#the ghost of black rose hall

[sunnymoonxx]

❝he turns me scarlet❞ | qimir x reader, 1

pairing: qimir x reader

summary: qimir decides to test your loyalty, playing with your mind, testing it, see how long it would take for you to break.

warnings: english is not my native language, dark undertones!+18, cnc hints, blood, sexual innuendo, mind tricks, soft somnophilia, mental torture, improper use of force, physical violence, toxic relationship, yandere behaviour

part 1: this is more of a little foreplay, stay tuned for part 2

a/n: we don't know much about qimir's character yet so let's just pretend this is well written

now playing, desert rose by lolo zouaï

You stumbled through the dense undergrowth, your breath visible in the frigid air. The trees loomed tall and foreboding, their skeletal branches forming a tangled web above your head. You were lost, alone, and cold. Your hands trembled as you clutched your tattered cloak tighter around you, every nerve on edge.

"Master?" you called out, your voice a thin thread of sound swallowed by the forest. There was no reply, only the eerie silence of the woods. Suddenly, a drop of crimson splashed onto your cheek, warm and sticky. You raised your hand to wipe it away with trembling fingers, your heart pounding in your chest. Blood.

More drops followed, a relentless rain of blood falling from the sky. You gasped, the metallic scent overwhelming your senses. The trees offered partial shelter, their branches catching some of the blood, but you could feel it seeping through your cloak, chilling you to the bone. Panic surged through you as the blood pooled around your feet, soaking the forest floor.

You scanned the area, your vision blurred by fear and confusion. Then, through the crimson haze, you saw them. Two figures lying on the ground amidst the torrent of blood. One was your master, Qimir, his dark robes drenched, his body motionless. Your heart dropped seeing him like that. Your feet almost moved towards his direction before the second figure caught your eye. She was a civilian, a young woman, equally drenched and shivering, her eyes wide with terror. Your heart started racing against your chest bone.

The blood fell heavier, a deafening roar filling your ears. You looked from Qimir to the woman, your mind reeling. The woman's eyes pleaded with her, filled with fear and desperation. Your fear mirrored in her, but you forced yourself to focus. Your thoughts raced. The civilian was innocent, a life worth saving. But Qimir was your master, the one who had trained you, who held your future in his hands.

I cannot abandon him.

You took a step towards Qimir, and your decision was made. As you moved, the blood rain slowed, and the surrounding forest began to dissolve. Suddenly, everything vanished. You found yourself falling, tumbling through a black emptiness, with nothing but darkness surrounding you. The sensation of weightlessness consumed you, your mind spinning with disorientation and fear. With a jarring thud, you landed on your legs in a vast, dimly lit hall. The air was thick with an oppressive energy, the walls adorned with menacing, ancient symbols. Flickering torches cast eerie shadows, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. The hall seemed to pulse with a dark life of its own, and your breath caught in your throat.

Good.

You flinched as you heard an enchanting voice in your head. Master. You nodded, acknowledging his praise, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. The blood, the forest, the woman - all gone. Like a nightmare dissipating in the morning light.

~~~

His dark figure stood in the dimly lit chamber, his imposing silhouette casting long shadows on the cold, metallic walls. His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on you, lying in your bed, your breathing steady and peaceful. In sleep, you seemed so vulnerable, a stark contrast to the fierce warrior you were now in your dreams.

He moved closer, his presence almost ghost-like. Gently, he sat down next to you on the bed, his fingers tracing the scars on your arms, each mark a testament to your trials and sacrifices you made for him. The pale light accentuated the lines and curves of your figure, and he couldn't help but admire the strength you exuded, even in repose.

As he gazed at you, a complex mix of emotions stirred within him. Pride in your achievements, a deep connection to your struggles, and a pool of mistrust. You always chose him in your hallucinations, always saved him, always sacrificed innocents for him. But those were dreams, illusions he put in your mind to test you. Like the one he was applying now. Dark foggy forest, overflowing with blood. Would you choose him in real life?

The question kept dancing around in his head as his fingers traced your forearm down to your waist. You didn’t bother to lay under a blanket, this night was warm. His thoughts reached a deeper part of his mind, a small smile appearing on his lips. He could easily kill you right now. You were so vulnerable in your sleep. He could do anything, and you would have no choice but to let him.

His fingers traced down the scar on your torso, aware he killed the person who gave it to you. Your body reacted to his touch, but your mind didn't, as you kept lying down, forced to be tested by his illusions even in your sleep. He had complete control of your mind right now, your body left unguarded. He let his fingers dance on your exposed skin, admiring you, wanting to be close to you.

His fingers felt the skin of your thighs, your shoulders, your neck, your stomach. He touched every scar, every mark, every imperfection. He liked to play with your hair, pushing them away from your face.

When he first met you, you were nothing. A former jedi. A failure. Then you found him. He took you in and trained you. Formed you.

He wasn’t just training you to be an exceptional force wielder. He was training you to be his. He enjoyed being known by you, protected by you, and one day maybe even loved by you. He was never going to let you go. You saw his face. You knew his soul. You touched his heart. He was prepared to kill you if you ever chose a path on which he didn’t stand.

~~~

You awoke the next day, disoriented and shivering with goosebumps from a lingering sense of unease. The comfort of your bedroom provided little solace against the remnants of your nightmare—visions of a blood-flooding forest that had felt all too real. Your mind was so focused on the frightened dream that you failed to notice the remaining shadow left over by your master.

Rising from your bed, you began your morning routine, determined to shake off the dread of the night and prepare for whatever mission your Qimir had in store for you. You moved with purpose, your mind already focusing on the tasks ahead, hoping to regain your composure and strength. As you stood in front of the mirror, still clad in your robe, you reached for your clothes, your thoughts momentarily drifting to the intense training you knew awaited you.

You didn't even hear the door creak open, nor did you sense the immediate danger.

Beginners mistake.

Suddenly, without warning, strong hands wrapped around your neck, cutting off your breath. You gasped, your eyes wide with shock as you were slammed against the cold, unyielding wall. Panic surged through you. Struggling against the iron grip, your hands clawing at the attacker's wrists, trying to break free.

Their face was obscured by a hood, their grip unrelenting. Your vision started to blur, but you fought to stay conscious, your mind racing through the techniques you had learned.

Drawing on your training and the power of the Force, you focused your energy, pushing back against the darkness closing in around you. With a burst of strength, you drove your knee into the attacker's abdomen, loosening their grip just enough to create a small gap. You twisted your body, breaking free and dropping to the floor, gasping for air. Scrambling to your feet, you assumed a defensive stance, ready to face this unexpected threat. Your eyes locked onto the figure before you, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick with the promise of violence.

You fought with all your might, but the intruder's strength was overwhelming. Their struggle intensified, the room echoing with the sounds of their violent clash. You landed several blows, but each time you thought you had gained the upper hand, he countered with brutal efficiency.

Desperation surged through you as you found yourself pinned to the ground, your arms restrained, the cold floor pressing against your back. You strained against his grip, but he was too powerful. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the effort.

Fuck.

As you struggled against his grip, the room filled with a palpable tension. Each movement was a desperate attempt to break free, but the man's overwhelming strength held you firmly in place. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your body trembling from the exertion and adrenaline.

It was in the midst of this struggle that a realization began to dawn on you. The brute strength, the familiar scent, the unmistakable energy—it could only be one person. Your body tensed even more as recognition flooded your mind, a torrent of confusion and disbelief mingling with a rush of other, more complicated feelings.

"Master?" you whispered more to yourself, your voice barely audible, choked with a mixture of shock and something else you couldn't quite name.

Qimir's hood fell back, revealing his stern, unyielding face. His eyes bore into yours, a storm of dark intensity that made your heart race. The shock of seeing him, of knowing it was him all along, sent your thoughts spiraling.

Your mind reeled. The realization brought with it a flood of memories and images, some of them inappropriate, crossing the line between master and apprentice. You tried to push them away, but they only made you more aware of the heat of his body, the firmness of his grip.

What are you doing?

You desperately asked through the force, unable to form words from the shock. You were frozen, lying on the ground, Qimir's knees crushing your thighs, his firm arms holding your hands above your head. His intense eyes hiding behind the curtain of his dark waves, but you could see the smirk playing on his lips. You saw the smirk many times, and it never ended well.

"Do you yield?" he spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel his grip on your wrists getting stronger, feeling your bones crush against each other. You couldn't help but let out a moan, the pain forming black dots before your eyes. He was so close, his body almost resting on yours, his face only a breath away. Under different circumstances, you'd enjoy this. But as he kept crushing your wrists together, your mind was only focused on the pain.

"I asked you a question." You almost didn't hear him, trying to hold back the tears forming in your eyes. You didn't cry because of his firm voice but because of the pain, he was inflicting on you. His knees digging into your flesh, his nails ripping your skin open on your wrists and pushing your bones together. You injured way worse, but your master, being the giver of this pain, brought it to another level.

You didn't answer for a while, and you realized that his hands left your crimson wrists to lay above your head alone to put them around your neck. Your hands were so paralyzed that you couldn't even use them to try to push him away. Instead, you let his fingers curl around your neck, stealing the air from your lungs.

"You really won't protect yourself?" He whispered against your cheek as if to mock you. His lower body pressed against yours as he held his upper body up, your neck as his support. "You're going to let me do this to you?" His tone was softer but still humiliating. He was your Master. You were certain this was one of his tests. To test your endurance, your breaking point. Your loyalty. You were loyal to him, but not out of love or care. Fear kept you loyal.

But you knew there was a hidden second reason why you stayed. Why you stay nights awake, excited to see him again, for him to test you again. But you didn't want to accept that.

He liked it. The way he made you shake with terror, fear, and confusion. He enjoyed the power he had over you, but at the same time, he also wanted you to be his equal, his friend. But he knew your feelings towards him. You never considered being his equal. He terrified you. He played mind tricks on you. You were scared. No matter how gentle or soft-spoken he was outside of training hours. Your head was horrified, your heart uncertain, your body, welcoming.

He was aware of the effect he had on you. He smelled it every time he even looked your way. He smelled it now. The way you tensed. One could argue that fear played a role in your stiffness. True. Partially. He sensed everything that was happening in your room, and every night you had a training routine together, you hid in your room, filled your head with images of him, and traced your body with fingers that you wished were his.

He smelled your needs, felt your skin get hotter, the sweat dripping down your forehead. Many times, he wanted to open those doors to your room and give you that for which you were so ashamed to wish. Instead, he used the force, meditating in his room, watching you through the walls, amplifying your pleasure.

You sometimes thought as if you felt another hand, touching yours, pushing you to go further. You felt the warmth, felt it in places only you touched.

"Very well," you heard him murmur to himself before putting all his strength into his hands wrapped around your neck. If he wanted to, he could kill you right now. You were at his mercy. You couldn't move your legs, your hands were recovering from bruised bones, and your body pressed by his against the cold stone floor. You were ashamed you secretly enjoyed the proximity.

"Pl-" you failed to form even a few words as he slowly took all your air supply. His eyes scanning your reactions, watching you carefully, every breath, every small movement. Like a hunter watching his prey. But you didn't count as a prey anymore. You didn't run, you were already served on a golden plate for him.

"You thrive on pain and fear." he leaned in closer to you, his hands softening his grip around your neck, letting a small dose of air run through you. But he didn't let go. You could feel his lips against your ear, his breath, his hair tickling your nose. You could feel the heat of his body, The Force letting you see the colors of his thoughts, up close. Your body tensed, the hunger slowly reaching out for you too.

"You like the torture," he whispered into your ear, scaring you as he quickly rose up, sitting steadily on your hips and raising one hand, leaving only his left one around your neck. Your frozen arms slowly recovered as you managed to pick them up, instinctively wrapping them around his hand that kept suffocating you. He didn't move a muscle and watched you struggle underneath him. You could never overpower him. You weren't stupid enough to believe that, but you didn't want him to see you not try.

"You must learn how to master them." he continued, a psychotic smile on his face as his other hand slowly rested against your chest. "Use them as your tools." You felt his fingers making small circles below your collarbones, his touch sending goosebumps around your body.

After a while, you noticed you never once felt the familiar darkness around you. He kept you on the edge, knowing where exactly to place his fingers on your neck. To cause you enough pain, to make you quiver but never to let you fall over the horizon.

"Was that you?" You tried to let out, to ask him, confirm that the dream of the blood storm was his work, but instead, it sounded like a cat squeaking. “The dream.”

“Hmm,” was all he let out, his eyes scanning your body up and down.

It wasn’t the first time you caught him doing that, but never under circumstances like this. Never when he held you down, pressing himself against you, letting you feel all his curves and edges. Not when you were at his disposal.

His captivating eyes found yours again, reading your thoughts as if they were written in black ink on a white paper. You were transparent to him, no imagine managed to slip underneath him. As if you were bare. The grin on his face told you all you needed to know.

“I don’t trust you,” he whispered, digging his nails into your neck, forcing you to cry out. “Well, not fully.” The way you struggled beneath him was amusing to him. If he could, he’d let you struggle below him every day, every hour for a different reason. “I wanted to test you.”

“I killed- for you.” You breathed out, trying to push his hand away as you slowly regained your strength in your arms. But he didn’t move an inch. “I, serve only you.”

“Yeah?” you heard him purr, totally forgetting about his fingers reaching the top of your robe, right between your breasts. Your heart skipped a beat feeling him so close, not daring to look him into his eyes. You felt his fingers push into your flesh; his fingers alone strong enough to leave a mark. The pressure hurt but not as painful as the one around your neck. “Your heart is saying otherwise.” He uttered under his breath, his fingers bending, going underneath your robe.

“Why are you lying. Don’t lie.” He added, shaking his head, his eyes soft. He almost looked pitiful. “Why are you so scared.” His voice was low, gentle even. His hand around your neck loosened, letting you gasp a cough for air. He waited for you to welcome the air into your lungs before pushing your head back on the ground by your hair. He forced your head against the floor so hard, you were sure for one second, you’d lose consciousness. Fortunately, he kept you awake, healing any of your injures with The Force.

“What are you so scared of?” he asked gently, still holding your head back, accidently grinding on you as he leaned in, his face right above yours. You could feel his breath, tickling your skin. His plumb lips so close to yours, so pink, so desirable. He was ethereal.

“That,” you squeaked, stopping as his hands reached the tie of your robe, painfully slowly trying to untie it. His response was raised eyebrows, his eyes going up and down your eyes and your lips. You struggled more with breathing now than you did mere seconds ago. “That I won’t be good enough for you.” You managed to let out, closing our eyes out of embarrassment.

Not being good enough. Your fear ever since you were born. Not enough for your mother, for your father, for your brother, for your friends. For him. You had no one else left, but him and you were scared you were going to lose him too.

Qimir stopped his movement, his eyes stopping, staring right into yours. You felt a warm touch on your face, his fingers making slow circles on your red cheeks. As you stared back into his eyes you swore, you’d volunteer to drown in them. You imagined they’d taste like dark chocolate. His lips like strawberries. His skin like black cranberries.

His lips formed a small smile as he caressed your face gently.

“Let’s see about that, shall we.”

[faeriekit]

A brief snippet of Time/DimensionTravel!Tim (which I found as a draft in my docs)

There was a bell at the door. 

Alfred Pennyworth did nothing as dramatic as to jolt straight upwards in alarm, but he did find himself pausing. After all, there were no deliveries scheduled, and a ring at the door meant that someone had bypassed several of Wayne Manor’s many security measures. 

There was no Mister Wayne present on the premises to make decisions. There was only Alfred, in custody of the home, and the ghost of Waynes long since gone from the home itself. 

There was nothing for it. Alfred quietly retrieved a revolver from its place underneath the wood paneling in the hall and gathered himself for the long walk to the door. 

The closer he drew to the front entrance, the more factors of the situation made themselves known. There was a pounding on the roof, and on exposed windows. It was raining. The night found outside ancient window frames was black, and opaque, and determinably wet. 

Something thumped. Alfred was not entirely sure it was thunder. The revolver in his coat dragged his consciousness back to its weighted body over and over again. 

Finally Alfred made it to the front door. There was a peephole, but Alfred didn’t risk his eye to use it; if there was someone on the other side, it would become obvious that there was an observer if they had elected to peer in as well. No. Instead he reached for a mirror— and, passed on from the mirrored ornaments hung in a nearby window, Alfred could see a single body on the other side of the front door. 

Well. There was one way to determine the man’s motives. Would it were that Alfred wasn’t alone in Wayne Manor at the moment. 

The four locks came undone, a bar, a chain, and two cylinders. It took considerable strength to pry open the doors— a deterrent against possible invaders— but Alfred knew to never look as though one was struggling. The image of strength was often just as important as the ability to achieve in itself. 

Alfred pulled open the door. 

On the other side was a…teenager. Alfred would be hard-pressed to consider the figure “an adult.”

The boy was practically swimming in the rain, with nothing but a thin, black, long-sleeve shirt and soft pants to defend himself with. He was shoeless. He was soaked to the bone. 

Despite that, he was past every security measure around Wayne Manor with no evidence as to how. 

“Good evening,” Alfred greeted the lad, despite the odd hour of eleven forty-five at night. “I am afraid the master of the house isn’t home, despite your trek. I am afraid I will have to ask you to depart.” 

“Alf—” the boy started. And then his teeth clicked shut. Unusual. It was common practice to use knowledge as a weapon against one’s enemies, but rarely did that knowledge include the name of the waitstaff. “My apologies. I didn’t…mean to call on you so late. But I came here to meet with you, Alfred Pennyworth. I come with a proposal.” 

…Alfred had no appropriate response to that. One white-flecked eyebrow rose above the other.

The boy, recognizing Alfred’s disinterest, carefully bowed. His hands came together. His back bent. Depending on what this visitor knew, he may have understood that Alfred was perfectly capable of erasing problems that might arrive with the Manor’s owner’s absence. 

“Information about your,” the boy paused. “...Former ward, in exchange for sanctuary.” 

Alfred did nothing so dramatic as to gasp, but still, his breath hitched in surprise. If the boy noticed, he did not respond; his eyes stayed low, his posture exposing his neck and back. 

No one, not even Alfred, had heard from Master Bruce since his…unwelcome departure from medical school. If this boy knew where the not-quite-so-young Master had vanished…

Alfred’s grip on the door tightened. “I imagine, then, that I ought to ask you inside.”

Shivering, and subservient, the boy rose from his bow to follow him indoors. 

*

The boy looked no larger in a swathe of towels than he had in the rain outside. 

Damp, with wet black hair smeared over his face and clothes clinging to his person, the boy looked no more restored in a wrap of two fluffy guest towels than he had in soaked clothes alone. 

He did not act as though he was an urchin, used to disrespect, happy to be helped. He acted as though he was a serpent in a maze: clinging to walls and wary of windows, and still, ultimately, royal. 

The boy took a swallow of Alfred’s second-best black tea. If there were no witnesses, Alfred would put money towards the prospect that the boy would have chugged the cup down instead. The mug was carefully lowered to the table. 

“...As of three weeks ago, the date was set for Talia al Ghul to marry Bruce Wayne in the custom of her people,” the boy begins. 

Alfred’s mug nearly slipped from his fingers. He said nothing. There was nothing to say. Alfred was no longer his legal guardian— still, if there was to be a marriage, he should have expected to see some sort of notice at least—

“He doesn’t know,” the boy continued, his lips bloodless and cold, “Because no one has told him. The marriage is not legally binding without paperwork, but she will consider it so, and expect him to continue with their union as spouses. Spousal consent is not traditionally considered to be necessary for their union.” 

Alfred’s lips narrowed. “I…see.” His boy had always wanted something more akin to adventure than domestic responsibility. It appeared as though he had found it. 

“He will leave,” the boy said, blue eyes pointed to the ground, “And depending on how she responds, his would-be-wife will either attempt to follow him before she ultimately returns, or she will attempt to keep him there. One will result in a fight, and the other will not, but either way, I would expect him to return to Gotham in, perhaps…anywhere between one to three months from today.”

The aging butler resisted the urge to sigh into his mug. Would it be that his boy had come into possession of better taste in his gallivant overseas. Considering his proclivities, however, he should have expected some form of complicated drama. “How did you come by this information?”

The boy blinked. “Oh,” he said. “I was being trained as his servant. I believe I was meant to be a wedding gift.” 

Alfred’s mug paused midair. “Trained,” he repeated. The boy was…young. Too young to be legitimately employed as a servant. And considering his ill-fated arrival… “In what manner were you trained?” 

The boy fidgeted carefully. Most men might not have noticed. His hand jerked the cup, although not enough for it to spill; he raised one knee over the other, mouth twisting. He did not want to reveal this piece of information; or, he feared the repercussions of doing so.

