#an unlikely countess

[chubby-bun-bun]

heavy is the crown

As princess, you are bound by duty to marry the notorious and elusive Onichynus general, in exchange for his protection of your kingdom from an impending war. On the night of your wedding, tradition demands that you undergo the consummation rites, sealing the fate of your marriage—and your future.

tags: sylus x reader, NSFW, MDNI, royalty!au, general-of-powerful-nation!sylus x princess-of-kingdom-in-trouble!reader, first time sex (mc is a virgin), unprotected sex, afab!reader, fem!reader, slight voyeurism & somno & cockwarming at the end, lowkey breeding kink, gender-based stereotypes against women due to the time period, writing this has been a fever dream, word count: 2.7k~ worldbuilding and 5.5k~ smut lmfao

read on ao3

You dared to dream once upon a time.

You dreamt of crossing oceans beyond your shores, sailing aboard majestic galleons you’d only seen in textbooks. In the quiet solitude of your bedchambers, you imagined laughing with the townsfolk of distant cities, dancing in cobblestone streets to the melodies of traveling minstrels, and finding love in a modest man who'd want nothing more than to offer you freshly picked blooms every morning.

In the sanctuary of sleep, your dreams would lull you with visions of a simple life. A stone-walled kitchen warmed by the glow of a crackling hearth, a garden vibrant with blossoms and fresh produce, and a cozy reading nook nestled in an arched window. A loyal companion would sometimes join you—a slothful cat, a melodious songbird, a high-spirited pup, or a darling mare to carry you through grassy plains and wildflower fields.

"Do you take this man to be your wedded husband, to share in life's trials and joys, to love and honor, till death do you part?"

But such dreams have no place in the heart of a woman whose shoulders bear her kingdom's fate.

And so, as you take in the muted glow of the setting sun through delicate ivory lace, you finally put those girlhood fantasies to rest.

“I do.”

—

Being the youngest and only princess came with its fair share of trials and triumphs.

Unlike the elder princes, whose lives revolved around grueling expectations and fierce competition for the throne, your position spared you such burdens. Born to a queen who had long believed her childbearing years were behind her, you were nothing short of a miracle, arriving over a decade after your last sibling. This had earned you the undivided affection of the entire castle, leaving you thoroughly indulged and doted upon.

However, growing up without siblings near your age, you often grappled with bouts of loneliness. While you had fostered polite acquaintances among the daughters of many nobles, you found their company wearisome. The endless succession of balls and garden parties always seemed to revolve around the same gossip: politics, fashion, whispers about some baron’s sixteen-year-old daughter betrothed to a forty-year-old viscount, and, of course, the inevitable question: had anyone received a marriage proposal yet?

You naturally had many—to your dismay.

The idea of marriage filled you with profound dread. As a girl tagging along in your mother’s tea parties, you had often overheard the confessions and lamentations of the noblewomen. Stories of infidelity, neglect, and abuse spilled from their lips—duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses; women who stood at the very summit of high society. To you, marriage seemed less a sacred bond and more a cruel sentence—one far grimmer than the gallows.

At least the gallows granted the mercy of a quick death.

But as a princess, you were bound to uphold the ideal image of a young lady. One who radiated beauty, yet with grace and poise. Intelligent, but subservient to your intended husband’s authority. And, most important of all, fertile—to bear him strong sons who would carry on his legacy.

It sickened you. You would rather succumb to the plague than endure such a miserable life. But given your title, you could only try to delay the inevitable.

And so, life continued as it was—a never-ending cycle of social gatherings, fending off suitors, reading through your library, mastering languages, and nurturing a growing collection of hobbies. It was a life of privilege and routine—one that, despite its predictability, offered you a quiet sense of fulfillment.

Alas, nothing holds constant in the world, and change arrived in the form of a looming war from enemies across the sea.

Though small in size, your kingdom of Noir was a veritable treasure trove. With its abundant mountains and rivers, the island was never in short supply of precious metals, gems, and rare minerals. It was renowned for producing the finest artisans, who crafted the most exquisite jewelry, armor, and weapons. While modest in territory, it more than compensated with a thriving and prosperous economy.

The ultimate conquest for any conqueror.

Through the town streets worn smooth by centuries of footfalls, the bustling plazas lined with charming merchant stalls, the outskirt villages tucked among lush woodlands, and even the weathered stone walls of the towering castle, whispers had always flowed like an unrelenting tide—the most persistent being rumors of the neighboring kingdoms readying to seize Noir at any moment. But your father never addressed such hearsays, and life within the island always seemed as jovial and peaceful as it always did.

Until one night, as you sat engrossed in some book about Noir folklore, a series of sharp knocks on your chamber doors shattered the stillness, echoing sharply through the room.

It was your father, the king. Dropped to his knees, grasping your untainted hands in his rough, weathered ones, head bowed down at your mercy.

“Forgive me, my daughter,” he said in grief. “For the sake of the people—please, forgive me.”

For months, naval scouts had reported sightings of warships at the docks of two neighboring kingdoms, suspected of plotting to raid Noir and usurp the throne. Only a few weeks ago, those suspicions were confirmed when spies returned with dire news. The enemy militaries, vast and far stronger than your own, were preparing for a siege. Noir's true power had always been in the arts and commerce, not in its military might. Should your shores be attacked by an enemy nation—let alone two—the island would fall.

So on the very day the confirmation arrived, your father and the high court conspired to seek assistance from a nation on the mainland: Onichynus.

Conversations about the state were always hushed, spoken in whispers and laden with caution. It was rumored to be an immensely powerful dominion, even surpassing that of the hostile forces looming beyond your shores. Drunk sailors boasted of its staggering wealth, built on the spoils of their wars and ceaseless conquest. With an unmatched army of hardened warriors and mercenaries, it stood as a force to be reckoned with, its presence both feared and revered across the seas.

At its pinnacle stood their elusive general, a shadow whose name and true face remained unknown. Tales from sailors, traveling merchants, and tavern songs painted him as a ruthless figure, demon-like, who laid waste to rotten cities and beheaded corrupt kings. Some claimed he was a hero, purging the realm of wicked men in power, while others saw him as the embodiment of evil, leaving destruction and death in his wake.

Negotiations with Onichynus were a success. In return for their protection during the impending siege, Noir pledged to deliver three ships laden with its most prized metals, minerals, and gems—every year for the next century.

But to ensure Noir upheld its end of the bargain, their beloved princess would be bound in marriage to the general.

You could only keep your gaze steady, chin held high, as the king knelt before you, weeping, begging for your forgiveness.

You had your time to relish the pleasures of living as a princess. Now, it was time to fulfill your duties as one.

—

The night before the long-anticipated siege had arrived. After weeks of frantic planning and tense negotiations between Noir’s high court and the Onichynus war council, warriors and mercenaries had taken their positions across the island. Some blended seamlessly with the civilians, while the majority remained hidden in plain sight, their numbers concentrated along the docks.

In the king’s throne room, select members from both factions gathered for final preparations. Clad in his battle regalia, your father seemed a shadow of his former self—skin ashened, eyes hollow with exhaustion—yet his voice remained firm as he issued his commands to all present.

The Noir court members could hardly conceal their unease under the watchful eyes of the Onichynus war council. Towering and broad-shouldered, they seemed almost otherworldly. Their dark, burnished steel armor bore engravings of monstrous creatures, and many donned cloaks of crimson or black, their edges deliberately singed to resemble fire's touch. Helmets, adorned with jagged horns, cast grotesque shadows, while those who forwent them revealed faces with jagged streaks of war paint, as if to mimic claw marks.

Then, the heavy doors groaned open, spilling thick tendrils of black-red mist into the chamber. A hush fell as all eyes turned toward the towering figure that emerged from the haze.

The general.

For all the whispered tales of his demonic appearance—horns as tall as claymores, wings that spanned the heavens, and a tail that stretched like a river—you were stunned to find a face not of a monster, but of an angel.

Against the backdrop of his dark cloak, his striking silver hair stood out in sharp contrast. His features were sculpted with precision—high, defined cheekbones, a strong jawline, a straight nose, all framed by an expression that revealed little, save for full lips drawn into a tight line. The people of Noir gawked openly, stunned to finally see the man from the tales in the flesh. His gait was languid yet exuded confidence as he strode toward the throne where you sat beside your father.

His gaze found yours, and you stilled.

The deep scarlet of his eyes was piercing. You almost felt naked under it. Instantly, you straightened in your seat, fingers twitching to smooth the fabric of your dress.

“Expect the warships to be visible in six hours,” he said, his voice cutting through the room. The low timbre of it sent a chill racing up your spine.

“General, are you certain our forces are enough to handle their fleet?” your mother asked, voice quivering as she addressed him from your father’s other side.

The general's lips curved faintly, a low, rumbling chuckle escaping him.

“Rest easy, Your Majesty. By dawn, their remains will have joined their forefathers’ ghosts beneath the sea."

—

You had come to realize that Onichynus truly deserved the fear and respect it commanded. Just before daybreak, the gut-wrenching blare of Noir’s watchtower horns finally shattered the unnerving stillness of the island.

The enemies had fallen.

You had been locked away in one of the castle’s tower chambers, away from harm’s reach. As the kingdom’s key to securing this alliance, it was critical that no harm befell the general's betrothed.

After the second wave of victory horns, your door creaked open, revealing your maidservant—frantic, breathless from the long climb up the spiral staircase.

“Your Highness,” she gasped, voice trembling. “We’ve won.”

You could see the restraint in the way her nails dug into her apron, her blown pupils amidst her ragged breaths. She was restraining herself, her elation held in check, out of deference to you.

After all, Noir’s freedom had come at the cost of yours.

With a wistful smile, you turned toward the window, watching the flickering torchlights snake through the streets below. The chorus of jubilant cries and chants carried through the valleys, their voices rising to the heavens and echoing back from the mountain’s deepest crevices.

“It seems we have,” you murmured, voice barely audible over the chorus of celebration below.

You heard her hesitant shuffle behind you. "Several of the servants have been briefed already. They shall be ready tomorrow morning to begin preparations for the wedding."

You spun toward her, pulse pounding in your ears. "So soon?"

She lowered her gaze, unable to meet your eyes. "Onichynus wanted to complete the rites as quickly as possible, so they could sail for the mainland the following day."

You let out a slow exhale. "I see."

Your maidservant hesitated, her eyes flicking toward you, before she spoke again.

"If it offers you any comfort, ma'am," she said softly, head bowed, "you saved all of us."

You swallowed hard, forcing back the sting of tears threatening to spill.

—

Like your mother, grandmother, and all the royal women before you, you had always envisioned your wedding as a day of grandeur. You pictured riding through the town streets in the royal carriage, flanked by guards, waving to the cheering crowds. You imagined wearing a bespoke gown that sparkled in the light, a train so long it would sweep behind you like a royal procession.

You imagined trumpets announcing your arrival, their triumphant notes echoing through a hall packed with dignitaries and nobility from across the realm. And at the altar, a man of honor and equal standing would wait for you, his gaze warm with affection as you joined in a union built on love, not duty.

But now—the sun has nearly set, painting the grand temple in muted amber light. Inside, the space feels hollow, adorned only by a few hurriedly arranged flowers, their disarray a testament to the servants' exhaustion from cleaning up the siege’s destruction. Your gown, though lovely, is no custom-made masterpiece—just a window display piece hastily altered by the royal dressmaker. The pews stand mostly empty, save for your crestfallen family, a handful of somber faces from the Noir high court, and the ever-stoic Onichynus war council.

Your husband-to-be, still clad in his dark battle regalia, stands steadfast at your side, his expression an impenetrable mask as the archbishop intones the ceremonial rites. You had imagined him to be someone hard to look at—perhaps as old as a grandfather, his years as a general etched into every line of his face, and his figure weighed down by indulgent vices. Yet, to your quiet relief, he is nothing of the sort. Even if he proves unsavory as a husband or father to your future children, at least he’s pleasing to look at.

