#The observants have been pushing for the ghost king to get himself a mate

[sakuravalelp]

Danny's parents had asked to talk to him with a serious tone one afternoon. It was weird. They barely interacted because they spend so much time ghost hunting or in their lab. The few times they did interact, they were happily ranting about ghosts or complaining about Phantom.

There was also the passing comment about his grades, but he had already accepted that his notes where never going to go back to the A's and B's he used to get. It was already an accomplishment that he had managed to balance things so that he was passing everything.

The point was, Danny and his parents didn't interact much. So asking for a conversation in such serious tone had him dying (again) from anxiety. He was getting ready for the worst, thinking they may have found out about Phantom. He had his friends waiting just outside the door, and a Phantom comm in his ear, in case things went south. He could have never expected they would throw an arranged marriage on to him.

He could hear Tucker and Sam laughing both through the door and the comms. It took him a minute to reboot his brain and ask for clarifications. Apparently, he was meant to be wed to one of the Wayne wards. Those rich people from Gotham he had heard Sam parents talk about in the past.

How did that even happen? How does small town Fenton middle class family end up engaged to the Wayne's? Apparently mom comes from a rich family, to which she and aunt Alicia had cut contact with, but her arranged marriage never really got resolved. She had been contacted about it just the day before and they had decided Danny was the one to be wed.

Why was he the one that was getting push into a marriage? Jazz was the older sibling, shouldn't she be getting married? Danny tried not to get offended when his parents implied that it was because she actually had a future. She was still the straight A student in college, and he would barely graduate school. They had told him it was the best for him to be wed into a rich family, and for a second he wandered if he had traveled back in time to the 1600.

He didn't even know his family had in any way a status that allowed for arranged marriages, even less for an arranged marriage that hold the richest person's assets hostages. And now he was meant to go with an arranged marriage her mom had scaped from!

At this point he didn't think his life could get any more weird. Except, when he received the letter from the Wayne family, Sam had informed him that his to be husband was dead. Was that a joke? There were even news about he's death throughout the internet. How does an arranged marriage get resolved with one of the people being legally death? Because, yes, Danny was death, but legally he was alive!

But that didn't even matter, because Clockwork had appeared to tell him that this would solve the issue with the observants pushing for him to get a ghost marriage. So, his to be husband was a ghost, or at the very least a denizen. With both his life and his after-life pushing for the marriage, Danny just resign himself to his future. He hopes he at least get along with his husband.

Alfred: I am afraid I have some bad news. Earlier today, I received a notice that the arranged marriage between Master Bruce and Lady Madeline had not been voided like Master Thomas had once hoped. Bruce: Wait I was in a arriage marriage? Alfred ignored Bruce: There was an error in the process, and his engagement was passed to the next generation. Now that Mrs.Fenton's children are of age, one must wed into the Waynes, or the Waynes' assets are turned over to the Fentons. Bruce: WHAT?! Alfred: I understand that none of you would commit so I took the liberity of rolling a muilti-faced dice. Congratulations Master Jason, your fience, Mister Fetnon will arrive tomarrow. Jason :HUH!? BUT I'M LEGALLY DEAD! Alfred: Yes, which is why Mister Fenton accepted, believing he wouldn't have to commit. What a surprise this will be for him. Tim: Thanks for taking one for the team, Jay. Dick: Yeah, the rest of us nepo-babbies appreciate it. Damian: We shall forever remember this bravery and sacrifice.

[gremlingottoosilly]

That Unwanted Animal [COD Fantasy AU] CursedKnight!Ghost x fem!Reader

Ghost was cursed ever since his king helped him get back to life from his grave. A stench of death, strong and inescapable, renders him unable to find a woman who will be willing to bed him. What will happen when he finally finds a perfect mate? CW and Tags: Dub-con, power imbalance, Medieval Fantasy AU, knight!Ghost, servant!Reader, sex work, brothels, dub-con kissing and touching, obsessive Ghost, dark Ghost, basically Ghost finds a girl and forces her to be his, Ghost is a half-dead resurrected knight, soft reader, submissive Reader.

AO3 Word Count: 2426 Ch.1

The Knight is a weird one. 

He is looking at you – studying you with his eyes, ever prying, even seeing. He never blinks and you think he doesn’t need it – a walking corpse wouldn’t care to keep his eyes wet, to let his head down and take a few deep breaths to relieve himself. Then, again, a real walking corpse wouldn’t need a maiden to claim and take, a warm body to bring relief to his manhood. You wouldn’t be so sure that he is a walking corpse, a resurrected warrior – the legends are often false, after all, and wild guesses of prostitutes are not to be trusted. 

