like a comforting embrace. Despite the chaos raging outside, the calm atmosphere of the galley provided a brief respite from the exterior's fury.

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, the tension slowly melting away as the refreshing herb soothed the constant nausea edging at your senses. For the first time since the storm had descended upon the ship, you allowed yourself to relax, if only for a fleeting moment.

Robin settled across from you, a subtle chuckle escaping her lips as she observed your demeanor. "You're handling this better than I anticipated, especially considering it's your first storm," she remarked with a hint of admiration in her tone.

You quirked an eyebrow at her, you bet the swordsman would say otherwise but still the sentiment felt nice. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you replied dryly, a wry smile making its way on your lips. “I figured I’d save the panic attack for later, when there’s less of an audience.”

You nearly heard Chopper’s head snap in your direction at your comment, a worried look passing his eyes.

You flashed him a reassuring grin. "Relax, little guy," you said, your voice laced with as much calm as you could muster. "I'm just kidding… Mostly. No panic attacks on the agenda for today."

Chopper let out a thankful sigh, his fur almost puffing up with relief. "Oh, good," he replied, his tone still carrying a hint of lingering concern. "We have enough to deal with without adding panic attacks to the mix."

You chuckled softly, the sound somehow cheery in the midst of the storm. "Exactly," you agreed, taking another sip of the steaming concoction Chopper had brewed for you. "Besides, where's the fun in having a panic attack when you can just enjoy the thrill of impending doom?"

Robin raised an eyebrow at the unusual dryness of your humor, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

"By the way," you continued, savoring the soothing feeling on your senses. "What the hell does 'batten down the hatches' mean?" The exchange with the swordsman still nagged at you, driving your curiosity to seek clarification.

Robin's reaction caught you off guard as she snorted, a sound that seemed almost out of character for the normally composed archaeologist.

"It's a nautical term," Chopper chimed in as he settled himself at the table, passing a cup to Robin. "It involves covering the hatches with canvas or planks to prevent water from flooding the lower decks."

"Primarily used on older ships," Robin added offhandedly, although her voice was laced with a hint of amusement, as though she was privy to a joke you didn’t understand. "On the Sunny, it's mostly automated, a relic of a bygone era."

The pieces clicked into place, and you realized why Robin found your question so entertaining. An irksome revelation surged within you, igniting a spark of frustration.

The bastard had played you.

With a sharp slam of your hands against the tabletop, you rose from your seat with sudden determination. Storming towards the door, you swung it open with reckless abandon, the howling winds of the tempest beckoning you outside.

"Roronoa Zoro!" your voice carried through the tumultuous air as you marched towards the swordsman. "I refuse to sit idly by while you-"

Your words were drowned out by the roar of the storm, but your intent was clear. You weren't about to remain passive while chaos raged around you.

The sound of crashing waves grew louder as the ship drew nearer to the island's shore, the turbulent waters giving way to a calmer, more serene expanse. As the storm finally relented, leaving behind only the persistent patter of rain, exhaustion hung thick in the air, a palpable reminder of the trials the crew had just endured.

You leaned back against the railing with a heavy sigh, surveying the deck before you. The raging winds and merciless waves had left a lot of damage behind but your eyes inevitably found the swordsman. You watched as Zoro came out from the men’s quarters, his stare meeting yours as he made his way to your side.

"Can't believe you thought you could just order me around like that," you grumbled somewhat lightheartedly as his boots stopped in front of your bare feet.

He chuckled. “Can’t believe it worked.”

You stood there in comfortable silence for a moment. You took him in, the smirk on his lips, the playfulness in his gaze. He’d changed, his drenched clothes replaced by dry ones. He eyed you up and down, taking in the details of your body through the soaked fabric of your pajamas. You cocked your head, wet strands of hair plastering themselves on your cheek as you leaned back further, your back arching against the railing.

"Oh, what's the matter, swordsman? Cat got your tongue?" you taunted, unable to resist the urge to provoke him.

“You should get dressed or you’ll catch a cold,” he said, taking a step forward.

You hummed, considering it. “I’ll just get drenched again,” you replied eyes squinting against the rain as you looked at the heavy clouds. “Besides,” you held up your hand, a small puddle gathering rapidly in your palm. “It’s surprisingly warm.”

With a scoff, he pulled you close. You didn’t resist as he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around your shoulders, a slightly amused smile gracing your lips at the unexpected action. The gesture itself warmed you far more than the coat ever could.

“You’ll catch a cold, swordsman, giving me your coat like that,” you teased looking up at him through your lashes.

“I don’t catch colds,” he retorted, backing away once more.

“Sure you don’t,” you snorted but you didn’t push further. You passed your arms through the sleeves, wrapping yourself snugly. There was a whiff of his smell that lingered on the edge of your consciousness. It brought a heat to your cheeks.

“Seems like Lady Luck favors you, swordsman,” you mused. Your eyes went back to surveying the ship, instinctively seeking what needed repairs, tallying all you’d have to do. “Looks like we’ll be here for a while.”

He grunted.

“Franky and I are going to be busy, that’s for sure. But it’s pretty much the perfect place for you to try Yokubari,” you observed absentmindedly.

And it was the perfect opportunity.

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Masterlist

#the swordsman and the blacksmith #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #charlou writes

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kickingitwithkirk · 6 months

Text

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 917

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, non/con, dub/con, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death, murder conviction, parental dominance, trafficking

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnkinkbb -DeanJohnSam @anyfandomdarkbingo -Free Space

A/N: UPDATED 3/24

A/N II: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N III: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

GIF by 1x20

PART III

Sam found himself in the warehouse's back area that had been altered, now a mixture of original storage on the left and prefabricated rooms to the right, with the loading dock straight ahead, where his wolf was leading him. The scent of home was strongly intermingling with blood where cursing and bodies impacting each other were echoing down the hallway, drawing Sam in.

A quick look-see around an open door revealed fluorescents bathing everything in washed-out colors: a very pretty, weeping, leashed O kneeling next to an expensively attired Alpha, passively observing two other Alphas engaged in a fight when one abruptly spun, spraying blood across the back walls not far from another lying in a pool of their blood on the floor. Enraged, the remaining Alpha redoubled their efforts to restrain a naked, blood-covered female who was, holy fuck, an O!

Sam watches, astonished that, while tiring, the O wasn't giving up when another Alpha wielding a blackjack shoves him out of the way, bludgeoning and knocking her to the floor, repeatedly striking to ensure she stayed down grabbed her collar and dragged the dazed O towards a line of heavy-duty dog crates stuffing her in one. While blackjack hauled out the bodies, the banged-up Alpha grabbed a hose washing blood down the floor drain, then turned it on the caged O when Sam’s brother rushed in, grabbing him.

“Sammy! What the fucks the matter with you!” Dean, visibly distraught, dragged him down the hallway, flashbacks to when Sam disappeared for two weeks after turning sixteen on his watch and when their Alpha returned, his atrocious reaction. “You promised me you’d never disappear like that again!” Right now, Dean wishes Sam was still unpresented and could discipline him when John, appearing relieved, quickly reverted to norms. “Sam, you ever do that again,” admonished his pup in a tight voice. He wasn’t expecting Sam’s I found the O response questions, “What are you talking about?” Sam pointed towards the room and exclaimed, “She killed two Alphas!”

“Are you sure it was an O?” John sounded doubtful when the palatable taste of the blood and the scent that led Sam back here hit him, making his wolf jolt at his overloaded senses and his canines elongate. John wrestled back control to his hunter intellect when his eldest growled, bolted back down the hallway, followed by Sam on his heels, and yelled, “Dean! Sam! Get your asses back here!”

Helms appears out of nowhere and sees Dean arguing with the suited Alpha. “Winchester, you have no right to be back here!” The suit stops arguing with Dean and turns on the Dealer. “You think you can sell me misrepresented goods, Helms?” Pointing to the cage rages, “I paid you an exorbitant price for twins. But you lied! Look at that thing!!” John peers back at the cage and sees the leashed O reaching into a wire cage, shaking the other one’s arm as Sam knelt next to her and, oh, holy shit, laid a hand on her shoulder.

John rushed over before the suit realized the young Alpha was touching their newly acquired property. “Step away from them, Sam.” Sam reluctantly got up as John squatted down to inspect them. The caged one curled up in a fetal position is larger than her sibling, but one can still see her full, pink lips and cinnamon-freckled skin, and she smells nothing like the other. Helms thought he could pass off these O’s as twins? No wonder the suit is pissed. The O whimpers, opening her uninjured, fox-tilted eye to reveal the iris’s unusual mosaic, and upon seeing Sam, a faint ring of gold manifests, and his wolf reciprocates.

John knew only one thing could override rut suppressants snapped, “Dean, get Sam out of here this instant!” Dean comes over, green eyes widening, and doubles-over groans out, “Sonuvabitch!”

“Dean! I gave you an order!”

Dean hobbled to his dazed brother, “Come on, Sammy!” They stagger for the door, using each other as a counterbalance. John returned his attention to the suit, still arguing with Helms about some contractual blah blah blah, felt a touch on his leg peers down at the O, whispering, “Alpha, please don’t let them kill her!”

John watches the caged one reach a shaking hand through the bars, stroking the other’s arm comfortingly. She has strong protective instincts, like Dean when Sam has one of his nightmares. John’s thoughts are interrupted by the suit hollers. “Hey! What the fuck you are doing over there?”

The suit stomps over, and John’s hackles go up, expecting an altercation. Instead, they take the O’s leash, leading her across the room to tether her to the doorknob before addressing him. “I understand you need an O to keep your son out of jail, so I’ll make you a deal. You can have that thing,” they point to the cage, “for a dollar. Save me the effort of getting rid of it.”