“By the will of fate, you are now bound in union,” the High Priest finally says, raising his palms toward you both. “May your allegiance to one another be as steadfast as the duties you carry, and may this union bring the future of your realms to prosperity.”

—

You wince as an elderly maidservant struggles to loosen a particularly stubborn knot in your hair, the pull jerking your head painfully. She pauses, her hand gently patting the spot in apology.

Your gaze stays fixed on the cold, flatstone floor, and you hardly notice the other maidservants bustling around you. One smooths out the faint creases in your satin nightdress, while another tugs at the neckline, pulling it lower to expose more of your cleavage and collarbone. Beneath the thin fabric, your undergarments have been removed, leaving you vulnerable to the biting chill of the room. You’ve been scrubbed clean, coated in the silkiest lotions, each scent more intoxicating than the last—all for your first night with your new husband.

“Are you nervous, Your Highness?” the elderly maidservant asks, her hands gentle as she brushes through your hair.

You pause, the question settling in your chest as you ponder how to answer.

“I can’t say I’m confident,” you say, twisting your fingers together. “I’ve never been with a man before.”

In the mirror, you catch the discreet glances exchanged behind you, their pity and concern barely hidden. You force yourself to look away, but the weight of their silent judgment lingers.

“The Onichynus general… he seemed like such a massive man,” a younger maidservant whispers, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I do hope he treats Her Highness with kindness.”

Another maidservant scoffs, her tone sharp with bitterness. “All men are beasts, driven only by their lust for control—and for anything with a pair of breasts.”

There’s a collective hiss of disapproval from the others, but the harsh words still echo in your mind. You fight to keep your face composed, though your heart aches with fear.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” the elderly maidservant says, her voice light. “The men from that state may be known for their ruthlessness, but with your likeness, the general will surely find himself a changed man.”

You can only hope the same.

Soon after, you begin your walk to the matrimonial room. The maidservants fall in step around you, their presence a quiet shield.  The lively chatter from your earlier preparations has faded, replaced by a tense, almost somber silence. Despite the considerable distance between rooms, the walk feels too short, each step too swift. Before you can fully gather your bearings, you now find yourself alone, sitting on the bed, the weight of the night settling in around you.

You shouldn’t feel this nervous. Women across the realm are bound to face this, especially those of royal blood. Consummation on the wedding night is an expectation, a duty. No matter how much you’ve dreaded or tried to avoid it, you’ve always known it was inevitable. All that’s left now is to steel yourself, strive to please your husband, and to embrace your role as a future mother—for Noir’s sake.

The doors swing open, and you flinch. The general steps inside, his damp hair clinging to his face, a clear sign of a recent bath. His attire for the evening is simple: loose trousers and a tunic that, despite its modesty, does little to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the strong lines of his chest. Your gaze betrays you, lingering longer than it should, tracing the way the fabric shifts with his movements. His towering height seems to diminish even the vast expanse of the room, making the high ceilings feel incredibly small.

His ember-like eyes catch yours and you suddenly feel too exposed.

“Good evening, princess.” 

“General,” you greet, wincing at how weak it sounds as it leaves your lips.

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders beneath the delicate straps of your ivory nightdress, the soft swell of your breasts pressing gently against the neckline. The fabric cinches at your waist before flaring out around your hips, emphasized by the way you sit at the edge of the mattress. Your posture is rigid, hands clasped in your lap—a result of all the etiquette drilled into you from childhood.

He notices the tension in your form and lets out a sigh, turning toward the couch at the far end of the room.

You blink.

“Where are you going?” you blurt out, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Your Highness,” he drawls, settling into the couch with a lazy grace. “We don’t have to do this. You look like a kitten with her hackles raised. We could ruffle the bedding, spill some oil on the sheets, and pretend we had a night worthy of the chamberlain’s inspection.”

A flash of panic rises within you. You stand, words tumbling out in a rush. “Nonsense! Marriage is not recognized before the temple unless consummated on the night of the ceremony.”

He tilts his head, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Such peculiar customs you have here on Noir.”

You had imagined a thousand ways this night could go, a thousand versions of the man you’d just married. Not one of them prepared you for this.

You flush, frustration building in your chest. “General, I would appreciate it if you respect the customs of Noir. We are a proud people, and we honor the traditions passed down to us by our forefathers.”

He rolls his eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate pace, he stands and makes his way toward you. For every step he takes, you fight the instinct to hunch your shoulders, to shrink away. Next thing you know, he’s standing before you, his imposing size forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain your gaze.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, gently cupping your face. The heat of his touch burns through your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You finally avert your eyes. “I’ve never been with a man before,” you manage to say with as much indifference as you can muster, nails digging into your palms.

“Really? Not even a stolen kiss in your youth?”

You clench your teeth. “There are far more pressing matters to focus on than indulging in childish flirtations.”

He laughs, a rich, deep sound that resonates through the air, stirring an unexpected warmth low in your belly.

“Alright,” he concedes, his finger tracing a slow path along your cheek. Without warning, he grips your jaw, the touch both commanding and tender, pulling your gaze back to meet his. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. None of those absurd rules from your royal handbook.”

You pull back slightly, brows knitting in confusion. “The act is the same, is it not?”

“Do you agree, Your Highness?” he presses, lips grazing your ear ever so slightly. The warmth of his breath against your skin is unfamiliar, and the rush of heat that sweeps up your neck sends electrifying pulses deep within your core.

“Yes,” you grit out.

After studying your expression one last time, he lowers himself slightly, then grips the back of your thighs and lifts you with ease. You gasp, scrambling to find your balance. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, fingers digging into the firm, broad muscles of his shoulders. With a smooth shift, he adjusts your position, the inside of your thighs pressing against his hips, before carrying you to the vanity desk at the center of the room.

You struggle to speak, words caught in your throat as the sensation of being so high up in the air makes you dizzy. He finally sets you down on the desk, his large palms slowly dragging down your legs, gently pushing your knees apart.

“G—General,” you stammer, eyes wide as he pulls his tunic over his head, revealing a tanned expanse of skin and the hard, defined muscles beneath. “The bed is over there—why are we here?”

A flicker of a smile plays at his lips as he tosses the fabric carelessly to the floor. “Trust me, princess. Now close your eyes.”

You want to argue, remind him that asking you to trust the most notorious figure in the realm—whom you’ve barely known for a day—is no small request. But the gravity in his scarlet gaze quiets any protest. With a reluctant breath, you close your eyes.

There’s no movement at first. Then, his calloused palms find your knees, the rough calluses a stark contrast against the smooth stretch of your skin. Heat blossoms under his touch, searing its way upward as his hands glide along the curve of your hips, the taper of your waist. You fail to suppress the shudder coursing through you when his touch pauses just below the swell of your breasts, lingering for a heartbeat before sliding to your sides, his broad palms more than spanning the width of your back.

Then, you feel the faint brush of his breath against your mouth, a fleeting warmth before his lips capture yours in a tender kiss. The hot, wet sensation has your back arching instinctively, your hardened nipples pressing through the thin fabric of your nightgown against his hard chest. A deep, throbbing ache pulses at your core, and you clamp your thighs together in a futile effort to suppress the damp heat pooling between them.

The overwhelming rush of sensations draws a whimper from your lips, your trembling hands clutching at his shoulders for stability. His response is immediate—a low, guttural groan before he deepens the kiss, his mouth returning to yours with even more fervor.

You’ve read about kissing in your sparse collection of romance novels, tried to envision the mechanics behind the act. But the mental images always fell short, awkward and unappealing, leaving you unconvinced of its charm. You’d dismissed it as unnecessary, even pointless—especially when it came to something as pragmatic and straightforward as sex.

But now the general is sneaking in the hot, wet glide of his tongue between your lips and you panic, not sure what it is he’s doing and what you’re supposed to do. He must sense your uncertainty, because his large hand moves to steady your jaw and nape, holding you in place. When he feels the accidental brush of your tongue, he wastes no time and sucks at it, the lewd sound echoing in your ears, forcing soft, strangled sounds from your throat.

You no longer feel the seeping chill from outside the castle walls, body now feeling like it’s on fire, the wetness dripping from your entrance sliding down your inner thighs. You feel like you’re drunk and about to pass out, so you push his chest back with a gentle palm.

“General,” you say, heaving through swollen lips. “What… what are we doing? The bed…”

He takes a moment to steady his breath, eyes squeezed shut, palms pressing firmly at your waist. Then, a low, rough chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“You’re infuriatingly naive,” he mutters, his sweat-damp forehead resting against your shoulder. “You must be the only woman of all arranged marriages eager to crawl into bed with a man she barely knows.”

You flush, indignant at the implication behind his words. “What are you trying to say?” you demand, mouth unconsciously forming into a pout.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip. “What I’m saying, princess, is let me take care of you. I don’t know what your upbringing has taught you, but there’s more to this than just... getting it over with.”

You’re not used to being told what to do and deviating from the rules, so you force out a sharp “fine”—an unintended display of bratty defiance, considering the man before you. But he only laughs, and to your dismay, the sound makes him even more handsome than he already is.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, lifting you by your bottom this time, pressing you flush against his chest. His hands on your backside—so close to where you’re throbbing and wet—has you flinching forward. You suddenly feel the brush of something firm against the sensitive nub above your slit, and you jerk again in surprise.

He chuckles, before gently lowering you onto the soft expanse of the mattress. His lips find your collarbone first, then trail down to your nipples, where he suckles through the fabric. A soft whimper escapes you, your fingers curling into the sheets. You can feel his smile against your skin as his tongue sweeps over one of your sensitive buds, before continuing its journey down toward your abdomen.

But then he hovers his face above your groin that’s barely concealed by the bunched-up hem of your nightgown. Alarm jolts through you, and you prop yourself up on your elbows, torso rising instinctively. You attempt to close your legs, but his hands hold them firmly apart. 

“General—”

“Sylus,” he interrupts, lips brushing along the inside of your knee. “We’re married now, sweetheart. Use my name.”

A twisted sense of pride coils within you, knowing you hold both the name and face of the most infamous man in the realm.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat before continuing. “Sylus,” you echo, the name oddly satisfying on your lips. “Not that I’m… doubting your expertise, but is all of this really necessary?”

He exhales heavily, saying nothing at first. Then, he takes your hand—its size utterly lost in his grip—and guides it down your body. His movements are deliberate, stopping only when your palm meets the undeniable hardness of his cock, straining against his trousers.

You struggle to contain the jumbled stutters tumbling from your lips. “What are you—”

“I’m a big man,” he states matter-of-factly, his gaze unwavering. “And this is your first time. As you are now—you won’t be able to handle me.”

You don’t fully understand what he means, but the statement silences you nonetheless.

He chuckles, letting go of your hand, and you immediately pull it back to your chest. “May I?” he asks, his voice low as he hovers below you once again.

You flash a glare, before nodding reluctantly.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans back, his gaze shifting downward to the space between your legs. Slowly, he lifts the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until the cool air brushes against your exposed skin. You watch, eyes heavy, fighting the tremors rushing through you, as his hand moves along the inside of your thigh. When his fingers brush against your folds, a sharp exhale escapes you, and your head falls back onto the mattress.

“You’re so sensitive, princess,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his words.

“Shut up and get on with it,” you snap, covering your eyes with your forearm.

You hear a quiet laugh escape him before two fingers press against the sensitive nub above your folds, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively as he slides his fingers up and down against your entrance. The motion, slick and sinful, leaves you gasping, and you struggle to keep your legs open, body trembling from the unfamiliar pleasure.

Sylus’ eyes darken, flicking between the way his fingers tease your slick folds and the way your breasts strain against your dress. His breathing grows heavier as he reaches up, pulling the neckline down to expose your chest. A soft whine escapes you when his hand cups one swell, firm yet gentle, while the other continues its relentless ministrations below.

“I’m pressing one in, alright?” he murmurs.

You barely register the words before he pushes a thick finger past your folds.

“Wait—it feels—ngh—it’s strange,” you stammer, voice hitching on a whine.

He stills immediately, digit only halfway in. “Does it hurt?”

