#leaves and frost hunt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shxuga · 2 months ago

Text

Bloody Bites | Twisted Wonderland

Vampire!Malleus Draconia x Female!Reader | Priest!Rollo Flamme x Female!Reader | VampireHunter!Leona Kingscholar x Female!Reader | Vampire AU | TW: Blood, descriptions of violence, manipulation, abuse, dead dove: do not eat.

ACT II

A C T I

It was going to be a harsh winter.

She knew it from the first snowfall when there was barely a hint of frost on the trees. Day after day, the temperature dropped alarmingly, and in a matter of hours, the entire forest had been painted white. A white so pure it was almost uncomfortable to look at.

“You should stay in the village this season.”

Yuu blinked, losing track of what Father Rollo was solemnly reciting that Sunday morning. She turned toward the voice, facing a pair of brown eyes that, to any stranger, would seem cold and indifferent. But to her, they held an almost imperceptible warmth.

“What…?”

“You can stay at my house. During the winter, there won’t be any smell of blood or anything that bothers you.”

He continued, unfazed, completely ignoring the constant "shhh" from the other villagers around them. Yuu blinked again, stunned.

“They rarely manage to hunt anything this season.”

“Are… are you crazy?” She lowered her voice behind a fist, trying to draw less attention than her companion. “Do you have any idea what they’d say about a man and a woman living under the same roof without being married…?”

“You know I don’t give a shi—”

“Adel!”

It was a fact—now everyone in the church knew about their conversation. Even Father Rollo paused his sermon and observed them for a brief, cutting moment before resuming his reading with a grunt, an act of mercy.

It was incredible how, with a face that almost resembled a woman’s, his pretty brown eyes, the deep dark blue—almost black—of his hair, and his rosy skin, Adel could curse so shamelessly inside a church.

“You know Father Rollo…”

“I don’t understand why you revere that idiot so much.”

“Adel…” she pleaded, pulling at her hair in exasperation.

“If he cared about you as much as you think, he never would’ve exiled you to live alone in the forest.”

He added with disdain, declaring his victory as Yuu fell silent.

Not long after, the service ended. Yuu wasn’t even surprised when, from a distance, Father Rollo gestured for her to come over while everyone else left the sanctuary. She quickly bid Adel farewell before hurrying in his direction.

“F-Father Rollo, we didn’t mean to…”

“That butcher… are you two close?”

Rollo Flamme cut off her murmuring mercilessly, earning a confused look from the younger woman.

Yuu swallowed dryly, staring into the pair of cold, dark eyes that always seemed to judge her.

Rollo Flamme was young, very young. But that didn’t disqualify him from his position. The deep dark circles under his eyes were the greatest proof of his devotion and commitment to the clergy. With his nearly six-foot height, severe yet attractive face, he radiated an imposing aura that drew villagers like flies to honey—or, in Yuu’s case, made her shrink into herself.

“Well, yes…”

“Has he asked for your hand in marriage?”

He cut her off again, impatient.

Yuu stared at him blankly, making the wrinkle between Rollo’s brows deepen.

“Has he?”

“No! No, no, no…” She fidgeted with her fingers, suppressing the urge to bite her nails in an attempt to escape his icy gaze. “Adel and I are just friends…”

“Oh, please.”

Rollo scoffed, a condescending smile curling his lips as he looked at Yuu with false sympathy.

“Don’t tell me you seriously believe that a man and a single woman can just be friends?”

Suddenly, the smile vanished, leaving only the tight press of his lips in distaste.

“If you keep thinking that way, you’ll only follow in the disgraceful footsteps of your mother.”

“Remember, Yuu, there isn’t a single man in the world who doesn’t see you for what you are…”

“The daughter of a prostitute…”

She murmured, eyes cast downward in shame.

Yes, that’s what she was.

Exile was the price of atoning for her late mother’s sins. Carrying that shame had long been her way of life.

“Oh, come now, don’t make that face.”

Rollo’s fingers took her chin with a gentleness that starkly contrasted with the severe, accusatory tone he had just used to reprimand her.

“I only want what’s best for you, and if I speak to you this way, it’s because I care. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes… Thank you, Father.”

“Wonderful.”

Rollo hummed in satisfaction, sliding a hand over Yuu’s hair in what could be considered a reward.

“Now, go home. Remember not to talk to strangers, especially if they’re men.”

“…Alright.”

She stepped back with a reverence, ready to begin the long journey back to her cabin in the forest.

“Oh, Yuu…”

“…Yes?”

“Don’t forget that I love you.”