Not like you would know either way – the only path to reveal his not-death is to smell the rot from his skin and, well, it’s out of your reach. The sickness of a few years ago rendered you completely unable to smell anything – you aren’t sure if it’s a blessing in disguise now. Ghost – his name, you think, you heard, the whispers and gossip from the girls who worked alongside you – have been watching you sleep the whole night after he claimed you for the first time. You know because, well, you were watching him too, unable to fall asleep. Not with the gaze that made your blood freeze in your veins. Not with the knowledge that this man can just suck the life out of you, like he did with many of his enemies. You don’t know about this fact, of course – but you don’t want to come and try if the gossips are true. You feel sore, down there. It should be normal for a woman who works in a place like this – but you weren’t a prostitute. Never got interest from men who will pay a lot for a night with a beautiful woman, you were content with simply serving the patrons and the highest bidding girls. Turns out, the sex is…weird. Wet. Painful, but not quite. The Knight was generous in his offers, even as you tried to convince him you didn’t deserve any of it. That you were here just to serve tea, not to… “Lay still, luv. Do you not know what to do?” He pushed a pillow under your hips, making your back arch like a cat in heat. You were presented to him – involuntarily, with his large hands crowding your waist and putting you right where he wanted. Your legs spread and your womanhood glossy from arousal – you knew your fair share of what it comes when a man and a woman share the bed, but you never managed to get into it. To get a man to put something in you, that it. You felt foolish ever coming to the room he rented all for himself. For not running away the second you were put here like a lamb to the slaughter. “I’m not a c…courtesan, kind sir, this is all a…” He pushed his mouth on yours – his mask lifted just barely to let you see the light stubble and scars on his broad, chiseled jaw – before you even managed to finish. His tongue went all out, licking and sucking, making you whimper in the kiss that wasn’t your first, but surely took the crown of being the most memorable one. Surely, cursed knights had no idea about common courtesy. “Good. Wouldn’t hear jabs from Johnny then.” You don’t know who that was but, for some reason, you felt like a dog suddenly brushed against your hand. Perhaps, the lack of air from the steamy kisses made you delirious” But, it was before. Now, with his head propped on one of his hands as he was lying on his side, observing you quietly, like a predator in hiding. His other hand is caressing your shoulder, sometimes going further to play with your hair – surely, he didn’t care for the possibility of waking you up. Maybe, he knows you aren’t sleeping. Maybe, he got his fill and would let you go now. — You need to sleep. The road to my estate is a long one. You drop your act immediately, knowing it is pointless. Perhaps, you should have tried to be an actor instead of a brothel servant – would give you much more useful skills. — Your estate..? Maybe, he was so impressed with your tea-making skills, that he would invite you to be his maid. You may have lost your virtue, but it’s not like you’re interested in marriage anyway. You can live a quiet life, not dealing with anything too harsh, while receiving a nice salary working for the knight. Honorable job, stable job. Something that you should strive for. — You aren’t a courtesan. It sounded like a statement – and besides, you were telling him this before. There is no way he could have mistaken your common, grey clothing with rich gowns that expensive courtesans are wearing. Your manners are off too – the man would have to be blind, deaf and stupid to think that they would send you to him as a girl for entertainment, not servitude. — I’m not, sir. 

— Do you have family? 

— Do you? He laughs at your unexpected bravery. You close your eyes, expecting something – a kick in the face, perhaps, as many nobles love to do with servants who aren’t polite enough. Maybe, you wait for him to denounce you and finally leave you alone. Maybe, you wait for everything to just be a dream, a beautiful one with steamy scenes straight up from the romantic novels you sneaked out to read. But Ghost is as real as a bed you are sitting on. His hands are on your face, but not in a way you’d come to expect from a man of his position. He is caressing your skin, playing with hair that fell out on your cheeks – and you swear you can see his eyes crinkle with a smile when you struggle to maintain eye contact, your head suddenly feeling heavy and sleepy. Perhaps, the night activities did wear you off. Not enough to make you lower your guars though. — Yes, luv. You’re going to be a part of it. He sounds…sad. Broken, almost. You try to remember all of the rumors you heard about the undead knight, but the only thing you’re capable of thinking about is his resurrection – surely, it would mean he doesn’t have a living family anymore, right? For some bizarre, incredibly weird reason, you reach out for his hand. Not with your palm, too exhausted to actually lift it – but with your face, tilting your head to the side as you press your forehead against his hand in a cat-like manner. His fingers get lost in playing with your hair immediately, and you fight the desire to purr. What a weird sequence of events he brought upon you. He pats your head for a few minutes, allowing you two to sit in silence. You quite like it. — You can’t marry a commoner. 

— This isn’t a position for your opinion, doll. — But the madam… — Your madam can push your debt up her snobby arse. I would be bloody glad to end this whole place in a fire. You laugh involuntarily. Surely, he means it – just one look at his eyes reveals a man deeply wounded by the fact, that not even the amount of money he has or the status he holds as the greatest knight of the kingdom will but him affection. Some things cannot be done even for money – and not a single woman in the brothel would lower herself to sleeping with a walking corpse, resurrected by the most evil power in the continent. It’s a good thing you can’t sense the stench of death – and to you, Ghost is just a man. A man with big hands, cold body, and little crinkles in his eyes when he looks at you, so weak and whimpering. A man with money and power, who can get you away from this place. Surely, changing one cage for the other won’t make much of a difference – but you can trade freedom for comfort, especially when the alternative neither brings your freedom nor comfort. There isn’t a single woman who would change her place with you. You find solace in that. 

— You can’t just take me away. All of my life is here. — Bloody shitty life you got ‘ere. You will be better off with me. 

— As your conqubine? 

— As my wife. 

Oh. You can’t exactly argue with this proposal. *** He rides you on his horse for the whole day – and it isn’t at all romantic as you thought it would be based on the books. No one has ever written just how smelly horses are – how scary of a creature riders are mounting, and how hard it is to sit on your ass for a whole day. For some reason, you were expecting a carriage – but a lone knight wouldn’t be traveling with an escort, you think. No matter how much of an influence he has over this country. 

You were thinking about running away for a few times – when he was making stops to let the horse rest and would slip you on the ground, allowing your agonizing limbs to stretch out a bit. You could escape easily when he got distracted with something – but then you thought about forests, bandits, and the trajectory that your life has taken. You may not like being a pried possession of a dead man, but he by far isn’t the cruelest one out here. Many other patrons of the whore house are much, much worse. 

He slips you on his lap when you finally get to a place where you can eat and sleep in peace – his mansion is as big as they come, you think, but the desire to explore is cut short by his hands on your hips. Reminding you of your place like you didn’t already get it the first time. You stir in your place, uncomfortable when he is pushing you down on his throbbing erection – how this could even ride a horse if the only thing on his mind was your soft body pressed against his, your helpless form clinging to him like he was the only protector here. 