“Oh, you know,” the boy deflects, eyes cutting across the room. “In the usual arts. Accounting. Organization. Personnel Management. First aide. Anatomy, physiology. Hacking. Infiltration. Firearms. Poisons. Lethal and nonlethal weaponry. Sabotage.” 

Alfred stared. 

The boy’s expression turned sheepish. “...To be fair, Talia really, really thinks she can convince him to join her father’s ninja cult. It won’t work, of course,” he quickly tried to reassure. “But. Um. She is rather convinced she can take his bloodline into her own and indoctrinate him into becoming assassin royalty. And have assassin babies with him.” 

…The mug was set down with a little more force than Alfred might have preferred.

[yandere-wishes]

⋆⭒˚．⋆ Ｄｉｄｎ＇ｔ Ｍｅａｎ Ｔｏ Ｓａｙ Ｉ Ｌｏｖｅ Ｙｏｕ ⋆⭒˚．⋆

⋆｡‧˚˚ Yandere!Acolyte Men x Reader ˚˚‧｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡♡ 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐿𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝐵𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝐿𝓎𝓇𝒾𝒸𝓈 ♡ ˚｡⋆

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽☀︎☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

✩彡 Master Sol - Bittersuite | استاد سول

I can't fall in love with you.

He's choking on his guilt again. Scorching memories reciting hymns of fire and black smoke. He can not love, he can not pine, his romances always end in doom. End in bitter blood drenching stars and ghosts scattered across solar systems. Sol can not love you, he must not love you. You're safer out of his reach.

L'amour de ma vie.

He wants to be the one, etching galaxies across your heart and spilling stars into your bones with every kiss. Your smile dips his world in midday pink, all roses and sun blooms. Your voice trails after him, haunting halls and abandoned training rooms. Your name sticks inside his throat, sticky caramel abrading his tongue to be let loose. Love of his life.

Love so bittersweet.

There are other universes, he likes to think, where his mistakes are little and he has the right to hold you in his arms. You call out to him during missions, all epithets and formality, he longs to hear to say 'Sol'. just 'Sol'.

Longs to kiss you in the dark where his memories can't reach him. You're so bittersweet…

"(Y/n)…"

⭒⭒✮ Yord Fandar - Halley’s Comet | یورد فندار

I don't want it.

He chews on the thought of you, sour under his tongue. He watches you parry under the stars, saber humming orthodox hymns. He can spill lies from his lips like coronal rain. But the confession never sticks, he shouldn't want this, want you.

And I don't want to want you.

In his dreams he's more honest, leaving a galaxy of love bites across the vast expansion of your essence. Kissing the dark corners of your eyes and sucking tenderly on the pearls of your spine, open-mouthed when he reaches your nape. Curling fingers in the nebula of your hair. You sing his name so freely it has him seeing stars.

But you're all it takes to break a promise.

He kisses you, against the temple wall, drinking in your devotion like elysian ichor. The stars in your eyes explode, whispering tenets between each breath. He feels the force reverberating between your bones, holy, ethereal. This is wrong, fundamentally, spiritual, he doesn't want to want you…But he has to.

"I, I need you."

༻｡｡☾ Qimir - Bossa Nova | قیمیر

Love when it makes you lose your bearings.

His love is an asteroid field, cataclysmic and labyrinthine, always dodging bullets aimed point blank at tattered hearts. He's always caught wondering who's truly lost. You or him. Swimming through wandering stars and pretending it's just a force-willed romance. But love doesn't lie to keep one compliant. Caging you between quasars and stella novae.

Some information is not for sharing.

"Eyes down, you've not yet earned to see my face"

You obey, little lamb that you are. Eyes tracing the ebony of his boots. He wonders if he should tell you, grasp your chin, and force his mask off. Shatter your world with his eyes. But you're too cute like this, pining after your master and playing little lovers with Qimir. It's torture most sweetly, he traces the crown of your hair with metal instead of lips, whispering sabbath shibboleths into your head. His love is red in every way.

A lot can change in twenty seconds. A lot can happen in the dark.

The cave is pitch dark, hidden from prying moonlight. It's in the dark that Sith revel in the dark that they renew. Qimir knows some things can only be confessed in blood. That's why he pushes the jagged edges of stars between your lips. Apex of your throat in hand forcing you beneath him. You giggle stardust as he marrs your bones, kissing cuts and open wounds. He lets his mask slide off, to the tune of your heartbeat. Savoring its clank and all it entails. Your shock and fear taste delicious on his tongue as does your fruitless struggle. He kisses you again all passion and possession. He likes you better when you taste of horror and shattered realities.

"You belong to me..."

✧࿐ Torbin - Birds of a Feather | توربین

We should stick together.

You pull him through the temple, laughing as you run away from another angry master. Torbin follows lovestruck, he sees peace in your eyes, in your smile. Hears it in the candance of your voice. He kisses your knuckles when you beat him at saber practice and passes you heart-shaped sticky notes during lessons. He wants to be here with you forever. Together in an eternal blush.

 I'd never think I wasn't better alone.

He whispers your name between breaths, kissing each syllable. He traces your face in the stars, cursing the remote planets he's been sent to. He misses you, but the phrase is never quite worded right, his master can never know, never understand the rhyme behind his eagerness.

Home, home, home. He repeats the words with frantic reverence. Home is where the lights paint you in their heavenly glow. Where you hold his hand and kiss fireflies across his cheek. Home is you, it's always been you…

I'll love you 'til the day that I die.

You trace the scar across his eye, dejected. Torbin kisses the hollow of your palm, basking in your presence. He made it back to you, that's all that matters. Not the witches or the massacred planet. Not the disappointment of his master or Sol's new apprentice. You're the only thing that matters to him, the only thing that has ever mattered.

"Stay with me forever my love."

Happy final week of the Acolyte!! It's been a great 7 weeks ~💜

[acid-ixx]

update !

a/n: yall im incredibly sorry for the extremely long delay for chapter 3, it's literally exceeding 7500 words and it's not even finished 😭 im also adding in the fact that writer's block is really kicking my ass and i cant for the life of me focus much nor am i ever satisfied with my countless drafts (literally had to rewrite so much). i swear im not losing interest in dc (or the series) it's just these days have been really hard to me hehe

uhm if u guys want a teaser, then look below !!! (spoilers duh)

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

[how-serene]

Really wish I could send from my sideblog but could I request Brahms Heelshire with the prompt 'are you here to kill me?' please?

You can take that in any direction you want, I love him so much, he's my dirty wall-lurking ratboy and I love it when he's cute but also unhinged lmao when I saw him in the tags of your requests post my eyes lit up like the 4th of July and I knew I had to give this a shot~

Hold On Tight, Love

Pairing - Brahms Heelshire x Neutral!Reader

Summary - Tired of waiting, Brahms finally makes contact with you.

Word Count - 1k+

Warnings - no use of y/n, brahms being a creep, non-con touching, he technically holds reader hostage

A/N - AGHH thank you for requesting him dear anon! I've been wanting to write for him for a while but wasn't sure on an idea. It's such a shame the actual actor had such little screentime. I hope I did your idea justice, enjoy <3.

Brahms balled his fists, steeling his nerves as he quietly approached your sleeping form. Even in the dark, he could still make out the faint outline of the comforter hugging your body. The floorboards were cold beneath his bare feet, as he continued to shuffle forwards. Outside, the wind howled, harshly blowing through the towering pine trees that surrounded the house. Their long branches clustered around the bedroom window, shielding a view of the stars splattered against a jet black sky.

The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his weight, yet they did not disturb you. Brahms' could feel his heart rattling within his ribcage, as he carefully kneeled beside the bed. Soft snores fell from your plush lips, as a heavy arm was slung over the porcelain doll. His viridescent eyes raked over your dozing form, watching as your chest slowly rose and fell. 

Somehow, over the length of your short stay, this had become a nightly ritual for him. Watching as dreams danced through your head, masked behind your resting eyelids. You were at peace, the day’s tension temporarily falling away for the night

He sighed, leaning his cheek against the edge of the mattress. 

You nuzzled further into the pillow, hand sliding forward to hang over the edge of the mattress. His breath hitched from the movement, wide eyes wandering over your outstretched arm. Your flesh was so tantalizing close to him now, almost as if your body had subconsciously reached out to him. His hand trembled, as his fingers creeped over the covers to hover over your curled fist. The urge to reach out and grasp onto your hand was nauseating. He had painfully waited, stayed hidden and out of sight for so long. Peering at you through cracks in the walls, and keyholes. Watching glimpses of your presence float through the house, unaware of his looming existence. If it weren’t for the echoes of your footfalls walking through the halls, he would have believed you to be a ghost. A fragment of imagination the house (and him) had conjured up out of loneliness. What if touching you revealed your existence to be nothing more than a dream, a phantasm he so desperately wanted to believe in? 

A faint whisper left your lips, ineligible and gone before he could begin to decipher it. The longer he stared at you, he could feel the simmering ache, buried beneath years of solitude, bubble up to the surface. 

‘What if…’ he pondered, hand timidly creeping over the cover. The pad of his index finger grazed over the skin, trailing up the bridge of your pinky. He shuddered, a wistful sigh escaping through his teeth. The edge of his nail dragged over the bumps of your knuckles, memorizing the interwoven lines embedded in the skin. He hummed quietly to himself, warmth pooling in his stomach from the sensation of your soft skin against his. Brahms absentmindedly watched as his fingertips danced and drifted over your hand, tracing faint shapes. His heart threatened to leap out of his throat, and present its pulsing, grotesque body onto the bed for you. 

Brahms palm gently swept up your bare forearm, like a sculptor tracing the curves of its creation. Although, he never could have created you. You were radiance itself, something bright and warm in the otherwise desolate house. The stain of your shadow now forever resided in the halls and corridors. How could you expect him to keep his distance? 

He must have been so caught up in his head, for the next thing he knew his hand was flung back. 

“Who the fuck are you?” You demanded, distancing yourself from him. Brahms slowly rose from his position on the floor, watching your movements behind strands of disheveled brown curls that hung over his eyes. You leapt to the other side of the bed, arming yourself with a lamp that sat on your bedside table. 

“It’s alright.” He assured, cautiously stepping around the bed. His voice cracked, the high pitched tone he dawned nearly slipping. “Please, everything’s alright.” 

You pointed the lamp at him, a pathetic attempt to guard yourself. He cooed, false words of reassurance dripping from his lips like honey. Brahms sounded like a lover, uttering words of comfort to his lover after waking from a nightmare. 

Even through your haze filled head, the adrenaline pumping through your veins was enough to alert you that you were far from safe. 

“Put that down.” He ordered, voice dropping a few octaves. The veil was thinning, and becoming harder to wear the more you shied away from him. 

You swung the lamp, throwing the shade off in the process. “Stay away from me.” 

Brahms frantically shook his head. “Please, don’t ask me to do that.” 

The lamp was hastily thrown at him, as you dodged his arms trying to swing around your frame. You climbed onto the bed, feet coming tangled with the disordered sheets in the dark room. He groaned, kicking the now broken object to the side.

Brahms wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You thrashed around in his secured hold, digging your elbow into his ribs. He groaned in discomfort, the pain only encouraging him to hold onto you tighter. 

“Let me go!”

He maneuvered to sit on the bed, bringing you down with him to sit on his lap. His burly arms entrapped you, cradling your struggling figure against his chest. 

“Dammit, who are you?” You asked again, eyes glancing up to meet his gaze. Your eyes swept over the porcelain like mask he wore, now being able to see it more properly up close. All movement ceased from you, as recognition flickered in your pupils. You peeked over at the undisturbed doll, peacefully resting against your pillow. The smooth, pale ceramic face eerily resembled the mask belonging to the strange man. 

He swallowed, the sweet fruity scent of your shampoo blurring his surroundings. The tip of his nose bumped against your cheek, cool porcelain causing goosebumps to form on your skin. He inhaled, letting out a deep guttural groan as the citrusy aroma of oranges wafted into his nose. You grimaced, and pulled back from him. 

“Are you…” You licked your lips, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the answer. “Are you Brahms?” 

He nodded, cheek rubbing against the back of your hair. A beat of silence passed between you two. 

“Are you here to kill me?” You quietly asked, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. He could feel you trembling, despite being pressed up against his warm, sweaty skin. 

“No, no.” He soothed, beginning to rock you in his arms. “I could never do that.” 

His fingertips dug into your skin, trying to comfort you. 

The rest of the night was spent in Brahms iron steel hold, waiting anxiously for dawn to break through the line of branches covering the bedroom window. The doll, quiet and still as ever, watched as the night dragged on and on. 

Endlessly.

[notthefirstfallenangel]

Memories IV

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, amnesia

Summary: You had your memory wiped after a messed-up mission. All that you remember is your childhood and fragmented glimpses of your teenage and adult years. Poor Simon, your would-be hubby, is left to pick up the pieces when you can't even recall his existence.

Words: 3.6k

A/N: Hey there! Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I know the fandom has been going through a tough time lately, and I just wanted to remind you to take care of yourself, especially your mental health. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. Stay strong! ❤️

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

The blood-red sun sank slowly below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the world. The sky was a tapestry of oranges and purples, fading into blue and black as night began to creep in. You stood at the entrance of your home, feeling strange tingles in your chest as you paused on the threshold. Simon was behind you, his tall frame blocking out what little light remained outside and casting a long shadow across the front hall.

“Welcome home,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

You stood there, unable to move. You felt like your limbs were made of lead and rooted to the spot. Your mind was a tempest of emotions; you were grateful to be free from the hospital walls, but deep down, terror lurked. Nervous anticipation rose inside as you feared what truth lay ahead about yourself that could shatter the delicate mirrors of your own reflection.

Simon seemed to sense your hesitation and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“You alright, love?” he asked, concern in his voice.

You nodded slowly, staring into his dark eyes, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him. Simon had been by your side every step of the way, watching as you slowly pieced your life back together. He had been there for every physical therapy session, every doctor’s appointment, every setback and triumph.

He had remained a constant in your life, a source of strength and support when you needed it most.

You slowly turned to face him as Simon’s hand remained on your shoulder. You looked up at his face, illuminated by the dim light coming from the living room, and took in his sharp features. His jawline was chiselled, and his eyes were piercing, exuding a sense of confidence and ease that you found reassuring. You felt a sudden urge to lean in and kiss him, to feel his lips on yours and forget about the world outside. But instead, you stepped back and shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts.

“I’m okay, thank you. It’s just strange... being back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Simon nodded in understanding, his hand still on your shoulder, and gestured for you to follow him into the living room. You walked past him, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own, and took in your surroundings.

After months in the sterile hospital room, everything felt surreal now that you finally got to come home. The world outside looked different as if it had changed in some way while you were confined to the hospital bed. You felt a sense of trepidation as you took in the sights and sounds of the city around you. It was all so overwhelming, so unfamiliar. You didn’t know how to navigate this new world without your memories. But as you stepped inside the house, a sense of comfort washed over you. The scent of lavender furniture polish wafted from within the house, helping to ease the tension in your body.

Simon placed your bags down with a thud like an anchor being dropped from his shoulders. He seemed to sense your unease and gently steered you towards the living room. The familiar surroundings filled you with warmth and peace, and for a brief moment, everything felt just right.

The living room was bathed in soft light, its walls lined with framed photos and paintings, some of which seemed vaguely familiar. You began to explore them, feeling an odd mixture of surprise and recognition as your gaze swept across each face in turn. Some were of Simon and you together, others were friends you had no recollection of. Yet still, something about them made your heart feel warm.

As you studied the photographs, Simon watched quietly as if waiting for you to come to some realisation. But the memories remained just beyond your reach. You could almost taste the bittersweet nostalgia on your lips, yet nothing solid materialised.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you let your fingers brush over the frames, tracing the outlines of the people in the photographs as if trying to remember them.

You stopped at one picture, a group photo of Simon, you, and several others at what appeared to be a night of celebrations. Everyone was smiling and laughing, their faces filled with joy. You looked at each person in the photo, trying to place them in your memory, but nothing came to mind.

“Who are they?” you asked, pointing to the group in the photograph.

Simon came over to stand beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “These are your teammates— our teammates. The ones who’ve got your back in the field and in the mess. They’re family.”

You shook your head, “I don’t remember them,” you said with a hint of frustration. 

Simon placed a hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly. “It’s, uh, it’s alright, love. You’ll remember soon enough. Take your time. It’ll come to you, alright? So no need to be too anxious.”

But will I really? You wondered silently to yourself.

With a sigh, you turned away from the wall and towards Simon with an uncertain smile.

You noticed that he had changed out of his usual hoodie and was wearing a black leather jacket with a white shirt, looking more put-together than usual, as if he was trying to impress you. The tattoos on his forearm peeked out from under the sleeves of his jacket, adding to his edgy persona.

He frantically spent the day before scrubbing and scouring the house until it shone in perfect preparation for your long-awaited arrival. He felt like a nervous teenager on his first date, desperate to make a good impression. But he knew that this was different. This was about making you feel at home, helping you regain a sense of familiarity in a world that had become so foreign.

You turned to look at another photo, this time of Simon and you with a dog. The memories suddenly came flooding back, and your eyes lit up as you remembered the dog’s name.

“That’s Riley!” you exclaimed, feeling a slight sense of victory in finally remembering something.

“Riley! Here, boy!” you called.

But there was no barking, no sound of paws running across the floor. The house was eerily silent, save for the sound of your own breathing.

Simon’s expression turned grave as he looked at you, his hand still resting on your back.

“No, that, uh...Love,” Simon he said softly.” He... He passed, somethin’ like years ago.”

Your heart sank at Simon’s words, and tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You felt a sense of overwhelming loss, as if a part of you had died with the dog. You tried to remember the last time you had seen Riley. Still, the memory was elusive, like a dream that faded upon waking.

Simon saw the tears in your eyes and stepped forward to wrap you in a tight hug. You breathed him in, the smell of his cologne mixed with something else, something comforting like home.

You attempt to grasp at Riley’s memory, but your mind is foggy, and all you can recall is a faint trace of his affection. The anguish seizes you as you try to imagine the days spent together, playing fetch in the park and snuggling up on the couch, but all that remains are empty spots in your heart and mind. Burying your face in Simon’s chest, a harsh truth crashed down on you: You couldn’t even grieve properly because you didn’t remember the moments that connected you and Riley.

Simon’s stomach churned with guilt as he watched you suffer the same agony of Riley’s loss all over again. He had been so busy trying to make everything perfect for your return that he failed to factor in how hard it would be for you to come to terms with what had been taken away. Yet, despite the sorrow and regret, a glimmer of optimism flickered in his chest that perhaps you’d find the strength to remember even more. But for now, Simon knew you needed space and time to come to terms with everything that had happened.

As the two of you stood there in silence, lost in your thoughts, Simon’s grip on you tightened, and he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and it calmed the storm raging inside you.

When Simon finally pulled away, he gave you a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t wanna spring that on you.”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the loss. “It’s okay,” you said. It wasn’t.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No, not now,”

Simon nodded, his gaze softening. “Alright... listen ‘ere, love. You have been eatin’ those crappy hospital meals. You wanna get something new in your body and your system, yeah?” he said gently as his fingers brushed against yours in a comforting gesture.” I’ll cook somethin’ proper. You’re gonna love it.”

You nodded in agreement, not having the energy to argue. It had been a while since you’d had a home-cooked meal, and the hospital food left a lot to be desired. You followed Simon into the kitchen, taking in the warm, cozy space. It was small but had everything you needed, including a small dining table and chairs. The countertops were cluttered with various kitchen appliances and utensils, but everything was clean and tidy.

Simon rummaged through the fridge and pantry, his eyes scanning the shelves for something to cook.

As he gathered the ingredients for a simple pasta dish, you watched him move around the kitchen with ease. There was something about the way he moved, with such grace and purpose, that made you feel drawn to him. He was like a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless in his pursuit of whatever he wanted.

You noticed how his muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he chopped vegetables, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of attraction in your chest. You almost felt guilty for feeling this way about a man you didn’t remember. You knew you two were engaged, but it felt strange to be drawn to someone you had no recollection of. Being with Simon felt familiar, like coming home even though you couldn’t remember why. It was as if your body recognised him before your mind did.

The hospital breakdown was a pivotal moment in your relationship, and it seemed you two had struck a deal.

And yet, even though your memory didn’t seem any clearer, there was still a sense that your outlook had changed.

You seemed more vulnerable, more reliant on him for comfort and guidance. The barriers and walls you used to keep him away with were crumbling, and the two of you were starting to form a real connection.

This is progress, Simon told himself, hopefully. This is an improvement.

Simon felt both terrified and excited by this newfound closeness. He was scared to get too close too soon, scared of the pain of rejection if your memory did return and you chose not to stay with him. But at the same time, he could feel himself falling even deeper in love with every passing moment.