• • •

By the time she reached her humble dwelling, the sky was completely dark, and the snow reached up to her knees. She took refuge by the fireplace, seeking to rid herself of the oppressive cold that seemed to cling to her very blood. She knew it was risky to go back and forth between the church and her cabin, but what else could she do? Father Rollo had always been so kind to her that missing a service felt like an unforgivable act of ingratitude.

She looked out the window, finding nothing but utter and absolute darkness. On nights as cold as this, she missed her mother’s presence... She stepped away from the window, pushing away thoughts of the past, causing the wooden frame to creak under her touch. A creeping sensation stirred within her—that something, deep in the forest, was watching her. She added more firewood to the flames and wrapped herself in a pile of furs that, despite being old and worn, did their job: keeping her warm.

The next morning, the sky was overcast, and the cold was hardly any different from the night before. Yuu began her daily chores early, stepping outside only to clear the frost that had built up on her door and roof. On days like these, wolves and other creatures lurked in the shadows, so the less time spent outside, the better.

That’s why she didn’t know how it happened.

She didn’t know at what moment, in the midst of her cold and lonely winter, she ended up like this—dragging a bloodied young man she had found on an equally gray afternoon while gathering firewood. She knew her world was inhabited by all sorts of malevolent creatures, but she simply couldn’t ignore the dying, unmistakably human figure of the boy lying in the snow, disturbing the pristine white with blood... too much blood.

She knew Father Rollo would reprimand her for not heeding his advice, but she would regret it for the rest of her life if she left him there to die.

There was something sinister about this young man. Something terribly sinister in how pale and beautiful he was. Beautiful—yes, there was no better word to describe his angelic features, which clashed with the ragged state of his bedding. His hair was black, deep, like the glossy plumage of a raven gleaming under the flickering firelight. Even someone as uneducated and illiterate as Yuu could tell that the refined attributes of his face would put many artists and poets—who prided themselves on knowing true beauty—to shame.

She was so mesmerized by his appearance that, throughout the entire process of cleaning his body, she failed to notice that there wasn’t a single wound on his pale, ice-cold skin.

The stranger remained motionless for days, making her question whether she had brought home a man or a statue.

Either way, since his arrival, her small hut no longer felt so lonely. And somehow, since she brought him in, the constant sense of danger emanating from the forest seemed to have lessened.

Yuu basked in the newfound calm, oblivious to the fact that she had invited the most dangerous predator to her doorstep.

Months passed, and winter began to fade. It seemed like any other day when she left to gather firewood, leaving her silent guest alone, as she had done in the weeks prior. Excited to see how spring was gradually making its presence known with small touches of green here and there, she lost track of time and found herself returning home as the sunset painted the sky in shades of red and orange. It was beautiful; she rarely had the opportunity to admire the sky like this.

The tranquility of the forest was soothing—the distant hum of insects and the fluttering of birds signaled that spring was just around the corner. She gazed at the faint silhouette of the moon in the sky, feeling strangely happy.

Soon, I’ll be able to return to the village and see Adel and Father Rollo!

“Good afternoon.”

Her blood turned to ice.

Slowly, she turned to face the group of hunters who, at some point along her path, had drawn uncomfortably close. She vaguely recognized their faces—they were likely from the village, though she couldn’t put names to them. It was strange. Why were they approaching her like this?

“Good afternoon,” she replied, her voice steady and composed as she clutched the firewood against her chest, an awful sense of dread swirling in the pit of her stomach.

If there was one reason Yuu had survived alone in the forest for so long, it was her instinctive fear of strangers. Even she was surprised that she had invited one into her home.

“It’s been a harsh winter, hasn’t it?”

He kept talking. Why was he still talking? It was odd—normally, everyone, except for Adel, avoided her like the plague.

“Yes, it has.”

She slowly stepped backward, uneasy at how they all seemed to notice her growing desperation to end the conversation. The dogs growled in response, making her even more anxious.

“We had a good hunt,” the eldest of the hunters mused, gesturing toward the large stag they were dragging back to the village. “If you want, we can give you something... in exchange for your services.”

“My... services?”

The men exchanged glances.

“Come on, we all know you’re following in your mother’s footsteps—that’s why that priest cast you out of the village,” another man interjected, far less patient. “So spare us the false modesty.”

She didn’t even get the chance to scream.

Yuu fought with all her might, but they were too many—too strong and too fast. Within seconds, her face was pressed against the snow, sharp stones and twigs scraping her skin.

“N-no...!”