“I… kind of? I don’t know…”

You’re panting. The pressure is peculiar, and quite unpleasant. Your body tenses at the newness of it, the unfamiliar stretch bordering on discomfort.

He remains patient, finger unmoving. Then, you feel his thumb press on your nub, drawing gentle circles against the sensitive lower hood of it. The obscene sound of slickness fills the space and you’re mortified, toes curling at the wave of arousal soaking his hand.

“This better?” he whispers, drinking in every detail—your heaving chest, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the tremor in your thighs, and the glistening mess pooling between them.

You can’t respond, overwhelmed by the spiraling pleasure.

A chuckle rumbles from him, low and pleased, as he presses the rest of his finger inside. This time, it slides in smoothly, and the high-pitched moan that escapes you is muffled by your trembling palm. Now knuckle-deep, he gently strokes upward, pressing on a rough spot that makes you jerk in his hold.

“I’m going to try something, alright?” he says softly, breath brushing against your knee as he plants a tender kiss.

“Okay,” you croak, struggling to process the pulsing sensations building deep inside you.

The circles on your nub stop, and you almost whimper at the loss. But before you can voice your complaints, something warm, wet, and utterly foreign replaces his thumb. Your head snaps back, a raw, choked cry tearing from your lips.

“General—hah—Sylus… What are you—?”

He doesn’t answer. Dazed, you prop yourself up and the sight before you is almost too much: the most powerful man in the realm, kneeling between your legs, his mouth worshiping you with unrelenting fervor. His tongue laps at your folds, drags it languidly up to your engorged nub before closing his lips around it, sucking in a way that sends sharp, electric pulses straight through your core.

Panicked by the unbearable pressure building inside, you try to push his head away. “Stop—it’s strange, I feel like I’m going to—”

Before you can finish, he slides another finger inside, stretching you further. His fingers curl, stroking that spongy spot with unrelenting precision. His mouth works in tandem, alternating between suckling and lapping at your overstimulated nub.

Tears blur your vision as the intensity peaks. You scream into your palms, hips bucking against his mouth and hand as you feel yourself tip over the high he brought you to.

Sylus watches, entranced, as your legs open wider, cries muffled as your body convulses under his ministrations. Even as you shatter under him, he doesn’t let up, prolonging your fall at his mercy. And when you’re finally sent over the edge, your release flooding his eager mouth, he drinks in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, and utterly spent.

He presses his cheek against your inner thigh, feeling the delicate tremors rippling through your body as you struggle to steady your breathing. His eyes trail over your folds, soft and swollen, slightly parted as your essence continues to glisten and drip. Unable to hold back, he dips his head and presses a slow, deliberate kiss, groaning as your intoxicating taste lingers on his lips.

Your cry pierces the air, hands flying to his hair as you tug with desperation. “W—Wait…! I can’t… it’s too much… please…”

He only chuckles, low and teasing, before placing a final kiss on the sensitive nub above your folds. Then, he moves upward, settling his weight against you. His chin rests between your breasts, arms locking yours in place as his eyes meet yours, heat and satisfaction dancing in his gaze.

As clarity slowly returns, the enormity of what just happened hits you. He—the Onichynus general, a man who strikes fear in nations across the realm—had just laved at your most intimate area with his tongue. Such an act is nowhere to be found in the guides you’ve read on sex, not even as a distant suggestion. And yet, you enjoyed it. Far more than you care to admit.

An embarrassed huff escapes you as heat blooms across your face. You throw your hands up to cover it, unwilling to meet the insufferable smugness you can practically feel radiating from him below.

Suddenly, you feel the neckline of your dress being tugged down again, catching beneath your breasts. Then, you feel the flat of his tongue gently press on a nipple, circling it with the tip before pulling it into his mouth to suckle. His hand slides up to your other bud, palm brushing over it in slow, deliberate motions. Breasts are meant to nourish, to sustain future generations—mere vessels for the creation of life. Yet the hairs at the back of your neck raise on end as you feel the return of the persistent pulsing deep within you. You bite your lip, stifling the sounds threatening to escape, back arching as you desperately chase the sensation of his mouth on you.

“We can stop now if you wish, Your Highness,” he murmurs against your skin.

Fighting the heaviness taking over your body, you grab his jaw, forcing him to meet the fire in your gaze. “Do you have a problem with consummating with me, general?”

He responds with a particularly sharp suck at your nipple.

“Ngh—! Sylus! I meant Sylus!” you cry out, correcting yourself with a gasp.

He smiles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before moving to the soft curve of your breast. His mouth alternates between harsh sucking and teasing bites, leaving a trail of bruised blooms in his wake.

“While intercourse may be a mere formality to you Noir people, in Onichynus, it’s an act of passion and love,” he says, voice low as he shifts to giving attention to your other bud. “I wish to ensure that Her Highness, my wife, has a memorable first experience. So, if you feel spent for the night, we can always stop. At any time.”

His words settle deep inside you and you feel warmth spread in your chest. Perhaps Onichynus is more than the tales of its ruthless reputation, after all. Hesitantly, you caress his cheek, heart aching at the way he closes his eyes and nuzzles into your palm. He almost seems like a clingy pet feline.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I want to finish the rites,” you say softly. Then, you flush, struggling to find the right words. “And, um, I didn’t expect things to be this… good. I don’t mind experiencing more, if it’s alright with you.”

It takes a moment for your words to register, and when they do, Sylus smirks—a slow, predatory curl of his lips that sends heat coursing through your body. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue brushes your bottom lip, and this time, you grant him easy access. You mimic what he did to you earlier, tentatively wrapping your lips around his tongue and sucking gently.

Immediately, a low, visceral groan escapes him as his hips press forward, grinding his restrained arousal against your soaked folds. The rough fabric of his trousers drags against your sensitive nub, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through you. You whine into his mouth, arms winding around his neck as you pull him impossibly closer.

Sylus seems barely in control now, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he adjusts his movements, angling his hips so that the ridge where his shaft meets the head rubs directly against your overstimulated nub.

Without warning, he breaks the kiss, leaving you on the verge of a whine as a string of spit bridges the space between you. He steps back, tugging his trousers down in one swift motion. Your gaze drops instinctively, and your breath catches at the sight of him.

Broad shoulders taper into a lean waist, and every inch of his sculpted body radiates strength. But it’s the thick, throbbing length between his legs that holds your attention. He notices the starstruck look on your gaze and he chuckles, walking closer to you until you're face level with it. Taking your hand, he gently wraps it around his girth. The sheer thickness overwhelms your grip, and your breath catches at the realization.

“Feel free to take a look,” he rasps.

You’ve never seen a cock before, but instinctively, you know this one is massive. The shaft is thick,  with prominent veins that seem to throb faintly, and the soft, rounded shapes below it look heavy and full. The bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip is flushed, beads of some kind of white, translucent fluid glistening at the slit. For some reason, you feel the urge to lean in and taste it.

Sylus takes your hand, shaping it into a loose 'O.' “This is you,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers to glide along his length, spreading the slick fluid. “And this…” He pushes through the circle you’ve made, the thick head sliding in and out. “…is how it’ll feel when I’m inside you.”

Slowly, he begins to move, sliding his shaft through your grip. The sensation is intoxicating, and you’re mesmerized by the sight of him—his cock pumping in and out of your hand, each stroke leaving it sticky with his arousal. You don��t even realize your lips are parting until you lean forward, your tongue darting out to flick against the leaking tip.

Sylus lets out a guttural moan, one hand tangling in your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. His taste—salty and slightly bitter—is heady, and the heat of him against your tongue heightens your arousal. He bucks into your mouth, and though you gag slightly, you fight to take more of him, desperate for the connection.

You feel too empty.

“Princess—fuck—this is torture,” he groans, his deep voice rough with restraint.

You can only moan in response, lips stretched around his cock as he begins thrusting into your mouth. His large hands steady your head, guiding your movements. You peek up at him through fluttering lashes, and you feel your folds quiver at the sinful sight of the Onichynus general panting, eyes shut, sweat-covered muscles taut as he pistons in and out of you.

You are Noir’s beloved princess—revered and envied for your beauty, grace, and intellect—yet now you’re barely coherent, delirious over the addictive taste of your husband as he fucks your mouth over and over.

One particularly deep thrust hits the back of your throat and you gag, tears springing to your eyes. Sylus curses under his breath and withdraws immediately.

“Princess, I’m sorry,” he pants, taking in the sight of you—tears streaking your cheeks, saliva glistening on your lips, thighs pressed together in a futile attempt to relieve your ache.

“It’s okay,” you croak, voice hoarse and small.

Sylus pauses, taking a moment to steady himself and pull back from the frenzy consuming him, before climbing onto the bed, positioning himself against the headboard. His hands grip your waist, lifting you effortlessly to straddle his lap. Movements frantic and barely restrained, he aligns your slick folds against the length of his shaft. His lips find yours again, urgent and demanding, while his hands grip your hips, guiding you to rock against him. The friction against your sensitive nub draws a cry from you, and he groans into your mouth.

“Let me have you, princess,” he practically begs against your lips between heavy breaths.

You barely have time to process his words before he lifts you slightly, the broad head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. Then, you feel an immediate, sharp stretch as he breaches your folds, pushing deeper until the full length of him fills you to the hilt.

A strangled cry escapes you and you collapse against his chest, burying your face in his neck with stilted sobs. Sylus remains still, large hands massaging your rear soothingly, coaxing your body to adjust.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple. “Just breathe. Let me in.”

“It hurts,” you gasp. He shifts slightly, and a sharp sensation makes you wince, like he’s hitting a spot that feels too far, too much. “T—Too big…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, breath hot and uneven against your ear. His hands move carefully, gently parting the delicate skin of your folds in an attempt to ease the stretch and make it more bearable.

Keeping his hips as still as possible, he reaches for the hem of your now sweat-soaked nightgown, lifting it with as much gentleness as he can muster. His eyes trace the path of the fabric as it reveals the slick mess of fluids dripping from where you're joined, the soft curve of your belly, the delicate bounce of your breasts freed from constraint, and finally, your tear-streaked face—beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly his. Guilt flickers through him as he feels himself twitch and grow even harder inside you, despite your pained whimpers.

After tossing the fabric aside, his lips find your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to the spots that make your walls flutter around him, drawing soft, helpless sounds from your lips. 

“Once you’re settled in our home on the mainland, you’ll have everything you could ever desire,” he murmurs, hands gliding up to rub gentle circles over your hardened nipples.

“You’ll have servants at your beck and call, and you’ll be free to do whatever you please. No one will dare defy you—no one will even think to.”

The vivid imagery of his words wraps around your mind like a spell, pulling you deeper into him. The sharp discomfort of being stretched begins to ebb, replaced by a dull ache that shifts to faint blooms of pleasure.

“And when you finally swell with my child,” he breathes, tone thick with promise, “I’ll find endless delight in claiming you over and over, until the first light of dawn touches us.”

You flush at the picture of him taking you like this, with your belly round and full with his heir.

He chuckles low against your ear, the sound dark and rich. “Oh? You like that idea, don’t you?”

You huff, landing a light smack on his chest. “Do not tease me,” you protest, voice carrying a hint of authority despite your half-lidded gaze. The sight of you perched on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, while you fix him with a stern, regal expression befitting a princess is enough to have his hips bucking up to you.

With a strained groan, he crashes his lips against your neck, his cock throbbing almost painfully within your tight walls. “I need you, princess,” he rasps against your skin, barely holding back the urge to thrust up into you.

The pressure of the stretch still lingers, but the sharp pain has melted into pulses of pleasure. You place your hips back, grinding your sensitive nub against his groin, desperate for more. “Please do something,” you plead, hips moving in frantic, clumsy circles, chasing a bliss you don’t know you’re craving.

Sylus doesn’t hesitate. He lowers you back onto the mattress while still buried deep inside you. Propping himself up on his elbows, his gaze locks onto yours as he slowly draws his hips back, leaving only the tip nestled at your entrance. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he sinks back in to the hilt, filling you completely in one long, unrelenting stroke.