He wanted to give you some space, but his heart ached for yours.

You wished there was some way to go back in time and remember who you used to be together—but there just wasn’t. You didn’t know how to be the person Simon remembered, and that scared you. You wanted more than anything to make him happy, but it felt like no matter what you did or said, it wouldn’t be enough for him.

After dinner, he showed you the bedroom. The room was simple but elegant, with a queen-sized bed in the centre and a large window overlooking the backyard. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the bedding was white and fluffy, inviting you to sink in and drift off to sleep.

“I...I don’t want to take your bed.”

Simon smiled warmly at you. “It’s our bed, alright?” he said, his hand reaching out to take yours. “I ain’t gonna fight you over who needs to sleep where. I have a couch; lemme sleep on it.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said, looking up at him with a small smile. “Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping on the couch?”

Simon shook his head, his hand still holding yours. “Look, love. We’re both tired here. I want to take care of ya and make sure you’re comfortable. So, you don’t gotta fight, and I ain’t gonna be arguing, or I’m gonna have to tie you down, and force a sleep mask over your eyes, yeah?”

“Okay, Okay,” you laughed. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Simon leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Alright, you rest up. I’ll see ya in the morning,” he said before turning to leave the room. 

You watched him go, feeling a sense of longing wash over you. You wished you could remember what it was like to be with him, to feel his touch and his love.

Laying in bed, the day’s events replayed in your mind like a movie reel. The memory of Riley’s passing still weighed heavily on your heart. Still, there was something else tugging at the edges of your consciousness. It was like watching a horror movie with the sound turned down low; you could sense fear and trepidation from the dimly lit scenes playing out before you, but you couldn’t make out any details.

Your heart raced as you tried to piece together the fragments of this unknown memory, but it slipped away as quickly as it came, leaving you even more frightened than before.

You tried to sleep, but deep in your chest, you felt the beginnings of fear build. You turned over and over again in bed, growing more agitated by the minute. The shadows on the wall from the lamp beside it stretched out like malevolent spirits that wanted nothing more than for you to be afraid. Nothing to see here, they would say as they writhed and clawed at you with their formless hands, almost touching you before receding back into the darkness. Your feet move slowly through the darkness. The floor is cold under your feet as you step lightly through this unfamiliar place that once was your house.

“Damn it,” you said, the fear in your voice palpable in the silent room. You reached for the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and flooding the room with light. The shadows scattered, leaving nothing but the familiar sight of the bedroom. You took deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart.

It was just a nightmare, you told yourself. It’s just a silly, irrational fear.

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Something was lurking in your subconscious that you couldn’t quite grasp but knew was there. Something that made your skin crawl and your heart race.

You got out of bed, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.

Your feet move slowly through the darkness, the floor creaking beneath your weight. You move towards the door, your hand reaching out to grasp the doorknob. As you turn it, the door swings open with a low groan, revealing the dark hallway beyond.

Your heart thunders as you take the first step into the hallway. The darkness seems to encroach on you, swallowing up the light from the bedroom. You take another step forward, your eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. You could hear the light snoring coming from Simon on the couch, but it didn’t bring you any comfort.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something lurking in the darkness waiting for you.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the darkness consuming everything in its path. You felt like you were walking through a nightmare, one that you couldn’t escape from. You tried to call out for Simon, but your voice was hoarse and barely audible.

Suddenly, you heard a sound from down the hallway. It was faint, but it was there. A soft whisper, calling out your name.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You couldn’t see anything, but you could feel a presence in the darkness. You could feel its breath on your neck, its fingers brushing against your skin.

You turned around and ran towards the couch where Simon was sleeping when you saw a figure emerge from the shadows. It was a woman, her face twisted in a grotesque grin.

You could feel your feet sinking into the ground as if the floor was swallowing you whole.

You tried to scream, but the darkness choked your voice. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were sure it would burst out of your ribcage. And then, suddenly, the darkness lifted, like a veil being lifted from your eyes.

Just a dream, a nightmare that left you gasping for breath as you sat in bed. Your heart still raced, and your skin was slick with sweat.

You looked around the room, relieved to see that it was just a dream. But the feeling of terror lingered, its tendrils wrapping around your heart and refusing to let go.

You slid out of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. The air was thick with a sense of dread, and you needed to shake it off.

You moved quietly to the living room, past the vase of flowers on the table, their petals soft and pliable beneath your fingers.

Simon lay asleep on the couch near the window, bathed in moonlight that filtered through the blinds. You approached him, hovering over his still form like a guardian angel. The outline of his face was sharp yet softened by shadows; you could see the rise and fall of his chest under the comforter he had kicked off while sleeping. As you considered waking him, his eyes fluttered open.

“you good?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep and concern.

You jumped, startled by his sudden awakening.

“Oh, I’m... nothing,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I just couldn’t sleep and wanted to come out here for a bit.”

Simon frowned, his eyes dark with concern.

“C’mere,” he said, lifting the edge of the comforter. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was a good idea, but the weight of loneliness was too much to bear. As you nestled closer, his arms wound around you, and the press of his chest at your back reassured you that everything would be alright. His breath on the nape of your neck mingled with the scent of lavender fabric softener, and his heartbeat against your spine slowed to match your own. His touch calmed your racing mind until all that remained were the gentle brushstrokes of his fingertips along your arm.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle in the darkened room.

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with your fears, but then decided to tell him. “I had a nightmare,” you said softly, feeling embarrassed.

“You want to-?”

“No,” you stopped him. You didn’t want to talk about it, not wanting to relive the terror of the nightmare.

He didn’t push it. “Okay... If you have that nightmare again, I’ll kick that thing’s arse, I will. Now, close your eyes. You need your sleep, darlin’.” his voice was low and soothing.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his protectiveness and felt a sense of security as he pulled you closer to him.

“Sweet dreams, okay? And close those eyes of yours, dear,” he murmured, kissing your head.

You smiled, and soon, with the warmth of his body next to yours, you fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of a shushed argument coming from the front door. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up, groggy and disoriented.

You got up from the couch and walked towards the front door, your bare feet padding against the hardwood floor. As you got closer, you could hear the muffled voices growing louder.

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should interfere, but curiosity got the better of you. Slowly, you pushed the door open, and sunlight streamed through the opening, flooding the dark living room.

“Go away. Now.” Simon said, his voice ringing with anger, “I swear to bloody god, I’ll break your fakin’ nose.”

He was a silhouette in the murky morning light, feet planted firmly as he stood before an unfamiliar figure. His shoulders were tense, and a single bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His face was concealed by the usual black balaclava that melded seamlessly into his dark clothing.

The other man seemed taken aback by Simon’s outburst. Still, he quickly regained his composure and stepped forward, revealing himself in the dim light.

“C’mon, I just want to see ‘er”.

The Scottish lilt pierced through the thick silence like a knife, sending a shiver down your spine.

Like an electric shock, you felt a sudden jolt of energy as images of the past suddenly emerged from the fog of amnesia. Images, sounds, and conversations flooded your mind as fragments of memories all clicked into place, and you remembered him.

“Soap?”

Tags: @8sy-errah8 @yyiikes @spencerreidisbae123 @oranoyaora @sae1kie @originaldeerhottub @cr4shposts @caramlizedtomatoes  @ilovehyperfixating @ghostlythots  @dotcie

[shapard]

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

I wrote this late at night so not proof read yet.

It's going down~

little Angst, Violence, major death

True Story

Chapter 9 > Chapter 10 < Epilogue

Shock and being scared was an understatement of feelings that Lucifer, Charlie and the others are facing right now. The others follow Lucifer like a lost puppy, as they walked through the halls of the horror Playhouse. 

Lucifer remembered every angle of this place. This is where he began creating things for heaven and then for Lilith. 

Or rather it was. 

His eyes were set on the horrible victims of Michael. The Mangled Angels that looked like the worst demon. 

Worser than any of the demon he saw in hell. Probably even worser than Rue.

At some point they were standing in front of an empty cell that was stained with golden blood and your aura.

Beside the cell there was none other than Leonardo looking right at the group. 

He was already expecting them.

“Long time no see, Lucifer.”

….

You walked with your bare foot on the golden floor, beside you stood Michael, Azrael, and Gabriel. 

They were guarding you up the stairs. Watching you like hawks do with their prey with those glowing dangerous eyes.

You’re going to meet him, the famous God almost everyone is worshipping.

The one you served such a long time.

The one who let you down so easily. 

The God that you were sure despites you with his very being.

Maybe it was wrong to think that way. But you couldn't shake off the feeling that something will happen.

Your hands were still chained up, but your feet were walking almost on Autopilot.

You wanted to stay in that cell and rot in there in peace, rather than facing someone who let you down easily. 

“Y/n?” Your eyes widen at that voice, a warm feeling spread around your chest, and you felt like you wanted to cry. Nothing is more calming than a mother’s voice to its child.

And yet you didn’t look up nor give her nay response that you’ve heard her. After all you didn’t forgive her how she just let you fall and that it was her idea in the first place. 

Michael told you everything.

Even though he can’t be trusted you couldn’t help but believe him. The bittersweet taste that allures you into his darkness was tempting.

You were tempted to fall into his madness. But the memories you and Lucifer shared were the only thing that destroyed you and kept you sane.

Gabriel glared at Sera, “why is she here? She isn’t supposed to be here.” He ushered towards Azrael who just shrugged him off. 

Your hand clenched hard. You don’t want to see her. Not when she looks at you with these pitiful eyes, even though it is her fault all alone. 

“What have you done to my daughter?” Sera looked in horror at the bruises on your wrist and body. The bruises around your wrist were almost deep purple, black almost.

The guilt in Sera was indescribable. It was eating her alive in these last few Months.

It was all her fault; it was a simple punishment that ended in torture. 

“Not much.” Michael answered giving Sera a white rose. “Father wants to see you too.”

You wanted to disappear. The heavy load on your shoulder was too much to handle. 

The hurt of the betrayal from Lucifer was too recent to forget and that your mother showed up is your worst luck.

The pain in your chest spread when you looked finally at you Mother. Feathers all scattered, it seemed she haven’t preened them in a while. 

You miss your wings. 

The walk ended in a huge sky land and pastel clouds were surrounding the area, the light was all centered in one direction where you could see a silhouette. 

A soft tune played. A tune Lucifer used to hum to you when you dozed off on his lap. 

The ghost feelings of his clawed fingers massaging your scalp, not hurting you in the process.

Unwilling tears fell from your eye socket. As much as you wanted to hide your weakened state, you couldn't.

After all that has happened you miss him. 

You missed the Hotel, you missed hell. You missed the time with your friends Husk and Angel.

The soft tune that hummed in the area comforted you in a weird way and a soft way.

A voice called you into the light. 

Don’t go into the light. 

Your mind was screaming at you to run. 

Danger. 

Michael gestures for you to step forward. You wanted to move, but your feet don’t move. The anxiety was filling your lungs making it even harder to breath and stopped every body movement. 

You forced your feet with all your strength just to stand in the light that was a few meters away from you.

“My, My. After all those months and years, I finally can speak to you in person.” You’ve never heard his voice before, but you just know its his. 

His Voice echoed through the wind and in your body through Skull and bones.

The sound of Gods heels meeting the quartz ground was in an even rhythm. As the steps grew closer and closer you found yourself in a panic like state.

What will he do with you? Is he going to kill you or make you his puppet?

A warm but somehow cold finger pushed your chin up and you saw a tall figure with four eyes surrounding its silhouette. 

He has almost the same hat as Lucifer and the same shit eating grin. 

“Poor Child.”

Your eyes twitched; you don’t need any pity from anyone. Not from Leonardo. Not even from God himself.

“I don’t need any of your sympathy.” He only chuckled at your comeback, It interested him indeed.

Even after such a heartbreak you still fought back. “I was almost worried that my son may corrupted you. Michael is a lot to deal with, I must admit.” God lets go of your chin and you almost fell on your knees. 

The sudden weakness surprised you. God snapped with his fingers and the chains broken loose. 

“But I don’t appreciate this type of violence towards my daughter in law. Lucifer wouldn’t be happy to see you in this state darling. So, let’s get you patched up, hm?” This is off. 

Why is he so nice? 

Doesn’t he hate Lucifer? 

Doesn’t he hate you?

God laughed at your cute little misunderstanding. “Oh, my dear I hate nobody. Not even towards Lucifer. I’m just disappointed that this all came so far. You got treated the wrong way because of my recklessly. That’s not how I planned you two to meet.” He sighs, “So answer me one question.” He turned towards you and lifted you up.

The bruises on your body slowly disappeared into your skin. And the pain faded with it.

“What do you desire?”

…

“How do you know we were coming Leonardo?” Lucifer looked with his scarlet eyes into Leonardo’s golden ones. 

“Who wouldn’t save their soulmate. I would, even if it means that I’ll get cast away from heaven. I knew you’d come” Leonardo took few steps forward, but Lucifer stayed on his grounds.

“Tell me Lucifer, what would you do for her?” Lucifer growled. 

He’d do anything for you. 

He wants your back; he needs your back. 

Leonardo lunged at Lucifer with his spear landing a cut above his eyebrow. 

“Fuck.” Lucifer cursed as he tried to find a place for the others to hide. 

There's no escape. 

“Charlie! Find Y/n while I fight him off!”

…

You wanted so much and as soon as these words left none other than God, you found yourself empty headed. “What I desire?” God hummed and looked down at his cane. “Is it money? Or is it something that hides deep inside you dear. I’ll give it to you but choose wise.” Well, that isn’t helping.  

God laughed at your thoughts, sometimes you forget that he could read your thoughts easily. “Let me help you dear.” God stepped forward and folded his hands on your eyes. 

A low glow made you almost slum into a deep sleep. 

But before you could fall into this feeling a loud crash followed and God sighed in frustration. Having children is a bliss but also a stick in the ass. 

Lucifer and Leonardo fought in the air and crashed together in front of Michael who seemed to be amused by the fight. 

“Y/n!” Charlie shouted your name and you turned towards her. “Charlie?!” A happy smile spread on your lips. A little shine of hope burst your heart. “Charlie!”

You ran towards her and threw your arms around her, and Charlie happily hugged you back. “I’m so glad you’re okay!” She said as she squeezed you tightly. “We all were so worried about you!” Angel hugged you from behind, “yeah, the short king almost lost his mind!” you giggled at Angels nickname for Lucifer. 

You were so drowned in your own misery that you’ve forgotten how much you love the others. You always were head stuck on Lucifer that you forgot your drink buddies. 

You break the hug and swipe the tears that escaped your attempt to hid them. 

You watched as Lucifer fought his three brothers. Azrael swung his scythe around his waist to get a better hit on him. The gold blood splattered on the quartz floor, and you hissed at the injured Lucifer who had a huge gash on his chest. 

“I wish I had daughters than sons…” God sighed as he looked at the mess they caused. Gods smile never left his face though.

Leonardo kicked Azrael away with the end of his spear making him land with full force on the quartz floor, ouch. Azrael laid unmoving there and groaned at the back pain. “I’m out.” He said before collapsing on the floor. 

“Why did Leonardo defend dad?” Charlie asked pointing towards Leonardo who stood before Lucifer. “He was always on his side. He just wanted to check if he’s willing to die for Y/n.” God answered and held Azrael under his arm. 

“Now let me take care of this mess.” God let Azrael go and he fell on his stomach. “Really?!” Azrael huffed in anger. 

God levitates down to his sons and they immediate stopped. “As much as I like the reunion, you’re destroying the peace me and Lucifers mate had.” This hurt Michael deep. No not again.

“Really father? You’re defending Lucifer and his soulmate?” Michael gritted his teeth as anger build up in him. After all he has done for his father Lucifer always gets preferred. 

But not with him. 

Michael took the opportunity and flew towards you. You stepped in front of your friends protectively, no one will hurt them. 

Just by your dead body. 

His sword went smoothly through your ribcage right between your heart. Charlie screamed and shouted your name as the sword was in her view. 

The sword went right through you. 

Quite a disturbing beautiful sight. A fallen Seraphim protecting sinners as she gets killed by an Arch Angel.

Lucifer looked in horror and his heart felt like tearing apart. 

He wanted to hold you close but his wings felt like bricks on his back. Every time he tried to fly up to you, he fell lower and lower. And when Michael’s laugh hollowed in Lucifers ears he started to feel immense Anger and rage. 

More than he did last time he fought Michael. 

A monstress growl escaped his sharpened teeth as the fire between his horns grew bigger and more violent. Lucifer felt no empathy as he smashed Michael’s skull to pieces. 

It was the least he could do for you. You were hurt, in despair and he couldn’t help you through it. 

And now Michael took again what was most precious to him. 

You. 

You slumped on to the ground as Michael hold on you stopped and Husk was quick to hold you in his arms.

“Don’t die on me kiddo.” Husk voice broke, the sadness couldn’t hide the truth. 

You’ll die. And nothing can change it. 

Husk pressed plunged the sword out of your chest and replaced it with his hands. 

His power as an overlord was gone, but Lucifer could heal the damage, right? 

The hard breathing broke his heart as he watches you taking his hands softly. “Husky. Promise me-“ you coughed, and blood splattered onto his fur, but Husk didn’t cared. 

“Stop talking, you’ll only use your left power.” Husk pressed deeper onto the wound, but the blood still gushed out at the tiniest hole. You shook your head softly, you’ll die. 

This is your dead end. 

A tear escaped with a few whines, “Promise me to take care of them. Please husk.” Tears met your forehead as you said those words to him. 

Husk cries. 

He actually cries. 

“Don’t say that. You’ll live!” You squeezed his hand as he screamed, one last time and muttered a soft I love you to them all besides Lucifer. 

He wasn’t here with you as your life slowly crept away from your body. 

The dull vessel of your soul just dropped into Husks arms and Husk hugged you close. 

Charlie was a mess. Her crying filled the battlefield and Angel dust was having a complete meltdown. 

Lucifer stopped his Tantrum as he heard Charlies desperate and hurt cries. His body reacted on its own fast and flew towards her and you. 

He fell couple times but tried neither less to get to you two.

Lucifer landed painful on the harsh surface, but he didn’t care. 

He crawled up to your corpse and took it away from Husk as Lucifer hugged you close to him. 

Your usually warm body was now cold, and those live filled eyes were dull and soulless like the void that crept back to him. Before his mind could even collect words, he apologized to you in a mantra. 

He was sorry. 

He wasn’t there when Michael did that to you and Lucifer wasn’t there when you shifted to the dead.

Forgive him.

“Forgive me Apple Pie.”

…

The soft tune played into your mind, painting a picture in it. Flashbacks of your life appeared till you stand in that familiar space with the table and mist. Across the table sat Lucifer but in a light blue and golden appearance.

“Lucifer?” You asked out, your hand twitched. You wanted to feel the golden hair one last time. 

But he was with Lilith, not with you. The bitter truth you avoided, and it hurts you much deeper every time you remembered it. 

Please stop. 

”Y/n?” The way he called out your name and the soften voice that allures you back into the warmth. 

Hot tears burned their way down to the cold stone table. 

What is he doing here? You’re dead right? 

Yes, you miss him very dearly but the betrayal was to recent to just forget it. 

“Just wait for me.” 

You looked at Lucifer, cold. A sting on Lucifers heart but it wasn’t really him. It’s an Image from you and God. And your desire to see him again. 

To hear him at least out, maybe it was a misunderstanding. Maybe Azrael showed you just mere lies. 

“Even though I am not the Lucifer you desire,” he took your hand softly into his pearly white one, “I can tell that your Lucifer loves you dearly and wouldn’t do that to you.” He smiled up to you and stroked the hot tears from your face. 

“But I am dead Luci, and you- He wasn’t even there with me.” And the fake Lucifer gave your hand a quick squeeze. 

“I’m sure he wanted to. Still a fucking idiot but he was fighting Michael off of you, right? That’s a start.” He chuckled and you huffed. 

The doubts and insecurities were another trap you chose to fall in. Maybe he wanted you dead so he can have Lilith.

“But Lilith is-“ He interrupted you with a soft squeeze on your hand and cheek, “Don’t continue that. Yes, he loved Lilith. But he loves you more. Even though I am just a copy of Lucifer from yours and Gods memories. I love you more than anything. Listen to him not to his bitter twin. Hear it from him and if you’re correct you can be mad all you want.” He let you go and gave you a last smile. 

What does he mean? 

You’re dead, no refund. 

Gone.

“Our time Is up. Choose wise apple pie.” The world around you fade away, “What is your true desire?” you stretched your hands out for Lucifer.

you want to go back to him.

“I want to go back to him. Please.”

The soft tune hummed in your head as light surrounded you. As the light slowly creeped away you felt tears on your neck. 