She kicked wildly, screaming in terror as she felt a hand slipping beneath her skirt. Somehow, she managed to snatch a small hunting knife and swung it blindly, forcing them to back away. She took advantage of their surprise and ran, abandoning the firewood in her frantic escape. But she didn’t get far.

One of the dogs sank its teeth into her leg and dragged her back. Her screams echoed through the endless forest. It hurt. It felt like massive needles were tearing through her flesh. Someone struck her across the face, and suddenly, everything went dark.

Yet she refused to stop fighting.

Then came the worst of it.

“Shit! Which one of you idiots stabbed her?!”

“W-what was I supposed to do?! She wouldn’t stop struggling!”

“What do we do now...? Her guts are about to spill out any second now...”

She held her stomach, feeling a great, damp warmth spreading through her arms. Cold, it was so cold. Her eyes could only make out blurry shapes, and her lips trembled with unintelligible mutterings.

It hurt, it hurt so much.

Yuu wanted to scream, but her body was becoming less and less hers; there was a disconnect that manifested as a tingling, numbing her extremities.

So… I’m really going to die like this.

On her deathbed, she thought of Adel, of how she should have listened to him and thanked him for being one of the few who genuinely cared about her. She also thought of Father Rollo and how sad he would feel to know she had died in such a miserable way, all because she hadn’t followed his advice.

And she also thought of him, her nameless guest. Her greatest regret in that moment was that she would never be able to find out what his voice would have sounded like. It was foolish. Why was she thinking about something so trivial? Had her life really been so insignificant from beginning to end?

«Crunch, crunch, crunch»

In the middle of the small battle she was fighting with her eyelids to keep them from closing, she thought she heard unfamiliar screams and growls. Something splattered against her face, just as hot as the blood seeping through her fingers.

«Slurp, slurp, slupr»

What was that sound?

"Ah~, it's been a while since I last had a bite… This time, he really almost killed me."

A single voice echoes in the now silent forest. Yuu weakly lifts her eyes toward the direction where, just moments ago, her tormentors had been looking at her. She almost doesn't recognize the angelic, pale face covered in blood. The vital liquid dripped excessively from his lips, covering everything with the horrible metallic scent that it was known for.

"A bit bitter for my taste, but it'll be enough for now."

It was him.

No, impossible. She had to be hallucinating—a cruel and bleak trick her mind was playing on her before her permanent dismissal from life. It was unthinkable, especially because her guest didn’t have those strikingly prominent horns atop his head, nor did he have the physique to tear apart five seasoned hunters. And he certainly didn’t look like a vampire.

For starters, since when were those demonic entities so beautiful? Father Rollo had always described them as horrendous creatures—monstrous beings you’d recognize at first glance! Yes… ugly, dangerous, and… red-eyed.

But him… he was none of that. His eyes weren’t even red; they gleamed with the intensity of an emerald fully bathed in the midday sun.

"Look at you… And here I was, thinking I’d return your kindness by killing you painlessly."

He spoke, and Yuu’s ears caught his tone like a gentle caress, even in the midst of his condescension. There was no expression on his face, or at least none Yuu could make out when more than half of her bodily fluids had already painted the ground crimson. Besides, the sun had long since vanished, and the moonlight barely allowed her to make out faint shapes.

"I have lived through countless eras, and yet, not once have I fully understood humans. Weak, pathetic, selfish… I have never met one without these three traits. But you, foolish little human… you are, without a doubt, the stupidest one I have ever encountered."

Silence.

That seemed to be the conclusion he had reached as he wandered around her slowly cooling body, splattered with the remains of several people.

"H-Help… me…"

She didn’t even know if he was still there, much less if he would offer her anything after so openly insulting both her and her entire species in her final moments. But what else could she do? In the end, he was right. She was nothing more than a selfish creature who, no matter how miserable her life had been, refused to leave without clinging on and fighting just a little.

There was no response, but that didn’t surprise her either. She hadn’t taken him into her cabin expecting anything in return. Just having someone there for all those months—someone she used to warm herself during the nights when the ice nearly froze her bones, someone to talk to when the silence became unbearable… someone who, in his taciturn way, reminded her of what another person’s face looked like.

How pathetic. She had even shared her most personal thoughts with him when the solitude threatened to shatter what little sanity she had left. She expected nothing from him because, even in all that silence, she felt like she had already received too much.

Yes… in the end… she would die settling for scraps.

Just like her mother.

"Aren’t you just a pathetic little thing~?"

He cooed, his voice light, laughing shamelessly at her plea. But Yuu was already too weak to hear him.