You cry out, this time in response to the delicious friction of his cock dragging against your walls. Driven wild by your reaction, he pulls back again, then thrusts deeply into you with another slow, deliberate plunge. A hiss escapes him as the head of his cock presses against your deepest depths.

“You’re doing so good,” he groans, lips brushing over the bruises left by his earlier kisses on your neck. “You’ve been such a darling for me, haven’t you?”

To his twisted delight, you remain incomprehensible, helpless sounds pouring from your kiss-bitten lips as you scramble to steady yourself by gripping his shoulders, nails digging painfully into his skin. He’s almost feral at the way your flesh ripples from the impact of each thrust. The princess of Noir, coveted by men all over the realm, now lies beneath him, sweat-slicked, legs spread, and taking his cock so wonderfully.  But beyond that, he sees the most perfect queen—one whose unparalleled intellect and sharp wit can stand beside him in his pursuit for power.

Suddenly, he pulls out, and you whine, tears staining your cheeks at the dizzying emptiness. He merely shushes you soothingly before gently turning you over onto your stomach. Before you can garble out a question on what he’s doing, he plunges into you once more, hitting a spot against your front that has you curling your toes and screaming into the sheets.

“I—It feels s—strange again—!” you manage between broken whimpers, each word punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his movements against your sore walls.

“Wanna feel good again, princess?” he murmurs against your ear.

Your answering sob is all the reply you can muster.

Suddenly, you’re hoisted up on your knees, his strong arm wrapping around your waist as his other hand grips your jaw, holding your face up. His thrusts quicken, erratic and desperate, and you gasp as his tongue traces the outer shell of your ear. Then, his hand slides lower, fingers finding the swollen nub above your abused folds. The sudden burst of pleasure at the rubbing motion has you crying out, body tightening as a familiar heat coils low in your belly.

You begin to thrash in his hold at the overwhelming sensations. “Sy—I think—I think I’m—”

“Let it happen, princess, I got you.”

With those words, your hands tangle in his sweat-damp hair as a violent shudder wracks your body, exhausted sobs escaping your lips. His relentless pace doesn’t falter, eyes locked on the harsh bounce of your breasts as he pounds into you from behind, chasing his release. The tight grip of your walls and the slick heat enveloping his cock finally push him over the edge, his thrusts turning shallow and frantic before burying himself deep with a final, forceful motion, spilling his seed inside you.

Sylus takes a moment to catch his breath, pressing soft, chaste kisses along your shoulders.

“You alright, princess?”

You don’t respond.

Confused, he gently tilts your head back, only to find your peaceful, sleeping face, soft snores escaping your lips. He huffs a small laugh. How adorable.

Carefully, he shifts against the headboard, settling you onto him with his half-hard cock still nestled inside, twitching faintly. Draping your legs over his knees, he starts massaging your inner thighs, soothing the soreness he knows must be there.

A series of sharp knocks echoes through the room.

“This is the chamberlain. I must confirm that the consummation rites have been fulfilled for your marriage to be deemed legitimate by the Grand Temple.”

Sylus scowls, eyes scanning over your sleeping form. “Can’t this wait in the morning?”

“This is necessary to eliminate any possibility of deceit in performing the rites.”

“Damn uptights,” he mutters. Then, a smirk plays at the corner of his lips. “Well, come in then.”

The door swings open, revealing the old chamberlain in his faded temple robes, his attention fixed on his ledger. He mumbles the schedule for the following day as he approaches the bed. When he finally looks up, expecting to see the usual ruffled, soaked sheets, he freezes, almost stumbling backward in shock.

You—the cherished Noir princess, known for your beauty and headstrong grace—lie exhausted, nestled against the imposing form of the feared Onichynus general behind you. His scarlet eyes glint as he sucks a mark onto the side of your neck, and beneath you, his impressive girth disappears into your swollen, intimate folds, generous amounts of your combined essences coating his base.

“This is evidence enough, no?” Sylus taunts, sneaking in a shallow thrust up to you, drawing a soft, breathless whine from your throat.

The chamberlain stammers, his words fumbling as he backs toward the door.

“Y—Yes, the rites are confirmed. Good night,” he rushes out in a single breath before slamming the door behind him.

Chuckling, Sylus pulls his sleeping wife closer, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You’ll need the rest for the long journey ahead, and for whatever adjustments await you back on the mainland.

But, in the end, none of that matters.

He’s just grateful to have found his beloved kitten again.

check out my other works!

[nightingalescall]

God's Perfect Lamb

Kingdom of Ebreau:

Prologue(you are here)|part 1|part 2|part 3

"OH MY GOD!!!!!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Calerus, the prosperous.

Calerus, the strategist.

Calerus, the omnipresent.

Calerus, the all knowing.

Calerus, the god of Ebreau.

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

...

"Tch."

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

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

"Everything has a purpose and meaning."

Well, personally, you though it was pretty nonsense.

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

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

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

"What a scam."

You mumbled under your breath and scoffed.

"Ugh..Huh?"

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

"Huhg..!"

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

But it never came.

...?

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

"Heretic."

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

Wait....Godly?

"C-calerus?”

You stuttered in fear and disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

"cough! Stop! P-cough!"

You pleaded as you gasped for air.

"Why would one do that?"

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

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

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

Calerus stared coldly into your eyes as he spoke.

"Elaborate."

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

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

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

Calerus raised an eyebrow.

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

You shook your head.

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

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

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

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

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

?

It..Worked?

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

Your eyes widen in surprise at his confession

"One will give thee the compensation thou deserves."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Calerus was faster.

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

He began to chant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"One will be in touch."

He disappeared from view.

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

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

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

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

Goodbye.

"Ugh!"

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

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

Aurum trees?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zephyr must surely be blessed in his appearance.

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

Did he just call you Messiah?

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

?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May he reign supreme!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crazed.

~✟~

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

[books-and-omens]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wonder when Crowley is going to know.

[goatsandgangsters]

Posh Fancy People Name Generator (Debrett's Peerage 1903)

Do you spend a lot of time coming up with silly names for your Jeeves and Wooster fanfic? Do you and your friends get together on weekends to LARP as Oscar Wilde characters? Do you just want to feel grateful that your parents didn't name you Allnutt?

Then have I got the random name generators for you! 

Introducing two Debrett’s Peerage (1903) Name Generators, by yours truly! 

It will give you a first name, TWO middle names (so posh), and a surname, all taken from actual once-living human beings whose names were recorded in the 1903 edition of Debrett’s Peerage 

There’s a posh man version and a fancy lady version

(I also included an optional tick-box to add a title/peerage rank and/or some silly bonus info from me, but you can keep it name-only if you prefer) 

here are some of my fave Actual Names that I found. now imagine how much sillier we can make this by putting it all in a blender

please note: lettice is her middle name. her surname is gore. miss lettice gore, you are an icon.

A few notes on logistics:

Names are not weighted and were entered into each category only once, regardless of how common or uncommon they were in 1903. This means you’re as likely to be named Wyndham as you are to be John, because frankly it wouldn’t be fun if every man you generated was named John 

However! First name and middle names are separate lists, so your first name could be the same as one of your middle names; alternatively, both of your middle names could be the same because middle names are pulling from the same list. This should enhance the absurdity 

The name ‘Napier’ appears in Debrett’s Peerage as a first name, as a middle name, AND as a surname. While it’s statistically unlikely, it is technically possible to generate the name Napier Napier Napier Napier for yourself 

Spelling variations (eg, Ann vs Anne) were included as separate names

The generator is continuously being updated with more names, because there’s a whoooole lot of names recorded in Debrett’s Peerage (yes, I am manually reading and entering names from a 2,000+ page document. what of it.)

For the bonus tick-box: the titles are all real, but they may be paired with a different peerage rank than they were in actuality (e.g., if you generate Lord So-and-So, the So-and-So is a real title, but the generator might tack it onto a Earl instead of a Marquess, etc). I didn’t include any royalty, just aristocracy 

For the bonus tick-box: most are a straightforward “you are a Countess” but some are me being a bit silly and having fun 

[gingerteafairy]

dedicated to my pookie @blueikky

𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑯𝑰𝑹𝑬𝑺, 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑩𝑳𝑼𝑬 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑺 (𝑽𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑲𝒀 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹)

Your first and last ruin, Alexei Vronsky.

tags n warnings: issues, drama, alcohol, smoke, prejudice, blowjob, virginity, praise and (slightly) degradation kink. word count: 4.6k. masterlist

Gossip. That’s what filled the air at balls like this one in the cold beauty of Saint Petersburg. Outside, winter’s chill wrapped the city, but inside, the warmth of cynical laughter and whispered conversations carried through the grand hall. Tonight, the focus was on the newly arrived wealthy family. New money was always a spectacle in high society, and noblewomen wasted no time trying to marry off their daughters to the richest man in sight.

This was your situation. Your mother clung to your arm, dragging you from one introduction to the next. Most of the men were old, balding, or unappealing. The few who seemed tolerable lost all their charm the moment they spoke, their words dripping with arrogance or lewdness.

“How dreadful,” Betsy muttered, waving an ornate fan as she watched your mother’s relentless efforts to match you with men far too old for you. “It’s embarrassing to witness.”

“New money,” said Countess Vronskaya with a sip of her champagne. “Like dogs trampling our lovely ball. She claims herself a baroness. Such a shame.”

“Rather harsh words for someone so refined, Mother,” Alexei Vronsky interjected smoothly, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. The smoke curled lazily from his lips as his striking blue eyes followed the scene, faintly amused yet undeniably intrigued.

“The girl is a victim of a desperate mother with no sense of propriety and lack of decorum,” the Countess replied, her lips thinning in disdain. She exchanged a knowing glance with Betsy. “Come, dear. This place is becoming intolerable.”

The two women swept away, leaving Vronsky behind. His posture was relaxed, yet there was something commanding about the way he carried himself. His friend Golenichev approached, grinning as he held a drink, his gaze settling on you as you waved off another suitor.

“She’s had some decent offers tonight, don’t you think?” Golenichev said, standing straighter as he joined his friend.

Vronsky’s eyes found yours again, his expression unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, taking another drag of his cigarette before letting the smoke escape in a soft exhale. “She’s beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice thoughtful. “It’s tragic, really. She can’t be more than twenty, and yet she’s being offered to these… decrepit creatures. It’s a crime.”

Golenichev chuckled, raising his glass in agreement. “A crime indeed. But what’s to be done? It 's her ruin.”

“Perhaps there is.” Vronsky tapped the cigarette against an ashtray and straightened. “I’ll see to it that she’s spared such a fate and make sure to be her first ruin.” His tone was firm, and without another word, he began walking toward you.

You were staring at the floor, trying to hide your frustration as your mother pulled you toward yet another man. Then she stopped abruptly. You looked up, and your breath caught.

The man standing before you was unlike any you’d seen tonight. His presence was magnetic, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to lock on yours with intent. For once, your mother seemed unsure of herself, nudging you for bow reverence.

“What a small, demure little thing you are.”He chuckles at your small bow, roaming his eyes over your body, taking every inch of you, especially in your breath plumped by the exaggerated neckline your mother made you use. “Adorable, if it's safe to say, baroness.”

“Oh…” Your mother opened her mouth but fumbled for words. “To… to what do we owe this honor, sir…?” she finally managed.

“Vronsky. Count Vronsky. Colonel,” he said smoothly, bowing slightly before taking your hand. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a light, deliberate kiss to your skin.

“Oh… it's… such a pleasure to meet such a high hierarchy… I mean, important man.” She giggled, covering his mouth, nudging you, having you gasping slightly before fixing your posture.

“The pleasure is mine.” he beamed as his eyes burned with a desire and passion you’ve only heard in fantasies. No, it was darker. Hyptozing.

You flushed, your heart racing under his gaze. His voice, deep and confident, seemed to linger in the air. Your mother quickly recovered, rushing to introduce you. “This is my dau—”

“No need,” Vronsky said with a small, knowing smile. “I already know her name.” His attention returned to you. “May I have this dance?”