Your eyes flutter open, and you saw Lucifer face buried into your neck. He hugged you tightly, the thought of dying again because of Lucifer hard grip wasn’t one you were burning for. 

“Lucifer?” You called out his name and he quickly retreated from his favorite place, and he watched perplexed at you. 

“Y/n?” He called out, “Is that really you?” He sounds so broken. You nodded and answered with a short yes. Lucifer held your hand in his left hand and pressed you onto his lips so soft and hard. 

His lips danced around your as sparks flew across your body making you feel butterflies all over your stomach. He kissed like it was his last meal. After seconds of intimate making out, he broke the kiss. 

“Don’t leave me again.”

A/n: Feather of Fate is now Over! (There is an epilogue coming!") Hope you enjoyed the short story.

There will be more! But first I want to concentrate on Scenarios and One Shot, till I feel ready to post another story with our Short King. ❤️

Love y'all Pookies❤️

Special Thank you to @ayanazoldyck, @marydragneell and @avadakadabra93 ❤️

💫

Sadly couldn't Tag you.

And of course thank you all Pookies❤️❤️❤️✨

@ayanazoldyck @marydragneell @lunaryasha @cherry-cola-100 @lxkeee @latersgaters-steven @fandom-crashlanding @cupidsgift @steadyconnoisseurnacho @crimsonflameproxy @stormz369 @wooleypeaches @fukingsad @starlitvenus @avadakadabra93 @itzabbeym @asmodeussimpnumber1 @sirenetheblogger @k1y0yo @i-have-no-life-charlie @angelicwillows @0puddleofgender0 @fallenh34art @v3r41ynn @froggybich @pank0w @roboticsuccubus83 @littlebear423 @anonymously-ominous @concentratedconcrete

And thank you to my silent readers

Why do I write like this my last day here💀✋🏽

[writingjourney]

Of Lemon Tarts and Tiny White Rabbits

Secondo, Earl of Griftwood, cannot believe his eyes when a tiny white rabbit scampers into his study. He is stunned even more when he meets the lovely owner of the pet – and promptly falls in love.

pairing: secondo x female!reader // regency AU

content: 4.6k words, regency AU (not 100% historically accurate but I tried), pov third person, forbidden romance, age gap, first kisses, social hierarchies, mildly suggestive at times, soft!secondo, pining and yearning etc., wingman terzo

This is a birthday present for the lovely @tasty-ribz , also special thanks to @angellayercake for encouraging me to bring Snowbell into this story ✨🐰

Masterlist – Ao3 link

The curtains sway gently in the soft breeze that carries a fragrant spring air into his study. Secondo lifts his gaze to take in the lovely view through the open double doors which lead to a balcony and the well-kept gardens of Emeritus Manor. Lush rose bushes climb up the stone walls and wrap around the railings, dark green speckled with the pink of countless flowers. Somewhere in the trees the birds break out in song, their melodic chirping a pleasant background noise that accompanies him as he maintains his correspondence.

After this short reprieve for his eyes, he dips the quill back into the black pot of ink on his bureau. A few more letters and he can settle outside in the shade for his afternoon tea, perhaps even indulge and allow himself a lemon tart to go with it. He can’t remember hiring a new cook and yet he swears the smell of freshly baked pastries has filled the halls of the estate more frequently as of late, their taste tempting even him who is usually not one for desserts.

A movement in his peripheral vision distracts him momentarily but when he looks up there is nothing unusual to be seen. Secondo watches the curtains, assuring himself that it must have been the wind playing tricks on him. With a frown on his face, he focuses back on his letters. After a moment, however, he glances back up, suddenly sensing a presence in the room. When he still cannot detect anything out of the ordinary, he assumes that it must have been a ghost wandering the old halls of the manor – it would not be the first time.

Over the scratching sounds of his quill he almost misses the tiny squeak that passes his ears only a moment later. A mouse? No ghosts that haunt him after all. He lets his eyes roam the walls that are lined with bookshelves, trying to spot any scurrying movements on the elaborately patterned rug that muffles the sound. At last, he glances down to his feet and surprise takes over his stern features.

A white baby rabbit sits next to his shoe, its tiny pink nostrils moving rapidly as it sniffs the leather with utmost interest. The creature cannot be bigger than his palm. Where could it possibly come from? As far as he is aware, they do not keep any rabbits, let alone breed them.

“Snowbell?” The voice that suddenly sounds from the balcony is soft and melodic, a young woman he cannot quite place. “Snowbell, where did you go?”

Her figure appears in the frame a mere moment later and she flinches back when she spots Secondo at his desk through the open doors. She immediately averts her eyes, her hair falling into her face and covering her features.

“Please, forgive me for the disturbance, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he replies. “I understand you are looking for this little troublemaker here?” 

Secondo leans down to pick up the rabbit. Indeed it fits neatly into his gloved palm and he regrets that he cannot feel the soft fur against his fingers. The bunny breathes rapidly, its small body excited or scared, he cannot quite tell.

“Oh, you found her! Thank the lord, I thought she was lost forever.”

“Will you relieve me of her, then? She seems quite restless.”

The young woman who he cannot remember seeing before cautiously enters and with a lowered gaze approaches his desk. Secondo admires her for a moment, her striking complexion and the mesmerising way with which hair shimmers in the golden sunlight. Young and innocent, the daughter of a servant perhaps if the state of her dress is any indication. Yet it does not diminish her beauty nor her youthful radiance; he can tell that she is perhaps five-and-twenty.

She reaches for the bunny and he hands it over the desk, feeling her fingers brushing against his. Again he regrets the barrier between his skin and the world around him but even so he can tell that the heat has risen to her cheeks. She does not seem to be used to the presence of her superiors. He’s well aware of his reputation as a rather reserved and intimidating employer.

“I am not certain that I know your name,” he says before she can scurry off, skittish like the tiny animal that appears a little taller now in her smaller hands.

She replies with her name and a curtsy, not quite lady-like in practice but Secondo can tell that she must have enjoyed a good upbringing. Perhaps she has experience working for nobility.

“Where do you belong to, my girl?”

“I am François’s daughter, my lord.”

“Ah, sì, the new gardener?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He nods, watching her pet the rabbit with her slender fingers as if to calm herself. “And how do you like it here?”

“It is extraordinarily beautiful, my lord. The estate is magnificent and I quite enjoy the work in the kitchens.”

“The kitchens? So it is you who prepares these scrumptious lemon tarts?”

She nods, smiling a bit shyly. “It is a French recipe, my lord. My mother taught me how to make it when I was a wee girl and she worked for the Earl of Carlisle.”

“Are there any lemon tarts today, per chance?”

“I made a fresh batch just this morning, my lord.”

“Wonderful. Now, bring your Snowbell to safety before she scuttles away again.”

“Thank you most kindly, my lord. I promise to be more careful when I take her outside.”

He watches the young woman’s retreating form, reminding himself not to covet what he should not have. It is quite hard at the sight of such a sublime creature, though he rarely allows himself to indulge in thoughts of his carnal desires. The way she takes care of the animal tells him that she has a kind soul and how he could he ever taint it with his rotten hands?

Secondo stands to take his afternoon tea, looking forward to a generous serving of the fresh lemon tarts. He closes the balcony doors before he departs, his correspondence quite forgotten.

✦ ✧ ✦

He is too absorbed in his brother’s letter to notice the music at first.

When he finally does Secondo stops in the middle of the hallway. Rarely does he hear such sweet sounds these days, busy with politics and finances as he is. Ever since inheriting his father’s title as the Earl of Griftwood he is subjected to ball music, loud opera pieces and the talentless daughters of the other lords of the ton. 

This subdued private concert is much more to his liking. 

He folds the letter and pockets it before investigating the source of the music. Primo has written to him from Italy where his clerical duties keep him occupied. Secondo is relieved to learn that his brother is in good health and filling his new role as the leader of their secret church for which he has forsaken his role as the head of their family. A title that has now fallen to Secondo.

Following the trail of the music carries him further down the hall until he stops in front of a double door that stands slightly ajar. The sitting room beyond is abandoned safe for the person who has taken up residence behind the pianoforte and is now delighting the house with their pleasant tunes. Secondo is not one to swoon but when he discovers the gardener’s daughter, watching as her fingers glide over the keys in an elegant dance, he is quite taken with the sight of her. 

It is only after quite some time that he spots the rabbit in her lap.

The piece ends all too soon but Secondo cannot bring himself to reveal his position. He watches on as she lifts Snowbell and places her tiny paws on the keys, playing an easy melody as she giggles and compliments her pet’s musical talent. He thinks that the snow white rabbit is an emblem of her most becoming properties – her soft and lovely presence, her gentle disposition and ethereal beauty. Two creatures that heaven must have forged together. Not for a moment does he think he could ever be worthy of her, no matter if his nobility raises him above her in this strict society. She transcends the rules of birthright and social rank, rules that he has always rejected, if not openly. Perhaps this is why he feels so drawn to her – she represents all that he has ever longed for, all that they strive to achieve with their church of Lucifer.

“I did not know we had a musician in the house,” he finally comments. “Or need I say two musicians?”

She jumps, again, startled by his domineering presence that takes over the room the moment he steps inside. After a few deep breaths she recovers and offers a polite greeting. Snowbell sits in her hand now, no bigger than a baby chick and just as restless. Her head rises as if to greet him as well, tiny button eyes shimmering not without mischief.

“Your brother told me it was alright for me to practice in here and that it is his instrument–”

“I am sorry, my dove, I did not mean to accuse you of anything untoward. Of course you may practice your music in here. We have been deprived of such beautiful sounds for way too long with no ladies in the house.”

Her shoulders sink in relief, the tension finally leaving her. “I hear that his lordship is quite a gifted musician himself. As are his brothers.”

“Ah, sì, sì, if only there was more time for it. I find that without pleasant company I cannot persuade myself to dedicate the time.” He steps further inside the room and takes a seat on one of the velvet settees, moderately close to where she’s now lowering herself back on her stool. His black breeches strain over his thighs and he adjusts his emerald green waistcoat that has ridden up, rights the knot in his cravat. “You play well, piccina. How did you come to master the pianoforte?”

“I may not be of noble upbringing, my lord, but my parents used all their means to ensure that I was educated, perhaps more than befits my station.” Her voice is sharp, not unfriendly but defensive nonetheless. “A person’s rank in society does not determine their talent for musical play.”

“I apologise if I offended your sensibilities, my dove. I did not mean to imply that your origin should have anything to do with your capability of learning an instrument.”

“No apologies are needed, my lord. It is true that such opportunities are not provided to many of my status. I cherish my privileges every day.”

Her eloquence and quick wit impress him, the dignified countenance with which she holds herself even in the face of an older man much above her in station. It would be easy to think that she is a noble lady, if it weren’t for her lack of fine clothing and jewellery. He fights off the urge to accoutre her, to dress her in the finest garments he can find in all of London and Paris or Rome. How lovely she would look with her hair done up, her slender neck exposed for his eyes alone. 

And not just for his eyes.

Before he can inquire any further, Snowbell suddenly leaps from her lap. The rabbit lands on the soft carpet and scampers over towards the settee on her tiny legs.

“Oh, not again Snowbell,” the girl laments, but then she notices the rabbit’s direction and smiles softly. “I suppose she has taken a liking to you, my lord.”

“I hope she is not the only one,” he counters, allowing himself this moment of reverie.

Flustered, she averts her gaze, reacting in much the same way that he hoped she would. “Who could not be taken with him when his lordship is so very generous and kind of heart?”

Secondo smiles to himself as he leans down to pick up the cheeky rabbit, removing one of his dark leather gloves to finally feel the softness of her fur.  “How did you come in possession of such an animal?” he finds himself asking. “She is quite unusual, no?”

“Oh, my father was engaged to work for another noble house in the city just before we came here and he found a nest in their garden. Snowbell was the only white rabbit of the litter. While the children of the house were allowed to keep the other rabbits they thought her cursed and wanted to kill her. I begged him to let me save her and bring her here.”

How charitable, he thinks, saving those who are unwanted, those who are abandoned by God, not differentiating between human or beast. How perfectly she would fit into his family whose ideals and values would have them shunned from society if they lived them openly. Perhaps it was not God who sent her but Lucifer himself. For him to love, to cherish, to worship.

He is aware that he is getting ahead of himself.

Snowbell allows him to pet her but he eventually stands to place the rabbit back in her saviour’s hands. This time, her fingers brush against the bare skin of his palm. A shiver runs through him, tingling down his spine before settling warmly in his lower belly.

Her heated cheeks are evidence that she feels the same way.

“Do you enjoy reading, my girl?” he asks, only now noticing the book she must have placed on the instrument. A romance novel, he notes, not without a hint of disappointment. He could not be any more different from the heroes of such tales if he tried.

“I do, my lord.” She cradles Snowbell gently against her bosom, almost protectively, and he has to tear is his eyes away from the soft skin there. “I am an avid reader when I do find the time.”

“Please, feel free to use my personal library at your convenience. I am sure that you are in want of new reading material. This book appears to be… well-loved.”

“Are you quite certain, my lord? I would not want to impose–”

“Oh, nonsense. Many of the books have been collecting dust for way too long.”

Perhaps this suggestion stems from him wanting her to frequent his spaces and not those of his brother, if only to raise his chances of running into her. If Terzo offered her his instrument then he is sure that his eyes are not the only ones that she has caught. Secondo shares many a thing with his brother, but he will not share her.

“Thank you, my lord,” she says. “I am not sure what I have done to deserve your generosity but I shall cherish it forever.”

“Hm, your services are well-appreciated, my dove. I merely wish to make your life here a little more pleasant.”

She giggles. “His lordship must really like the lemon tarts.”

Her laughter shakes him to his very core. He is tempted to smile, or to tell her that it is not the tarts that have captivated him, but all this foolish impulse does is distort his stern features into a grimace. Before her eyes can linger on him, he departs with quick steps and a racing heart, making sure to leave the door open.

A few moments later the soft tunes of her music accompany him back to his study.

✦ ✧ ✦

The rustling of the page is a steady noise in the background as he works away at the desk he strategically positioned in his library. The expense reports of the estate are all in order and yet he goes over them once more – if only to stretch out the time in her presence. 

He looks up to find Snowbell happily munching on a carrot in her little crate on the floor. His true heart’s desire, however, is reading a romance novel that he so graciously stocked the library with. Not that anyone will ever see a report of this particular expense.

“Are the new books to your liking, my dove?” he finds himself asking.

“They are quite enjoyable, my lord.” She looks up, marking her page before she closes the book. “And yet… I find that I do not want a love like these books promise. It sounds rather boring to me.”

“How so?”

“The true appeal of a person lies in his or her imperfections, my lord. Not even the finest, most handsome young man could tempt me when there is no flaw in his character that captures my interest. If I should ever fall in love it should be with a man much older who has been shaped by the hardships of life, with rough edges but a core that still carries a soft heart that he only shows to those he holds dear. I should like to uncover this heart and have it beat only for me.”

Secondo pauses for a moment. Could it be true? Could a beautiful young woman like her truly fall for an old man such as himself? Accept that their love would be flawed and rejected by society and love him all the more for it? If it is true what she implies then does he dare hope–

“You are quite different from what I expected, my lord,” she says before his thoughts can carry him away. “I have heard many things that I now know to be untrue.”

“And how so?”

“Everyone told me that you were quiet and rather cold, polite but not in the habit of keeping anyone’s company and while generous with your staff they said it is rare to see you outside of your study. And yet… I have only ever sensed your warmth, your generosity, and while you are a private man I feel as though I got to know you merely by being in the same room and striking up idle conversation. You have requested my presence almost daily as of late and I must admit that I find great comfort in spending my time with you, so much so that I feel sad when a day goes by and I cannot see you.”

Secondo stands abruptly, overwhelmed by the sudden sparks of emotion that ignite the fire in a heart he has long since thought to be withered. His long legs carry him to where she is sitting on a plush settee, the golden sun from the window illuminating her like an angel incarnate. She is a dream he finds himself caught in, and not of his own volition.

“My dove,” he says as he kneels down in front of her, grasping her hand tightly in his. “Your companionship is the greatest gift that I have ever received.”

He presses a fervent kiss to her knuckles, quite overcome with his desires. How he longs to pull her into his embrace, to kiss her plump cheeks and soft lips, to keep her trapped against his chest and stroke her hair for hours.

When he meets her eyes, she seems surprised by his sudden outburst, but not at all repelled like he had feared. “My dear lord, how I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

Secondo releases a shuddering breath and buries his face in her lap. When she begins to caress his head, running her soft fingers along the sharp lines of his cheekbones, he feels like he wants to weep.

✦ ✧ ✦

The delivery goes smoothly – until his brother appears in the doorway.

“A new instrument?” Terzo asks. “Whatever for? You could have asked to use mine, fratello.”

Secondo grumbles in reply, wishing his brother would finally leave. He is dressed smartly – a dark purple brocade waistcoat with a matching tailcoat, black breeches, a white cravat, high leather boots and a brand new top hat – ready to leave for a picnic or whatever social event he is planning to attend in pursuit of his latest sweetheart. He has always mirrored Secondo’s expensive taste in clothing but decided that his colour was purple instead of green. If it weren’t for Secondo’s lack of hair and Terzo’s thick black locks their brotherly relation would be uncanny, if not a little ridiculous.

“Do you not have to make an appearance somewhere else?” Secondo asks when his brother lingers while they set up the pianoforte under his watchful eyes. 

“Oh, I still have enough time to observe my brother’s folly. Tell me, did she bewitch you so that you are wasting the family’s funds now? How exactly do you plan on introducing the gardener’s daughter to polite society, fratello?”

A deep breath. Secondo cannot strangulate him in front of the suppliers. “I do not know what you are talking about. I merely wish to possess an instrument of my own.”

“Mhm and the ornate rabbits carved into the wood? Are those to your taste as well?”

“I am very fond of animals. I quite enjoy the design, do you not find it endearing?”

Terzo merely chuckles in reply, the words altogether unfamiliar from his bother’s tongue, and pats his shoulder with a heavy hand. “I will make sure that the pamphlets are filled with someone else’s transgressions, should you decide that a diversion of the ton’s attention is needed in light of your imminent marriage to a commoner.”

Secondo refuses to argue with him, Terzo is too smart for that. Instead he waits until they are alone again and his brother further inspects the pianoforte. The tunes he lures from the keys are splendid, much richer in sound than any he has heard before. A good investment, Secondo decides.

“What a splendid instrument,” his brother says. “I shall hope that your little rabbit plays it for you on many an occasion.”

“I plan to have her play it for me every day for as long as I live.”

Terzo raises a brow. “So you do intend to propose? My, my! I did not expect you to ever let go of your determination to stay alone for the rest of your days. What has changed?”

“I met the loveliest creature to walk this earthly plane, fratello, I have been touched by her angelic hands and saw the true meaning of paradise. I do not care much what polite society has to say about our union. I am quite ready to be selfish after I sacrificed my freedom for this family.”

“And politics, your favourite subject?”

“I do not plan to advertise this marriage, fratello. I shall be ready to face all the consequences, for her love will carry me through the worst of it.”

“Oh, how you have changed!” Terzo snickers but not unkindly. “I am very happy for you, brother mine. She will make a lovely wife for an old grump such as yourself.”

“You are just as old,” Secondo says dismissively. “And yet you act like a bachelor in the prime of his youth.”

“And I shall continue to do so for as long as I can. If you will excuse me now, I have a rendezvous to attend and I am already late.”

The moment Terzo departs, Secondo allows his own hands to explore the pianoforte. He is quite out of practice but the finely tuned instruments sounds wonderful even under his stiff fingers. An old song finds its way into his head and he allows his memory to do the rest of the work.

When he finally finishes, he is pulled from his trance by the loveliest of voices.

“My lord, you asked for me,” she says timidly as she approaches him. “I do not wish to interrupt when you play such lovely songs.”

“You are not interrupting, my dove. Please, come here, sit down in my stead. This is yours now.”

“Oh, but my lord–” She trails off, her pupils widening at the sight of the brand new instrument.

He is not certain what he did to upset her. “If you would rather play a harp or a lyre–”

“No, no, that is not what I mean, my lord. I just… I am not worthy of such an expensive gift.”

“Oh, but my dove, you are more than worthy. And it is not entirely selfless. I hope I will be hearing your sweet music more often while I am working in here.”

She smiles affectionately. “I shall play for his lordship whenever he wishes. I shall… I shall play until my fingers hurt!”

“I would never allow for this to happen,” he decides, reaching for her hands and massaging them gently in his. “No pain may befall my dearest for as long as I am here to prevent it.”

She holds his gaze, hope shimmering in her irises. “I shall play with caution then, I would not want my lord to be in distress on my behalf. Would you hold Snowbell for me, please?” 