Ghost is supposed to be on the good side – not an Empire soldier, at the very least, he isn’t taking crying innocent trophies from the battlefield and throwing them in his harem. He doesn’t even have a bloody harem, all the women – and men alike – disgusted by the stench of death he cannot wash away no matter the hours he spends in the bath. But you, pretty maiden waiting for him at this brothel of yours, aren’t like others. Maybe it’s a blessing – maybe the gods finally answered all of his threats and sent him the prettiest angel they had. 

No matter, he is still going to make sure to use you properly. Slowly, Ghost picks up food and feeds you – and if he can judge, you aren’t exactly enjoying the feeling of his fingers in your mouth. Probing, touching – you whimper when he pushes a piece of fruit past your lips. Poor thing, he thinks – you need to learn how to treat him with respect. With love, even more, as he wants for you to like him no matter how hard it could be for a dumb little you. — You shouldn’t feed me like this, sir. You’re so polite, so king – the first time a maiden was king to someone like him. The first time a girl isn’t screaming in his hold, trashing, and crying as she feels his hands roaming up her body. Gods, you’re perfect – he can’t wait to introduce you, finally shutting Soap for good. Finally getting something good for himself, after all the years of pure shit. Just wait – he can make an honest woman out of you. Give you estate, money, give you his status and the treatment of a royalty. If Price would feel generous, you’d be a duchess in no time. And, oh he knows, Price will be generous. 

— Why not? 

Just one look at your open mouth, glossy from drool, at your trembling lips, made him harder than before. He was denied mortal pleasures for so long, he forgot how soft women are – how pretty they look while sitting on his lap. No woman would approach him after the damn Emperor decided to resurrect him – but you don’t have a choice on the matter. But you don’t behave like you want to run away, at least. He wants to think that you will like it here – not because he truly cares about your opinion, but because you’d become sweeter. — It would be a waste. I can’t taste much of anything. 

Ah. The lack of smell – he remembers. Poor girl, he thinks, not only did you spend your life serving the courtesans and patrons at the brothel, but you also did so without taking any pleasure in nice fragrances or tasty food. Such a miserable girl – tough luck that you ended up with him, where he physically cannot feel pity for you. 

— Hm. There is a downside to your affliction.

— Many people would consider the lack of smell itself a downside. — Not me. You’re perfect. No one has even told you you’re perfect. Not like this, at least. You see a jaded soldier sitting you on his lap, his hands are holding the fat of your hips and kneading it like dough, but his eyes are…warm. Not kind, not gentle, but with the level of obsession that you never thought you’d see in this day and age. You press your head against his chest in a pure instinct – not wanting to be too harsh on your new husband. Not even daring to act like a spoiled brat, even though you were never one to begin with. 

He is a lonely man, you know. Angry and cynical, killed more people than you ever known for your whole life – but it all seems so distant, so unreal now. The killings and the wars and resurrections are something from the children’s books. From dark romance novels that you were reading, not from reality. Reality is that you’re sitting on the lap of a man who took you from working in the worst place you could have. Reality is, that you’re sitting on the lap of a very sad, tortured man who might need something nice. Who might give you something nice in return. 

Hm. 

You might like the sound of that. 

[sanjisock]

more than words

50 words; 50 sentences

ao3

#01 - Motion

A spinning kick, a swing of blade — the two meet and hit but don’t hurt, and Nami sighs exasperatedly at such a pathetic display of a mating dance.

#02 - Cool

Zoro stands his ground as his enemy — finally, finally — falls unceremoniously on his back, unconscious, and Sanji thinks for a moment that the sight of Zoro — wild and victorious and ready to take on the world — looks kind of, maybe, slightly cool.

  #03 - Young

Brook sees the two — dying to die for each other, the weight of their friends’ lives pulling down their shoulders — and he thinks too many people forget how young they still are.

  #04 - Last

The Cook is the last person Zoro would consider lending a hand in a fight — “who would want to work together with that dumbass anyway,” he lies whenever anyone asks, and doesn’t admit that it’s because he trusts Sanji’s ability to stand his ground, wholly and fully.

  #05 - Wrong

Sanji knows Zoro, like him, understands better than most — that this nakama thing isn’t just something you’d die for, but something you’d kill for, too.

  #06 - Gentle

Sanji manages to catch Kitetsu before it rolls off from the deck during a storm, and in that moment, Zoro knows, from the reverent way he regards the swords in his hands, that this isn’t the first time the Cook has wielded one.

  #07 - One

“Calm down, Marimo,” Sanji says with a dismissive wave of his hand when Zoro asks about the sword a few days later, “I’m not about to take your place as the ship’s swordsman; a cook doesn’t use his hands to fight, and I had a terrible teacher anyways.”

  #08 - Thousand

“I’m worth two thousand men,” Zoro grumpily says, almost sulking, and Nami can’t resist patting his head like she would to a little boy pulling the pigtail of a girl he has a crush on.

  #09 - King

You’re like the prince of Dumbass Kingdom, Zoro says, and it takes Sanji everything in him not to blurt out, Dumbass Kingdom sounds about right; wait ‘till you see the fucking king.

  #10 - Learn

Watching Sanji converse fluently with a couple of tourists in a Northern language, Zoro wonders when he will ever stop learning something new about Sanji — or if he ever will, at all.

  #11 - Blur

When Zoro finally comes to, the wounds from Bartholomeow Kuma is muted by Chopper’s medicine, a dull throb at the back of his consciousness; but the sharp pain against his heart feels raw still, visceral and razor-sharp, tucked alongside the ache of Sanji’s sacrifice.

#12 - Wait

“Wait,” he manages to croak out before Sanji flees the room, the word spilling out unbidden; he isn’t quite sure why, but he knows that he wants the Cook to stay.