“You can’t make side deals in my establishment!” Helms screeched. The suit uses their status to dominate the Beta Dealer. “You lied about the product, and since I’ve signed all the contracts and a deal being a deal, as you keep pointing out, I can do whatever I want with my property.” The suit addresses John again, “Are you interested or not?” John gazes at the now unconscious caged O, then back to her twin, whose eyes plead for help.

“You have a deal.”

Part IV

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys

#winchester's folly 3/24 update #winchester's folly #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader x sam #dystopia #spn au #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #superntural #alpha dean winchester #alpha sam winchester #alpha john winchester

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tfyoulookingatgiuxs · 11 months

Text

Happily ever after

Vampire!Eddie Munson x Princess!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: A usual day in the kingdom of Nyzeen. Winter was always cold but never as cold as this day, when chaos reigned, shedding a lot of blood but giving you a magical gift.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Angst, fluff, fem!reader, use of Y/N, drama, bad language, age gap, secret relationship, violence, blood, threats, invented events, violent themes and actions, vomiting, illnesses, murder, crying. (Attention! in this one-shot themes and characters invented by me will be explained, and it is not a continuation of any of my previous works.)

𝐀/𝐍: I said I'd bring back another one-shot about the vampiric version of Eddie in this fantasy world, and so I did! I love when I invent fantastic places and creatures, and I really like how I wrote this one-shot, I hope you like it too. Sorry for my english this is not my native language. Please support and reblog! Hope you enjoy this one. (DIVIDER NOT MINE)

The snow fell gently, coloring white the entire kingdom of Nyzeen. The cold was felt and obviously evil was always present to threaten your home. Many vampires have killed families and children who lived in the village, draining their blood and depriving them of their lives. Your father, the king, together with some soldiers went to clean up The Black Forest, eliminating as many vampires as possible.

Even if you wanted good in your kingdom you couldn't deny your concern for Eddie, as he was also one of those creatures and also your beloved.

It was all out of the ordinary, it's true. But your affection and love towards a mystical and deadly creature like Eddie was something you couldn't explain. He was everything you wanted in a man and certainly his dangerousness and his species didn't matter to you in the slightest.

You were wandering around the castle, it was late afternoon and there was a solitary air in the large walls. Your long ash-colored dress highlighted your beauty along with the ruby jewelry. You looked at the large windows noticing the beautiful cold snow falling. You had left your rooms to move your legs a bit, you were tired of always staying in your room and you asked your mother if you could spend some time around the facility. She didn't deny it but still warned you to be careful, even though the castle was well protected, no one could assure you that they wouldn't get in somehow.

Your mother was now in her room sick, the cold had played a bad joke on her by making her catch a fever. The doctor said she would recover and that in the meantime she should stay in bed and eat only hot meals. Meanwhile, your father was becoming more and more obsessed with vampires. They were driving him crazy and he swore to God that he would exterminate every vampire scum on the earth. This big hatred of his was obviously justified, after all the vampires had killed his mother, or rather your grandmother. However, you couldn't fully understand his obsession with creating chaos. You wanted to tell him how all vampires weren't like that, and that there are good-hearted vampires, like your beloved Eddie.

You stopped in the middle of the long corridor feeling your head spinning and a sense of nausea come over you. You've been like this for at least a week, you didn't have a fever or anything but you felt slightly cold and ate little. You didn't say anything to anyone, you wanted to handle it yourself, you knew what would happen if you opened your mouth, you didn't want to stay in bed for days, so you decided that you would take care of yourself in your own way. Most likely you had eaten something that made you sick and even made you vomit, so you made sure to eat healthy meals and water from the Lake of the Three Fairies. Water which is said to be magical and governed by the three fairies, small creatures who give magic to the lake, in this water it cures and heals those who drink it. You remember when some time ago your father had taken it upon himself to fetch water from the lake to save your mother from serious injuries after the war against Lilith. The lake from here is quite far and full of dangers, it was not easy for him, but everything he did was not in vain and he managed to meet the fairies and ask them for permission to take water.

You placed a hand on your belly, slowly feeling the nausea go away after you took some deep breaths. Screams outside alarmed you and through the foggy glass of the window you saw some torches lit. The fire from those torches was blazing hot and people shouted something as a large black figure headed over the castle. You ran to see if your mother was okay. You didn't know what that thing was, but you hoped with all your heart that it hadn't entered the castle.

You were in front of the door and heard the sound of armor. You turned and saw your father "Y/N!" He hugged you and you looked at him "Father, are you okay?" He nodded "I came to see if you and your mother were okay" You released yourself from the hug "I'm fine. But, what was that thing?" You asked looking at your father's panting face, apparently he had run too much to reach you "He was a high-class vampire, we managed to hurt him but he managed to fly above the other floors of the castle. I ran to you straight away" you didn't said nothing, you just watched his movements as he took a deep breath "I'll take care of your mother, you lock yourself in your room, I'll send a guard to check on you" he said and you nodded "Yes father" You replied. Your father entered while you ran to your room.

A high-class vampire...

It couldn't be him.

High-class vampires are people who have been transformed and have taken in a large amount of blood over a hundred years, thus making them vampires with self-control but evil and ruthless personalities. Eddie was one of those, you were seriously afraid that he was seriously injured. You entered, slamming the door and what you saw left you speechless. Eddie lay bleeding on your balcony as he shivered from the cold.

You didn't think twice. You opened your balcony grabbing the vampire and dragging him into your room. It was freezing and the blood just flowed. His wings were also wounded but never as much as his stomach was torn by a blade stuffed with Verbena. You were panicking. Verbena was a powerful plant against species like them, if you didn't do something immediately he wouldn't survive. You sat him on the floor with his back against the wall. His eyes were closed but he was still breathing “Eds…” you whisper, placing a hand on his cold cheek.

No. I don't have to waste time. You thought. You stood up determinedly as you left your room running to your mother.

You were in front of her door, you prayed that your father wasn't there and so you opened the door, there was no one there. Your mother was sleeping peacefully on her bed and you immediately spotted the dresser. You got it. The water of the Lake of the Three Fairies. You couldn't have taken better medicine to heal his wound. You left unnoticed and as soon as you arrived in your rooms you opened the door to find a guard in front of the vampire, ready with his sword to cut off his head.

"Princess stand back, I will kill this beast in no time" he said as the vampire whimpered in pain.

The blood was on the floor and still spreading across your wooden floor. A horrifying scene. The sword filled with blood as dark as your jewels as you moved his body to the side getting closer to the vampire. Eddie had his hand on the wound, most likely trying to stop the bleeding.

“Eddie” you called out to him but he didn’t answer. You took the bottle and poured the water on his wound. Eddie groaned in pain, most likely burning but then he calmed down and you saw his wound heal itself. The bottle was empty, you had used it all. You had to be one hundred percent sure that the water would save him. You placed your hand on his chest feeling his heart beat. You let out a smile. But it was still freezing. You stood up past the guard's corpse and lit the fireplace in the center of your room with a match.

After a while the vampire woke up in your warm room with his stomach healed, as if he had never been hurt. Before him lay a dead guard wrapped in a blood-stained sheet and the floor apparently cleaned of the mess. You were cuddled up to him, giving him more warmth. The vampire's wings wrapped around you keeping you close, he understood that it was you who cured him and also killed the guard, he couldn't be more in love. You opened your eyes looking at him in that sweet and affectionate state "Hey..." You said and he smiled at you "Hey princess" You stroked his long brown curls "How are you feeling?"

“Better, thanks for being my knight” as a response you gave him a kiss which he immediately returned.

You wanted that sweet moment to last forever but then a loud noise made you jump on the spot "Y/N open the door!" your father was banging repeatedly on the sealed door of your bedroom “Fuck...” you cursed in a whisper, both of you jumping up. You looked at Eddie and now even with just one look you could communicate. He nodded, opening your balcony and flying away but not before saying, "I'll be right back."

"Y/N are you in there? Honey open the door please" your father begged again. You didn't answer and just stared at the wooden door while holding one of the Verbena swords.

The time had come...

Eddie returned after half an hour, dispatching the uncontrolled vampires before they arrived at the village and caused more trouble. It landed as usual on your balcony in your room, but no trace of you...

Indeed, the corpses had increased. Now three corpses lay on the ground, all royal guards "Y/N..." he said your name afraid of where you had gotten yourself.

He walked through the corridors of the castle noticing that the corpses of guards and Lady and Lord were on the ground. Eddie thought some other out-of-control vampire had attacked your castle and made a killing. But then he saw you...

You were on your knees while holding on to the sword, your father looking at you in amazement who was also armed. Your clothes were stained with blood and you were now enduring great nausea and vomiting, apparently your illness had not healed...

"My daughter...why are you doing all this? Has someone done something to you? Please tell me" Your father looked at your pain and couldn't point his sword at you, you were his daughter... "Honey, what's wrong with you? A vampire bit you? Did they hurt you? " He knelt in front of you admiring your gorgeous face. You wanted to get up, but you couldn't, the headache was strong and your strength was leaving you "You could never understand father..." You said in a weak voice as your hand lay on your belly "Why did you kill everyone Y/N? Did anyone put a curse on you? Explain it to me!" The man was on the verge of crying but you didn't respond.

Eddie, who had remained there watching the scene, made himself noticed by the king and the man remained silent for several seconds before saying "No..." then he looked at you, he had understood everything.