Your mother answered before you could, her voice eager. “Of course! She would be delighted!” She nudged you forward, leaving you no choice but to step into his waiting arms.

His touch was steady and assured as he led you to the center of the ballroom. The music swelled as the two of you bowed, and then his hand found your waist—not politely at your upper back, but daringly low, just above your hip. The closeness was startling, almost improper, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to step away.

“You’re very quiet, darling,” he said as the two of you began to move, his steps smooth and confident. “You’re naturally reserved, I presume.”

“My mother believes it’s unseemly for a lady to speak unless spoken to,” you replied, your voice clipped as you tried to mask your nerves.

He chuckled softly. “Nonsense,” he said, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Tell me—what are you thinking right now?”

You hesitated but decided to answer honestly. “That, of course, you would know my name. My mother has spoken to every man in this room. The pretty, reckless, stupid Baroness.”

He laughed, the sound low and pleasant, loving your adorable annoyance. “I tend to keep my distance. Crowds don’t interest me.” He guided you into a turn, his hand steady on your waist. “Did any of them catch your interest?”

“None who would ask me to dance and dismiss my mother’s rules as nonsense,” you said, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his tone warm as he pulled you closer. “You’ve caught my attention, if I may be so bold. You’re enchanting.”

Your breath hitched at his words. He was impossibly close now, his hand firm yet gentle on your waist. “That’s very kind of you, Count Vronsky.��

“Alexei,” he corrected. The intimacy of his first name felt daring, and it made your cheeks flush again. His gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before he spoke. “Would you do me the honor of a walk? Somewhere quieter for a pleasant talk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your mother, who was engrossed in conversation across the room. Before you could second-guess yourself, you answered.

“Yes.”

He smiled, offering his arm, and you took it. Together, you stepped away from the crowded ballroom and into the stillness of the castle’s quieter halls, your heart pounding with every step.

Alexei led you through the castle halls, his steps unhurried, his presence calm yet undeniably magnetic. He spoke occasionally, sharing brief comments about the guests or recounting fragments of the castle's history. His voice carried a quiet intensity, much like the moonlight filtering through the windows, veiled by luxurious, heavy curtains. There was an air of mystery about him—dark yet alluring, cold yet captivating.

He stopped in front of a wide wooden door, resting his hand on the ornate brass handle. With deliberate slowness, he turned the knob and pushed it open, the creak of the hinges echoing softly in the stillness. The pause in his movements, the weight of the moment—it set your nerves alight.

“Ladies first,” he said, his tone smooth and polite as he stepped aside.

You hesitated before walking in, taking in the room’s grandeur. It was no ordinary chamber. It was vast, large enough to house an entire family of peasants. A velvet sofa rested against one wall, paired with matching chairs and a table scattered with loose sheets of paper. Heavy drapes framed tall windows, and the air carried a faint yet pleasant scent of cedar and something floral. But the centerpiece of the room was the bed—a massive structure with carved posts and linens finer than anything you had ever touched.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked at last, your voice breaking the silence. You didn’t turn to face him, but the soft click of the door closing behind you was enough to remind you of his presence.

“I wanted a quiet place where we could talk,” Alexei said, his footsteps drawing closer before he seated himself on the velvet sofa. He moved with such ease, yet his every action seemed deliberate. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke curl lazily into the air. “To get to know you.”

You swallowed hard, the intimacy of the setting and his relaxed demeanor setting your nerves on edge. You lowered yourself onto the far end of the sofa, maintaining a respectable distance, though your heartbeat betrayed you.

“Tell me,” he began, his voice soft yet probing, “have you ever been in love?”

The question startled you. You frowned, letting out a nervous laugh. “I suppose so. A few times. Silly crushes, nothing serious.”

“Was that what your mother told you?” he asked, leaning just slightly in your direction.

“Probably,” you admitted, shifting in your seat. Despite yourself, you found your body inching closer to his, as though pulled by an invisible force. “In her words, romance is useless unless it serves a purpose. Marriage is a transaction, and a lady should save herself for that.”

“And do you believe that?” he asked, taking another drag from his cigarette. His knee brushed against yours, the contact subtle but charged.

“No.” Your voice was firm, though your gaze drifted to his hand, the urge to reach out and touch it growing stronger with each passing second. “But I’ve never had the courage to try anything different.”

“What is it you’ve never tried?” He leaned closer, his profile sharp as he turned his head to exhale the smoke away from you.

“Romance.”

His lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes searching yours. “And… would you like to try?”

The question lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a silk ribbon, tightening with every heartbeat. It was dangerous, the sort of question that invited you to tread on forbidden ground. Yet there was something intoxicating in the way he spoke, the way he watched you as though he already knew your answer, showing you what you’ve been caging. Desire. Fire, lust, pure sensual desire.

“I believe I would,” you murmured, the words barely audible but enough to draw a soft smile from him.

Alexei shifted closer, closing the gap between you. His breath mingled with yours, carrying the scent of tobacco and something distinctly him—something refined, intoxicating, irresistible. He brought the cigarette to his lips once more, inhaling deeply before leaning forward.

But instead of his lips meeting yours, he exhaled, the smoke brushing against your lips and filling your senses. You inhaled instinctively, closing your eyes, tasting the ghost of him in that moment.

It wasn’t a kiss, not exactly—too timid, too indirect. But it was intimate, electric, and left your heart racing as though it had been. You opened, meeting his gaze.

The faint crackle of the fire in the distant hearth was the only sound, its soft glow casting flickering shadows on the walls. Alexei had moved closer now, his presence overwhelming but not suffocating, his gaze unwavering on yours. There was a storm in his eyes—a mix of restrained desire and something deeper, something dangerous.

When his lips finally met yours, it was gentle at first—tentative, as if asking a question he wasn’t sure you’d answer. But then you responded, your hand instinctively finding its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as if to anchor yourself.

That was all it took for the restraint to break.

The kiss deepened, his other hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, the cigarette being forgotten on the floor. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, was unlike anything you’d ever known. He kissed you like he was claiming something, yet still giving—giving you something you hadn’t realized you were starving for.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless. This is dangerous," you whispered, standing and placing your hands on your hips. Your voice shaky but tinged with a nervous laugh, “We can't be doing this, Alexei. This is wrong.”

He raised, hands reaching for your arms, travelling to your waist. “Does it feel wrong? Or does it feel like something you’ve been told is wrong?” His forehead rested lightly against yours, his hand still cradling your face as if he were afraid to let go.

Your lips met Alexei's in a deeper kiss, where he took your face in his hands, turning his head to devour you and feel your taste completely, savoring the sweetness on your lips of your previous treats, mixed with the striking nicotine of Alexei with a touch of champagne, as if it mixed with his earthy perfume.

The kiss became more desperate with hands roaming all over your bodies. You shoved him again, turning your back with your hands on your head, noticing once again the dangerous terrain with the wetness between your legs, like rain on a warm day.

"Tell me you don't want me." He hoarses breathy in your ear, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. "Tell me and I'll go away."

“Alexei…” You sighed, your voice sounding like an eager moan as your hands searched for Alexei's curls between your fingers, hanging your head on his shoulder with your eyes closed.

His lips brushed your shoulders softer this time, almost reverent. “Say what you need and i'm pleased to give, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, his talk striking deeper than you wanted to admit. “Alexei. If anyone knew—”

“Let them know,” he interrupted, kissing your shoulder open-mouthed, his lips taking an old age pace where your neck meets your shoulder. His voice had taken on a quiet intensity, the kind that made your chest tighten as his tongue licked the side of your neck.

“Let them whisper and sneer.” He whispered, his teeth meeting your soft flesh, ghosting till your neck where he inhaled your scent “Leave them wondering how i adore you, every inch of your skin. How I map out your body, the firmness of your flesh, how I'm the cause of your gasps and moans. Leave them realizing you’re living his wildest dreams, melting in my hands.”

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. He poured every ounce of his love, his hand sliding once again to your stomach, snaking to the small of your back.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the fire in his eyes as you felt the lace on your dress loosening softly, the firmness of the unbreathable tie replaced by softness. "Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Once again. You didn’t. You couldn't.

Not when he licked your neck with a gracious soft tongue felt so right, molding your barely exposed curves to the hard planes of his body. His hands release you from the outrageously heavy dress.

“I want to sink myself into your untouched depths, stretching you wide, claiming you utterly…” He muttered, biting your earlobe, delighted at you melting with each word, his desire, touching every piece of skin as he murmured sweet nothings at your ear.

He gently touched your hair, careful not to make a mess with your luxurious hairstyle. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them as he turned you to face him. “I want to make you feel everything, know all the pleasures. Whispering my name in a hoarse voice as you please me with cream.”

His voice was a low, wicked purr, each word dripping with sinful promise and unchecked hunger. He took your hand, licking between your index and middle finger, imitating your folds as he saw you heat at him playing with your imagination. You knew what it was. He loved it. He wanted it.

Alexei’s hand slid lower, palming the rounded globe of your ass, squeezing the firm flesh and pulling you even harder against him.

“Every filthy, depraved, utterly obscene thought that's ever crossed your mind... It's all something I desperately want to make happen.”

Tenderly, he took off the corset watching it slowly rest on the floor. His hands slid to cup the soft weight of your breasts as he guided you to his bed, sitting you with surprising care, holding you for getting comfortable.

He pushed back for a moment, his eyes burning into yours as he quickly shed his own clothes, revealing the hard, toned body beneath.

He stood on the side of the bed and you followed him, sitting on your knees. “You’re mine,” He smiled, holding your chin between his fingers, placing a small kiss on your lips. “Mine to ruin.”

His whisper sends you a shiver down your spine. He pulled away again, putting his hands on the hem of his pants, pulling down his underwear as well, revealing to you the sight of the stranger, who somehow seemed familiar to you.

As if following his desire, your hands went up to your length, exhaling Alexei, not restricting your tongue, insisting on tasting his juice, planting a mouth-opened kiss. He groaned, maintained control with his fingers on your chin, your sweet innocence burning inside him, burning with the clear desire to ruin any trace of it in you. Present you to any pleasure the world denies you.

“Open your mouth, love.” He demanded and you slowly opened, sticking your tongue, obeying your instincts. He cupped your face, pressuring your jaw, seeing you opening even more. “Yeah… that's it. Keep it wide open for me.”

Alexei groaned, his cock at your wet, warm tongue dragged along his aching length, accommodating his veins. The sensation of your soft lips parting, your mouth stretching to engulf his thick, pulsing cock... It was almost enough to make him lose control, to spill himself down your throat, how you submissively struggled on making your moves deeper, comforting him on your walls.

“Keep going, you're doing so well…” his sweet praises echoed with the sound of your cheeks sucking in and the little ‘pops’ when you popped his cock out to lick him, savoring the saltiness just to warm him up again.

He pushed you, making eye contact as he patted his head on your flushed cheeks. A dark chuckle echoed from his lungs as he saw you opening your mouth eager to taste him again.

“You're so adorable… Did you want a cock this much? No wonder your mother hides such a slut. Would be a shame if anyone knows how good this pretty mouth is.” He cooed, pressing your chin down. “Stick your tongue, my cunt.” he ordered, pressing your chin down, patting his tip again when you showed your tongue on your reddened lips. “Yeah… that's it… good girl. Here, take what you want.”

He couldn't help but surrender to your swirling tongue, entertaining his frenulum. He popped out again, smirking just to dig inside again, chuckling with your gasp and hollowing cheeks.

He rocked his hips, grinding his cock against your tongue as he fucked your throat deep, “I'll ruin your mouth so any man could use it again. Just me. Your mouth made for my cock.”

The sight of you, tears streaking down your cheeks, mouth red and swollen from his rough treatment.

“Enough, darling.” He brushed his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping away the stray drop of drool that clung there, before pressing the digit past your lips, letting you suck it clean. His other hand slid into your hair, his fingers threading through the silky strands as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense, unwavering gaze.

“Did I do a good job?” You beamed, wiping off the remanescente drool off your face with the back of your hand.