  #13 - Change

“Have some fucking decency ,” Sanji yells, throwing a shirt at Zoro’s direction; the brute has been walking around the ship bare-chested like an eyesore ever since they entered the summer island, and Sanji is just trying to do everyone a favor — and definitely not because there’s a different kind of heat pooling at the pit of his stomach.

#14 - Command

Robin watches the two in amusement — Zoro could have easily refused to be Sanji’s pack mule, and she can hear him grumbling about it still; and yet, here they are, once again, together at the island’s marketplace.

#15 - Hold

Sanji is rough around the edges, bristling at the slightest touch; Zoro knows he needs to be gentle, but he doesn’t quite remember the last time he held something that isn’t a hilt of a sword, without meaning to hurt . It’s a learning curve. 

  #16 - Need

Sanji knows Zoro is a dumbass, but it takes a special kind of stupid to think he would never be good enough for Sanji, when he’s all that Sanji has ever needed.

#17 - Vision

Zoro never regrets losing his eye, but he wishes, sometimes, he could still take in the sight of Sanji with an unimpaired vision, just to see more of him.

  #18 - Attention

“You’re starting a fight, Marimo?” Sanji growls, voice low and dangerous, and Zoro thinks, yes, yes, anything to get you to look at me.

  #19 - Soul

He loves the kid like a brother, but sometimes Zoro hates how Luffy can easily see past his gruff words and feigned ignorance; the way Luffy only needs to take one look at him to guess, “you’re worried about Sanji, aren’t you?”

  #20 - Picture

He carries around everyone’s bounty posters, Sanji tells himself, and tries not to think too hard about how the only one he kept in his breast pocket is Zoro’s, folded neatly against his heart.

  #21 - Fool

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done so far,” Sanji says when they part, lips still tingling from their earlier kiss, because Zoro’s love is fierce and consuming and Sanji knows, ever since he was just a kid with the iron mask, that he doesn’t deserve any of this.

  #22 - Mad

“Don’t you ever say that kind of shit again,” Zoro snarls, slamming the wall beside Sanji’s head, his voice trembling with a kind of anger Sanji has never seen him with before — frustrated, desperate. “You’re important to me, Cook.” 

  #23 - Child

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji tells himself every day, the voice ringing in his ears; you stopped being a child deserving of a dream the moment you chained Zeff down to the ground.

  #24 - Now

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji wants to tell himself, but the voice stutters, drowned out by the sight of the kid bleeding on the deck of Baratie — he’s a swordsman, too, acknowledged by none other than Dracule Mihawk himself — but a kid still, throwing himself headfirst towards the case of his dreams, steps unweighted by regrets.

  #25 - Shadow

Zoro doesn’t know which is worse — Sanji, forever running away from the shadow his brothers cast; or Zoro, chasing after someone who is no longer around to leave behind a shadow anymore.

  #26 - Goodbye

After Whole Cake Island, there’s a period of time where Zoro would follow Sanji around the ship like a lost puppy, unwilling to let the Cook out of his sight; Usopp definitely didn’t expect Zoro to have such a cute side, and crouches over his new invention to hide his smile.

  #27 - Hide

“We’re not doing that here,” Sanji hisses, and forces himself not to laugh at the pout on Zoro’s face; the galley might be secluded enough, but they’re still on the enemy ship’s galley.

  #28 - Fortune

It is annoying, the way Sanji keeps reminding Zoro that he could have collected Mihawk’s bounty and lived the rest of his life in wealth; especially when Zoro would trade any riches in the world just to stay by the Cook’s side.

  #29 - Safe

It catches Zoro off guard when Sanji starts talking about his mother; it’s a short anecdote, a single happy memory, but Zoro can tell by the way Sanji tells it — guarded and hesitant, like he wants to keep the words close and safe — that he has never shared it with anyone else before.

  #30 - Ghost

Usopp starts shaking like a leaf as soon as they enter the abandoned, dilapidated house, and Sanji gently tells him, sometimes the worst ghost is the one you create yourself; Zoro feels the weight of Wado on his hip, and agrees.

  #31 - Book

“I don’t need this,” Zoro grumbles with a blush, pushing the book back into Nami’s hands, trying hard to ignore Nami’s laughter and the words ROMANCE FOR DUMMIES emblazoned on the book’s jacket.

  #32 - Eye

Shusui sinks into the man’s stomach, all the way to the hilt, and Zoro thinks of the way Sanji curled into himself as the man landed a lucky hit on the cook’s hand. An eye for an eye.

  #33 - Never

“This is my first time,” Zoro whispers, head ducking away as he feels his face flush at the admission; but Sanji’s hand rests on his cheek, encouraging, and he can feel the curve of Sanji’s smile as their lips meet and Sanji replies, “it’s mine, too.”

  #34 - Sing

Luffy cheers when Zoro and Sanji comes into view, and he lets them take on the next batch of enemies; a good fight is always fun, but watching Zoro and Sanji fight is even more so — like watching a dance that only those two know the melody to.

  #35 - Sudden

“What, are we supposed to be surprised?” Nami says, barely looking up from the map she’s working on; Sanji sputters, face redder than the tomatoes he served during breakfast, and Nami feels almost bad for him.

  #36 - Stop

“But we — Zoro and I — how did you know?” Sanji asks, and promptly stops asking questions when he realizes the rest of the crew aren’t surprised either; who could blame them, when his and Zoro’s sexual tension can be seen from a mile away.

  #37 - Time

Sanji knows they have to break apart soon, just to breathe, but right now all he cares about is to taste as much of Zoro as possible — he has waited two years for this, and it has been two years too long.