"Son of a bitch..." he took his sword back and Eddie was on his guard "It was you. You abused my daughter by making her your slave" he screamed at him but Eddie didn't move "You ruined her future, her life! And now I will make sure you suffer" he declared, positioning himself waiting for his move. Eddie however didn't move "Father..." you called him "No! You have been defiled by him Y/N. I promise you that I will get rid of that beast he created, even if it means hurting you... but I will save you my daughter" his words were unfortunately as you expected. He would never understand, and you certainly didn't expect him to, but you were very sorry.

He then pointed the sword at you and Eddie wasted no time, now blinded by rage. He jumped on the man and your father yelled "Eddie!" You screamed in fear as you tried in vain to get up. Eddie injured the man and then walked towards you trying to keep you standing. The headache was still present from too much effort, but the warmth of the vampire and his wings that protected both of you were enough to make you take deep breaths, calming you down and making that feeling of vomiting go away.

Your father was seriously injured and cried seeing you two so close. Your heart was about to break in two, you tried to move closer but Eddie's grip stopped you "It's okay" you said and he let you go. You knelt down and looked at your crying father's face "My daughter please don't let yourself be subjugated by him" you caressed his face "Your mother and I love you and you know this, so recover and save yourself from his clutches" you shook your head smiling as a few tears fell "I know father, I love you too. But I love him" the king was shocked "Of a vampire..." he continued to stare into your eyes "what a shame...my daughter is a witch" he said and your tears continued to fall "Go to hell-" he didn't have time to say anything else before you stabbed him with your dagger that until now you have hidden under your dress.

You were sad, but you knew it had to be done. You had always been afraid of getting to this point but you had to find the strength to keep going. Eddie hugged you from behind consoling you "It's okay princess..." your tears stopped after a while and together with Eddie you walked out of the castle.

The snow was always more beautiful as it was freezing. It reminds you of when your parents told you about your birth, one of the coldest days Nyzeen had ever felt. The inhabitants of the castle had been exterminated except for your mother. She was sick in bed, therefore an easy target, but if killing your father was difficult, your mother would have been impossible, you didn't kill her. You cut off one of her legs to prevent her from walking and therefore from doing anything. She wouldn't understand either, but you wanted to make her understand, she would learn to accept Eddie and that not all vampires were like Lilith, the devil's daughter and woman who had reigned over vampires for years and years, then defeated by your father.

"So, why did you exterminate everyone?" Right, Eddie still didn't know anything. "They saw you, they hurt you and I killed a guard to protect you. I could never justify myself" was your response as the darkness was about to arrive "That's all? Just beacuse you do a little murder? Don't lie to me princess, I know you're hiding something from me. You would never have done something so rash without a specific reason" you were in awe of how well he knew you and you smiled "It's true. I had to do it for you, for us" you confessed "For us? Well, I appreciate the thought princess but I don't think the two of us can live in such a huge castle. Not to mention that there are humans in the village who fear me, who knows how they will react when they discover that their princess has exterminated everyone" you kept a straight posture while the sunset was the most beautiful vision that nature had ever created "Don't worry of this. I will show the people of this village that your kind is not all as bad as they think, and that vampires can be good. You know, I don't mind hosting your trusted friends at the castle, as long as they behave properly" Eddie let out a chuckle "How kind for someone who has just committed mass murder, I love you every day that passes princess” he smirked and you blushed.

"In any case, I'll try to study the castle later. Back when Lilith ruled here I was minding my own business in the Black Forest" you approached looking at his chocolate brown eyes "I'm sure you will, otherwise how will you manage to get care of us if you don't even know where to go in the castle?” the vampire's face became confused "Us?" his smile widened showing him your hand on your belly “Seriously?” Eddie didn't seem to realize it yet "Yes Eds" the vampire smiled showing his fangs "Oh princess" he said happily kissing you passionately. You reciprocated hoping that kiss would never end.

This was everything you wanted. A beautiful life in the company of the man you loved. The life you had created for yourself would be turbulent and certainly taking care of your mother while trying to make her see reality would be difficult, same thing with the village, but you were ready. You would have faced the worst storms for your love and your future child. This was your happily ever after.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #vampire eddie munson #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie #princess reader #fantasy #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot

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midwestmade29 · 9 months

Text

Imagine Request ✨

To anonymous: I hope this is everything you hoped for! I'm not sure if I did it properly, but I can assure you I did my absolute best to follow your request. Thanks again for the request…I loved it 🖤

Original anonymous request: "Can I send a Christian Cage x Female!Reader imagine? So what is we have Evil Dilf Christian, The Patriarch, The TNT Champ, the Face of AEW in a serious long term established relationship with a loving America’s Sweetheart, Sunshine Baby Face reader. Is the kind of relationship they’ve never played up on TV and even though they don’t post about each other too often, the fans and everyone is well aware they’re together. Maybe the reader is in a high stakes contender ship match and she ends up injuring herself somehow. This causes Christian to break character and come out to help get her out of the ring and loaded into the ambulance to get checked out and it ultimately ends up with her having surgery and Christian being the best boyfriend/fiance/husband (you can choose that!) he can be and takes care of his woman while she recovers?" Word count: 950 GIFs are not mine. Credit goes to their original creators. I selected each GIF to further help visualize the things happening in the story 🙂

Disclaimers: Some cursing, injury sustained (broken bone), pain due to injury, ambulance ride, mention of hospital and surgery. Read at your own discretion.

“After tonight, we will be the TNT and TBS champs. You’re going to do great baby,” Christian whispered into your ear. You had dreamt about having the shiny belt around your waist ever since you arrived in AEW. You worked your ass off to get this title shot and you’ll be damned if you don’t give the match your all! “You’re going to be watching, right?” you asked while Christian embraced you. “Of course! They need me for a pre taping in a minute, but my eyes will be glued to the monitor the entire time.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is set for one fall with a 20-minute time limit. It is for the TBS Championship!” Justin Robert’s announced, your music blasting through the speakers immediately after. Excalibur hyped up the match, “And here comes everyone’s ray of sunshine, Y/N! She’s looking to take down our reigning TBS champ Julia Hart after securing a title shot last Saturday on Collision. Let’s watch as these two fierce competitors take on one another!” You smiled and waved at everyone while you stood in the ring waiting for Julia to make her entrance. “We love you Y/N!” one fan cried out, and smiled when you blew them a playful kiss. You stood in the darkness when Julia’s music hit, nerves calming a little when you thought about celebrating your victory with your favorite temperamental Patriarch later.

“That’s it baby, don’t ease up! Show her who the real champ is!” Christian yelled at the tv monitor while he watched you. “Don’t count Y/N out guys. She’s holding her own against the champ very well!” Taz praised. “Smart man,” Christian laughed to himself, but his laughter stopped abruptly when he watched you attempt to use Julia’s new finisher against her, landing awkwardly on your feet before your leg buckled causing you to fall. You sat in the center of the ring writhing in pain while you grasped at your ankle. Everyone in the crowd cringed while they watched the replay on the big screen. You tried to stand, wailing in pain when you put pressure on your ankle. “Bryce, my ankle! Something’s wrong with my ankle! I felt a snap and now I can’t move it!”

“Something isn’t right. What the hell happened?!” Tony Kahn’s voice crackled through Bryce’s earpiece. Julia leaned against the turnbuckle, laughing in delight at your pain as she stayed in character. “If Y/N can finish the match, wrap it up and change the finish. Julia will retain!” Tony Kahn called the audible, Bryce sighing in defeat because he knew tonight was supposed to be your night. He bent over and asked if you were able to continue, you grimaced and nodded yes. You stumbled to your feet, trying to hold back your tears as you hopped over to Julia on one leg. She read the situation correctly when she gave you a thrust kick that knocked you back down, instantly locking you in her submission hold Heartless. “Could this be it for Y/N folks?!” Taz shouted as everyone was on the edge of their seats, hoping that you weren’t going to tap out.

“What the fuck was that?! Y/N was supposed to win! Shit!” Christian roared when he saw you laying in the ring with your eyes skewered shut. He bolted through the backstage area and down the ramp and into the ring as the cameras captured his every move. “Christian Cage?! What the hell is he doing here?” Tony Schiavone questioned. Everyone was surprised by Christian breaking character as he knelt by your side while Doc Sampson examined you. No one knew if this was a part of a storyline or if it was real since you and Christian kept your relationship out of AEW. You were placed on a stretcher and loaded into an ambulance while everyone watched. Christian held your hand the entire ride to the hospital, assuring you that you were going to be okay. The sirens wailed in the night as you rode in the back of the ambulance. You were delirious from the pain that was consuming you, and your body was slowly coming out of fight or flight mode.

“I’m right here, baby! Take it easy, try not to move your legs. The doctor said the surgery went well!” Christian sat next to your hospital bed holding your hand, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles, and kissing them. Your engagement ring caught his eye, making him smile and chuckle to himself. You were still groggy from surgery, but coherent enough to notice his bright smile. “What’s that smile for?” you murmured as you stroked his cheek with your hand. “I was just thinking about our upcoming vows. In sickness and in health. I guess we’re practicing that part now, aren’t we?”

Recovery was difficult, but you had the best caregiver by your side! Christian waited on you hand and foot making sure you never had to lift a finger. He never missed a doctor’s appointment and made sure to do whatever he could to comfort you after a physical therapy session. As he helped you get situated in bed, an overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over you as you watched the man that most people viewed as evil and cantankerous cover you with a blanket and kiss your forehead. Christian really is the best fiancé!

“Thank you, baby. For everything! You risked a lot when you ran to the ring to help me. You’ve been by my side through this whole ordeal and loving me through it all. It means so much to me having you in my corner.”

“I know you’d do the same for me Y/N.”

“In a heartbeat, Christian.”