Before she sits, she pulls the rabbit from the pocket of her dress where the she must have napped for she perks up sleepily when she is set down in his broad hands. Secondo does not make a move to stand.

“My lord–”

He uses his free hand to pull her into his lap and she gasps before her fingers find the keys. He can feel her shivering against his chest, her breathing as rapid as his heartbeat.

“I am not sure that I can play under his lordship’s scrutiny,” she whispers.

“I am quite certain that you can.”

With another shaky breath she begins to play. Heavenly tunes fill the room, her hands working their magic on the keys of the fine instrument. It is a song he has not heard before, slow and rather quiet but all the more powerful on his emotions. Her confidence soon returns and she plays in the same carefree way that he has grown to enjoy, only this time she is in his space, where she belongs. She is in his arms, breathes the very same air that flows through his lungs, and he can sense that he made the right choice.

The moment her hands come to a stop, he places Snowbell back in her palms and turns her sideways over his lap. Flustered by the proximity she glances down to her hands, only to notice that the rabbit has a white ribbon loosely tied around her body.

“I will ask your father for your hand,” Secondo says bluntly and her eyes widen.

“My lord, that is… it is impossible.”

“It will be possible, if it is your wish as well.”

“But, I am just–”

He stops her, taking her chin between his fingers to force her eyes to meet his. “My dove, I need a clear answer.”

“Yes.”

Overcome with relief he closes the distance and devours her lips in a passionate kiss. She presses against him with the same fervour, though careful not to squash the rabbit in her hand. Her body feels heated underneath the thin fabric of her cheap dress and he vows to have the modiste come the very next day to take her measurements. His hands roam her curves without shame now while he ravishes her, kissing her with a passion that threatens to make his heart burst, unused as it is to such feral emotion. She tugs at his cravat then, and he relents, allowing them both to break away for air.

Her forehead falls against his, their noses brushing as their heavy breaths mingle in the space in between. Suddenly Snowbell squeals in her palm and when they both look down the rabbit leaps from her hand onto the keyboard. As the off-key notes penetrate the room, they both smile. Perhaps they have to hire a different musician for the wedding after all.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Two

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter Two: History

Word Count: 3,524

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daella’s world begins to unravel as secrets from her past come to light, forcing her to confront hard truths. As tensions rise and alliances are tested, she finds herself caught between the safety she’s known and the dangerous future that awaits.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

↞ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ↠

Daella of King's Landing

The soft murmur of voices tugged at the edge of Daella’s consciousness, pulling her from the grip of a restless sleep. She blinked, the dim light of dawn seeping through the heavy drapes, casting long shadows that cloaked the figures at the far end of the room. Rosalie and Ser Harwin stood close, their faces drawn with worry, the tension between them thick enough to cut.

"He saw her, Rose," Ser Harwin muttered, his voice low and heavy with anxiety. His pacing was restless, his boots making only the faintest whisper against the stone floor. "He knows her name. She can't stay here. It's too dangerous."

"And where would you have me send her?" Rosalie shot back, her voice trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. "She's just a child, Harwin. No title, no lands, no parents—nothing that would warrant a good match with someone worthy, let alone one that would keep her safe."

Daella kept her eyes half-closed, feigning sleep, watching them both through her lashes. Rosalie's appearance was far from her usual pristine self—her strawberry-blonde hair, usually perfectly styled, hung loose and dishevelled, framing her face in a way that made her seem younger, almost fragile. Her pale pink robe, a stark contrast to the confident woman Daella knew, hung loosely on her slender frame. The vibrant green of her eyes seemed duller today, weighed down by worry as she glanced at Daella and whispered, "We are all she has."

Harwin stopped pacing, his expression softening as he pleaded, "Let me take her to Harrenhal. She’d be safe there. Daemon’s already asked if Daella was mine; it could work. Alys wouldn’t begrudge taking care of another child."

Rosalie rolled her eyes, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "I will not let her be raised in a haunted castle with no roof, by a witch!" Her words cut like a knife, and Daella saw Harwin flinch, his jaw tightening at the mention of his ancestral home. Harrenhal’s reputation was well-known—a once-grand fortress now reduced to ruins by dragonfire, a place of whispers and ghosts. Yet, the tales had always intrigued her. She often dreamed of walking its crumbling halls, feeling the history beneath her feet.

Harwin’s voice was softer now, tinged with resignation. "I promised Elyse I’d look after her. She’s my responsibility."

Rosalie stepped closer, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "We both made that promise, Harwin. She’s as much my responsibility as yours." She glanced at Daella, her gaze tender. "Besides, you have responsibilities elsewhere. Daemon will soon return to whatever hole he crawled out of and forget he ever saw her. Daella doesn’t matter to him. Stop worrying, Harwin."

Daella stifled a yawn as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, the room coming into clearer focus. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog. Ser Harwin was leaning against the wall near the door, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of worry, while Rosalie moved toward Daella, her expression softening into something more familiar.

"What time is it?" Daella asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"It’s time to get up, my dear," Rosalie replied, her voice gentle as she brushed a strand of hair out of Daella’s face, tucking it behind her ear. One of the few vivid memories Daella had of her mother was how she used to play with her hair—brushing, braiding, and twisting it with oils she had or could borrow. Rosalie had taken it upon herself to continue that tradition. Every month, without fail, she applied some kind of oil to Daella’s hair, just as her mother had done. It smelled awful and looked even worse, but Rosalie insisted it was necessary to keep the hair manageable. She always said the women upstairs used it too and that Daella should be thankful they let her borrow it.

"Is Ser Harwin staying to eat with us?" Daella asked, her voice bright with hope as she slid out of bed, the cool stone floor jolting her fully awake.

Harwin offered her a small, wry smile. "I’m afraid not, little flame. I’ve been summoned to explain why I’m missing a helmet from my uniform." He winked, then turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

As he left, the door closing softly behind him, the room seemed quieter, but the tension still lingered like a shadow. Rosalie sighed, her eyes following him before turning back to Daella with a forced smile.

"Come now," she said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Let’s get this mane of yours under control."

The sun was high in the sky as Rosalie and Daella walked through the bustling streets. Rosalie rarely took her with her when she went to pick up supplies for the brothel, but after the events of the other night, she seemed unwilling to let Daella out of her sight. Although Daella wasn’t sure why, it seemed that the encounter with Prince Daemon had been blown out of proportion.

"Did you hear what I said, Daella?" Rosalie’s voice cut through her thoughts as she tugged on her arm.

"What? Sorry," Daella replied quickly, snapping back to attention. Rosalie shook her head and pointed at the stall in front of them.

"I asked what you wanted for dinner," she said, motioning to the grey-haired man behind the stall, who was eyeing Daella with mild curiosity. "Fish or pork?"

Daella cocked her head to one side, considering the options. "Pork, I think. Can I look at the stalls?"

"Of course." Daella was already walking away when she heard Rosalie call out after her, "But stay close and keep your hands to yourself!"

The main thoroughfare was alive with activity, the stalls crammed together as if every inch of space were valuable. The royal family’s carriages occasionally rolled down this road, though how they managed it, Daella couldn’t understand. The road was barely wide enough for the throngs of people, let alone carriages. But in the warmer seasons, everyone seemed happier, more willing to spend their hard-earned coin, even if the prices only dropped by a copper or two. A bargain was still a bargain, after all.

As Daella wandered past the colorful stalls, something shiny caught her eye on one of the tables ahead. She approached the old woman manning the stall, her gaze dropping to the jewelry laid out on a soft red cloth—silver rings, gold bracelets, and gems in vibrant hues of red, green, and blue. One piece, in particular, stood out—a necklace half-hidden in a pile, its color darker and more mysterious than anything else around it.

"What is that? It’s beautiful," Daella asked, pointing to the necklace.

The woman pulled it from the pile, the red and black gems glinting in the sunlight. From this angle, the metal appeared silver, though it had looked almost black before. She placed it in front of Daella with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s too expensive for you, my dear."

"I asked what it was, not how much it is," Daella retorted stiffly, turning away with a flick of her hair. She marched off, her braid whipping behind her as she left the old woman to her trinkets.

Continuing down the row of stalls, Daella stopped at a long table covered in books. She picked one up, thumbing through the pages, pausing every so often to trace the inked drawings. The words were a mystery to her, but the pictures told their own stories.

"Ten Thousand Ships," a strong voice said from behind her, startling Daella into slamming the book shut. "Nymeria was certainly a force of nature."

She spun around, nearly colliding with the body bent over her shoulder. Stepping back, Daella looked up into the familiar face of Prince Daemon Targaryen, his silver hair catching the light, his purple eyes fixed on her.

"Who’s Nymeria?" Daella asked, looking down at the book in her hands.

"You should know, you’ve been reading her book," he replied, his brow furrowing as if puzzled by her question.

"I was only looking at the pictures. The words don’t make any sense," Daella admitted, dropping her gaze to the ground, embarrassed.

"You can’t read, can you?" Daemon’s voice held a note of concern, his confusion deepening. It wasn’t uncommon for girls like her to be unable to read—there was no need to learn—but she supposed all noble children were taught from a young age.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I never needed to learn. Rosalie can, I think."

Daemon’s gaze softened as he studied her, as if trying to solve a puzzle. The silence between them grew awkward and heavy.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" His face wrinkled in annoyance as he looked through the crowd. "I thought my instructions were clear."

"Rosalie and I came out to buy things for dinner. I’m sure she’s around somewhere. She told me not to go far and not to touch anything," Daella said, rising onto her tiptoes to see if she could spot Rosalie in the crowd.

"It seems you’ve broken more than one rule today, little princess," Daemon chuckled, his voice a mixture of amusement and reprimand. He tapped the book cradled in Daella’s arms before reaching into his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, a shiny coin sailed through the air, landing with a clink in the hand of the man behind the table. Swiftly, Daemon tucked the book under one arm and scooped Daella up with the other, pressing her securely against his side.

From this new height, everything seemed so different, so far away. Daemon was tall, taller than Ser Harwin by a good measure. As they retraced Daella’s steps through the crowded streets, she couldn’t resist sticking her tongue out at the jewelry seller who had scolded her earlier. The woman scowled, but it only made Daemon chuckle more, his amusement vibrating through his chest and into Daella.

His silver hair brushed against her cheek as they walked, soft and almost silken. Unable to resist, Daella reached up to play with the ends, marveling at how much softer they felt than her own tangled locks. Softer even than Rosalie’s. Her fingers moved further up, the urge to braid his hair growing irresistible. Carefully, she began to weave a few strands at the base of his neck.

"What are you doing?" Daemon asked, his voice tinged with amusement, though softer now, as if they shared a secret.

"Braiding your hair," Daella replied, her focus wholly on the task at hand, too absorbed to glance up at his face.

"And why is that?" he queried, the hint of a smile in his tone. He sounded different from the stern man she’d met before. Kinder, perhaps. Or maybe just in a better mood.

"Because your hair is soft and pretty. It's prettier than mine, so I think it deserves a braid," Daella answered honestly, her small fingers working diligently. Daemon’s sudden bark of laughter startled her, and she nearly dropped the braid. Determined, she quickly resumed her work, not wanting to ruin the neatness she’d managed. The thin braid she’d fashioned was barely noticeable, hidden among the silver strands as it disappeared beneath his doublet. A small smile tugged at her lips at the thought that he might leave it there, a secret only they would know.

As they turned into a familiar street, Daella’s surroundings snapped her back to reality. "Are you taking me home?" she asked, a thread of apprehension weaving through her voice.

"I am," Daemon’s tone shifted, stern and unyielding. His gaze fixed ahead on the building in front of them. "I’m taking you home, and then I’m going to have a word with your mother." With one fluid motion, he set Daella down on the ground before pushing open the side door to the brothel. The darkness inside suggested that Rosalie had yet to return from the markets.

The room was silent as Daella kicked off her boots and dropped them by the bed. A sudden thought occurred to her. "How did you know where I live?"

Daemon sighed, moving to light a torch on the wall. "King’s Landing may change in many ways, but its bones remain the same. I frequented this place often when I was younger. My brother, too, though he stopped coming after he married Aemma. I’ve only returned once since her passing."

"Oh," Daella murmured, glancing down at the dusty floor. "I’m sorry."

"There’s no need for apologies, sweet girl," Daemon said gently, placing the book on the table before sinking into one of the creaking wooden chairs. "Now, enough of such dreary topics. How about I tell you the tale of Princess Nymeria and her ten thousand ships?"

Daemon’s storytelling must have lulled Daella to sleep, for when she next opened her eyes, the room was bathed in the soft light of the rising moon. She glanced around, searching for any sign that Rosalie had returned, but the room was empty save for the figure slumped at the foot of her bed. Daemon was still there, snoring softly, his back against the footboard, one leg stretched out, the other bent at an angle, his chin resting on his chest.

A mischievous thought struck Daella, and she quietly leaned over the edge of the bed, retrieving one of her black shoes. Taking careful aim, she threw it at Daemon, quickly lying back down and squeezing her eyes shut, feigning sleep.

"I saw that," Daemon’s laughter rumbled through the room, causing a giggle to escape Daella’s lips.

Their laughter was abruptly cut short by the sound of a voice outside the door. Daemon’s expression turned serious as he moved swiftly, positioning himself behind the door, out of view. He pressed a finger to his lips in silent command, drawing his sword with a quiet hiss. Understanding his signal, Daella bundled herself under the blanket, pretending to be asleep.

"Oh, thank the gods," Rosalie’s voice was filled with relief as she rushed through the door, nearly tripping over her skirts in her haste. But before she could reach Daella’s bed, Daemon kicked the door shut with a resounding thud, causing her to whirl around in shock.

"The gods had little to do with it," Daemon said, his voice low as he sheathed his sword and moved past her, reclaiming his seat at the table.

Rosalie’s relief quickly morphed into anger as she turned to face Daemon, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What are you doing here, Daemon?" she demanded, her tone sharp and devoid of any honorifics.

"You forget yourself, Rosalie," Daemon replied, rising from the chair with a deliberate slowness that made his height and presence all the more imposing. He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword, the gesture unmistakably threatening.

Rosalie’s face paled as she backed away, her movements cautious as she made her way around the bed. Her hand brushed against Daella’s hair, smoothing it back from her face as she glanced down at her, her expression a mix of worry and resolve.

"Why are you here, my prince?" Rosalie’s voice was strained, her teeth clenched as she forced out the words.

"Much better," Daemon mocked, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he tilted his head slightly, regarding her with an air of superiority. "I am here because I found Daella wandering the streets. Alone. Again."

"So you decided to kidnap her?" Rosalie snapped, her voice barely concealing the fury simmering beneath the surface.

"I didn’t kidnap her, Rosalie," Daemon corrected with a sigh, shaking his head as if dealing with a particularly stubborn child. "I brought her home. To you and her mother." He paused, his eyes scanning the room before landing back on Rosalie. "Where is Elyse?"

The mention of Daella’s mother sent a jolt of confusion through her. How could he speak of her as if he knew her? Daella’s mother had been gone for years, long before she could remember.

"Why would you think she’s Elyse’s?" Rosalie asked, her voice wavering slightly as she positioned herself between Daemon and Daella, her stance protective.

"It’s not hard to see," Daemon said, pacing slowly, his eyes never leaving Rosalie. "Daella looks exactly like her. Now, where is she? I wish to speak with her." His voice took on a taunting lilt as he called out, "Eeelyyyse, come out, come out, wherever you are."

Rosalie flinched at his words, her eyes darting toward Daella briefly, a flash of pain crossing her features before she forced her expression back to neutrality. "Stop that! You’ll wake the girl," Rosalie scolded, her voice tight with barely suppressed anger. "Elyse died two years ago."

Daemon froze mid-step, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. A storm of emotions played across his face before he spun around, striding toward Rosalie with an intensity that made the air in the room feel charged. He reached her in two long steps, his hands seizing her arms with a grip that made Rosalie wince. He pinned her against the foot of the bed, his face inches from hers, his voice low and dangerous.

"How old is she? Is she mine?" he growled, his eyes burning with a mixture of fury and desperation.

The sudden violence jolted Daella out of her daze. She bolted upright, heart pounding in her chest, eyes wide as she took in the scene unfolding before her. Everything felt wrong, twisted, as if the world had been upended. The warmth that once surrounded her was gone, replaced by an icy dread that crept into her bones. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. She didn’t have a father—never had, never needed one. The words echoed in her mind, over and over. Rosalie and Harwin were all she’d ever known.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Rosalie spat, her voice laced with both defiance and fear as she struggled to pry Daemon’s hands off her arms. "Why does it even matter?"

Daemon’s eyes flickered with something dark and dangerous, a shadow that threatened to consume everything in its path. His grip loosened for a moment, only to tighten again as his hands slid up to Rosalie’s throat. His fingers flexed, pressing into her skin as he leaned closer, his breath hot and menacing against her face. "I will not ask again, Rosalie," he whispered, his voice now a lethal calm. "Is. She. Mine?"

The room seemed to shrink around Daella as she watched in horror. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one catching in her throat as the realization began to dawn. Daemon’s face twisted into a cruel sneer as Rosalie, trembling under his grip, finally gave a small, defeated nod.

Everything shattered. The world Daella knew crumbled into dust as the truth—a truth she had never even considered—crashed over her like a wave of ice. She had never thought much about having a father and never needed to. Rosalie had always been there for her, nurturing her, comforting her when she was sick, and celebrating her namedays with whatever small gifts she could find. And there was Ser Harwin—strong, dependable Harwin, who had always been like a father to her. But now, everything was uncertain.

She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t face this—whatever this was. Before Daella knew it, her feet were moving, driven by a desperate need to escape. She leaped from the bed and bolted for the door, not bothering with her robe, a jacket, or even her shoes. The cold night air bit into her skin as she tore through the streets, the sounds of the city barely registering in her mind.

She had to find Ser Harwin. He would know what to do. He would take her away like he had wanted to. The streets blurred as Daella ran, the cobblestones rough and unforgiving under her bare feet. She didn’t care. She needed to reach the guard tower, to feel safe again. But as she rounded the next corner, she skidded to a halt, her breath catching in her throat.

A group of men blocked her path, their laughter dying as they noticed her. Their eyes raked over her, taking in her disheveled hair, the thin nightdress clinging to her skin, her torn and bloodied feet, and the panic in her eyes. One of them, his face marred by pockmarks and a leering grin, stepped forward, his gaze predatory.

"Well, look what we have here," he drawled, his voice thick with malicious glee. "The gods must be smiling on us tonight, lads."

"And what a pretty little thing she is," another man sneered, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that sent a shiver of pure terror down Daella’s spine. "Just the sight of her is making my cock twitch."

Fear clawed at Daella’s insides as the men began to close in, their intentions clear. She stumbled back, her heart hammering in her chest, her mind racing to find an escape. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She was trapped, and the darkness pressed in around her, suffocating, as she faced the monsters that lurked in the night.

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[kvetchlandia]

Richard Avedon Allen Ginsberg, New York City 1963

Aunt Rose—now—might I see you with your thin face and buck tooth smile and pain of rheumatism—and a long black heavy shoe for your bony left leg limping down the long hall in Newark on the running carpet past the black grand piano in the day room where the parties were and I sang Spanish loyalist songs in a high squeaky voice (hysterical) the committee listening while you limped around the room collected the money— Aunt Honey, Uncle Sam, a stranger with a cloth arm in his pocket and huge young bald head of Abraham Lincoln Brigade

—your long sad face your tears of sexual frustration (what smothered sobs and bony hips under the pillows of Osborne Terrace) —the time I stood on the toilet seat naked and you powdered my thighs with calamine against the poison ivy—my tender and shamed first black curled hairs what were you thinking in secret heart then knowing me a man already— and I an ignorant girl of family silence on the thin pedestal of my legs in the bathroom—Museum of Newark.

Aunt Rose

Hitler is dead, Hitler is in Eternity; Hitler is with Tamburlane and Emily Brontë

Though I see you walking still, a ghost on Osborne Terrace down the long dark hall to the front door limping a little with a pinched smile in what must have been a silken flower dress welcoming my father, the Poet, on his visit to Newark —see you arriving in the living room dancing on your crippled leg and clapping hands his book had been accepted by Liveright

Hitler is dead and Liveright’s gone out of business The Attic of the Past and Everlasting Minute are out of print Uncle Harry sold his last silk stocking Claire quit interpretive dancing school Buba sits a wrinkled monument in Old Ladies Home blinking at new babies

last time I saw you was the hospital pale skull protruding under ashen skin blue veined unconscious girl in an oxygen tent the war in Spain has ended long ago Aunt Rose

-- Allen Ginsberg, "To Aunt Rose" 1961

[wearethekat]

Anticipated New Releases of 2024

**As anticipated by Me. Mostly SFF. Links are to goodreads because that's what I use, sorry. Anything marked "new to me" I haven't read anything by that author before and therefore can't vouch for the quality. I just think the premise is neat.**

Emily Wilde's Map of the Otherlands, Heather Fawcett (16 January)

Sequel to the charming novel about the fairy anthropologist.