  #38 - Wash

They have their fair share of fighting — and how, considering the amount of repairs Usopp has to do for Merry just from their petty fights alone — but what the crew doesn’t know is that they also have this thing, this quiet thing, just him and the Cook and a stack of dirty plates between them.

  #39 - Torn

“In retrospect,” Robin observes, “dressing up our dear cook in a maid uniform would not only lower the enemy’s firepower, but also ours, considering how distracted our swordsman has clearly become.”

  #40 - History

“Why do you keep him around, mister?” The kid asks, pointing at the old swordsman with three swords and an eye scar by the peer; Sanji laughs, pats the kid on the head, and says, almost wistfully — “you can say we have some history.”

  #41 - Power

Sanji tugs at Zoro’s sleeve, and Zoro follows suit despite his complaints — Sanji thinks, distantly, how much of an honor it is, to have so much control over such a powerful man.

  #42 - Bother

“I didn’t have enough time to make this three-tier ice cream cake for our lovely Nami-san and Robin-chan because you distracted me!” Sanji says with a hard jab of a finger against Zoro’s chest, and Zoro thinks, good .

  #43 - God

Zoro does not believe in gods, but there’s a hymn of a noise when Zoro presses his lips against the crook of Sanji’s neck, the hallelujah of the world breaking apart as their bodies move together, and he thinks, close enough .

  #44 - Wall

 Zoro slams his fist into the wall of Polar Tang, and is taken aback by the depth of his own frustration; he knows Luffy and the others will get Sanji back from Big Mom’s place, but it unsettles him still, the way Sanji hides himself under layers of pretenses when Zoro has bared so much of himself to the Cook in return.

  #45 - Naked

“What the fuck was that for , Mosshead?!” Sanji shrieks, justifiably furious, leg raised and on fire after Zoro sliced his tray into two without preamble; Zoro can’t exactly tell the Cook he did it because he was too surprised at the sight of Sanji in a swimming trunk and nothing else.

  #46 - Drive

Why Zoro , people sometimes ask, but the answer is easy to Sanji — nobody drives him crazy the way Zoro does, and is that not what true love feels like?

  #47 - Harm

Zoro knows Sanji will be furious ; but as he faces Kuma, knowing at least the Cook is out of harm’s way, he knows he would do this a hundred times over, a thousand times over, a million times over.

  #48 - Precious

Sanji is sitting by the corner of the infirmary, face pale with red-rimmed eyes, and Zoro thinks he’s never had that, before — people who would weep for him, knowing that he is more than dried scars and calloused skin.

  #49 - Hunger

This thing we have is dangerous, Sanji tells him, but Zoro doesn’t care — he already has a craving, the same way he needs a booze when it’s been too long, except he thinks that this vice will surely kill him.

  #50 - Believe

This isn’t faith; this is the truth, Zoro’s truth, the same way he knows he will become the Greatest — Sanji will find that elusive sea of his, and Zoro will stay with him until it is the last thing he can do.

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 17)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: Alisha learns that there’s more to her nature than she initially realised and a surprising death of an adversary brings its own problems.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @wonderlander594 @madamquacklemore @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @she-who-is-named-katie @ordinarymom1 @fuzzyflowervoid @maybelightning @lady-lazarus-declermont

The Story So Far

———

Baldwin remained silent as she spoke, listening intently to the torrent of pent up worries regarding her sudden linguistic abilities.

He only moved to gather the bedcovers around her shoulders when he sensed her temperature lowering from the high of their previous exertions.

“It’s an old building,” he explained his actions when she stopped speaking in surprise, “I don’t want you to be cold.”

She took a deep breath, in part because of the length of time she had spoken but also to defeat the tears stinging her ducts, touched by the tender gesture.

“Thank you,” she gave him a faint smile, clearing her throat, “but that’s everything up until now, I didn’t even realise you had been speaking...Italian?” She asked.

“Yes, although it was a slightly archaic version. I spent a lot of time in Florence in the late 1500’s.” He mused.

“So, what do you think this means?” She asked, her eyes brimming with hope that he had an explanation.

“Not to discount your distress or concern,” he asked before lightly stroking his knuckles over her cheek tenderly, “as they are both clearly very real, I simply ask for clarification, is that the total measure of your stress at this moment.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be glad to alleviate it,” he looked relieved, an expression that confused her, “there’s nothing wrong with you, nothing in you has changed, you are a daemon.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“My brother hypothesises it has to do with the daemon’s innate drive to communicate,” he started, “he discovered that daemons have an instinctual proficiency for understanding more than their native tongue. I suppose this is the first time I can be grateful for his little sociological study, if only because I can use it to reassure you.”

“But, I never had a talent for languages.”

“Apparently you do.”

Alisha opened her mouth to argue but the sense in his words reverberated in her mind. In truth, she hadn’t really tried before. Any language classes in school were so boring they all blended into the other subjects she had no interest in.

Which was all of them.

Trying to differentiate one experience from another in high school usually just led to a dull grey haze.

She looked away sheepishly, feeling the rising warmth of her cheeks.

“It’s not widely known, at least not at a confirmed scientific level, there’s no reason you should have known this, so there’s no reason for being ashamed of it.”

“I still feel like an idiot for not realising sooner,” she shook her head, “you already have a crisis on your hands with the vampire killing.”

“It’s real enough to upset you so it’s real enough to be a problem.”

“You have more important things to worry about.”

“Not more important than you.”

She nodded but still averted her eyes.

“Alisha,” he spoke quietly, “you are my wife, not my servant, my underling or my employee, you can share your concerns with me, it doesn’t matter how major or minor you deem them to be. Do you understand?”

Somehow, Baldwin knew that the inhale of breath she took was not to affirm her understanding but to protest.

Before she could give voice to her disagreement, he cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her attention.