“You were perfect, took me very well. Now… Lay down. On your back.” He asked and you obeyed, lying down as he ordered. He crawled on the bed, getting on top.

Alexei’s mouth travelled to your neck, nipping and deposing open-mouthed kisses, tasting you, claiming you, marking you. His own territory. He pushed back slightly, fingers gently wrapped around your throat as he licked the column, lifting to look at your eyes, leaving them as he arrived at your sternum, inhaling you.

“Such a magnificent smell.” He exhaled, inhaling sonorous, his fingers digged on your waist possessively. 

His head drove to the side, catching your nipples with his teeth gently, while his thumb teased the other one, turning, pinching, palming your breast and filling your hardened skin sticking on his hand, breathy purrs of yours could be heard on his timpani. 

He slid down in brief kisses to your undergarments. You plopped on your shoulders, watching him catch the hem of your underwear, tugging down with his teeth in one swift erogenous motion, letting them fall to the floor. 

“Alexei…” you mumbled dizzy, tortured by his tortuous rhythm. 

“Yes, my lady?” He teased, as he didn't know how you were on the edge of madness. He wanted you begging, but he was patient enough to wait for it, even if his cock ached for relief. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you.” You finally admitted, gazing into his lustful eyes that looked through his delicate lashes. “I want you, Alexei. I can't take it anymore."

“As you wish, my love.” He whispered before his lips searched yours in a bruising kiss, massaging your tongues together simultaneously to his teeth pushing your bottom lip, nipping and coming back for loving tongue. 

Alexei's hands drove down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pushed your legs up and out, forcing your knees upon your chest, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, your dripping sex begging for his cock to explore your walls. 

He pulled his hip down, your hole hugging his tip, getting used quickly to the new addicting sensation. He could smell the sweet scent of your desire, your flushed thighs shivering with anticipation mixed with the cold air of the night. Your cunt trying to suck him hungry. He heard it's calling, burying him completely with the symphony of your moan and his grunt. 

“God, you feel amazing.” he rasped light headed, sensing your channel tightening his length. 

His fingers drove out to your swollen clit. He rubbed the sensitive nub in tender circles, the calloused pad of his finger teasing until your hips bucked beneath him.

“Alexei…” you moan, digging your nails on his flushed shoulders, drawing a red path to his back where you scratch to his swaying moving. 

“Fuck, you take me so well, my darling.” He groaned, setting a pace as he kept eye contact with your foreheads together, shutting his eyes when he pursued your lips to a taunt kiss, hooking one of your legs around his waist. 

“Alexei… Alexei… fuck.” You mewl his name like a song, humming on each time his tip rocked on your sweet spot back and forth. 

“Is it good when I touch you here?” He left your lips, biting your jaw as he pulled your hair, swaying his hips harder and deeper. 

Suddenly, he pulled back, your blissed cunt feeling the void as you watched him sit on the bed and light a cigarette found on his trousers. He looked down at you, raising an eyebrow as he dragged in. “What are you waiting for? Sit.” 

"What?" you gasped, heavy from the pleasure you had gotten while sitting next to him.

“I think i was clear, but i’ll open an exception for your pretty pout.” Vronsky chuckled, leaning closer to your ear, cupping your face, thumb pressing your jaw as he ghosted his lips on your cheek. "I said sit. Sit so i can drink you with my eyes while your tits jump and you cream me like a good girl.”

You gasped, your face being released with soft brutality as you stared at him, your gaze going to his cock soaked in your lube "i don't know how to do this... i barely know how..."

"Shhh..." he shushed, taking your face into his calloused hand again, pulling your bottom lip with his index finger. "Obey. Sit.”

You swallow hard, obeying the order without blinking. Your legs work to spread out on Alexei's lap as he takes a deep drag on his cigarette, exhaling onto your face, your tears mixed with smoke.

"God, you're perfect.” he breathes, inhaling with his head on the wall as you sink down on him awkwardly, finally taking his full length in a sloppy unadjusted thrust of you. “Yeah… good girl. Fuck yourself on my cock to get what you want. Don't make me ask twice.”

You moaned at his dirty talk, starting a slow and uncoordinated movement that made your legs ache, but that felt incredibly delicious on your core. Up and down, back and forth, exploring the new nature. 

“Good…” he whispered, panting, his gaze at your cunt sucking him well. “You’re a natural. Faster."

Your eyes caught Alexei's furrowed brows as he took another drag, each time more awkwardly as the pleasure grew in his spine. 

He moved closer to you, exhaling smoke near your mouth as you inhaled again, but it wasn't the nicotine that was addicting you. It was how Alexei commanded without needing to touch, it was like your body knew exactly what he wanted.

You felt your heart race, the oxygen seeming to dissipate in the air suddenly as your sex demanded more. Vronsky noticed. His skilled fingers rubbing your clit. "That 's it. Cum on my cock. Cream it. Use me for your pleasure, love.”

“Alexei… fuck… I'm” You couldn't even speak, your body automatically throwing itself at Alexei who held you, dropping the cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed to hold you while you sought your own orgasm in him, his warm lips on yours again.

"You are the embodiment of sex, darling. My nymph. My muse. Fuck, you are delicious, melt into me." He stimulated you, encouraging your ecstasy, your eyes pressed shut as your mouth opened in a final sigh, your pleasure being released into Alexei. 

He took in your scent, your taste, your juice, wanting his pores to absorb every cell of yours released by your peak. The world seemed to dissolve, your mind blank as Alexei fucked himself into you, his ankles on the mattress to help with the thrusts as he digged inside, yours tits bouncing as you purred and whimpered. With a last harsh sway, his cock spurted his seed on your womb, rocking his hips til the last drop. 

Breathing heavily, you pulled away briefly to look into Alexei's delighted eyes, his blonde locks plastered to his forehead, his hands coming to your face in a generous caress, gently kissing your lips.

"Ravishing..." he whispered, taking in every detail of your sweaty face. "I wish to present myself to your mother as a suitor. I do not intend to let any other man touch my sweet little thing.”

Your eyes watered at the talking, your hands placed on your mouth to hide your surprise. “Alexei… Alexei, is it real? What made you change your mind?’

“Nothing.” He simply replied, smiling at your emotionally amused reaction, his own heart giggling at the moment. “You’re mine now, you’ll wear sapphires in the morning and blue diamonds at night, so everyone knows you’re my woman. you will be elevated to the position you deserve. High. Adored. A muse. Come on, get ready. We have an announcement to make.”

[kaleldobrev]

After Everything

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

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

Summary: You and Ben have a heart to heart

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing (17x) & Soft!Ben

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[briarscreek]

Mediaeval Prisoner!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley had a policy

life at whitegrave began to lull a bit after a few months. a rhythm that you realized that you could handle. of course it hadn’t been without your amazing tutors; including simon.

he was unlike anyone you had ever known. not only had he helped with copious amounts of pleasure (that still makes your knees weak everytime you see him) but he helped you understand confidence. the finality in your tone when a few certain merchants were being unagreeable.

you were discussing reconstruction plans with the iron workers and blacksmiths, knight simon on the edge of your periphery; when a commotion at the door made it burst open.

“countess! lovely to see you again!”

a loud, little bit shrill voice announced in your halls.

“uh- lord graves. i apologize, i have not received word of—“

“the curtains make this place drab, no? the color is highly childish. don’t worry, darling, i’ll help you change it.”

that gave you pause. the color? your favorite color?

“lord graves what are you doing here?”

“i’m here to head the estate. darling, you can’t possible do it all by yourself no? your husband should be running the household.”

you took a breath in your pause, you’re not only confused but now annoyed.

you heard soft footsteps from behind you, simon’s silent reassurance.

“lord graves, this estate was given to me. appointed by the king to me. therefore it will be run by me. i am not currently engaged to anyone and if i was the estate will still be run by me”

you kept your tone calm, despite the fact that your heart was hammering in your chest. merchants and staff were easier to navigate confrontations with but nobility is different altogether.

“which is why i’m here countess, i shall be your husband. no one else would take pity to marry a servant turned noble.”

it was then that your table erupted in whispers. that is unfortunately true. lord graves definitely isn’t the worst prospect. he is a distant cousin of the old died out whitegraves. he actually could help with the estate.

a hand on your shoulder calmed your nerves, knowing whose it belonged to. with a deep breath you realized what simon was saying.

show them what you want. i’ll be right here for you.

“absolutely not.” your voiced roared a little higher than expected but it caused the entire main hall to cease its chatter.

“lord graves; in the few minutes you have barged into my home you have interrupted an official meeting, interrupted my words, sought housing without my notice, insulted my house colors, insulted my intelligence, and have insinuated that you are to be my husband. these are not qualities of an upstanding lord.”

a sneer of anger started to ease onto his face. so he’s not use to someone refusing him? oh how sweet this will be.

“hopefully someone will take pity to marry a nobleman turned arrogant prick.”

the silence of your words held everyone at their stands. what you said was true as an air of understanding started to fall over the main hall. the countess is right. lord graves definitely is overstepping.

“you little—“

“sir riley, please remove lord graves from my estate. unless ordered by the king, please make sure that he never steps foot on my grounds again.”

without a word sir riley as well as other guards along the border of the main hall forcibly removed lord graves and his company from your estate.

“apologies everyone, where were we?”

simon’s lessons yielded a higher result than you initially expected. especially when he praised you for hours that night, cooing at how resilient and determined you were.

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[heartdoomed]

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

| Hard To Crack

Chapter l

Pairing: Au Mafia! Lady Dimitrescu x Tutor! Reader

Genre: AU, Slow Burn, Multiple Chapters

Chapter Warnings: None

Masterlist

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

 

‘Dimitrescu’

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

 

 ///////

 

 

 

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

 

“Come inside.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Sit.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“It is Y/N—“

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

‘She has long legs, this isn’t far!’

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

 ///////

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Cassandra!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Let her stay!”

 

“Yeah!”

 

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

 

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

 

“You start next week.”

 

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

 

“E- Excuse me?” Unbelievable.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 1

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

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

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

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

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

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

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My father is an earl. In Woodsdam.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He is very elegant,” Selene agrees. 

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

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

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

“Needn’t be cruel,” Calliope rebuffs. 

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

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

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

👑

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Beetlejuice Helping You Through A Bad Day

Beetlejuice X FemReader

Rating: T

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

Word Count: 1k

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

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

"Beetlejuice."

The air grew still.

"Beetlejuice."

The temperature began to drop.

"Beetlejuice."

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

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

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

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

"Rough day," he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"That's a little sad there babes."

"Beej!"

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

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

"I'm your idiot though."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gross."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Curses caught again!"

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

[artyandink]

the art of heresy forged 2022

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

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

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

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

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

keep it quiet

NICARAGUA, 1983:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOW:

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

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

Fuck all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’d gotten into some weird shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Vought imprisoned you for it, the bastards.

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

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

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

“Loud and clear, guv. Not a scratch.”

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

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

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

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

You could see Nicaragua.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kill each other.

Kill each other.

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

Over and over again.

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

And you did that.

It felt amazing.

1980:

Mmh, fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOW:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really needed a smoke round about now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Son of a bitch.”

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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[aphrosheir]

☆-《The Stakes pt. 2》-☆

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

TW: angst, character death, mentions of assault.

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

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

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

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

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

"NINE OF SWORDS!"

And then all of the sudden, everything stopped.

"Lilia! What happened, amore?"

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

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

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

"Come, my love. Let us sleep."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

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

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

"The Sun."

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

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

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

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

"Andiamo, amore mio?"

"Noi, amuri meu."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"(Y/N), no!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Unhand the lady this instance!"

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

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

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

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

"(Y/N), no!"

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

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

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

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

She had to change fate.

A loud scream echoed through the ballroom.

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

But alas, fate cannot be changed.

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

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

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

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

She was falling.

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

[muffinsin]

So it’s obvious that the girls had lives and families before the Cadou, so it got me wondering. What if the girls had a biological older or younger sibling that comes to work in the castle? It would probably feel weird to the girls to see what is basically a clone of you, that remembers a different version of you but you can’t remember them.