#aew #all elite wrestling #christian cage #jay reso #captain charisma #instant classic #christian4peeps #christian cage fanfic #christian cage fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #christian cage x y/n #christian cage x female reader #aew imagine #imagine #christian cage imagine

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pink-sparkly-witch · 1 year

Text

The Widow - Chapter One

Chapter One

Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: “Family Don’t End with Blood,” takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her is what happens when she falls in love again.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader | Dean Winchester x F!Reader (eventual)

Warnings: Major character death, angst, description of injuries, grief, catatonic state

Words: 2,147

A/N: Well, here we go! This is the first part of this story that started as a tiny seedling months ago and just kept growing and growing until I just had to get it out of my head and onto the page. I hope you enjoy this emotional rollercoaster!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

“Hey baby,” Sam greeted when you answered the phone. You could hear the grin in his voice, and it made you smile. “How’s your day been?”

“Well, hello there, my sexy husband!” You grinned as you heard Sam quietly chuckle down the phone. It was the kind of chuckle that always came out when he was embarrassed, and you smiled wider knowing you could have such an effect on him. “My day was good. You know that project that I wanted to be lead on?” you asked him.

“Yeah?” Sam responded patiently. You knew that he knew you’d got it, but you had to build the suspense just a little bit.

“Well… I got it!”

“Baby, that’s fantastic! I knew you could do it. There was never a doubt in my mind it’d go to anyone else!” Sam was always your biggest champion. He was always there cheering you on from the sidelines and always had your back, no matter what. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

“If I do good, I’ll be promoted to Senior Project Manager. I’d be running my own team, Sam! Free reign to pick my own projects to run with! Can you imagine?”

“Yeah actually, I can,” he announced matter-of-factly. “You have always worked hard for what you want, and always get it. I have no doubt you’ll nail this project, get your promotion, and be running the company before long!”

“Aw, Sammy, thank you for always encouraging me to chase my dreams. It’s one of the many, many reasons I love you!”

“Oh, so there are many, many reasons you love me, huh?” His voice was low and teasing, and you smirked as you waited for him to continue. “And would another of those many, many reasons be because of the sounds I made you make last night and again this morning?”

“Samuel William Winchester! You are at work! Behave yourself!” You tried to keep your voice firm, but the man was right, and you laughed despite yourself.

“Speaking of work…” Sam sighed.

“I know, Sam. And it’s okay. You need to prepare for the most important case of your career. The case that’ll make you partner, and…”

“If I win.”

“You will win. Then you’ll be the youngest partner the firm has ever seen. I get it, babe. Go! Work. And bring home partner, alright?” You smiled at your husband’s quiet chuckle.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Sam praised.

“So I’ve heard,” you teased.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I love you. And once I make partner…”

“I know,” you cut him off before he beat himself up even more about the late nights and weekends at the office. “It’s okay. Now go! The sooner you get back to work, the sooner you can come home and get some rest.”

“Alright, baby. It’ll be after midnight when I’m done, so don’t wait up. I love you, Y/N/N.”

“I love you too, Sammy.”

The weather was perfect. Not too hot for this time of year, but warm enough that you could wear a sundress on the picnic date Sam insisted he takes you on once the trial was over and he’d made partner. Everything he’d worked so hard for was now a reality, and, as he kept insisting, it was your time now.

He really didn’t need to. You knew he loved you and would do anything for you, even give up on his dreams if you’d asked him to, but for some reason that you couldn’t fathom (and wouldn’t complain about), he insisted you needed to be treated like a princess and reminded of how much he loved you.

“Sam, this is beautiful,” you gasped in awe as he unpacked the basket full of fresh and vibrant fruits, miniature cakes and pastries, and sandwiches that wouldn’t look out of place in the afternoon teas of the Ritz-Carlton in New York City. “You did all this for me?”

“I may have had some help from Jody,” he chuckled, “but I am fully responsible for this…” he smirked over at you as he pulled a bottle of champagne from the hamper. “It’s the same one you picked out for our wedding,” he added, and you smiled at the blush that crept up his neck and across his cheeks. He cleared his throat in that adorable nervous habit of his as he looked at you with lowered eyes and waited for your reaction. God, those puppy eyes were gonna be the death of you one day.

“Sam…” you cleared your throat trying to rid yourself of the overwhelming love you had for this man, the love that continued to grow with each day that passed. “It’s perfect. You didn’t need to do any of this.”

“I know,” Sam stated, gazing so intently into your eyes it felt like he was looking into the deepest parts of your soul. “But I wanted to. I have missed too many home-cooked meals and weekends with you, and I can never get that time back. This…” he gestured to the spread in front of him, “is the least I can do.”

Ding.

The clock from the town hall began to chime the new hour. “Sam,” you smiled, fighting back happy tears, “I love you, and I know everything you’ve done is for us and for our future. You should never apologise for that, ever.”

Ding.

“Baby, I know you don’t need grand gestures and over-the-top declarations of my love. It’s one of the many, many reasons I love you,” Sam smirked. “I want to take my wife on surprise, and hopefully, romantic dates. I want to spoil you as much as I can. Please, let me?”

Ding.

“Sam, I…”

Knock knock.

You jerk awake, suddenly aware that you aren’t in the park having a romantic picnic with your husband. Instead, you’re having a very vivid dream and the town hall clock isn't chiming the new hour; someone is knocking on your door. Confused, your sleep-heavy eyes seek out the alarm clock on the bedside table and panic as you take in the time.

2:14am

You scramble from the bed, your foot trapped in the duvet, causing you to trip and lose your balance, managing to catch yourself just before you fall. Cursing softly and grabbing the robe that lies at the bottom of the bed, you quickly put it on and run down the stairs.

Opening the door, your stomach drops as your eyes scan over the sombre faces of two uniformed officers. “Mrs Winchester?” The taller of the two asks with a tone you’ve only heard from police officers in TV shows and movies.

“Yes?” You answered, the heavy feeling of dread settling deep in your stomach.

“I’m Sergeant Graham and this is my colleague, Officer Diaz. May we come in?”

“Uh, sure,” you take a step back and open the door further, inviting the officers in.

“Please take a seat, Mrs Winchester,” the sergeant requests, using a soft but firm voice, and you find yourself obeying quickly. “Your husband, Sam Winchester, was in a car accident.” He continues calmly, and your heart begins to hammer against your rib cage. “He was travelling down East 15th at its junction with Park, and he had the green light, but he was struck by a drunk driver who ran the red.”

Tears begin to pool in your eyes, and you will yourself not to think the worst, but you know it’s pointless. Two officers don’t come to your door in the middle of the night to tell you that your husband was in an accident and has been lucky enough to only sustain minor cuts and bruises.

“The truck hit the driver’s side of your husband’s car at high speed, and I’m sorry to tell you he was killed on impact…” Whatever else the sergeant says is drowned out by a deafening ringing in your ears. Your chest tightens and you can feel nausea rising in your gut.

A noise much louder than the ringing starts to make itself known. It’s the sound of a wounded animal. An anguished howl that will forever be ingrained in your memories, and the thing that will startle you awake from the nightmares you’ll surely have.

It’s only when the fog begins to clear, and the ringing stops completely, do you finally realise the howling is coming from you.

You had sat in the waiting room exhausted emotionally and physically. Once you’d calmed down enough for the officers to talk to you again, you changed from your sleep shirt and shorts into yoga pants and one of Sam’s t-shirts, before they drove you to the hospital. You’ve been here for hours now. The countless forms you’d filled out and endless sheets of paper that now contained your signature, however, were nothing compared to seeing your husband.

Someone had cleaned him up and sutured various cuts – the deepest on his forehead – but the other injuries he’d suffered were still all too obvious. All the skin you could see had turned purple with bruising. There were scrapes and grazes all over his chest and arms, and you knew from the doctor’s report that he had multiple broken bones and severe internal bleeding.

Time seemed to have stopped as you sat in that cold, sterile room with him, running your hand through his hair and sobbing quietly. You were grateful the nurse let you take your time with him and no one was rushing to get you out of there.

When you return to the reception desk an hour later, you’re handed another form, this one – you’re assured – is the last. The one that releases the belongings he had on his person at the time of the accident to you. His wedding ring, the watch you’d given him for Christmas, his wallet, cell phone, – which was surprisingly undamaged – and his battered briefcase.

His cell comes to life when you lift it from the plastic tray, showing you he has an unread message from Dean.

Dean 2:26am

You really need to stop working so late, dude. Drive safe and get home to that girl of yours!

Knowing that Sam had likely responded to a text Dean had sent much earlier in the day just before he set off on that fatal car journey hits you like a freight train. And knowing Dean’s reply, telling his brother to come home to you had come through when the police were telling you he’d died, was gut-wrenching. Fighting back more tears, you unlock your own cell phone and call the number you’d been dreading for hours now.

“Y/N, darlin’? It’s early… is everything alright?” The gravelly voice on the other end of the phone sounds tired, scared and confused. You figure getting a call at 6am will do that to a person.

“John–” You’d fought hard to keep your voice steady and strong, but what came out was shaky and meek. “It’s Sam…”

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice startles you out of your daze and you blink up at him from the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room. Unsteadily, you rise to your feet and make your way over to him, throwing yourself into his outstretched arms.

“Dean,” you cry as more tears fall from your sore and swollen eyes. Dean is on you in an instant, wrapping you in his arms and holding on tight.

“C’mere. You shoulda called us, sweetheart. We’d have been here with you,” Dean’s voice is strong, but it still cracks with emotion. “You didn’t need to do this alone.” You sob into his chest until your legs give way, and he lowers you both to the ground, keeping his arms around you the whole time and settling you onto the floor.