“Tell me that you understand.”

“I understand.”

Upon receiving the answer he wanted, his own attention wandered down to her lips and he leant down to press a soft kiss there.

His domineering manner fired a predictable impulse within her, one which prompted her to return his kiss with fervour, pressing her body into him.

Baldwin’s hand moved from her chin to the side of her neck as the other slid up her back to hold her firm against him.

“What’s this?” He asked between kisses as she moved to straddle his lap.

“Don’t think you can handle not being in charge for a while?” She teased, pushing him down onto the mattress.

“I am always in charge, little nightingale. You should know that.”

“Maybe, but I’m sure it’s not everyday that Baldwin de Clermont is put on his back.” She clasped his hands in hers and leant forward, kissing him whilst moving his hands over his head and pressing them down onto the mattress.

“It isn’t but I am exactly where I want to be, the view is exquisite.” He countered, allowing his gaze to sweep her naked form in admiration.

“If I let you go will you take over?”

“I haven’t yet, have I?”

The intimation was clear, her position over him was a temporary allowance, but an allowance nonetheless.

“I don’t know if you’re allowing this because you trust me or because you don’t perceive me to be a threat.”

“My dearest wife, you are very much a threat,” he chuckled, “in two thousand years there has been no-one as capable of distracting me so thoroughly. I think you could convince me to destroy empires, if you were so inclined.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she giggled, releasing his hands to lightly drag her fingers down his chest, “I was told that vampires are part wolf, is that’s true?”

“We do have some shared traits.” He admitted.

“The hunting and the growling?”

“Does it bother you?”

“The growling bothers me, but not in a bad way, I find it actually kinda hot!”

“Is that a fact,” He placed his hands on her thighs, “what else ‘bothers’ you?”

“You’re the vampire, can’t you tell.”

“Of course I can but I like to hear you say it.”

“Why?”

“Because you get the sweetest blush in your cheeks when you discuss intimate things,” he cocked his head to the side and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, “yes, just like that.”

“Do I,” she teased, biting her lip as she shifted to sink down onto him, slowly, less to torture him and more to let herself accommodate his size in the unfamiliar position.

“Yes,” he groaned lightly in triumph, sliding his hands up her back as he sat up, “and I need to be closer to admire it.”

He murmured, moving to wrap her legs around his waist, somehow deepening himself within her, making her shudder with the sensation.

“A compromise?” He suggested, brushing the hair from her shoulder to place a kiss there.

“I knew you couldn’t help it.”

She kissed him, moving slowly, gradually finding a rhythm that kept them as connected as possible.

“You’re always so warm,” he observed with wonder.

Baldwin steered clear of warm-bloods in terms of intimate partners. There was too much risk of exposure if they weren’t a creature and too high a risk of manipulation if they were.

Vampire sex tended to be a much more competitive event with both sides vying for dominance and that definitely had its advantages in terms of satisfaction.

This was different, even for him.

The blood rushing to bloom under the skin of her cheeks and chest irradiated his entire being with intense heat.

He had previously observed that her sweet apricot scent became stronger when they made love but again, there was something else he sensed, something even more overpowering yet somehow hidden.

Instinctively he knew it wasn’t the result of the mate bond and yet it was also something that he had sensed before.

He swiftly chided himself for allowing his mind to overpower the moment that he had been craving whilst they were apart.

Growing more bold, she leant back, bracing her hands on his thighs and using the extra leverage to increase the tempo.

Initially missing the direct contact of her chest against his, he could not object to the sight of her body pulled taut before him.

He effortlessly moved to support the small of her back with his hand as the other rested on the side of her neck.

He reached up and stroked his thumb across her bottom lip, subtly suppressing a groan when she opened her mouth and closed her lips around it, sucking whilst keeping his gaze.

With the digit sufficiently lubricated, he reluctantly withdrew from her welcoming mouth and swept it lightly across her clitoris, feeling her clench in an attempt to keep building the high he was pushing her towards.

“Very good little nightingale,” he praised, “hold it for me, until I say you can let go, can you do that?”

“As you command my lord, my husband,” she sat up, again bringing her body flush against his and kisses him deeply, “my king!”

The growl that escaped his throat tested her resolve, it was so deep, primal and rippled straight through her core.

“My apologies, sweetheart.” He rasped.

In an instant, she was on her back.

Despite the contrition and show of dominance, he caught her gaze, looking for any indication she was uncomfortable or displeased.

Instead, she gave him an enthusiastic nod to continue.

Baldwin leant forward, his lips just ghosting over hers as he reached under their pillow and produced the sewn favour she had made him as a wedding gift.

“Bound by your heart to my will?”

“Always,” she replied instantly, “just tell me, what is your will and I will happily obey it.”

Baldwin’s gaze fleeted around their bed for a brief moment.

“There’s a bedpost just behind your head, reach behind you and feel it.”

“Got it!” She grinned, in the heat of excitement and anticipation.

In reply, he proceeded to tie her wrists together around the post with the favour.

When he was satisfied that she couldn’t move away, he again rejoined her on the bed.

“If I have to leave for a short while again, it is this scene I want in my head,” he entered her again, “you are completely bare to me, open and honest.”

His motion was deliberate and slow, almost reverent, especially in the way he admired her body.

“I am yours, all of me.”

“Yes, you are,” the almost animalistic, possessive nature of his words somehow spoke to a dangerous and hidden part inside her heart.

He resumed his attention to her clit, gradually slowing his strokes as she grew closer and quickening after letting the impending climax fade.

“Please,” she whined after the third trip to the edge and back again.

“Anything, ask for anything my darling and it’s yours, you need only ask!”

“Let me, please?”

He shook his head with a tut.