Tbh I love to occasionally think of setting Elena up as this (due to her obvious resemblance to Cassandra due to their models)👀 that’s a very interesting thought, hon!👀 this one’s got a bit angsty🙃

This one’s a little off my usual HCs for them since I HC that all 3 take a good 80 years tops to get to the point where they are in the game. Maturity and growth wise XD

Masterlists

Bela

Contrary to popular belief, not all are forced into the castle, forced to work there, to cook and clean and serve

Many come for the safety it can provide, the three meals a day, the roof above one’s head, the protection against Lycans

You, have come for a different reason

Bela Dimitrescu

The eldest of Alcina Dimitrescu, countess of Castle Dimitrescu, the head of the house

Her eldest. Her successor. Her heiress. One of three daughters, sisters

But also, your sister

She carries a different name now, looks a little different, acts different. But it’s her, undeniably so

You begin by working at the castle, and you work hard

Hard, quickly, every day. More and more. No task is too hard for you, no goal unreachable, for you have a single goal in mind;

To get to Bela

You know, you need to see her

You need to see your sister

You didn’t think you would again, that she would be lost forever after being taken by Mother Miranda

To see her in the distance, dragging something back to the castle…alive

Different, but alive

You need to know if your sister is still there

And so, as you continue to work hard and pick up more and more tasks, you eventually work your way up in the castle

Past ordinary tasks, ranking above the average maid

Until, at last, you’re assigned to clean and organize Bela’s spaces when she wants for it

You’re incredibly nervous on the first day, well aware that you will see her up close for the first time

While you’ve seen Cassandra around plenty times and managed to dodge her and had Daniela throw herself at you a few times, Bela has been distant, far too busy to spare the staff a glance or even interact with it

And when you are summoned to her office and finally see her, you feel like your heart is stopping

Her eyes are different, she sports a tattoo on her forehead. Her clothing is much richer and darker and while she barely wore make up in the village, she wears some now

But, beyond all this, she’s your sister still

Of course, she notices your racing heart

But, unlike her sisters, her reaction is different

She doesn’t grin, doesn’t approach you with a predatory smile and shine to her eyes as Cassandra would

She doesn’t move towards you with a sultry smile and seductive eyes as Daniela likes to do

Instead, she rolls her eyes subtly, as though a little annoyed

You immediately straighten up. You’re not sure how much she’s changed, but you know well enough to not anger her. Especially on your first day. You’ve heard rumors she is particularly unforgiving as it comes to a lack of competence

This, though, has you smile a little

This, at least, is a little like your sister, even if she was far, far more soft spoken in the village, unable to speak out as she can now due to the harsh, outdated hierarchy

Still, you remember her subtly rolling her eyes and glancing to you whenever something or someone annoyed her

Sensing your shift in behavior, she at last turns again, her hand raising, her gloved fingers gesturing to the room

As she talks, you can’t help but feel your heart ache. Her voice, though far more confident, is still the same

Your sister…

So close, yet so far

You so desperately want to reach out, to wrap your arms around her

You’re certain it wouldn’t be a very good idea judged by the dried blood around her lips

And still, you force yourself to stay quiet, to stay professional, to avoid staring at your long-lost sister overly long

As she works, you notice she checks in on you occasionally, critical as always, checking if you’re doing your work correctly

You can’t help a small smile

Even after all those years, you know how she likes to organize things. You know what ticks her off, what makes her smile, satisfied

You perform every task she gives you far better than all others, and she quickly decides she’s pleased with you. Pleased enough to have you work for her more and more

Every day, you see her

No. Every day, you see a shadow of who she was

She’s not quite your sister, and you’re not quite part of her family

She’s none the wiser, and you don’t dare tell her

You notice, though, she’s growing suspicious

Sometimes, you catch her staring, unashamed when she continues looking at you even when you turn to her

Like she’s trying to figure something out

Like she’a trying to figure out why you look so similar and familiar to her, but she has no recollection of you at all

At first, she thinks; could you be related to a former lover?

But…no, it doesn’t seem right

She can’t even begin to think she might be your sister

And you..you aren’t sure telling her is the best course of action

You can’t help but worry, fearing she might take you for a fool if you told her the truth

You know, in her eyes, she has a family

A new family

A stronger family

Not you…

She’s happy, you can’t help but notice. Or seems it, at least. She’s safe. And while she is occasionally heard complaining about “her sisters”, it isn’t hard to tell she loves them dearly nonetheless

Unsurprisingly, this stings

But…you can’t help but wonder whether it’s for the best

You’re about to tell her, once. About to spill your heart out and tell her everything. About to plead with her to come home

Home…

To the village, where it isn’t safe

A village, whose inhabitants have come to hate who your sister has turned into

How can you possibly ask her to do that? How could she possibly accept that?

You tell yourself, you won’t bother her. That after she’s looked after you all her life, you will look after her and grant her this life, now

But…you can’t bring yourself to stay away

You work eagerly, show up on time, every single day

You never fail to complete a task to her upmost satisfaction, and work for as long as you can, desperate to be with her and see her

You too notice yourself grow clingier, while she grows more and more curious

You seem so familiar, at ease. She can’t understand you, can’t figure you out at all

She wants to

She suspects, you must be keeping something from her

And when one day she confronts you, you almost forget who she is, now. That she no longer is the meek villager, the woman trying hard to protect you even if it meant being punished for it

The woman who would never resort to violence

You refuse to tell her what’s going on, originally, mistaking your relationship with Bela for one far more familiar than it is, now

You find yourself pressed against the window with a sickle to your throat, the not-so subtle threat of falling or being sliced imminent

You panic, suddenly struck with the realization again that despite her looks and certain similarities, this is not quite your sister

And you certainly are not family to her in her eyes

Terrified, you’re forced to realize; she will kill you, should you not speak up

And when you do, sobbing that she’s your sister, it’s like time stands still

She doesn’t believe it, at first

And for a moment, you’re certain she will kill you

But, the killing blow doesn’t come, and you’re left alone in her study instead

In the next couple of days, you don’t see her at all

You can’t even catch as much as a glimpse of her, really

Unbeknownst to you, your words have caused a small panic within her

She spends the majority of her days with Alcina, asking questions here and there, curious whether you could be telling the truth

She’s never quite cared for her former life

Of course, Alcina has once told her that she did exist as someone else before she was reborn

But, with her wonderful family surrounding her, she never found it within her to care

Now, she feels almost like she’s forced to

She panics easily at the thought of you, pacing as thoughts swirl about in her head

Often, it takes Alcina to calm her

It takes days for Bela to sort out her thoughts, to come to a point where she’s at least capable of making a choice

A choice, that comes a little easier to her than she likes to admit

The next day, you find your belongings packed and a carriage awaiting you, along with a handsome amount of gold

Some of the maidens congratulate you, others glance at you filthily, their jealousy clear as day

You feel only dread, only hurt

It’s clear to you in an instant; this is her doing

As much as she feels this odd feeling of familiarity with you, Bela can’t- no, does not want to- turn her back on her new family

She’s a Dimitrescu, and, to her, her family is Alcina, Cassandra and Daniela

She feels no sense of love towards you, no sense of affection she so dearly holds for her younger sisters

But, she does not want to see you hurt

She sends you off, away from the castle

You can’t be a part of her life. She makes this much clear

But, she sees to it that you’re cared for, financially, at least enough to afford a safe home

She can’t bring herself to do more than that

She’s a Dimitrescu, now, proudly so

And you are not

Cassandra

Cassandra Dimitrescu

A terror from the castle

A monster to many villagers. A devil, some even call her. A sadist, certainly. A predator, yes

Your sister

Can I be?

Could it really be her?

You remember her well, remember her strong face and stubbornness, her fierce protectiveness over you, which often led to her getting hurt

She never complained, never stopped protecting you

She’d always shield you from the dangers in the village

Gone, now

Given to Mother Miranda long ago

You remember she fought

You remember being unable to help her, staring into her brown eyes, wide and angry, as she was dragged away

The next time you look into her eyes, they’re golden, but unmistakably hers, still

It’s during a raid of the village, when you find yourself panting on the floor, watching a mysterious brunette rip apart the villager in front of you

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Then, when she turned, your sister…

Her face, her voice…but…not quite her

The woman in front of you is bloodied, and bloodthirsty. She holds your sister’s anger still, shows it openly, but it’s directed at everyone, and it feels like any wrong move could have it direct towards you, too

You aren’t sure why your instincts-unlike your wish- tell you not to run into her arms. But looking back, you’re certain it saved your life

Rooted in place, you can only stare and shiver, shake helplessly as the woman you’re so sure could be your sister tears apart the villager in front of you

By some miracle you aren’t next, left on the ground as she laughs and turns into what looks like a swarm of flies

Maybe, you should have dropped things

Maybe, you should have accepted your sister’s death

Maybe, you shouldn’t have gone chasing Cassandra

But, you do

You set out to work at the castle despite the rumors surrounding it

You know, after all, that is when you will find her

And, sure enough, you find out plenty

You find out, she’s the middle child, sister to Bela and Daniela Dimitrescu

A different family

A different woman?

But…you can’t help but see her, even as you’re confronted with the scary stories the staff likes telling about her in the dark

Maybe, you should have dropped it indeed

Finding Cassandra proves to be an easy task. Avoiding her sickle, a more difficult one

She’s loud, as your sister used to be, unfiltered

You remember, back then, this used to be a problem

You can’t help but notice, she seems happier, now

More confident

Free

Unburdened

Excited

Selfishly, perhaps, you can’t help but hope she isn’t loved. That maybe, she will come back to you

You’d hide her, make sure no resentful villager can find and hurt her. Or, by now, be hurt by her

Perhaps, this should be alarming

Still, you so desperately want to get your sister back

You try working your way up in the castle, try to work in areas you heard she regularly visits

The armory, she cellars, the wing containing her chambers

But, soon you realise; working hard has Bela Dimitrescu turn to you, not Cassandra

Bela, who seems to value order and your hard work

Daniela, who makes it a point to fluster you and all other staff members she comes across. So far, you have been lucky. You find; sticking to a group is important with the redhead, lest her seemingly random mood changes are directed at you

You begin to pull back a little, to take more risks, hoping it might catch Cassandra’s eye

Then, one day, it happens naturally

You’re caught up in a fight, screaming and scratching at the woman attacking you

You aren’t sure how it happened, how the maiden’s hurtful remarks could turn into a full blown fight

Nails scrape against skin, dig against it, hair is pulled

An unnecessary fight, foolish, in an already dangerous workplace

But, it’s enough to capture the sadist’s attention

You both flinch back when she’s suddenly there, and you gasp when her sickle easily slices forth through the air

It catches both of you, still, forming a bleeding cut at your cheek and a deep slash at the maiden’s one

She immediately begs for mercy, falls to her knees and sobs. You stand frozen in place

This close to her, you can’t help but look up again, your eyes finding her golden ones

Gold…not brown.. but the same lazy eye, the same frustration held in them

She’d always get so annoyed and frustrated at useless sobbing, would always scold you when you cried and apologized when she was hurt because of you

You know, this is your sister, deep down

You can’t bring yourself to look away. You want nothing more than to lunge forward, to wrap your arms around her and never let go

You’ve missed your sister so much. Now, she’s so close, yet so far

You flinch when the bloodied sickle is raised to your throat next, flinch and shiver uncomfortably when her tongue drags against the bleeding cut at your cheek

You don’t dare pull away, try to think about how embarrassed she will be once you tell her everything and she remembers you

The thought keeps you going despite your racing heart

And for a moment, she draws back, as if almost familiar with the scent and taste of the blood, as if it was far too similar to her own, far down beneath the scent and taste of her rotten one

For a second, you think she might understand, that she might suspect who you are

That she might remember

But, she doesn’t, and only pulls away again, eying you suspiciously

Of course, the huntress notices your odd taste and scent, so utterly familiar and out of place at the same time

She’s…curious, she decides

And while she snatches the other maid and leaves you that day, you’re summoned to the armory the very next one

From then on, you are to work for her

A deadly position

You still feel her eyes on you, always. You’re certain she’s around even when you can’t see her. Your sister always looked out for you. You hope, it can be like that again

As you work, you feel her around you, hear her flies buzzing while she stays in the shadows

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t come near you

Instead, she watches you, studies your mannerisms. Sometimes, she snarls, and you notice it’s usually triggered by you doing something your sister used to do

In the back of your mind, you wonder whether she still does those things, even as her life seems to be so different

In time, this stays the exact same

It’s always tense with her. Often, you’re around when she drags a new victim with her

At other times, she slices at you, always taking a taste for herself as if tying to study your taste and blood. Her injuries- to you at least- are never lethal. You can’t help but wonder, perhaps naively, that this is done on purpose. You’re sure someone like Cassandra is capable of differentiating

Working for her, you learn more and more about her

With a heavy heart, you notice her anger is much more prominent, now

And while it was often her cut and beat at the village by stronger, bigger villagers, it is now her who cuts and beats, slices and bites, taunts and tortures for hours to no be

Prey, turned to a predator

How could you possibly bring her back home?