You cling to him with every ounce of strength you have, knuckles going white, afraid that another person you love might leave you. But Dean holds you tighter, shushing you and stroking your back in a desperate bid to calm you down. The sobs only ease and your body stops trembling when he begins to rock you and hum Nothing Else Matters by Metallica in your ear.

John looks on from the doorway, seeming utterly devastated. Not only has he lost his youngest child today, but it's like he knows he’s also lost a part of his daughter-in-law that might not ever come back.

“Come on, darlin’. Let’s get you out of here, huh?” His soft voice floats from somewhere in the distance, but your vision is too blurry from tears and swollen from puffiness to see exactly where.

Dean places a gentle kiss on your temple and helps you stand on shaky legs.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s get you home. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

You nod at Dean and let him guide you to his car.

Next Chapter>>

@deans-spinster-witch @muchamusedaboutnothing @kazsrm67 @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @leigh70 @waynes-multiverse @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

#the widow #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester x reader #angst #tw: grief #tw: grieving

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 11 months

Text

The Morally Grey Ch 5: Make Me Feel ~Peggy Carter xFem Scientist!Reader

Peggy and Reader go out on a proper date, to dinner. And then you drive her home… What on earth could happen…?

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, teasing, kissing, mommy kink, drinking, etc.

Enjoy (:

This was the first time you’d been on an actual date date in a long time… You’d gotten all dressed up and everything— dress, heels, makeup, and all.

You took a deep breath and entered the restaurant. You spotted Peggy after we second. She had beaten you there, and your jaw dropped once you saw her. She looked stunning…

You walked up to the reserved table for the two of you, and you sat down across from the brunette.

“I… you look… stunning…” you stammered, your face getting hotter by the second.

Peggy blushed and smiled at your words.

“Thank you, love… You look so beautiful.” The woman sighed in delight.

Now it was your turn to blush even harder.

“So, how did you grow up?” You asked, trying to pivot and make some light conversation.

“England.” Peggy hummed, “One brother, and we had our bouts of fun. Always being told to reign it in…” she chuckled lightly.

You chuckled lightly along with her.

“I know the line… ‘That is no way for a young lady to be behaving!’” You mocked the adults in your childhood, giggling at your own raised voice.

“Goodness, Yesss!” Peggy hissed with laughter, “That tone is spot on!!”

You both laughed each other out, until the waiter came to take your drink orders. After which, you continued your conversation.

“What about your childhood…?” The brunette asked.

“Hmmmm… I was the weird, outcast just growing up, interested in science and pants…” you hummed with a light chuckle.

Peggy hummed and nodded along with a smile.

“Ever been in love?” You threw it out there.

“Yes…” the woman sighed, “Twice. Both died.”

“Oh my…” you gasped lightly, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, Love. They’re both in past chapters of my life” Peggy reassured you.

You two continued to talk about last relationships. She informed you of her situationship with Sousa, whom you had met. You talked about some of your past partners, especially the ones with funny stories. And you both talked about discovering your sexualities, when, where, who, how, etc. Then your conversation turned to work.

“Ok, so how did you end up at the SSR…?” You asked curiously.

“Ahhh Well… I was a code breaker at one point, loved the work, but hated being undermined constantly. Then my brother got me a job offer at the SOE; a job that led me into working in the SSR during the war with Dr. Erskine. And I just stuck around after, thinking it would be the same… it wasn’t…” she chuckled lightly at her ignorance and arrogance back then,

“But I stayed. And I make it better day by day. And in the end, I love my work.” She resolved with a sigh.

“That’s nice.” You sighed, empathizing with her love of her work, but frustration in colleagues.

“What about you? How did you end up an extremely well funded scientist/inventor…?” Peggy posed you the same question, as your wines arrived.

You paused to order your meals, before you continued.

“Well, I was always interested in the sciences since I was a young girl. My parents came from old money but my mother died at childbirth and my dad when I was early-young woman, so I got all their assets early on. Determined, I started my career as a scientist and researcher. People always have something to say, but I learned to ignore them, and that’s how I’ve gotten where I am today…” you told your story.

“So you have mommy issues…?” Peggy hummed, while you were taking a sip of your red wine.

You nearly chocked at her words, your whole face going best red. The brunette took a sip of her wine.

“I’m just joking, Darling…” She reassured you, when she realized that she had completely paralyzed you.

Her words thawed you back into reality.

“Oh um sorry… Y-yes, I have what one might call mommy issues…” you stammered.

Peggy’s eyes widened at you actually answering her theoretical question. Her mouth dropped slightly in shock. But she quickly came back to her regular self.

“Well, I’ll be sure to remember that…” the woman teased, winking while she spoke.

Your breath caught in your throat. You thought you couldn’t get any more red in the face. You were wrong.

Overall, the dinner went really well. You talked about it all it seemed, about past relationships, your jobs, your childhoods, and much more. You found your heart get all warm every time you made the woman laugh. And that she blushed every time you complimented her. You two bounced off of each other extremely well all night long.

You two are your meals and drank your wine, truly enjoying each others company. You prolonged your night having dessert and then another glass of red wine… Neither of you wanted the night to end.

But alas, the restaurant had to close… You both sighed in contentment as well as longing. You collects your things and walked out with the brunette. She was about to hail a cab, but you insisted that you give her ride home, as it would be safer.

“I insist, Peggy please.” You told the brunette, squeezing her arm lightly to show her you were being serious.

“Oh alright, but you really are too kind, Darling…” Peggy finally relented with a smile and a blush.

“It’s just down the block” you mused aloud, indicating to where the car was parked.

“Lead the way then” the brunette hummed, linking her arm to yours.

You nodded and led Peggy down the street and to your car. You two got in the back and your driver started the drive to Peggy’s apartment. The drive was pleasant and mostly silent for most of the drive. That was until your eyes met the brunette’s once more, and before you knew it, your lips were on hers, and her lips were on yours. The kiss was a bit more heated and passionate than last time, most likely on account of the alcohol.

But before you could take it anywhere else, the car had reached Peggy’s apartment. And that left the two of you in a bit of an awkward silence. Eventually, you broke it.

“Thank you… For tonight, it was lovely…” you spoke softly with a smile.

“I had a marvelous time…” Peggy agreed, smiling back, but something on her lips was unsaid.

You looked at her in light puzzlement.

What was she—?

“Come home with me”

Your whole throat, mouth, and lips ran dry in that moment. Your eyes went wide and you were almost speechless. Peggy now understood you better, and knew that this was you processing her words, so she let you have your time. After a minute or so, you finally managed to string a coherent through together.

“We’re both intoxicated…” you whispered nervously.

Peggy pursed her lips and nodded.

“I understand. Perhaps another time…?” She gently asked.

“Yes, I’d very much like that…” you said with hope filling your eyes now.

The same hope came across Peggy as you spoke.