Exordia, Seth Dickinson (23 January)

Well, it isn't a new Baru Cormorant, but this modern SF about first contact may be the next best thing.

City of Stardust, Georgia Summers (30 January)

New to me. A young woman descends into the underworld in order to break her family's fatal curse.

The Tainted Cup, Robert Jackson Bennett (6 February)

New to me. A sherlock holmes flavored duo solves the mystery of the murder of an imperial official in a labyrinthine fantasy realm.

What Feasts at Night, T Kingfisher (13 February)

The sequel to the mushroom horror book What Moves the Dead.

The Warm Hands of Ghosts, Katherine Arden (13 February)

A ghost story set in WW1 about a woman searching for her missing brother.

The Fox Wife, Yangsze Choo (13 February)

New to me. A detective in 1908 Manchuria investigates a young woman's death in an area full of mythical foxes.

Redsight, Meredith Mooring (27 February)

New to me. Unpowered priestess and Imperial pawn is set on a collision path with a pirate with a grudge for the Imperium (Gay romance).

Sunbringer, Hannah Kaner (12 March)

Sequel about the professional godkiller Kissen.

Jumpnauts, Hao Jingfang (12 March)

New to me. A SF novel in translation from Chinese, with three scientists joining forces to deal peacefully with a first contact situation.

The Woods All Black, Lee Mandelo (19 March)

I liked Mandelo's debut novel very much so I'm excited to read this queer horror novella set in 1920s Appalachia.

Floating Hotel, Grace Curtis (19 March)

New to me. A series of cozy character vignettes on a space cruise ship after a murder has occurred. One of the four (!) space hotel murder crimes books coming out this year.

The Emperor and the Endless Palace, Justinian Huang (26 March)

New to me. Reincarnation gay romance set in 4 BCE China, the 1740s, and modern-day LA.

Alien Clay, Adrian Tchaikovsky (28 March)

Far future space xenoarchaeology by a man trapped on a prison planet.

Someone You Can Build a Nest In, John Wiswell (2 April)

New to me. Bizarre lesbian cannibalism monster romance from the point of view of the monster.

The Familiar, Leigh Bardugo (9 April)

Glad to see Bardugo writing more adult fantasy, and this one is especially exciting because it's a fantasy set in early modern Spain with a Jewish main character. Fun to see a more original historical period.

A Sweet Sting of Salt, Rose Sutherland (9 April)

New to me. Lesbian selkie romance.

Death in the Spires, KJ Charles (11 April)

Charles branching out from romance into historical Oxford murder mystery about a group of friends with dark secrets.

Audrey Lane Stirs The Pot, Alexis Hall (22 April)

The new Hall thinly veiled british baking show romcom. Libby says it's releasing in April but I've heard nothing from the author so I think it may be Alecto'd (shifted to next year)

Necrobane, Daniel M Ford (23 April)

Sequel to the dungeons and dragons-esque low fantasy lesbian necromancy book.

A Letter to the Luminous Deep, Sylvie Cathrall (25 April)

New to me. Sweet underwater epistolary academic romance.

How To Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying, Django Wexler (21 May)

New to me. A young hero caught in a fantasy time loop gives up and tries being the villain in an attempt to escape.

Goddess of the River, Vaishnavi Patel (21 May)

Another woman-centered retelling of Hindu mythology, this time based on the river goddess Ganga.

Escape Velocity, Victor Manibo (21 May)

New to me. Evil and toxic private school alumni jockey for position in a space hotel event in an attempt to escape a dying Earth.

The Fireborne Blade, Charlotte Bond (28 May)

New to me. Gay dragon slaying knight novella.

Evocation, ST Gibson (28 May)

New to me but looks very cool. Attorney and medium David attempts to escape his deal with the devil with the help of his ex boyfriend and his ex boyfriend's wife (Poly romance).

Service Model, Adrian Tchaikovsky (4 June)

In an SF future, a robot kills its human owners and ventures out into a world where human supremacy is beginning to crumble.

Lady Eve's Last Con, Rebecca Fraimow (4 June)

New to me. A con artist seeks revenge on the man who hurt her sister, who's coincidentally also on a space cruise ship (Sapphic romance subplot).

Triple Sec, TJ Alexander (4 June)

An actual mainstream published poly romance (!!) by trans author Alexander.

Running Close to the Wind, Alexandra Rowland (11 June)

Gay! Pirates! Scheming! Alt fantasy world! Monks! I liked Taste of Gold and Iron a lot and I'm very excited for this one.

The Knife and the Serpent, Tim Pratt (11 June)

New to me. Space opera about an interdimensional organization. Also, there's a sentient starship.

The Witchstone, Henry Neff (18 June)

A childhood favorite of mine's adult debut, featuring a demon who suddenly has to shape up at his curse keeper job after eight hundred years of slacking.

Rakesfall, Vajra Chandrasekera (18 June)

VERY excited to read more weird queer sff from this author after a fantastic debut. Looks weird. I'm in.

Foul Days, Genoveva Dimova (25 June)

New to me. A witch in a Slavic fantasy inspired world flees her evil ex, the Tsar of Monsters. There's also a plague and a detective.

Saints of Storm and Sorrow, Gabriella Buba (25 June)

New to me. Filipino inspired anticolonialist fantasy novel about a nun who is secretly practicing the religion of her goddess.

The Duke at Hazard, KJ Charles (18 July)

A queer regency with an incognito duke by one of my particular favorite romance authors.

Long Live Evil, Sarah Rees Brennan (30 July)

!!! Very excited to see a new adult fantasy by Brennan. A reader is dragged into a fictional world and finds herself the villain.

A Sorceress Comes to Call, T Kingfisher (20 August)

A retelling of The Goose Girl from reliably good fairy tale stalwart Kingfisher.

Buried Deep and Other Stories, Naomi Novik (17 September)

Collection of Novik's short stories.

Swordcrossed, Freya Marske (8 October)

VERY excited to see a new book by talented writer Marske. A man falls in love with the duelist hired for his arranged wedding. MEANWHILE. details of the fantasy world wool industry.

Feast While You Can, Mikaella Clements and Onjuli Datta (29 October)

New to me. Small town queer cave horror.

The Last Hour Between Worlds, Melissa Caruso (19 November)

Multiple reality murder mystery spy vs spy type antics, with lesbians.

[babygorewhore]

Let your fantasies unwind

Being a relative of John meant you often visited Hotel Cortez. The infamous James Patrick March left you notes and gifts over the years. But one night, he tells you to come into his room.

Oh my god, I finally had inspiration for murder daddy after months! This is also a reminder I still do write for AHS! I just have two other fandoms that I have so sometimes it takes time! Thank you for your patience!

Warnings! Oral! Unprotected sex! Hints of death!

Being the relative of John brought a heavy amount of shame from the public. Your cousin was a murderer. But the lull of the Hotel Cortez that you visited with his daughter truly hypnotized your desire to stay. You knew the ghosts. Liz, Elizabeth, Sally and the ones who were more malevolent. Your laced sleeves and skirt were fancy compared to your mundane job as a singer but the Hotel drove you to look your best.

But there was another reason you were here. Every time you arrived and drifted to the room where John laid with his family; a note and a small gift was left on his table. With your name on it. And it was always signed. JPM. James Patrick March. The murderer who still roamed the walls but never showed himself to you.

The notes were similar.

“For you. A sweet little gift for a sweet little girl. Yours, JPM.”

“Little mouse, here’s a necklace that reminds you of who’s heart belongs to you…JPM.”

The gifts you collected were necklaces, bracelets and occasionally silver trinkets that were molded animals. An elephant, wolf and then a crown. You kept them safe in your bedroom at home. You sighed to yourself when you once again saw another note.

You wanted to see him. So badly and you didn’t understand why he never made himself known to you. You’d seen portraits and heard descriptions from other people but you wanted to look into his cold dark gaze yourself. He was a mystery ghost.

You were a singer, a good one at that after years of practice and the sheet music he provided among his gifts. Sometimes you just spoke aloud to him. About your troubles. Your family and lack thereof as you sat down.

You opened the elegant envelope and the paper crinkled underneath your fingertips as you read the cursive lettering.

“My sweet little mouse. Looking so petulant and lonely. Give me a song, yes? I want to hear your breathless whimpers as I devour you and make you a part of this hotel…forever.”

Your entire body had chills. Gooseflesh prickled your arms as you glanced around the room. He was still watching you and then you noticed another note that appeared on the floor. You immediately rose off the chair and picked up the material.

“Come to my room. You know exactly which one…discard your clothing. I want to see what’s mine.”

Your breathing quickened but no fear pertained to you as you scurried down the halls and then met the door of his room. It was cracked open and you allowed yourself to step inside without knocking.

James' bedroom was spacious, adorned with newspaper articles about his crimes. Such things he viewed as vile accomplishments. You hugged yourself as you breathed in the chilled air.

But you were obedient as you stepped to his large mattress and took off your clothes. Including your underwear and bra.

This was more nerve wracking than a performance in front of a growing crowd as you laid down on the soft, comfortable bed.

“Hello, my dear.” You jolted to your elbows when you heard a voice, one that was admonished with depth, richness and a dash of danger. “You look absolutely devilish laying there for me.”

His jet black hair was slicked back and his white dress shirt and pants were pressed perfectly. His thin mustache was curled with his soft smirk as his dark eyes swept over your naked body. While his voice was calm, you didn’t mistake the apparent growing erection in his pants.

Your rose lipstick was nothing in comparison to the heat in your face. James circled with predatory determination as he traced the sheets with a ringed finger. Almost touching you but a hair away from your skin. “Oh, how I’ve longed for this moment, my little mouse. Frankly, I couldn’t speak through notes anymore. Do you know what I want from you?”

You shook your head, eyes wide with anticipation as he started to kneel. His long fingers gripped your thighs as he pulled you forward, your cunt glistening in front of his face. “I want to taste you. I want to enjoy what’s been waiting for me…”

His tongue laid flat against your clit as he then focused on kitten licking the underside before he delved inside; before starting all over again repeating the motion. Your fingers clawed at his hair, messily feeling the cast of gel that kept it in place. He moaned against your pussy, clearly enjoying the sensitivity as you bucked and rolled your hips against his sharp face. Your slick coating his entire mouth as he sucked the center.

“James-I-I can’t stop it-“ His only response was to dig his fingers deeper into your flesh as you rode his face.

Your stomach's tension released the overwhelming pressure and white hot pleasure burst through you. You breathed heavily as you calmed from your high that left you twitching with your eyes squeezing shut as he continued before slowly stopping and pulling back.

“Don’t worry, dearest. That was only the first of the letters I didn’t send. We’re just getting started, darling.” James undid his pants and boxers, letting his heavy cock with a red tip move towards you as he flipped you on your stomach.

Your hands were holding your weight as he slipped inside easily, thrusting his hips so hard you had to prevent yourself from falling. His hand wrapped around your neck as his dick reached the spot that caused you to curl, your hair was messy, causing sweat to grow around your head. James' breathing was quick and sharp. He wasn’t making much noise so you grinded against his movements.

“You. Belong. To. Me.” James growled as his grip tightened and you couldn’t breathe enough to respond.

His release coated your cunt and your thighs as he let out a heavy cry and you followed. James cum aided in him slipping out and let him insert three fingers, plugging you up. “No, this doesn’t get to go anywhere but your sweet cunt.”

You shuddered at his filthy words and your gaze cast to the forgotten letter on the floor as you settled on your back. James pulled up his boxers and laid beside you. You didn’t take him as an affectionate man, but his hand found your arm and he traced and leaned in.

His lips were tender as he kissed you and you were almost in shock as you understood you were kissing and fucked a ghost you’d transpired with for years. And it was better than any sort of fantasy that kept your hand busy during lonely nights.

“I never want to leave you, James. I want to stay with you forever.”

James cast you a glance. “Forever, my dear? Once you decide your fate, you can never go back.”

But your resolve was there. “I mean what I say.”

James smiled at you and stroked your cheek as he grabbed a pillow. “Close your eyes, dearest. It’ll be over soon. And we shall spend an eternity together.”

Tagging those who might like @marchsfreakshow @taintandviolent @xxhellfirebunnyxx @icannot3 @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @slvt4jamesmarch @elaine-in-the-membrane

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Beg For Me (Ghost/Reader)

Explicit Content MDNI

CW: Pegging, Oral Sex, Anal and Vaginal Fingering, Light Sub/Dom, Bottom Ghost, Simon is Bad at Feelings

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader, Strap Referred to as Their Cock

WC: 3.7K

His name suited him. Ghost. He always seemed to be in my peripherals. Silently glancing at me in the gym, sitting in the corner of the mess hall. He never spoke to me, however. 

My chest heaved as I pulled myself over a wall, hands blistered from my tight grip on the rope. My knees ached as I dropped back to ground level, finally reaching the end of the obstacle course. There he stood, silently crossing his arms over his chest. Through the holes in his balaclava, I watched as his eyes skimmed up and down my sweaty body. I felt my muscles tense under his gaze and pivoted toward the drinking fountain.

I let the freezing water run over my hands before placing them behind my neck. Being out in the blazing sun was bad enough, but running through intense training parched me. I sighed before leaning forward to take a drink of water. Droplets ran down my chin, rushing down the front of my shirt as I stood straight.

The clatter of keys drew my attention. Ghost stood quietly behind me, spinning his keys around his finger. My eyes met his, a golden color in the sunlight. He simply pointed to my shoes. I looked down at my untied laces. I dropped to one knee and quickly tied the laces together in a hasty bow. Glancing up at the lieutenant, I gave him a nod, a silent “thank you” of sorts. Without a word, he stepped away, his deep eyes still fixated on my crouching body. I couldn't help the blush that rose to my cheeks as I watched him walk away.

One upside to being on base was the home-cooked food, much more appetizing than the flavorless MREs we ate in the field. I piled a generous amount of macaroni onto my plate. I heard a soft mumble from beside me. Looking up, it was him again. At nearly a foot taller than me, he was rather intimidating. The skull plate on his mask only added to his aura. I scooped up a serving of pasta and dropped it onto his plate. He walked away without making another sound. 

I found a seat at one table and began eating my dinner. I brought a spoonful of pasta to my lips and began mindlessly scrolling through my phone. As I ate, I couldn’t help but notice a feeling rise in my chest. The feeling of being watched. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him again. Staring at me as I ate. He’d pushed his mask up over his nose, revealing his scarred mouth. He had a long, deep scar that ran down his lip and chin, blending into the stubble that adorned his jawline. I pretended not to notice, bringing my attention back to my phone, however, I couldn’t shake the feeling he stirred in me. 

That night I settled down in the lounge with a good book and a glass of whiskey. I laid a blanket across my lap as the chill of night pricked my skin. It was silent. Most of the rookies were asleep, no doubt in preparation for the rigorous training scheduled tomorrow. I turned the page in my book, reaching out for a sip of my drink. The couch dipped. I glanced over as the warmth hit my tongue. 

It must’ve been the first time I’d seen his face. He was a blonde, that was the first thing I noticed. His nose was strong and crooked, no doubt from a fracture. Neatly trimmed blonde curls sat atop his head. Dark eyebrows framed his face. With his protruding brow bone, you couldn’t help but fixate on his eyes. They were even deeper in the low lighting. Nearly black. In an attempt to not get caught staring at my lieutenant, I brought my gaze back to my book. 

He placed his thumb on my book, holding down my place as he grabbed it from my hands. His eyes scanned across the cover, then to the back over the summary, and then up to me. He placed the book in my hands, still right where my page was. 

“What are you drinking?” He asked. His voice was deep and rugged. Smokey too. I wonder if he smokes. 

“Crown. Got some last time I was out.” I replied, holding my glass out to him. He took the glass from me, fingers brushing over mine. He took a small sip. His lips curled up into a smirk as he handed the glass back to me. 

With a nod, he stood up. His shirt rode up his hips as he held his arms above his head, stretching out his back. I glanced away, trying to keep my eyes off of the scars that decorated his hips.

“Night.” He said, glancing down at me as he turned to the door. 

In the morning, a knock at my door jolted me awake. As I opened it I noticed the rush of soldiers in and out of their rooms. It could only mean one thing. Room checks. 

I quickly made my bed nice and neat. My eyes flicked to the bottle of lube on my nightstand. Without another thought, I grabbed it and placed it underneath my pillow alongside another item. 

Ghost slipped out of one room, eyes going wide as he saw me. I was still in my sleep clothes, a thin tank top, and low-hanging pants. I attributed my attire to his reaction. At this point, it was too late, and I didn’t care enough to get dressed, knowing I’d be going back to sleep, anyway. 

And yet I couldn’t help the panic that washed over me as he got closer and closer. Maybe I hadn’t hidden my stuff well enough. Maybe he wasn’t as thorough in his searches? Maybe I could get away with it. Maybe-

He stepped into my room, glancing at me as he passed. I felt nauseous, filled to the brim with regret. I watched over my shoulder as he opened my closet, pushing my uniforms aside. As my heart pounded away in my chest, I couldn’t help but look away. I clenched my fists hard, nails stinging the skin of my palm. I listened closely to his footsteps. Soft thuds, then a pause. The drawers of my desk rattled as he pulled them open. With a clang, they were closed again. A couple more thuds, and another pause. Silence. And then he was at my door. 

“Care to explain something?” He asked, softly. My heart was pounding in my ears as I turned toward my room. I stepped inside. The door clicked as he closed it behind him. Laying in plain view on my bed was the bottle of lube and my strap-on. 

It’s not like I used it on anyone. I simply fastened the harness to a pillow. But this looked bad. Really bad.

“This doesn’t exactly fit with the rules, now does it?” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Neither does that mask,” I retorted. My face was burning up. My cheeks were, without a doubt, turning a shade of red by now.

“Well, you see, one’s a mask, the other’s a dildo.”

“Shut up,” I huffed. 

“Make me,” he responded, eyes flicking up and down my face. As if a force took over my muscles, I stepped forward, spinning the lieutenant and pushing him onto my bed. 

“Safeword is red,” I said, gritting my teeth. I reached around, undoing his belt and pulling it from the loops. I pushed his pants over his hips, along with his boxers. I spat onto my fingers and brought them to his hole, swirling them around before pushing in and testing his muscles. He arched his back, pushing back onto my fingers. He didn’t seem like a submissive, didn’t seem like the type who would be moaning from just my fingers. And yet my ears perked up when I heard it. 

“Fuck,” his voice was quiet, soft, and a bit higher than his speaking tone. 

“Didn’t take you for a bottom, ghost” I said, pumping my fingers in and out. “Didn’t even think you liked me.” He was silent. I pulled his mask up over his mouth and gripped his chin, relishing the grunt he gave as I did so. 

“I thought you’d be able to take a hint, guess I was wrong.” He muttered, punctuating his words with a moan. I grabbed the bottle of lube, opened the cap, and coated one of my fingers in the slick material, sliding it in alongside the two others. 

“How long have you wanted this?” I asked as I curled my fingers toward his prostate.

“Since you came to base-” He blurted out. I chuckled as I worked his tight hole open. 

“You didn’t even speak to me for a year,” I mumbled, “real charming, doll,”

“Fuck, fuck!” He moaned, fingers gripping my sheets roughly. 

“You like it when I take charge?” I punctuated my question with a smack to his ass. “Bet you just need someone to give you the orders for a change.”

“Please!”

His voice was sweet when it was soaked in lust. Something about it drove me wild, made my face heat up, and sparked a dull throbbing in my core. I pulled my fingers out of his ass. His hole clenched around nothing. His brown eyes flicked up and down my body, waiting for my next move. 

“Strip and get on the bed,” I ordered, grabbing the strap. I slipped it on over my pajama pants, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me naked just yet. He kicked off his boots, and his pants soon followed. His abs tensed as he slipped off his shirt. He settled onto his back, his legs spread apart. I shook my head, making a circular motion with one of my fingers. He turned around on his knees, propping himself up on his elbows. I settled behind him, lightly tapping his ass with the head of my dildo. He shuddered and gripped the sheets tightly. I grabbed the bottle of lube and squirted a line of it over the length of the silicone. Using my hand I spread it over the entire shaft. I pushed forward, feeling the right ring of muscle slowly give way. He buried his face in my pillow, muffling a loud groan as I sheathed myself inside of him. 

I placed my hand between his shoulder blades and pushed down. He settled further down into the bed, chest pressed firmly against the blankets. I ran my hand down his back, kneading his ass with my fingers as I pulled back. I drew his hips back against me as I pushed forward. He exhaled in short, noisy bursts, arching his back for me. 