How could you possibly get her to stop consuming blood?

At times, you like to daydream, perhaps she can change. Perhaps, you can feed her. Perhaps, she can come live with you. Maybe it will work out

But, she is loved, here

It’s not often you see a glimpse of this, but it’s there

She’s an older sister, here. A younger sister. A daughter. They are each others’ everything

You grow more and more depressed with each day at the castle, less and less convinced that you can ever be with your sister again

Each passing day you notice how much she has changed, how she could never live at the village with you again

Each passing day you notice how bloodthirsty she is, how unique, now

And each passing day you grow less convinced to tell her the truth

Then, one day, it’s as though she has it figured out

You gasp when you’re awoken in the middle of the night. She’s in the staff’s quarters, the beds around you bloodied, all others now forced into an endless sleep, their heads turned, limbs broken, throats sliced

Clearly, she wants to be alone with you

The Realisation that murder comes so naturally to your sister now is horrifying. You know, there is no scenario in which she can return to how she used to be, no amount of love and talking from you. Cassandra is different, now

She claims, she knows who you are

You can’t talk. Can’t hug her as you want, knowing if you do the stench of blood and guts that clings to her will bleed into your scent, too

You can’t speak, can only cry as she sits at your bed

You missed your sister so much

You never thought about how even now that she’s here, she isn’t quite your sister

Not anymore

She asks you what she was like

You can’t answer

She asks you what your parents were like

You can’t answer

You can only stare ahead blankly, knowing that despite her apparent calmness and curiosity, she cares little for you

Her eyes hold no love, only curiosity. She knows, you’re too different. She knows, you don’t accept her, can’t accept her, like this, your head far too full of fake hopes and dreams of a sweet family reunion

She has a family already

She asks you what her name was

You can’t answer

She’s growing annoyed, and you can only sit in silence, the stench of the bodies in the room filling your nose

She raises from the bed, her sickle raised. She demands answers from you, answers her mother could not give her

Who was she?!

You can’t answer

Who she was, is not who she is

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Bitter, you grit your teeth

Not your sister, not anymore. A different name, a different family, a different set of ideals, no longer yours alone. It was meant to be the two of you against the world

Bitter, you turn your head from her

Her patience runs out, and you draw your last breath

Daniela

Your sister…

Not a day passes you don’t think of her

At times, your heart aches when you think of her and feel anger and bitterness at her for leaving you. For being foolish. For being delusional. For being taken away from your family

You still see her eyes when you close yours, so wide and fearful, full of tears

You remember running and hiding away when she was taken, her screams loud, her cheeks wet with salty tears

You never thought you’d see her again, thought your precious sister was gone forever

Or, maybe even worse, a mindless lycan roaming the forest

You didn’t think she still existed, haven’t heard a thing from her

Until the day you too were sent away

Not to Mother Miranda, no, but to work at the castle

A cruel fate, certainly. You’re sure, your “parents” do not fully intend for you to return, money prioritized over you being home

You’re terrified on your first day, your mind full of stories the scared staff has whispered to you already

Whispers of three sisters- Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, and their mother

Bela, the cruel one

Cassandra, the sadistic one

Daniela, the unpredictable one

Alcina, the noble one, nearly impossible to please

You’re walking with a small group of women- soon to be staff members too- when you turn your head at a noise in the distance

A giggle, light, a little manic, but so painfully familiar

Your eyes are wide as you search for the source of it, your breathing ragged already

Could it be?

Could your sister be here?

A staff member, too?

A prisoner?!

You can’t see her clearly, but your eyes are fixated on two women in the distance

One, short, in a maiden’s uniform. You can’t see her face, but recognise the auburn-ginger hair, still

You think, she’s a little shorter than your sister was, but refuse to let go of the string of hope you’re clutching to you, now

In front of her stands a tall woman, dressed in black. You can’t see her face, can’t make out anything but her height, the black dress and coat and the few flies surrounding her and connecting to her skin

You shiver, not trusting the sight. Surely, it didn’t really connect with the woman

But, you’re sure: she must be one of the three sisters, one of the supposed monsters roaming the castle

Briefly, you want to fight, thinking your sister could be in danger

Has the tall woman taken a shine to her? Has she gotten herself in trouble because of her heart, again?

The thought it almost too much to bear

You didn’t help her, couldn’t help her, back then

You want to, now

But as you take a single step towards the pair a hand grabs your arm already, holding you back firmly

“Don’t stray”, the unknown woman, a maid, warns

You’re led back to the group, your eyes lingering on the two women for as long as they stay in your sight

You can only pray, your sister is safe

You only pray, you will see her again, will get to hug her again, talk to her again

Ah, and your wish does come true, in the end

When, just the day after, you’re assigned to the library

An easy task, really. Stacking books, reorganizing them, sweeping dust here and there

You clean idly, your head turning often in hopes of seeing your sister

But, the library is empty

You turn often, keep imagining the sound of her voice until you’re worried you didn’t hear her the day before at all

Then, out of nowhere, you feel a body press up against your back, a sickle held against your cheek

Immediately, you go completely tense, already picking up the scent of blood and flowery perfume behind you

“Oooo, you must be new!”

Instantly, you turn, even as the sharp blade grazes your skin

Your eyes are wide when you do so

First, hopeful

Then, almost horrified

You stare up at the woman in black clothing, her golden eyes set on you, her gaze curious and almost dreamy

You study her features, so familiar to you that you could paint them from memory easily

Your sister

Uncaring of the circumstances, you can’t help but throw your arms around her, your head pressing against her neck, tears already forming at your eyes

You hear her gasp above you, then hear her coo, as though you were nothing but a puppy clinging to her

When you look up at her hopefully, you see no recognition in her eyes at all, though find the faintest flicker of curiosity in the seemingly endless pools of gold

Gold, that you remember being green. Your heart aches as you find a glimpse of it in her eyes still, like a faint reminder of who she once was

You call her name, and she frowns. You try to search your mind, hoping to find her name in the countless scary stories that have been told to you

Daniela

Daniela Dimitrescu

A new name. A new life. A new reality, for her

Briefly, you think bitterly; she’s left you behind again

But you won’t be letting go of her this time. Won’t let her heart carry her away, won’t let her naivety take her from you again. Maybe, if you bring her home, your family could be once more

You’ve missed her so much

You frown when she coos again, her black painted lips spreading into a smile. She smiles, like a predator finding its prey

You shiver, but don’t let go

You won’t let go of your sister, this time

You call her name again, and just briefly there’s a flicker of anger in her eyes, as though growing annoyed with the idea you might mistake her for someone else

Tears begin to form in your eyes

“Don’t you remember me?”

Daniela is, overall, relatively easy to convince of who she uses to be

She hears you out, even as you get the feeling she’s barely taking anything in, as though your- her- story was nothing but that; a story to her, a fairytale

Still, she takes care of you, brings you along a lot

Daniela does not allow you to call her by the name she once went by, but she’s- kind, even as her sisters and mother send more than just one deadly glance your way

You understand fast: she is loved here. She has made a new family, has found one

She’s changed

But maybe, you can change too

You try hard to understand, try not to let it bother you when she kills and taunts and drinks from the staff

You try especially hard to avoid letting her see your terror whenever she randomly turns into a swarm of insects

After all, she could still be your sister, too

And while her sisters seem out for blood, Daniela seems almost excited to have you with her

She spends every day with you, chatting, playing games she has invented or heard of, telling you about her day

Only can you not get rid of that…feeling

Like she doesn’t view you as family, no

She has her family, after all…

No, you are- a friend, perhaps

A friend, she spends every single day with

Until, eventually, she becomes busier

When she hunts all day long and only has time for you in the evenings

When she prefers her new family over you, eventually

When, at last, she grows tired of playing with the little human that just can’t seem to keep up with her

You’re allowed to live at the castle, growing older while she stays forever young, energetic and happy, quickly bored when she visits and, in time, you can neither keep up with her speed nor understand her when she speaks far too fast and a little too low

In the years you spend together, she finds; she does find comfort in you

She likes you, too

But- she is a Dimitrescu

[asifyoudidntknow]

All Time Favs

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

*Alternate Universe*

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

Katherine of Ireland by Jenna Tooms (gossamer)

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

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

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

In darkness by DKSculder (ao3)

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

Blinded by the white light by DashaK (ao3)

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

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

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

Paracelsus by profuckslove (ao3)

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

Hiareth by profuckslove (gossamer)

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

Paracosm by @softnow (ao3)

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

A companion unobtrusive by @slippinmickeys (ao3)

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

Qui Si by Trixie (gossamer)

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

You he did not fail by extraordinarily_ordinary (ao3)

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

Five years and a lifetime by @monikafilefan (ao3)

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

Amish country by lolabeegood (gossamer)

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

You and me by lolabeegood (gossamer)

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

The mountain man by aka Jake (gossamer)

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

The countess/the earl by @slippinmickeys (ao3)

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

*Case*

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

Perchitor by @aloysiavirgata (ao3)

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

Omens by @lepus-arcticus (ao3)

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

XII by fragilevixen (ao3)

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

Hearts desire by malibusunset (ao3)

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

Resurgam by opheila_interrupted (ao3)

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

Universal invariants/laws of motion by @syntax6

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

All the way home/head over heels by @syntax6

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

Queens gambit by Suzanne Schramm (gossamer)

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

*angst + romance*

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

Contact high by penumbra (gossamer)

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

Early on by @sunflowerseedsandscience (ao3)

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

Center Mass by @kateyes224 (ao3)

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

One blue line by sarie_fairy (ao3)

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

Salt by anjou (gossamer)

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

Triptych by @iconicscullyoutfits (ao3)

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

Snowbound by malibusunset (gossamer)

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

The ache by @storybycorey (ao3)

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

Love bites by living_underground (ao3)

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

Goshen by bonetree (ao3)

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

All that our senses can perceive by wonderland (ao3)

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

Caught in the Act I by parrotfish (gossamer)

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

The things she carries by @edierone (ao3)

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

Red valerian series by dashakay (ao3)

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

Sex and Loathing by malibusunset (ao3)

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

Snakebitten by @onpaperfirst (ao3)

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

Five years and one night by Shalimar (gossamer)

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

The letter by Shalimar (gossamer)

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

*smut + romance*

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

Undercover swing by 2momsmakearight (ao3)

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

Be kind, rewind by OnlyTheInevitable (ao3)

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

Girl 77 by mojo

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

Dropped call series by @phillippadgettwrites (ao3)

Phone sex, but make it “not them”

December 31, 1984 by @phillippadgettwrites (ao3)

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

Damsels by @sisterspooky1013 (ao3)

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

The Shirt by Audrey Roget (gossamer)

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

[kotelok16]

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

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

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

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

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

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

The quartermaster of the ship is at your service🥰

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ship's carpenter

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

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

The ship's doctor

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

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

Teru

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

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

🪷:

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

Please ignore if you find this uncomfortable

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

Mini or full is upto you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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