“Alright. I look forward to it, Darling.” She breathlessly confessed, before kissing you one last time and then leaving the car.

~~~

Peggy Carter Masterlist

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darksigns-exe · 9 months

Text

Sweet Like Honey - Mind My Wicked Words

Warnings: Unprotected Intercourse, Swearing Word Count: 2.2 k Note: In my effort of streamlining how I upload things here's the one that started it all. Read on AO3

Everything feels sticky and too warm. It’s been hot like this for days and by now Bee feels as if every bit of clothing is one too many. It was humid to the point where she swears that the condensation drips off the slowly turning ceiling fan.

Or maybe that’s her imagination playing tricks on her. His naked body next to her feels too hot to get closer so they lie a few inches apart, barely touching at the hands. Her finger absentmindedly drifts across the back of his hand. Neither of them has found sleep yet and Bee doubts that they will until it rains. If it ever will. Noah lets out a heavy groan before he sits up, clearly frustrated with the heat and humidity.

“I’m taking a shower.” he declares before pushing himself up and out of the bed.

Bee watches him trudge out of the bedroom. Moments later she hears a door open and the shower turn on. She remains stuck to the sheets for a little moment longer before the need to feel that cool stream of water overwhelms her and she follows Noah into the bathroom. The sight of his tall, lean frame under the spray twists up her insides. Sometimes it feels a little surreal that she gets to call him hers. The man that she gets to witness inside these four walls is so different from the one she’s seen on stage. And now that they’re here in their own four walls she gets to have him all to herself and gets to look at him for as long as she wants to. Really she could watch him for hours while he worked, his focus and dedication only making him more attractive in her eyes. She shakes herself from her thoughts and moves towards the shower. He’s standing with her back facing her. She wraps her arms around his middle, resting her head against his back.

Noah huffs out a laugh “Couldn’t resist it, huh?”

“You? Never.” she presses a kiss to his back, now cooled by the steady steam from above.

They fall silent for a moment as the shower continues to rain down on them. It’s a small luxury they’d afforded themselves when they moved here. Bee had rationalised it with their busy work schedules. They’d gone for the whole package, rainfall shower, heated flooring and all of that. Nights like these Bee was glad that they were on their own now. Back when they still lived with most of his band and friends moving around the house naked as they are now would have been practically impossible without traumatising any of the inhabitants. And in a way, having their own place, makes her feel as if things are getting a little more serious between them.

“Thought it was supposed to rain.” he sounds a little too disappointed, Bee thinks. She lets her hands wander across his body. Despite his frequent and strenuous workouts, he’s still all soft and warm, but she knows the strength that hides underneath his skin and ink.

“I think I saw lightning before I got up.” Her hands draw across his front and she feels his stomach tense in response “This is nice enough though.”

Noah hums in agreement “Feels good too.” She knows that she has free reign over him right now and so she lets one of her hands wander lower still. The gasp that flees from him when she brushes the tips of her fingers along his hip bone makes her shiver. The dynamic between them shifts and changes all the time, bouncing between varying states of play depending on the position of the sun it seems. Tonight it seems that he’s happy to let her have her way with him. His head is hung low and Bee knows that he’s watching every move of her hand. His own hands are twitching beside his body as lets her explore to her heart’s content. Her fingers drift across the top of his shaft. His hips buck forward against her fingers at that. She likes it when he gets reactive like that.

“Gotta give me a little more, darling. Please.” She watches as his head tips back, exposing the gorgeous column of his neck. In the dim light of their bathroom, he looks like a work of art reading for framing. She wraps her hand loosely around his cock, just enough to give him some friction. It’s by far not enough to get him off, but the touch of her hand still has him breathing out soft moans.

“Better?” She asks, tightening her hand around him to give him a few sharp tugs “Ought to tire us out.”

“Finally gonna let me fuck you in this shower?” He sounds almost amused, giddy with excitement for something he had wanted since they had properly moved in. No matter how much she wants to enjoy this gentle, indulgent side of it, the promise of him taking her apart bit by bit is just too exciting.

“Think today might be your lucky day.” Laughter rumbles through him, low and sinister in the way that tells her that he will absolutely ruin her. He writhes out of her grasp and before she can take another breath, he has her pinned against the glass wall by the wrists.

“You think so? Maybe you’re the lucky one.” Noah’s voice is dangerously low, his eyes darkened with lust for her body. He leans down to press a kiss to her jaw “Looked so good in those little shorts earlier.” His teeth scrape against her jaw “God I’m glad that we’re on our own now. Could’ve just taken you at any point during the day and you would’ve just let me, wouldn’t you?” It’s just as fun when he gets like this, all dark and intimidating.

“Talk to me, Bee. Let me hear you.”

“Noah.”

“I’m right here baby.” The kisses he brings to her neck are surprisingly gentle – contrary to the still-darkened look on his face. He trails his mouth down her neck to her clavicle, across her chest, the tops of her breasts. The heat outside is nothing compared to the one simmering in her belly now. Warm and rolling, eager to feel him so deep that she’ll be reminded of him even tomorrow. She feels him everywhere, his breath on her skin, hands touching every centimetre they can find. His cock presses against her thigh, now fully hard and leaking with the promise of what was to come. The slow drag of his hands against her skin is maddening. He’s barely touched her where it counts and she already feels as if she could tumble over the edge at any second. One hand comes to cup her breast, gently holding it while he leans down to flick his tongue over the already sensitive nipple.

“Look at these pretty tits.” he kisses her sternum before looking up at her “Luckiest fucking man on this planet.” he shakes his head, strands of hair coming down to stick against his forehead. Bee pushes her hand through his hair. She leaves her hand there and carefully draws him back to her chest. She doesn’t have to say it. His mouth is on her again without another word. With a free hand, Noah shifts her thigh up against his waist. His forehead rests against her shoulder when she feels the first drag of his fingers against her soaking wet cunt. He moans – loud and entirely without shame at the feeling. His finger pushes into her, the slide eased by the sheer amount of slick. After a couple of thrusts, he slips a second, then a third finger into her. Her nails dig into his scalp deliciously. Bee feels his breathing hitch against her skin and she drops her head back against the glass behind her. She feels taught like a bowstring already, every touch of his fingers inside of her only urging her forward towards the inevitable fall. His thumb presses up against her clit. She gasps at the shock of pleasure that surges through her. She feels him pick up speed, now mercilessly working her towards the end.

“You’re so fucking wet for me baby.” he sounds like a mess himself “Gonna cum on my fingers first?” She nods, mind filled with cotton and fuzz.

“Talk to me. Come on.”

“So close.” she lets out, barely able to muster the air to form the words “Please.”

The heat in her middle feels unbearable now and she knows that she can’t hold on for much longer. Noah’s thumb bears down on her clit. There’s a moment before the fall where she feels as if she is floating, her vision whites out as she comes undone. She feels her wall spasm around his fingers, which still move into her without remorse. Her body is still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasm when she feels the head of his cock against her entrance.

“Can you give me another one?” The breathless yes that escapes her is enough for him. He urges her towards him so that he can ease his cock into her. The position is a little awkward, but with a little bit of shifting and moving, he gets them to a point where he can rock into her without much trouble. The constant flow of water makes it a precarious position, her hands can’t get a good grip on him unless she digs her fingers into his back – not that he’d mind. Noah’s grasp on her is just as desperate. His arms wrap around her middle, keeping her close as he continues his thrusts. They’re all gasps and silent moans. Desperately holding on to the other as he works them through it. His name sounds like a prayer on her lips. Her praise seeps into his bones with a warmth that he cannot compare to anything else. The feeling of her around him is as divine as he thinks he’ll ever experience. If this were heaven he’d take it willingly.

“More- baby, need more.” she gasps out.

He nods against her shoulder “Gonna pick up, okay? Gotta hold on for me.” His hand slides down to her other thigh and carefully eases it up over his waist.

For a brief moment, Bee thinks that he’ll take her up against the wall, but he moves them over to the tiled bench behind them. He lowers her back onto it, far enough towards the wall so that she can brace herself against it. He settles himself with one knee onto the bench, all the while keeping his cock buried in her. One hand remains on her waist, as the other warps around herself against the wall. Bee wraps her legs around his waist, just as Noah picks up his thrusts once more. His movements are hard and calculated, deliberately working into her in a way that will drive her to the edge in no time. He knows how to play her perfectly, knows exactly what tempo she needs for her release to be that much more devastating. His head drops down to her shoulder once more. His movements are slower now, but by no means less deliberate. If anything she feels herself plummeting that much quicker at this pace.

Bee barely registers the shower or the slowly rumbling thunder outside anymore. The only thing that she feels is him, the way his body covers hers, the emotion he hammers into her body with every thrust. There’s not a lot left in her now. That tight coil in her middle feels as if it is on the edge of unravelling. The hand that she had previously used to hold onto his back migrates up into his hair. The faint touch of Noah’s lips against her skin sinks into her mind. She feels his thrusts become sloppy before the thread inside her snaps. It hits her with a silent gasp. Noah finishes at the same time as she does, emptying himself inside as he keeps them right at the edge of enough and too much. He stills after a moment, his chest heaving with every breath. Bee is no better off. Every inch of her body feels pleasantly exhausted. Noah detaches himself from her with a final kiss to her jaw.

“I’ll get a washcloth. Wait here.” She watches him slip out of the shower to the cabinet under the sink. The clean-up is silent, exhaustion having finally settled over them. They dry off in silence; towels and washcloths retired on the ground. They can finish this later.

When Noah rejoins her in the bedroom she has already pulled the thin sheets over her body. The air had cooled significantly while they’d been showering. Bee gets another moment to look at him. His damp hair clings to his forehead, droplets of water rund down his neck and across his back. She thinks that he could be framed and put in a museum along with the other art.

“Tired?” he asks, as he settles back into bed next to her. She nods and lifts the cover for him to slip under. Bee settles against him, her head coming to rest against his chest.

“Think it’ll rain,” she whispers, kissing his chest.

Somewhere up the coast thunder rumbles again, closer now than it had been before. She feels him kiss the top of her head and without him having to say it she knows that he loves her. Sleep finds them before the storm rolls over their neck of the woods and when Bee shakes the sleep from her bones hours later it doesn’t feel half as bad anymore.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x ofc #bad omens fic #fic: sweet like honey