The sight before me captivated me. His muscles twitched with every panting exhale, plush thighs spread wide for me. He huffed and pulled his balaclava the rest of the way off. Seizing the opportunity, I gripped his blonde locks and tugged his head up off of the pillow. 

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” I asked as I rocked forward into him. He didn’t respond, instead, a moan slipped off of his tongue, louder than expected. I looked back at the door, internally cursing at him for not locking it. 

“Harder,” he spoke up through heaving breaths. 

My hips stopped. With a smirk on my face, I leaned down and spoke next to his ear. 

“Since you asked so nicely.”

I gripped his hips tightly, pulling him back onto my cock with every thrust. The mattress squeaked as I started a brutal pace. He let out a soft, breathy moan with every jut of my hips. And with every thrust of my hips, I angled toward his prostate, drilling down on it with the head of my cock. 

He reached behind, grabbing his ass with one hand and spreading his cheeks wider for me. The sight of him taking me made my clit throb. 

“Touch me,” he moved to grab my wrist and began tugging my hand toward his stomach. I slipped my hand between his legs and began stroking him in sync with my hips. 

“You gonna cum for me?” I asked, smirking. He nodded and choked out a moan. His cock twitched in my hand as I jerked him off. 

The noises that came from him were perverted, filled with desire, and loud. He pleaded, thanked, and spewed curses through his spit-soaked lips. Sensing he was close, I kept my rhythm steady, pushing deeper into his ass. 

“Right there!” He cried out. His knees shook, growing unsteady the closer he drew to his orgasm. I kept my other hand firmly planted on his hip. My nails dug into his skin, red marks tinting his pale skin.

“Cum for me, Ghost,” I spoke lowly, eyes drifting over his body. 

He choked out sobs as he came over my hand. His legs quaked, toes curling as his orgasm took over. His arms went limp, and he slumped over onto the bed as I stroked him through his climax. The sheets were soaked with cum, and his skin was sticky, sweat dampening his hair. 

I pulled out and began undoing the straps to the harness. With a thud, it landed on the floor. He rolled over onto his back and grabbed my hand, pulling me to lie down next to him. His fingers latched onto the hem of my tank top, gently toying with the fabric. He was breathing heavily through his mouth. His hot breath fanned over my collarbones. I leaned in, pressing my lips to his. He hooked his arm around the back of my waist and tugged me closer to his body. 

“You think you got another round in you?” I asked, running my hand across his chest. 

“Course I do,” he said with a laugh, “right now I just want to feel you.”

He slid his hand up under my shirt, pawing at my chest and pinching my nipple in between his fingers. My back arched off of the bed. He straddled my hips, fingers tugging at my shirt. He pulled it up and over my head. His brown eyes locked onto my bare chest, pupils blown wide. 

I pulled his hand toward my clothed cunt. By now I was dripping with anticipation. My underwear was drenched, and my clit was throbbing.

His cock stiffened as he felt the damp spot on my pants. He stood up off of the bed, grabbed my hips, and pulled me down the mattress until my ass hung off the edge. My body jolted as he roughly pulled my pants down my legs, along with my underwear. He grabbed my knees and slowly pushed my legs apart, taking in the view of my naked body. His hands slid down my thighs, slowly inching toward my core. 

He brushed his thumb against my clit, smirking as my hips bucked toward his hand. He began circling my clit in small, slow circles. His brown eyes locked onto me, taking in every expression I made. With his other hand, he glided two fingers up and down my cunt, stopping just before my entrance. 

My lips parted in a silent moan as he slid two of his fingers inside of me. The digits were thick, stretching me ever so slightly. He thrust his fingers in and out of me at a steady pace. The tips of his fingers curled up, hitting my g spot with every thrust. He pulled his thumb back, bringing the soaked finger to his lips. He pushed the pad of his thumb against his tongue and sucked, moaning as he tasted me. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. I watched as he kneeled between my legs, pulling my thighs over his shoulders. 

His tongue was warm and wet. I couldn’t help the desperate, whining moan I let out. My fingers instinctively tangled in his blonde curls, tugging him closer to my cunt. His fingers pumped in and out of me in sync with every movement of his tongue. 

“Ghost, fuck!” I cried out as I rocked my hips against his face. “I’m so fucking close- so fucking good,” my words slurred together as my pleasure intoxicated me. 

He wrapped his lips around my clit and gently sucked. My vision blurred, and my thighs quaked beside his head. I clenched tightly around his fingers. He moaned, sending vibrations through my core. 

My legs squeezed around his head as I came. My head flopped back against the pillows, eyes squeezing tight as I rode out my orgasm on his face. His thumb gently stroked the top of my thigh, comforting me as a haze washed over me. 

He parted my legs and pressed a trail of soft kisses along my inner thighs, accompanied by small licks and bites. He ran his hands over my stomach, holding my hips as I caught my breath. 

His face was soaked, and his lips were puffy and reddened. His brown eyes had darkened as his pupils dilated. Messy blonde curls stuck to his sweaty forehead. The corners of his lips curled up into a smile as he watched me. 

“You taste so bloody good.” He spoke, wiping his soaked face with the back of his hand. 

“Ghost,” I grabbed his chin and tugged him closer. He stood up and leaned down to kiss me. His lips were still wet. His tongue darted out of his mouth, licking across my bottom lip. I parted my lips for him, allowing his tongue to slip into my mouth. The taste of myself washed over my tongue, musk, and the smallest bit of salt. I moaned into his mouth and wrapped my arms around the back of his neck. His stiff cock pushed against my thigh, dripping with pre-cum. I crossed my legs behind his back and nudged his hips forward, wanting to feel him grind against me. 

The head of his cock slipped between my folds, teasing my entrance and bumping against my clit. My breath hitched, and I moaned against his mouth. He ground down again, rubbing against my spent clit. The stimulation was too much, too soon after my orgasm. I threw my head back and sunk my nails into his shoulders with a cry. 

“Fuck me, please!” I sobbed, tilting my hips up to guide his cock into cunt. He pushed forwards, slipping just the head of his cock inside me. 

“You want it?” He asked, pressing kisses to the skin of my neck. He pulled out and then rutted his cock against my cunt once more. My breath came out in short shallow pants. The overwhelming sensation of my desperation clouded my senses. I nodded, my lips parted and eyes half-lidded. 

He grabbed onto the underside of my thigh and began pushing my knees roughly toward my chest, bending my body in half. He sunk himself inside me, pushing past my entrance with a moan. My brows furrowed as I felt my cunt stretch with a dull burning. From this angle, I watched as I took every inch of him until the short blonde curls at the base of his cock nuzzled against my skin. My chest felt tight as If he was pushing on my lungs. The feeling of overwhelming fullness took my breath away. 

“Taking me so well, aren’t you,” he said with a grunt. 

“Simon,” I whimpered as I stared up at him through my tear-soaked lashes. 

“Fuckin’ look,” he spat, grabbing my hair roughly. He jerked my head down, forcing me to look at my full cunt. You could ever so slightly see my stomach move with every thrust. “Rearranging your fuckin’ guts.”

He sped up his hips, ramming into my cunt with a bruising force. I hooked my arms around the back of each of my knees, keeping my legs locked in position. 

“Tell me you love it, baby,” he moaned, bringing his hand up to my face. With his thumb, he pulled at my bottom lip. “Need you to tell me.”

“So fucking good!” I sputtered as drool ran down the side of my mouth. 

“Yeah?” He moaned. His Eyelids fluttered shut, and a loud, sultry moan escaped his lips. “Take it!” He grunted.

His rhythm began to falter and grow irregular. His jaw went slack, lips curling into an ‘o’ shape. A sweltering heat wracked my limbs. Each breath I drew grew shallower, turning into soft, hitching inhales. 

“Cum in me,” my words were barely intelligible by this point, and yet I could tell the moment he processed my words. His eyes opened, gaze meeting mine as if to ask permission. 

He gritted his teeth, thrusting harder, rocking my body with every pump of his cock. His thumb found my clit, and began rubbing tight circles, urging me to cum right there. 

A string of moans left my tongue, long and loud. My legs uncontrollably kicked, cunt clenching tight on his cock. He leaned down, pressing his chest to mine. With a few more rough thrusts of his hips and a loud groan, he came inside of me, filling me with warmth. 

I let go of my legs, wrapping them around his waist, keeping him flush with my core. He panted hard against the crook of my neck, pressing soft kisses between each exhale. I ran my hand up the back of his neck and through his curls, which were drenched by this point. 

A dull, cramping pain grew in my hips under the weight of him. I tapped his shoulder and dropped my legs onto the mattress. He stepped back, pulling out of me. His gaze locked onto the mess between my legs. I could feel his cum slowly running down my ass and inner thighs. Deciding to push it off until later, I slipped under the sheets, gesturing for him to follow with my fingers. 

He winced as he crawled onto the mattress. I reached out and skimmed my fingers over his thighs. He pulled the blankets over both of our bodies and pressed against me. His hands grasped onto any part of me they could get. My thighs, my stomach, my chest. I pressed a soft kiss to his lips and pulled back. 

“Quite an odd way to introduce yourself, Simon.”

[i-am-vita]

A Diversion Dance 💃

A Mihawk x Oc Ghost Rose

👉 Main Masterlist

Based on my OPLA older guysxfemreader headcanons and this inspiration right here.

It just took a month and a half but it's finally done... the first part. Writing directly in a second language is not helping.

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Summary: One year ago, you came out of semi-retirement to help the Phantom Pirates infiltrate the Hacienda of a famous Wine Producer during a party to recover and destroy some information. But you had to resort to some last minute diversions to maintain certain Warlord from a business meeting at the office being robbed by your crew. Warnings: SFW but sexy, some swearing (I managed to not used fuck that much). Use of You not y/n. Female Oc. Still probably Bad English. Consistent Time Tenses who? Expect: White collar robbery, falling while dancing, over the top improvised dance choreography, Cinderella trope but with smooches and eventual fighting, she's falling first (and in denial) but he'll fall harder, Mask of Zorro aesthetic.

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1 year ago...

The probability of a Warlord walking to any ball, specially one in honor of the local Marine Base, was low but never zero.

Especially when you knew there was a Warlord’s meeting that day somewhere else, far away enough.

Unless of course that warlord was Dracule Mihawk whom you'd soon learn never assisted to those meetings but of fucking course would assist to a party hosted by the most famous wine producer in the Grand Line. The same wine producer who was being used by some associates as a cover for intel dealings regarding the Revolutionaries secret bases. The intel your Captain was handsomely paid to acquire and destroy. The same wine producer Mihawk was so interested to strike a deal regarding a cargo of their wines to be shipped to his residence.

You hated to do diversions but there was really no other option. Your two crewmates experts in it were already working on their own targets.

Meg having the two high officers most dangerous for the mission eating from her hand thanks to her perfumes that none of them would notice a stampede in the middle of the ballroom.

Meanwhile, Raoul had just disappeared with the party's Host to a little rendezvous in his office where he would confirm their intel of the layout of the place and hide the Den Den Mushi Transmitter which will deactivate the security on the windows so your infiltrators could get inside and steal the information from the concealed drawer in the desk and other goods.

Normally it would be you leading the infiltrating team but then Carlotta, dressed as a maid, almost shouted through her Den Den Mushi Comm of HIM having just entered the hall.

And now only one decision was there to make: the red or the black dress?

"Apologies, Warlord, my boss is currently setting up some business in his office with another... interested party." Your maid-crewmate heard the Butler explain nervously. "But of course we'll escort you to his presence as soon as he's finished. Meanwhile you're very welcome to the party. There're samples of our best harvests for you to try."

Well, fuck.

That would undo all your timing and ruin the entire operation. Who knows when you will have another opportunity to infiltrate the Hacienda this easily.

Your crew is so efficient and low profile that the Marine have connected you to just a handful of the real amount of your thieveries through the years. You were sure if the World Gobernment realize how much fuck up they really were thanks to the Phantom Pirates, your bounties'd be thripled.

And neither of you wanted that.

So the red dress it was.

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Mihawk will never admit it to you until years later, but he saw you the moment you set foot in the ballroom. The daring color of your dress a startling contrast with the white of the marine officers and the most tamed and proper colors of the other guests, like a drop of blood over fresh snow. The asymmetrical cut of the skirt allowed the view of a long shapely leg encased in black stocking but not up enough to show its laces. Your face partially obscured by a lace half mask over your eyes and cheekbones like most of the guests.

He averted his gaze before you had the opportunity to make eye contact with him. Giving back his attention to the sommelier who was currently presenting him a collection of sweet wines the Warlord didn’t ask for (and boring him to hell) but still followed your path with the corner of his eye. Several gentlemen being equally ensnared by your entrance and trying to draw your attention or get a dance.

But you were set to one objective: lure Dracule Mihawk enough time for your team to break in and out of the office as soon as Raoul gave them the signal after the Host returned to the party.

Fuck, you really hated diversions.

Mostly because it implied being VERY close to certain unsavory or immoral characters that you'd rather cut their throat than make polite conversation.

Although, if there was a time for you to finally have to divert someone, there were worse options than the infamous Dracule Mihawk.

Your crew tends to keep his distance from the Warlords as the Phantom Pirates, your captain preferring to maintain any contact with the World Government and its associates through his real identity as a noble.

But thanks to Shanks, you may know a thing or two about the World’s Best Swordsman.

He’s a somber son of a gun. Gettin’ a smile out of that guy is like pulling out teeth. It’s all that stuffy dry red wine he likes. He’d totally like you! You two would hit it off!

How would you pull that off? You have no idea but if the Redhead wasn't right about his former rival, you were going to scrag him the next time you see him.

The Warlord certainly has the look of someone who you wouldn’t mind being approached by. His old bounty posters failed to state the real air of elegance he exudes, even from afar. His clothes, while stylish, didn’t seem appropriate for an up class ball. An open white ruffle shirt that showed off his muscled chest almost as much as if he weren’t wearing it, a golden cross pendant glowing in the candle lights. Black pants tucked in pristine tall black boots. His signature hat and coat were missing but a dark long cape hung from his shoulders embracing his figure in more darkness. Not helping with his look of power and danger. Certainly the great sword at his back added to it, the most famous Yoru. Does he ever take it off?

You arrived at the bar with as much nonchalance as you were capable and was immediately invited by the sommelier to have some of their product, who seemed to be so much into his exposition of sweet reds to not notice the growing irritation of his patron.

"Madam, would you care for a taste of our Starlight Night. The passing of a comet that year gave us a unique harvest like never before." And proceed to explain to you the importance of the stars’ position while harvesting. You like wine as much as the next person but your knowledge was limited to the type you liked and disliked. The man didn’t even bother to ask your preference and all his verbiage was making you a little edgy.

You have a job to do and this newbie was getting on your nerves, not to mention Mihawk looked like walking away any second, glass of his preferred wine be damned. You smiled broadly and gave an exaggerated gesture with a shoulder that you knew enhanced the line of your neck.

"Ohh, how thoughtful, sir. We've heard wonders of this exact method." You said with fake affectation accepting the glass. "Perhaps you'll be so kind as to explain it to my colleagues." You pointed to a group of guests at the other side of the ballroom.

The employee didn't take long to follow your suggestion and left with a trail of glasses and bottle for his next marketing victim.

With the useless fool finally out of his sight (really, what was doing such an amateur attending potential customers?), he took one of the bottles whose label convinced him the most and served himself a glass to finally have a taste of dryness and spices in his tongue to try to get rid of the bitterness of having to wait in this forsaken party of social climbers.

A loud sight from you got him out of his musings.

"I hate nothing more than an overseller.” You tested giving a side glance to the Warlord. “If their product is that good they wouldn't need such storytelling, would they?"

That got you Dracule's attention who turned his golden gaze towards you and raised an eyebrow. You could feel a not so unpleasant chill down your back at his intensity.

"Clever technique. I was considering just cutting the fool in half to shut him up." You couldn't hide a smirk at his dry humor, although unclear if it was a joke at all.

You took a sip of the dark liquid in your glass, getting a taste of unexpected sweetness, fruity and floral flavors.

"Well, our mutual wasn't as full of shit as I thought." You mentioned giving another sip to the sweet wine. By the Warlord's expression, you knew he totally differed. "Not keen on sweet wine, are you, my Lord?"

He gave you a little smirk and a side glance. You took another sip in defiance.

"I'm keen on red wine not berries juice."

This time you did have to control yourself to not let out a laugh and spit the wine still in your mouth, it coming out as a very undignified snort. You gave the man a playful killing glare over your glass that had the effect of widen his smirk.

Ha! Take that, Redhead!

Mihawk was feeling... surprisingly amused by this little interaction.

The amount of people capable of holding his gaze, let alone daring to joke with him was less than the fingers of one hand. Still, he could recognize an attempt at seduction no matter how subtle but the even fewer women who dared to approach him usually played a more submissive role.

He liked your boldness.

And the fact you look exactly like his type of woman with perfect golden tan skin, long legs and curvaceous figure… A shame he has no time for a rendezvous tonight, eager to get his business done and go on his merry way away from this Marine reeking party.

"So... What brings a man of your notoriety to this gathering, my Lord. Certainly not the honorable guests or the sparkling conversations." You said pointing with your head to the surrounding Marines who gave distasteful looks at his direction between murmurs and sips of wine.

Another raised eyebrow and what you hoped was an interested stare. So you did know about his status and reputation and yet were completely unafraid of approaching him.

"Only business. I wasn't aware of this little gathering." He said pointing at the ballroom with distaste in his voice. "Not my favorite type of... companionship. Although, the conversation may be... improving. Even if you have an abysmal taste in wine, my Lady."

Well, you didn't completely suck at this, you thought while still siping the sweet red with a challenging smirk of your own.

With the corner of your eye, you managed to catch a glimpse of Raoul coming inside the room, the Host mere steps behind with his Butler whispering in his ear. Your eyes found those of your maid-disguised crewmate, Carlotta, who gave you a small nod.

The clock was running from now on.

Several couples had just started to dance to the new song of the orchestra when you were hit by a burst of inspiration.

"May I have this dance, my Lord. Kill some time before your business meeting?"

You know you’re not the best at small talk and pretending attraction for someone but you love to dance… and you’d rather not think of the small pull you felt towards the Warlord as attraction at all.

"... Why not?" He answered by raising his hand in an inviting gesture. You couldn’t hide a small smile of relief and parted with your glass of wine to reciprocate his gesture.

Mihawk seized the moment to take your hand towards his mouth to place a light kiss. His yellow irises catched a small flush on your cheeks and an intake of air through your half parted lips.

He guided you to the dancefloor into a perfect waltz stance before leading you through it with long strides and wide swirls following the lively tempo created by the strings of guitars and mandolins.

The familiar dance steps lured you into a comfort state. It took you a few seconds to realize how was it possible, being in the arms of one of the most dangerous men in the world and any misstep in this heist potentially leading to a catastrophe to your crew, until it dawned on you.

Dracule Mihawk was an excellent dancer.

It wasn’t just the proper following of the steps but his gracefulness and fluidity and how he guided your body through it like an extension of his own.

What kind of swordsman would I be if I didn’t have perfect stance and footing? A memory came from so far away. Of the intense dark eyes of another man deep in your past, of that first time you set foot in a ballroom. How much you despised the process of it all until that young gentleman asked for your first dance…

"Something on your mind, my Lady?" Mihawk’s voice brought you back to the present and to the intensity of his own golden eyes.

"Apologies, my Lord, my mind wandered for a second."

"Oh? To whom may I ask?"

"Jealous, Lord Dracule?" You teased smirking playfully. You were aware you couldn't just lie to his face. One didn't come as high as him by taking any bullshit. So half truths it was. "Just... I was thinking how much I missed certain things in this life. I can go without all the pomp and small talk of these gatherings but I did miss... this."

Mihawk didn't expect such a candid answer. He could tell by the subtle change in your voice that your yearning was sincere.

"This...?"

"A good dance partner..." The thrill of the chase, the adrenaline of the lurking danger, your traitorous mind offered while starting to get lost in the eyes of one of the most powerful men in all the Blues.

"Have you been apart from this life for a while?"

"Certain responsibilities have kept me away from... indulging these past years. This is an extraordinary occasion."

"Extraordinary indeed..."

Who were you? He wondered while resisting the desire to bring you nearer to him and inhale that subtle fruity and flowery scent from your hair, much like that awful sweet wine you seemed so fond of. Certainly not a debutante seeking a match. Your beauty more akin to full maturity, probably closer to his own age.

Nor a widow, especially those of the upper class who tended to show off more of their riches on their bodies yet you were mostly unadorned save for a modest dark lace with a rose pendant on your neck. The same dark lace that adorned more than hid the upper half of your face. No earrings or bracelets. Although, were those steel rings on each of your middle fingers? Not gold or silver.