“Be specific, let you do what?” He leant down, taking her nipple into his mouth before releasing it and blowing his cold breath over the puckered flesh.

Erotic talk was not her forte, it felt fake and vaguely pornographic to her. But she was desperate, he was challenging her and he wasn’t giving in for anything less than a spirited plea.

“Let me cum,” she blurted out, “please.”

“Such a polite little thing but still such a sinful mouth,” he teased.

“Baldwin-“ she pleaded, desperation in her eyes and he knew he could not deny her longer, not when she gave that look.

“Sweet Nightingale, you can fly, go on.”

The release was all the more powerful for the brief denial that she didn’t even feel him release her wrists from the bindings.

Still, he must have because when her senses returned, he was placing the tenderest kiss on first one then tying the favour around the other in a bow.

“Now, I want to please you.” She moved to sit up but he shook his head.

“I’m sure you will but I am not done with you yet.”

“But-“ she protested.

“Consider this a teachable moment,” he kissed her lips, then between her breasts, “you begged me to let you, what was the word?” He teased, his kisses trailing down her stomach.

“I can’t say it now.” She blushed furiously and he stopped to look up.

“Trust me, you will, teachable moment, remember,” he settled between her thighs and licked a light strip over the still sensitive bundle of nerves, “be careful what you wish for.”

Alisha woke up to find the bed empty, the sound of hushed argument coming from the lower levels of the chateau.

A short time later, a decidedly annoyed Baldwin returned to their room as the sound of a departing motorcycle echoed back down the large driveway.

“Was that Gallowglass?” She asked sleepily.

“Unfortunately it was.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Is everyone okay?” She asked, the worry evident in her voice.

“Everyone who matters is fine, the one person who isn’t is Peter Knox, a witch and a fairly powerful one.”

“What happened to him?”

“Killed by a vampire. Luckily I have an alibi and as omnipresent as the witches believe me to be, it would be impossible to both kill him in London and satisfy my wife here, all at the same time.”

“In that case,” she yawned. “you must be innocent because I can barely move.”

“Is that a good thing or-“

“Definitely a good thing .”

“Alisha-“ he started, his tone contrite, “we need to-“

“Return to Sept-Tours, I know,” she stopped him with a comforting smile, “I’ll go get ready.”

“Thank you,” he placed a kiss on the top of her head, “for being so patient with me.”

“I know who I married.”

It was a day later that she finally saw him, having been locked in meetings with his Knights, the other de Claremont’s, hunting.

Alisha barely even heard the door open as she repacked her overnight bag, just in case.

“Did you find Miyako?” She asked, turning to look at Baldwin.

The vampire had left before they arrived, a fact that had greatly aggravated Baldwin.

“I spoke to her, briefly,” he nodded, offering nothing more, clearly in his ‘War General’ frame of mind.

Alisha approached him carefully, stopping to place a kiss on his cheek.

He looked down at her and for a fraction of a moment, his stony expression cracked.

“Baldwin, I think-“ she started.

“The grounds aren’t safe,” he interrupted instead, “stay within the walls of Sept Tours.”

“Alright.”

He looked away for a moment, his mind clearly fixed on something.

“But there’s something else,” she prodded.

“Hmm, yes, I forgot to ask, do you know when Michael found out about the murals? I don’t think he would have trusted Peter enough to discuss it with him. If they plan on pinning it on us, I’d like to at least have an alternative suspect.”

“Well, I know Michael was not in the Congregation when he took me in and if he dropped off the map like Christina said, that was at least twelve years ago.”

“You moved in with Michael after your parents’ death, yes?”

“Yes, I already told you that, our first date, I know a lot’s happened since but it was only a few weeks ago.” She teased.

“I remember, of course, I am sorry.”

“Baldwin, that was a joke, you have a lot of spinning plates. I understand that.”

“You really are too good to be true.” He placed a gentle kiss on her temple and headed to a side table to pour himself some wine from a decanter.

“This is a sample from one of my - sorry - our Tuscan vineyards, would you like to try it.”

“Of course I would but, word of warning, I’m not good with wine. I’m afraid my critique won’t be more sophisticated that ‘good’ or ‘bleugh’.” She warned, taking a seat at a small table.

He chuckled a little as he approached, placing a glass of wine in her hand.

“Thank you.” She took a drink and nodded, “hmm, oaky, earthy, freshly cut lawn-”

“Okay, point made,” he gave her a smile that was almost sad.

“No, but wait, I’m getting subtle notes of tyre fire,” she took another drink, “hot air balloon-“

“Be serious, for a moment.” He asked.

“Fine. It honestly tastes a bit metallic but other than that, perfectly fine.”

“I didn’t mean the wine,” he placed his hand over hers, “you know that I love you and would do anything to protect you?”

“Yes, I think you said that you would protect and adore me.”

“And what was your obligation in return?”

“That I would love and obey you,” she noted that he was avoiding her gaze.

“Baldwin, what is it?”

He stood, collecting their empty glasses and placed them on a table, his back to her.

“Michael disappeared out of the blue, he just left one day, but that was two years ago, not fifteen.” Baldwin told her evenly.

“No, he was in New York, with me.”

“He had a secure posting at Cambridge University in England, he was well celebrated in his faculty until one day he just fell off the face of the earth.”

“So, what are you saying? If only the last two years are possible, everything that I remember from before that...“ she trailed off.

“We could find no trace of an accident at the time you said, not one with the surname Black, or caused by a drunk driver.”

“I-I don’t-“

“Alisha, if you can give me any details about your parents that will help narrow it down.”

“There are photos of them in my home, in New York-“

“Yes, I had them sent over for you,” he nodded towards her small frames on a table, “go look, tell me what you see.”

“These are my frames...” she picked one up and turned to look at him, “but what is this symbol, where are my photos?”