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dxrknessexplored · 9 days

Text

@tealeavesandthorns asked “Nope, sorry, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Theo withheld an exasperated sigh. Rarely was it that he and Maria butted heads. More often than not, he could recognize the signs and curb it before it happened, by either appeasing or just veering away from the subject. A method that worked exceptionally well most days. But on occasion, since nothing was ever perfect, it did happen that seeing eye to eye wasn't able to be achieved. Today was one of those days, and clearly, she wasn't going to let the subject lie. Time was lacking already, and the fact that she wanted to draw out the argument was more than a little irritating. Already lacking patience with the business he had to handle, Theo struggled to reign everything in so he didn't explode at her. Something that he hadn't done to date.

"Maria, we can continue this when I get back. But for now, it isn't up for discussion. You are staying here, with them watching you. It's about your safety, so I would really appreciate it if you could just listen and hold off an arguing until I get back. I'm not trying to outrun this. But if I don't leave now, there are going to be bigger problems." Frustration did leak into those final words.

#tealeavesandthorns #▪︎▪︎ ch: theo murphy ▪︎▪︎#◇ threads: theo & maria 01 ◇

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ohsugar-honey-iced-tea · 2 years

Text

Game night

Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Hi y'all! This is my first piece writing for Wanda Maximoff. A friend has introduced me to the fandom and now I'm obsessed 😀 let me know what you think!

Summary: 'Who gets a little too invested in boardgames?'

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She screwed up. She knew she screwed up. She knew it the moment Wanda stepped on her two hotel-owned steet. Well, that wasn't the problem per se. It was the fact that she laughed evilly as she watched Wanda do everything she could to get the money she needed to pay off y/n for landing on her street.

It was supposed to be a fun game night, filled with fun, cuddles, snacks and little shared kisses, Wanda's favorite kind of kisses.

They had settled on playing Monopoly, Wanda's favorite boardgame ever since she was a little girl. She always used to play with her parents and brother and, proudly, always came out to be the one with the most streets and money in the end.

It's not like Wanda and Y/n haven't played Monopoly before. It's just that Wanda always used to win, and then continued to gloat about her victory for at least three days. And now, for the first time in their Monopoly history, Y/n won, and won big. She owned 6 of the 8 streets, and all the taxes worked in her favor, which didn't help the already moody Scarlet Witch at all.

Meanwhile, it has been a full day since and Wanda still didn't talk to her, the betrayal of seeing her love laugh at her as she tried all she could to get the money she needed still fresh on her mind.

"My love, it was only a game of Monopoly, please talk to me."

As soon as Wanda heard that, she came out of their shared bedroom she had locked herself in, wallowing in self pity over her loss of being the reigning Monopoly champion.

"Why should I, hm? This relationship was supposed to be build on trust, and what do you do? You enjoy the lowest point of my financial status. How are we supposed to get past that, huh? You're just a mean- a mean butt!"

Wanda wasn't the best with cursewords when she was taking a moment to be dramatic.

Y/n watched as Wanda continued to *cough* dramatically *cough* *cough* rant about how unfair she was being to her and how this would affect everything.

"Sweetheart..."

"...I would never do this to you-"

"My love..."

"...how am I supposed to get over this-"

"Wanda!"

And just like that, Wanda's endless Monopoly rant ended.

"Did you get your period today, mi amor?"

With that, all the rest of what Wanda was about to say died on her tongue, as she pouted and nodded, tears forming in her eyes.

Y/n sighed sympathetically at this as she opened her arms for her, which Wanda quickly accepted. Honestly, she should have seen this coming. Y/n has been with Wanda for quite some time now, and she knew how moody amd hormonal she could get when she got her period. It didn't help that she had bad cramps with it as well.

The red-headed girl started to sob in Y/n's shoulder, as she gently shushed her, arms holding her close and fingers caressing her hair.

"Why don't I go draw us a bath and after that we can watch your favorite sitcoms? That face is way too beautiful to be stained with tears"

Wanda giggled a little at that, and nodded, softly sniffing.

"I would like that very much. Thank you, detka."

And so, Y/n drew them both a lavender scented bath and guided Wanda in it. Soft music was playing on her phone as she started pampering her Wanda.

After the bath was done, Y/n took her time drying off the both of them, kissing every dried piece of skin her lips could find.

They soon settled in bed afterwards, Wanda making a decision which sitcom they should watch as Y/n was getting the bed ready.

Half an hour later, they were in bed, watching an old episode of ALF, one of Wanda's favorites. Halfway through the episode, Wanda turned to look at Y/n.

"I'm sorry for calling you a mean butt. I didn't mean that at all."

Y/n simply smiled and gave her a forehead kiss.

"I don't mind being a mean butt. As long as I'm your mean butt, I'm okay."

Wanda sighed contentially, nestling herself deeper in her lover's arms.

"If game night always ends like this, we should do it more often."

Y/n giggles at that.

"Let's just keep the fighting part out of it next time, okay?"

Wanda sealed their deal with a kiss, and settled for sleep in the arms of the woman she loved so much.

Later that night Wanda woke up to a still warm water bottle on her stomach, pain medicine and water on her nightstand, and a sleeping Y/n holding her close even in her sleep next to her. Wanda smiled softly at her, thanking her lucky stars for having found Y/n.

"I'm going to marry you, aren't I, detka?"

With that, she went back to sleep, meeting her partner in dreamland.

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Let me know what you thought and if you want to be added to my Wanda taglist! There's more to come, send me any request you'd like to see!

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #marvel #scarlet witch #fanfic

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copiousloverofcopia · 8 months

Text

UNHOLY FUCK Ghesties!

THIS IS IT! The final chapter of Death and Flowers is coming at you!!!

I hope you all enjoy it!!!! Our poor Copia and Ollie have been through so much. Will they have a happily ever after?

Commissions are OPEN, please see pinned post for Carrd info!

*Special thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the banners*-hit me up ghestie I owe you a fic or something for using these.

Death & Flowers

It hadn’t been serious, it never was with him. While Papa was suave and Ollie enjoyed their time together it wasn’t meant to be. She knew it wasn’t something meant to last…something permanent but—here she was. It was only one missed pill and life forever changed.

Chapter 14: Long May He Reign

Also available HERE on AO3! Haven’t started yet? Start from the beginning HERE!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!

They didn't bother to wait for the rest of the ghouls. Copia, along with Alpha, Omega, and Aether began working their way to Saltarian’s office. The Cardinal, having finally put all the pieces together. He was angry at himself for being so blind—the answers were right there in front of him the whole time.

“Tell us Cardinal, who is responsible for this?” Aether asked, watching as the anger inside both Omega and Alpha grew. Threatening to billow out of them like Hell fire—consuming anything and everything in their path.

“It is those men–the League. Maybe Saltarian, I think he has been assembling them to overthrow the Ministry. The Emeritus family and the ghouls are just casualties in their pursuit of it.

“Then… then why weren't they after you?” Aether asked, knowing the truth of Copia’s parentage. It would have puzzled Copia too, had he not overheard the conversation between Sister and Saltarian from before. Now he knew exactly why he was overlooked, despite his heritage.

“The man has a soft spot for Sister… I am her son and from what I have learned, I was never supposed to know Nihil was my father. Blissful ignorance meant to keep me safe in favor of her. But now that has all changed.”

“This is fucking insane; how did they think they were going to keep everything in line without the support of the ghouls. Like it or not, we are essential for the connection and power from the Dark One himself.” Alpha snarled, as they walked, trying his best not to go running off on his own to fight them. The ghouls, confused and betrayed by all they thought they knew.

“I am sure the plan was to have some of you become fodder for those hungry to condemn someone for the Emeritus family deaths, but I can only assume they never meant to imply that all of you were involved. I am certain now that this is why you were framed. Blamed for Primo, Secondo, and Terzo’s deaths.”

“How do you know?” Omega asked.

“The scent. I don’t have senses the way you do, but I have recently come into contact with the same smell Aether described. It was overwhelming on Bishop Martin… it has to be them.

A few hours before…

Saltarian sat at his desk, head in his hands as he waited for the California Ministry to contact him. Hoping to have Copia set up to stay there for the majority of his time of touring. He wondered if he would be able to continue on as planned. His love for Elizabeth had already cost him so much and now with her carelessness, she threatened to undo everything he had worked so hard to orchestrate.

He could hear it from down the hall as they approached. The sounds of footfalls on the tile, made with a sense of haste. Then as expected and without a knock, Bishops Mauro, Henry, and Martin came charging into his office. The looks on their faces telling him this was no casual visit.

“What is it?” he asked them.

“We have a problem.” Bishop Mauro began, looking at the other two to see who might be next to speak.

“What problem?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. Allowing his pen to fall to his desk, and the room to grow quiet before he looked up at them.

“We have learned some very disturbing news, your excellency.” Martin continued.

“Seems our dear sweet Cardinal is not the father of Sister Olive’s child.” Henry smirked, a glint of evil in his eye. One that had far surpassed anything Saltarian had ever seen. The news was powerful, yet not a complete surprise to him. The most interesting part was the thought that Copia knew and still claimed the child as his own. Saltarian, now wondering if the Cardinal and Sister Imperator had conspired against him this whole time.

“He’s also Nihil’s son… a fact you seemed to be aware of, yet we are just now hearing of it. Is this true Mr. Saltarian?” Bishop Mauro asked, watching for a crack in Saltarian’s resolve. He was angered to the core—maddened. He had tried to do right by Sister Imperator. Hiding her bastard son from the eyes of those he answered to—those who also wanted the end of the Emeritus family. Only to have the bloodline kept alive and well in his child. Sure, that it was Sister Imperator who outed him as knowing the secret.

“I see... that conniving bitch. That is preposterous.” he hissed under his breath. “You know what you need to do.” he nodded to the bishops. The men, acknowledging him as they set course to eliminate them all—Nihil, Copia, Olive and the child.

Present time

Copia rounded the corner and ran straight into Bishop Martin, he was covered in blood. Unabashed by walking around in broad daylight. His smug smile, sending a chill down Copia’s spine.

“What have you done!” Copia yelled, the crest of his knuckles bashing into the bishop’s jawline as he threw the first punch. Sending a cascade of blood from Martin’s mouth to the floor. The ghouls standing behind them, growling and tails snapping in the air like whips.

“You really are a fool.” Martin laughed, his face already beginning to swell from Copia’s right hook.

“Whose blood is this? If you don't tell me what is going on, I will let them devour you whole, you figlio di puttana!”