Or were you one of those unattached women who seek the protection of powerful men? No, you had mentioned certain responsibilities keeping you from indulging. The fact you have forgone gloves was telling. Your hands, while elegant, weren’t those of an upper class lady, with short and practical manicured nails, skin lightly calloused in certain places more akin to someone who worked with certain instruments. A business woman looking for some distraction?

Whatever of the above, at this stage most women were already trying their best tricks to lure him. Eyelash shakes, sultry smiles, casual intimate touches. Mostly pathetic and boring. Or were you so sure of your beauty to take this more neutral stance and wait until your natural allure and witt worked on him?

And then getting lost in your thoughts in the middle of dancing after being the one to ask him. Was what you said all you were looking for? A good dance partner or a dance partner?

Certainly he was so full of himself as to feel a little insulted that the first woman who caught his eye in years wasn’t actively seducing him by now even if he had no intention of letting himself be seduced that night and would walk away after this little distraction.

The waltz came to its end with both of you maintaining a proper pose and distance despite the intensity of his stare awakening a desire for nearness. The couples undid their poses to applaud the orchestra, giving you a moment to break contact with the deep golden gaze of the Warlord to collect yourself.

Over the shoulder of your dance partner, you saw Raoul making a circular move with his hand, signing you to keep going.

You noticed the Warlord's eyes scanning the crowd, no doubt looking for the Butler who would take him to his meeting at the office currently being robbed by your crewmates.

Time for the big guns.

"Would you care to try something more... robust, my Lord?"

That had the power to hold Mihawk's attention back to you. That spark of challenge in your eyes again. He had seen that same spark in many others who sought to duel with him.

So intriguing.

"Do you feel an equal to the task, my Lady?"

You gave him a wink and signal for a maid who approached you, whispered something to her and sent her to the small orchestra near the corner.

You guided Dracule to the center of the emptying dance floor, your arm extended to his with only your hands touching... until the first strings of guitar and brass wind instruments started.

Mihawk took your hand with firmness and drew you to his body. You let him guide you into a dip over his arm and then the other but then raised yourself meeting him face to face in defiance. Both started to dance around without looking away from each other's eyes, arms intertwining and departing, following the lively rhythm of the strings like swords in a battle.

His right hand finally caught yours and led you gracefully in a series of spins, making your dress flutter around your legs, before pulling you towards him until being face to face again. Your lips almost gracing. You tilt your head backward feeling Mihawk’s breath making a path to your neck and dangerously close to your cleavage.

That single motion had the power to leave you more breathless than the intense performance.

You back away playfully, arms raised as if in denial of his advance. Mihawk smiled despite himself, eager to bring you back to himself by trying some footing to approach you and catch your waist but you avoided him with a poise and grace he had yet to see in most swordsmen that had dared to duel him.

The dramatic twirl half undid your updo and left your back to him. You gave him a daring look over your shoulder between locks of dark wavy hair, arms extended as in invitation that he took by taking you again in his arms, your back to his chest, and sweeping with you across the dance floor. You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours through the back opening of your dress along with the cold of the golden pendant.

He stopped a moment to guide your hand to his neck, your fingers tangling in his dark curls, while his other hand wandered to your abdomen and just below your breasts, tightening his embrace and grazing his lips on your neck for a small second before a last crescendo of the music made you twirl away from him, like running from his attention towards you. But the Warlord was relentless in his pursuit, catching your hand and pulling you fiercely back to him, the momentum making you lift your leg around his waist where he took it to bring you even closer to him. The asymmetrical cut of your skirt allowed him to feel the texture of your stocking. His wide palm traced a path from your knee up to your tight. Almost grazing the satchel hiding your short dagger and small assortment of knives still hide under the fabric.

His free hand traveled to your waist leading your body in a low dip with the last strings of the song. You hold to his broad shoulders, one of your hands tangled in his dark curls guiding his bowed head up your abdomen, over your breasts and neck, lips mouthing the rose pendant in his wander, to almost touch his lips with yours as he lifted you back.

For a wild second, Mihawk considered taking your lips with his own, eager to know if they taste as sweet as the red you sampled. The sound of applause brought him out of his reverie, reminding him of his stubbornness of not letting himself be seduced that night, not matter his own pursuit of you during your enthralling dance. His sharp eyes focused on your glazed gaze, like you were waking up from a dream. He wondered if that would be your sight after rapture. Your eyes cleared after a second, opening in surprise as you were just aware of the position you had ended.

The sound of a clearing throat broke the moment.

"Ejem... Warlord, we've been looking for you. I was told you were interested in a purchase. Should we discuss it at my office?" Spoke a gentleman whom you recognized as the Host of the ball.

No fucking way!

"Of course." Mihawk answered, letting you go gently until you recovered your footing and finally breaking your eye contact to turn around to the newcomer. "In a moment."

Your eyes found the panicked sight of Carlotta shaking her head.

You still needed more time!

"Can't I convince you to extend your stay, my lord?” You asked, hoping not to sound as out of breath as you felt for what you were suggesting. “Surely, any other affair can wait until the morning..."

The hawk-like golden eyes of the swordsman wandered back to you and over your form, from the half undone updo, the free locks of hair falling in waves framing your slightly flushed face, to your red lips parted like begging to be kissed. Have you finally decided you want a partner for another kind of dance? You looked like temptation incarnated for him but it had been a time since he had let himself be distracted by temptations, no matter how captivating.

"Not today, my lady." He took your hand to his lips in a goodbye kiss that had no business being so sensual.

You'll lie to yourself all you wanted for the next year, but the idea of bringing that same hand to his cheek to draw his face to an actual kiss so you could steal his gold cross came after. In that moment you were desperate to scratch just one more second with him and taking a taste of his lips didn’t sound as bad as ten minutes ago.

You immediately felt his lips moving against yours and his hands at your hips drawing you to him. Your breasts pressed against his strong torso when you felt the cross and the idea hit your mind. You sneak your hand behind his neck to undo the clasp of the necklace in a swift movement, disguising it as a caress to his hairline and playing with the short curls there. Your other hand roamed his chest to collect the valuable item, being able to feel his warm skin and the defined muscles twitching under your fingers.

You were barely pulling apart when his lips started leaving a trail of kisses to your cheek and your neck. One of his hands moving up your back to the cutout of your dress to caress the skin there, the other getting tangled in your hair. You were unable to hold a small moan that had you almost dropping the gold cross but managed to hold onto it and hide it between the folds of your dress.

Mihawk had thought you bold before but daring to steal a kiss from him was a level not an individual had ever ventured. Your lips did taste of the sweet red wine from before, but infinitely better. And why on all the Blues was he resisting you? He wondered while inhaling the sweet scent of flowers and fruits in your hair. Whatever foul mood that plagued him upon entering this residence had melted away upon your first approach to him.

He was about to just whisper in your ear to fuck with his business and take you to his ship when another throat clearing was heard. With a hand still caressing your back, Mihawk turned to the Host, ready to dismiss the man until the next morning.

Before being able to express his change of plans, the Warlord felt two things at the same time. Or more like the absence of them. Your skin under his hand and the familiar weight of his heavy pendant hanging from his neck.

Dracule Mihawk turned around just to see you disappear through the doors leading outside… in such a swift movement almost invisible to the naked eye and just possible by an expert haki user.

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You moved as fast as you could to the wide opening that led to the vineyards without drawing as much attention as you already had. You passed near a stunned Carlotta and murmured your only-emergency word.

“Cauliflower.”

Which was code for “don’t wait for me and get the hell out”. Last time you had to resort to it was 10 years ago and ended with a bounty poster with the byname “The Ghost Rose”. No image but the drawing of the rose carved knife you left behind.

This time, with a Warlord of the Seas after your trail you may have no such luck. Your only hope was being as fast as your abilities allow you.

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Part 2 soon.

Kudos to those who get the cauliflower reference.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

You're A What Now?

Just some silliness and then angst with Ghostbusters König because I can't commit to one genre.

TWs: Discussion of Nazi occupation of Austria, Nazis, Graphic Descriptions of Violence

Wordcount: 1.75 K

Story Below the Cut

Visuals [1] [2]

You're A What Now?

“DUCK!”

You dropped to the floor with a thud as the phantom screamed overhead.

“SHOOT”

ZAP!

You could see the electricity arcing overhead in great bright branches of lightening, scouring the wallpaper a charred black as Horangi wrangled the proton blaster under control.

“Nikto she’s coming your way!” Roze screamed over the sound of crackling lightening.

“On it,” a heavy Russian accent called back as a hulking machine of a man barrelled down the hallway, “south entrance clear!”

Horangi spit and hissed like a barn cat as he leaped over a broken chaise-lounge to dart after the phantasmal spectre, nearly tripping over you in the process. He looked down at you and barked, “On your feet, recruit!”

You scrambled to get your limbs under you as you watched the posse careening down the hall. You leaped to your feet and ran up behind them.

Okay, so, as of your first day on the Ghostbusters team, you can officially say that you believe in ghosts. Damn your lifelong skepticism, you weren’t going to fuck around and figure out just how bad a possession was gonna be on your first day.

You slammed into the wall before crashing into the kitchen where Roze, Nikto and Horangi were all running around like they’re heads were lopped off. You nearly missed it, but König was ducked in the corner with a screwdriver in his hand, cursing under his breath in his other tongue as though he could peel wallpaper with his venom.

“König where’s the trap at?” Horangi ducked under a piece of antique china being thrown his way.

“I-Verdammt-There’s a problem!” he called back.

“We don’t got time for problems, big guy,” Roze bellowed as she zapped the ghost with another blast.

“Then make time!” he spat before turning back to his tech.

“I thought Germans were great mechanics!” you yelled as you joined Roze with your own proton stream.

For just a brief moment, everyone in the room stalled. A plate crashed against the side of Horangi’s head, breaking the tension.

“Did you just call me German!?” König rose up to his feet as though he were a wraith himself.

“No no no not the time König!” Roze growled as she wrestled with the ghost.

“Now’s the perfect time!” König crossed his arms as he widened his stance, “I will not tolerate this clear display of intolerance and xenophobia from our newest recruit!”

Nikto took the opportunity to snatch the trap from König and got to working on it himself.

“I am not a German! I am not of such inferior breeding!” König crowed proudly as Horangi jumped over a flying chair.

“I thought you said the recruit was the xenophobe over here,” Horangi ducked behind an overturned table.

“Germany is a country of thralls and ignoramuses! The entire nation is devoted to blood and genocide!” König stamped his foot for emphasis, “I will not allow such a people to overrule my homeland any longer!”

“It was a brief occupation during Nazi Germany,” Nikto was barely legible over the sound of the spirit being slammed into a wall.

“And we will never forget!” König pumped a fist into the air defiantly.

“I’m sorry!” you wailed as you threw yourself behind the table with Horangi.

“Sorry is not enough! What, do you think I am some sort of Nazi!?” König spat.

“Your grandfather nearly was,” Horangi drawled blithely as he ducked behind the table to avoid a flying toaster.

You, Roze and Nikto all stopped what you were doing to look at König. Even the spirit stopped her struggling to watch the 6’10 scientist turn redder by the second.

“YOU SWORE TO NEVER SPEAK OF THAT.” 

And with that, König vaulted the table to lunge at Horangi.

“Get off me fatass!” Horangi growled as he hoofed König in the gut.

"Shut up you slimy little shit!"

"Tasty," Nikto drawled sarcastically.

Seeing an opportunity, the ghost quietly phased through the back wall of the kitchen while Nikto and Roze were distracted. You only noticed because you were watching Nikto drop the trap to try and haul König off Horangi, only to trip on the slime left behind and fall face forward onto the others in a cluster-fuck of legs and arms.

“Get off of me you commie bastard!” Hornagi howled as he thrashed at the bottom of the pile.

“Stop your squirming, I can’t get up!” Nikto snapped back as he tried to extract himself from the group.

Roze dropped her proton blaster back into its sheath before lumbering over to help Nikto get back to his feet while you stooped to extract Horangi from König’s grasp.

Once the group had all gotten to their feet, Roze sighed and stepped back before tapping the side of her headset, “Okay so, we lost track of the ghost.”

“What?” Hutch’s voice came through the static, “how? You were right there.”

“König had a shit-fit,” Roze grumbled as she stalked down the hall, “can you follow the readings through the house?”

“I’ll get right on it,” Hutch replied before the line cut.

You watched as Horangi wiped himself down as he shook the dust from his back. He looked at you, one of his spectacles cracked but somehow miraculously intact. He looked at König, who was doubled over wheezing while the adrenaline left his system and the pain from Horangi’s kick sunk in.

“You owe me a coffee,” Horangi joked, clapping your shoulder before following Roze and Nikto to the next room.

This, of course, left you alone with König.

You awkwardly nudged over to the door, worried that the man would clobber you next but he stopped you with one raised hand.

“Ah, recruit, I’m sorry you had to see that,” König huffed and puffed as he slowly drew himself to his full height again, “Gott in Himmel I’m getting too old for this.”

“I mean, you still seem pretty young,” you offered him politely.

“You’re too nice,” König hacked and heaved, “mein Gott, I thought he was a physicist, not a damn kickboxer!”

“Yeah, it looked like it hurt pretty bad,” you chuckled.

“I think I might need a minute,” König righted a fallen chair and plopped down onto it. Without a word, he pulled up a second and patted the seat, leaving it empty for you. You tentatively took the seat, a bit concerned the man beside you might keel over any minute.

“Sorry about getting so upset,” König sighed, “I just… Ever since coming to America, everyone here calls me German! Everyone! It’s not too hard to notice the difference, is it?”

“I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever met an Austrian before,” you told him.

“Really?” König sat up to look at you, “how long have you been in this city?”

“Long enough to know there’s not many Austrians here,” you laughed.

“Well, then consider me your first,” König determined, “but yes, um, I’m sorry about making such a fuss. I just… I cannot stand being called a German. Those damned Germans…” he shook his head, “never forget.”

“Never forget what?” you asked.

“The occupation,” König said, “Austria used to be a part of Germany, but it separated in 1866. Then Hitler comes around and he drums up all this Nazi support and tricks my people into falling for his lies. Then, he comes and steamrolls my country.”

“So there’s still a lotta tension, I’m guessing?” you tried to make a joke, but it fell flat on its face.

“Like you wouldn’t imagine,” König said, “but I guess I don’t hate them that much. I just hate how everyone calls me German! I’m not a damn German, I’m an Austrian! My family’s been in Austria for generations! It’s like no American knows how to look on a damn map.”

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

“And how would you feel being called a citizen of a country that once tried to crush you beneath its boot? My poor Opa… Well, you heard Horangi,” König spat.

“He was a Nazi?” you cringed despite yourself.

“Nearly a Nazi,” König swiftly corrected you, “he was a good soldier once, but he didn’t respect the Germans or what they stood for, so he broke his own leg to stop Hitler's men from sending him to war.”

“Wait, really?”

“Oh ja, but he was worried that might not be enough. So, he took on a new identity and moved across the country,” König explained, “he first tried to be an accountant, but he couldn’t do math so good so he went to go be a mechanic in my village. He used to be a panzermensch, so he was able to take some of those old skills he learned to get by.”

“Did anyone ever figure out who he was?” you asked curiously.

“Only one person,” König shrugged, “my Oma.”

You chuckled, “So he married her to keep her quiet?”

“Not then and there, but he did promise her that he would one day,” König snickered, “so they stayed low until Austria became independent again. Then my Opa took back his old name and married my Oma.”

“That’s really cute,” you smiled brightly.

“They were very cute,” König agreed, “but ja, if it weren’t for the Nazis, my Opa could have been a much richer man. The work in the village did not pay well, but he could have earned good money in the army. Mein Vater did not grow up with much, and he didn’t make much more for us when he married meine Mutter.”

“So Germany really fucked up a lot of your life,” you concluded.

“And then people go and call me German! It’s…” König sighed, “I do not like it very much.”

“Makes sense,” you nodded and leaned forward on your knees.

The silence between you stretched on forever, but a part of you never wanted it to end. There was something comfortable about being able to just enjoy the quiet with a man like König. Something about how he filled the space of the room left little space for conversation to try and shake the solid grounds you both stood on. It wasn’t like you often had a chance to talk, and when you did it normally was curt and strained in tone. This moment was a welcome break.

“Alright you two,” Hutch’s voice crackled through your headset, making you nearly jump a good five feet out of your seat, “the other guys need some help setting up that trap.”

“On it,” you replied as you dusted yourself off.

König stretched up beside you, hitting the ceiling with his hands before slumping back down.

“You ready?” you slipped the safety off your proton blaster.

König nodded and pulled his goggles back over his face.

“Alright,” you grinned, “let’s go bust some ghosts.”

AU Masterlist

[how-serene]

What Lurks At Night

Pairing - Michael Myers x Fem!Reader

Summary - This cat and mouse game had to come to an end eventually.

Word Count - 759

Warnings - light smut (still learning), mentions of female anatomy, knife play, mentions of blood, established relationship, original michael

A/N - slasher summer is upon us.

How could one feel like a stranger in their own home? 

Walking through the hallway felt like stepping into a pot of black ink. Long deep shadows enveloped the space, cradling your crouched figure. Your body buzzed with sheer panic, anchoring your shaking form to the carpeted floor. Darkness seemed to stretch on into infinite, offering no escape. Not even the moon’s silver light peeked in through the window. 

The house was alarmingly still, and quiet. As if even the sound of the outside world failed to penetrate through the thin walls. 

You slowly rose, using the wall behind you as a guide to navigate through the overwhelming darkness. The shadows followed, as your hand drifted over the wall, before landing on cool metal, in the shape of a bulb. Your fingers enclosed around the smooth doorknob, slowly turning it, worried he could hear the click of the lock's mechanics echo through the house. 

It was jammed. 

“No, no, no,” you whispered, pushing against the door. 

The irritated sound of creaking floorboards caused you to grow still, hand still gripping onto the doorknob. It was coming from the stairs, its heavy footfalls climbing the steps. It was easy to imagine his palm gliding over the railing, fingertips drumming against the wood as he descended closer. You felt your heartbeat pulse in your ears from anticipation. 

His silhouette came into view, the white’s of his mask somehow piercing through the surrounding shadows. A pair of black holes for eyes, hiding any known thought you might make out. The glint of the knife and its sharp outline was the only thing you could focus on though, even as he stalked towards you. 

His tall, looming figure was upon you before a word could escape your glossed lips. 

“Please-

You were suddenly picked up, and hoisted over his shoulder. The thrashing of your legs, and soft blows from your fists did next to nothing. He made his way through the hall, ignoring your grunts as he carried you into the bedroom. The thick material of his jumpsuit itched against your exposed stomach. 

“Damnit,” you muttered, eventually going limp. 

Michael shifted you in his hold, before gently resting your back on the shared mattress. 

“I really should have asked for a head start, huh,” you said, hand reaching for his collar as he hovered over you. 

The edge of the knife ghosted over your body, coming to rest above your collarbone. Ever so gently, Michael pressed the tip against your skin, until the sharp blade pierced through. You hissed, stifling back a sudden cry as dark rubies began to rise on the skin. The stinging sensation continued as he traced the knife down your collarbone, leaving behind a thin crimson trail. The moon shone through the billowing bedroom curtains, splashing over your bodies. You pressed up against him, a shuddered sigh falling from your parted lips. Instead of a black abyss looking back at you, was instead replaced with a set of warm brown eyes blown wide with fascination. 

Michael danced the knife over your chest, until it met the middle of your white satin bralette. It tugged against the smooth fabric, until the strap gave away with a clean snap. The silky material fell away, exposing your breasts. His hand traveled up, running through the dips and valleys of your body. 

“Michael…” you whined, as he kneaded the soft bundle of flesh. His thumb drew circles over the nipple bud, causing you to jerk up against him. Arousal pooled in your stomach, as you felt the sticky sensation of a wet patch forming on your matching underwear. 

You leaned forward, pressing your sheer glossy lips against his rubbery mask. The material was cold, and flat, serving as a reminder of how distant he felt at times. 

You considered gripping onto the tufts of hair, and pulling the mask back but knew better. Michael preferred to stay hidden during moments like this. 

The pads of his fingers dragged over the fresh open wound, smearing the wet blood. You flinched, sharply inhaling from the sensitivity. 

“Don’t tease anymore, love,” you pleaded, nearly whimpering beneath him. 

The blade lovingly caressed your sides, leaving behind cool phantom kisses until it reached the side of your hip. 

The thin band of your underwear was cut, the sound almost echoing in the desolate room. 

The still air stung against another fresh mark made over your hip, as beads of blood trailed down onto the clean comforter. 

Serving as a reminder that you were in for a long night.