“Do you not recognise the symbol?”

“No, I, wait-“ she realised, “it’s the same one on my violin but why are they in here, where are the photos that were here?”

“We don’t believe there ever were any.”

“I’m sorry, we?”

“Sarah and Emily,” he answered carefully, “it looks like a binding spell, perhaps even a memory spell.”

“I thought only witches could be spellbound, not daemons.”

“You couldn’t be spellbound as a witch, because you’re not one.”

“Exactly, I-“

“Nor are you a daemon,” he interrupted, “Alisha, you are not a daemon either, Marcus was checking the effect of the solution you took, comparing it to DNA profiles from daemons in their study, yours does not match theirs, or witches, or vampires, or humans.”

“This’ insane, I’m a daemon, of course I am, what else could I be?”

She swayed, a sudden fatigue started lapping at the edges of her mind. Baldwin was there in an instant to steady and lead her to sit on the edge of their bed.

The feeling was sickeningly familiar, when Christina had drugged her with vampire blood to get her to safety.

The metallic tang of the wine suddenly made sense.

“Baldwin, what am I?” She asked, hoping to play off her realisation of her husband drugging her as understandable panic about her situation.

She had to get away, not knowing how or why, all she knew is that she had to escape from him in that moment.

“You are my wife, that’s all that matters right now but you must tell me,” he framed her face in his hands, a genuinely earnest look on his face, “is there anything about your past, about your parents that you have not told me?”

“No,” she answered truthfully, “everything I know I have told you already.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer and answered in a language she did not recognise.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he noted her confusion, “it is a quote by a very old friend, it means ‘those who are sincere are always in a state of worry’, I never realised how true that was until now.”

The fatigue seemed to be spreading more slowly than before, evidently, Baldwin gave her a lower dose in order to interrogate her before she passed out. Still, the undertow was pulling stronger with every passing moment.

“Can I have some water, please?” She asked.

“Yes, of course.” He got up to retrieve the filled, and iced, water jug Francois had brought to the room.

With his back turned, she bolted for the door, opening it a crack before his hand pushed it closed.

“Those are stone steps,” he cautioned from behind her, “you wouldn’t make it to the ground floor before passing out and the fall would kill you, that’s not happening.”

Her shoulders sagging in defeat, she leant her head against the heavy oak door.

“You drugged me.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact, a recrimination.

“I had no choice, please, come lie down.” He placed his hand on her arm but she wretched it from his grasp.

“Let go!”

She backed away from him, unsteadily.

“Alisha, listen to me-“ his calm, measured tone was infuriating.

“You betrayed me.” She hissed.

“Never,” he answered firmly, “I promised to protect you and that is what I am doing.”

“By knocking me out cold, how do I know any of this is even true, its all just your word and now I know how much I can trust that.” She swayed, taking another step back when he moved forward.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“When you fall I will catch you, I really don’t care how you feel about that! I will not let you get hurt.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I need you to trust me and if believing that what I say is the truth will convince you then I am sorry to do this, knowing it will hurt you.”

“How much more could you possibly hurt me?”

“By asking you,” he sighed, “Alisha, tell me the names of your parents?”

She laughed at the ridiculous assertion that she wouldn’t be able to and opened her mouth, fully expecting herself to speak their names, as though on automatic pilot.

But there was nothing, no names, no faces.

It was as though waking from an extremely vivid dream, those first few seconds of confusion and disbelief that what had happened was not real.

It had to be real, she was there, she felt it.

A whooshing darkness clouded her senses, accompanied by the sensation of floating.

She fought to stay present for no other reason than sheer defiance.

When she managed to open her eyes again, she was on the bed, a comforter pulled over her as Baldwin sat in silent contemplation by the bed.

“Baldwin-”

“Sweetheart,” he took her hand in his, “I promise that everything will be well, and in time, you will understand why this was necessary. On that day I will beg for your forgiveness but right now, I will do what I must.”

She shook her head, willing herself to yell, scream, fight but she had lost the battle and the warm lure of unconsciousness was proving hard to resist.

“I will see you soon, my little nightingale.” She faintly heard him speak before feeling a light, cooling kiss on her forehead.

Gallowglass looked between the heavy locked door and Baldwin as the older vampire outlined his instructions.

“It’s easier to contain her in a few rooms on the same level than in my tower.” Baldwin explained.

“You’re asking me to be the lass’ jailer, ‘easier’ really doesn’t come into it.”

“I’m not asking you anything,” Baldwin answered coldly, “I’m telling you to keep her contained in those rooms, she is not to leave, no-one is to go in, save Francois for meals.”

“I imagine they will protest at her being kept a prisoner.”

“If they do not wish to reside here under those conditions, there is a simple remedy for that.”

“Marcus has given them sanctuary.”

“And I don’t intend on revoking it, but it does not mean they get to dictate what happens while they are here.”

“And what if you can’t find out where she actually came from, what will you do?”

Baldwin froze him with a glare and turned to leave.

“If you’re considering what I think you are, just know that not only will I not do it for you, I won’t let you do it either.” Gallowglass called after him.

“There is no record of her existing before two years ago, her memories are a constructed fiction, she can speak and read languages that she has never learned and is not any creature that still exists today. Now, if someone plans on using her to try to destroy us-”

“Then they will not have to lift a finger, because If you kill her, it will destroy you.”

Baldwin stared in response.

“Under protest,” Gallowglass added with a visible exhale, “I will do as you command, I’ll keep her safe.”

Baldwin gave a definitive nod.

“Thank you, I-“

“Even from you, if I have to,” Gallowglass added, “because I could not bear to be under orders of the sort of monster killing that lassie would turn you into!”

Baldwin glanced at the locked door before leaving without another word.