“All this energy over your dead brother's whore?” Martin chuckled. Leaving bloody fingerprints behind on Copia’s cassock as he tried to hold him back from another hit.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Omega roared, Aether and Alpha holding him down so that Copia may get answers before Omega went and tore him to shreds.

“Oh Satanas Ollie.” Copia choked, his stomach sinking as the words left him. Scared that the blood may be hers.

“Relax Cardinal, you precious whore is fine. Though not for long. This blood… belongs to your old man.” he grinned, as Copia dropped his body to the ground. Running behind him into Nihil’s office. Only to find the old man dead in his chair–throat slit and blood decorating the walls.

“Oh fuck.” Aether said, as he and Alpha followed him into the room. Omega, still in the hall. Sinking his teeth into the bishop's carotid before his body went completely limp in the ghoul's arms.

“He’s gone.” was all Copia could say, quickly setting course back into the hall where he found Omega hovering over the bishop. Barely clutching onto his mortal coil.

“She’s next.” he said, choking on his own blood. The ghouls and Copia, realizing instantly what he meant.

“We need to get to Ollie and Luss now!” Alpha growled, taking off full force alongside Copia and Aether as Omega finished off Martin.

As they made it back to Copia’s Papal suites, there was an eerie quiet. The door cracked open and no sign of Ollie or Cumulus to be seen. Copia and the ghouls carefully crept inside. Searching for them, until finally they could hear the sound of glass breaking from within the bedroom.

As they ran inside, they saw them. Two men, in shining silver ghouls' masks, holding Ollie and Cumulus captive. Knives to their throats and the two of them struggling against their captor’s grips. Cumulus, doing her best to try and bite them, while Ollie cried. Her hands, never leaving her belly.

“Ollie! Cumulus!” Copia cried, attempting to run for them before watching the men adjust their blades. Stopping the Cardinal in his tracks as the ghouls continued forward.

“Take those off! You can’t fool us you motherfuckers.” Alpha hissed, watching as the men removed the masks. Revealing themselves to be Bishop Mauro and Henry. Copia’s suspicions had been confirmed. It was the League who was responsible for the deaths of his brothers—and his father.

“Step any closer and we will slit their throats.” Bishop Henry told them. Pressing the blade against Ollie’s neck. A string of blood, beading up along the cut as she cried out.

“Copia!”

“It’s alright amore.” Copia called out, the bishops laughing at his weak promises. Amused with his idea he had any control, knowing they held Ollie and Cumulus within millimeters of death.

“We will tear you apart before you do anything to them!” Omega roared, looking into Cumulus’s eyes. Doing her best to remain calm as her life lay in the balance. Never showing her fear to them as they continued on.

“Please you all are nothing but rabid animals. No sense or reason. You’re disposable. There are millions more like you awaiting summoning. None of them will ever know better.” Mauro smiled. The three ghouls standing their ground, teeth bared and tails swishing. Ready to pounce if they only are given the chance.

“Let Ollie and Cumulus go, take me instead. They have done nothing to you. It’s me you want. I am Nihil’s son.” Copia begged, trying his best to inch closer to them without setting them off.

“There’s just one thing…a tiny… little… thing.” Henry said. Slowly brushing back the hair from off Ollie’s shoulder. Trembling in his grasp. “This is a problem.” he said as his free hand traveled down from her shoulder and over her chest, finally settling over the swell of her belly.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.” Copia said, his teeth gritted and his rage boiling over. Bloodthirsty and ready to end them.

“It’s nothing personal, Cardinal. The Ministry is just done with Emeritus. Sorry you got caught in the mix. Then again, you all are nothing but fools.” Mauro hissed. The tension was unbearable. Every second lingering as they stared each other down. Copia and the ghouls helpless but to watch until somehow, they could find a way in.

Suddenly from the shadows, a figure appeared. Pushing past the men and bringing himself front and center. Positioning himself between them. Announcing himself as the man of the hour, the one who held all control—Mr. Saltarian.

“Not yet Henry…” he said, stopping things from moving forward until he had his final say. Wanting to draw out Copia’s torment for as long as humanly possible. Relish, in his agony as he watched his lover and child slowly be murdered in front of his eyes.

“Ti sei rincoglionito?!” Copia growled, his white eye—blazing with fury. Chest heaving and ready to kill Saltarian where he stood.

“You know, I had a mind once to consider you a son. After all I have known you since your whore of a mother carried you.” Saltarian began, smirking at him as he crossed his arms. Lifting up a condescending brow and snickering to himself.

“You are nothing—” Copia began before Saltarian cut him off.

“I am everything… I have done everything. You know the whole reason this order, the League, was founded was to get rid of them. I may never have been able to become Papa myself, but I could have still had control. If your mother hadn’t been stupid enough to tell you about Nihil.”

“Don’t you dare…” Copia began.

“I did EVERYTHING FOR HER!” Saltarian yelled back, turning around to rip away the knife from Bishop Henry. Pressing it into the side of Ollie’s belly, just hard enough to draw blood. The blood, staining her dress as she cried out.

“Ah!”

“Please don’t hurt her!” Copia pleaded, ready to give his life for her. The ghouls snapping and snarling behind him. Waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Dying to taste the blood of the men on their tongues and pick their flesh from their teeth.

“This is your fault Copia. Had you never been born she might have been mine. Not attached to that old bastard for so long. Even then I would have given you the Papacy to please her. Getting rid of Nihil so you could start anew with me pulling the strings—but now since she managed to ruin it all helping you and helped to protect this pathetic Emeritus whelp…” Saltarian said as he raised up the knife, “...I guess I’ll have to kill you all and take the miter myself!”

Saltarian threw Ollie to the ground and lunged towards Copia. The blade, barely missing his chest and digging into his shoulder. Copia groaned as he pulled it out, him and Saltarian struggling to take hold of it. Copia’s blood painting the floor, slick and red.

The ghouls took their opportunity in the confusion. The bishop’s had grown comfortable, letting down their guard when Cumulus thrusted her elbow backwards into Mauro. Knocking him back onto the floor. The ghouls and ghoulette, flooding over him and ripping him apart with their bare teeth and sharp claws. Bishop Henry panting as he tried to take off. Aether, jumping over his gorging brethren to snatch him.

The ghoul’s claws sunk deep into the flesh of the bishop’s back as he screamed. Blood curdling and powerful as he fell to the ground. Ollie, still laying on the floor, cradling her belly in her arms as she watched in horror at the scene. The ghouls devouring the Bishops and Saltarian and Copia fighting to the death.

The ruckus in the Papal suite had alerted others, crowds of siblings and other clergy members spilling in from the halls. All too shocked and afraid to make a move. Worried that their involvement would seal the wrong person’s fate. Watching as Copia and Saltarian continued to scuffle. The knife dancing between them, always a split hair away from stabbing one or the other.

Ollie pulled herself up, grateful to a pair of sisters who came to collect her. Surrounded by pieces of what once was the bishops. Covered in theirs and her lover’s blood. Catching Copia’s eyes for a brief moment, her tears once again began to shed. Wondering to herself if this was the last time, he would ever look at her.

Seeing Ollie was all he needed. The thought of never seeing her again, never holding her again, gave him strength beyond measure. Toppling Saltarian to the ground and hovering over him. Knife raised high as he was ready to strike.

“You know it's far from over. I am not the only one who wanted the power of the Ministry to be their own.” Saltarian said, spitting up at Copia.

“Your vitriol nature has done nothing for you. How does it feel to know his son bested you after all.” Copia told him, gloating at the idea. Saltarian made one last stitch effort to get the blade. Punching Copia in the gut as he tried to take it from him. The two men, rolling on the ground over one another–until suddenly they stopped.

The two of them, looking down to see the blade piercing into Saltarian’s heart. Immediately he began choking. Feeling his death approaching. Every beat of his heart, bringing him closer as he began to bleed out from the inside.

“This baby will be born, and the Emeritus bloodline will continue…and one day Saltarian, he will become Papa…” Copia began, watching the light starting to fade in Saltarian’s eyes.

“No…” Saltarian shuddered as Copia pushed the knife in deeper. Twisting it as he spoke, “And long may he reign!”

Epilogue

A Few Years Later…

As the lights died down on the stage at the last of the Los Angeles shows, Copia remained bowed. His heart pounding in his chest and the thrill of the crowd cheering “Papa” echoing throughout the arena. Never did he imagine his life would be like this. Admired by all and revered by the Ministry.

It had been so long since his humbler beginnings. The night of his true rise to power was long behind him. Followed swiftly by the sweet embrace of Fatherhood not long after. Becoming Papa, despite it all, in the in between.

Now that he had been in charge for some time, Copia decided that after the Imperatour he would step down. If there was one thing Saltarian got right—was that new blood was needed in the Ministry. Terzo's son—his son, would one day rise to power and until then Copia wanted the Ministry to be helmed by someone else. Copia, knowing he had done all he could there after working to reform things.

He had worked hard to bring down all those who co-conspired in the deaths of his father and brothers. His mother was forced to step down from her position within the church. Toured for years with Ghost, and helped to foster a new wave of worthy siblings of sin and respectful members of the Clergy. Knowing that now was the time for someone else to lead.

He and Ollie had never been better, raising their little boy to the best of their ability while on the road. Never leaving each other’s side, even now. No longer haunted by the ghosts of the past as they worked to create their own family. A life, a love, something special just for them.

As he exited the stage, he caught sight of them. The two things he cared about more than anything else, his sweet Ollie and little Giovanni were standing there waiting for him backstage. Juice boxes, held in his pair of small hands as Giovanni went running up to his daddy. Copia, hoisting him up in the air and squeezing him tight in his arms. Ollie, following right behind him, a smile spread wide across her face.

“That was incredible.” Ollie cheered, coming to plant a kiss on Copia’s smeared painted cheek.

“I should say so, what do you think piccolo? Did daddy do a good job?” he asked Giovanni.

“I loved it!” his son cheered, throwing his arms around Copia. Juice spraying in the air and all over the back of his father’s vestments. Ollie, quickly coming to help try and help clean it up.

“Gio, you need to be more careful.” she told him. Giving him a cheeky look before dapping away at the spill.

“It’s alright cara, I won't be needing them much longer anyways. You know very soon Gio, daddy and mommy are going to take you to the country. Spend some time in the quiet… I feel it's well earned. For all of us.” Copia chuckled, sending Ollie the sincerest of smiles. Ollie was overcome with emotion. So happy to have time to enjoy just each other. The nightmares of the past behind them. She was unable to help but kiss him. Relishing the feel of his lips against hers and the sounds of their son’s giggles as she hummed in contentment.

“That it is Papa—that it is.”

Notes:

figlio di puttana- son of a bitch

Piccolo- Little one

#Death & Flowers #Copia x Ollie #Copia #Cardinal Copia #Copia x sister of sin #Copia x OC Ollie #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

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