She had the faint sensation of something sinking into her neck, but by then, her nerves had already stopped being of any use.

Her last memory as a human was how beautiful the moon looked at the turn of the season.

Tag list: @ghostlysyntaxed @nico707 @strayharmony943

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

#twisted wonderland #twst #ツイステ #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #rollo fla #rollo flamme x reader #twst x reader #ao3 #au #vampireau

310 notes · View notes

cece693 · 1 month ago

Text

So, I got this silly idea where Pamela Voorhees manipulates the male reader into being Jason's caretaker, because (bless her soul) she knows she won't be here forever. So, while giving this male reader attention and 'motherly' love, she unknowingly gives Jason a bride. And because the male reader is so preconditioned to tend to another person they're like 'okay. This guy is definitely crazy but also kinda hot...' So yeah, this idea is out there, but I like it. Hope you do too!

NEW CAREGIVER.... (AND LOVER)

pairing: jason voorhees x male reader tags: reader is a runaway, shitty home, what else can I say, Pamela is a scheming lady, but you get Jason, so is that too bad???, nah didn't think so, fluff

The moon was an indifferent coin above the highway the night you ran—bare-footed, half-blind with tears, flinching at every blast of a passing horn. Home had never deserved the name; it was a house of slurred curses and shattered dishes, a place where love arrived in bruises. When you finally collapsed at the treeline of Crystal Lake, you expected the cold or coyotes to finish what your father started.

Instead, you woke beneath a patchwork quilt that smelled of cedar and lavender water. An elderly woman sat knitting beside a pot-bellied stove, her smile warm yet oddly knowing, as though she’d been waiting for you.

“I’m Pamela,” she said, voice soft as cattail down. “Pamela Voorhees. You’re safe here, dear boy.” It took you only a day to discover what here meant—Camp Crystal Lake. Pamela called the place a sanctuary and grave in the same breath, yet with an air of how a person spoke of cathedrals.

Mrs. Voorhees’s hospitality tasted like something you’d forgotten was real. She mended the splits in your soles with neat whip-stitches, pressed warm cornbread into your palms, and brushed the tangles from your hair while you dozed by the window. But comfort was only half her gift; the other half was preparation.

“The forest isn’t cruel,” she instructed. “but it is indifferent. If you wish to protect someone in these woods, you must become its equal.” You learned to tread silently through the forest, to smell rain before clouds formed.

“Some wounds,” she murmured, gaze faraway, “don’t bleed red. Treat them anyway.” You practiced on burlap dolls, then raccoon corpses you found tangled in old fishing net. Your stitches grew beautiful and grotesque all at once.

“He’s a growing boy,” Pamela said, ladling venison stew into a third bowl you placed reverently at the empty seat. You’d glance at the untouched spoon and feel a prickle behind the eyes, as if someone watched from the tree line, salivating at the thyme-tinged broth.

You never dared ask why she trained you with the severity of a drill sergeant, only for whom. However, she simply answered with a wistful pat to your cheek: “In time, you’ll meet my Jason.”

Late spring blurred into summer when things irrevocably changed. Lightning split the August sky when a group of camp counselors returned, laughing with guitars and bottles. Pamela’s knitting paused mid-row. The smile she gave you was sad yet resolute: “Stay inside, dear. Boil water. Fold bandages. Wait for me.” Then she slipped into the trees with a hunting knife and a resolve that glinted like frost on iron.

You did not see her alive again.

When dawn paled the lake, the forest stank of metal and rain-damp carnage. You stumbled upon her body by the generator shack—head missing, cardigan soaked black, her eyes forever spared the horror of what she’d done and what had been done to her. Grief tore every stitch she’d sewn into you. You buried what you could beneath a stand of birches, whispering a prayer you half-remembered from a childhood chapel, though God had never done either of you favors.

The sensible thing would be to leave.

But you stayed.

Grief motivated you to continue with your rituals. Keeping the cottage immaculate, preserving her collection of knitted sweaters, sharpening the kitchen knives every Sunday. Nights, you dreamed of water lapping at rotten docks; of a child’s gurgling sobs just beyond the tree line. Then the gifts began:

A butchered stag laid across the porch like an altar offering.

A jar of marigolds—roots, soil and all—placed beside your pillow.

Heavy boot-prints circling the cabin at night, too large for any man you knew.

The first snow had not yet melted when you finally met him. You heard something massive wading ashore, yet before you could grab the hatchet—you froze.

He wasn't a kid, defenseless and weak as Pamela had hinted at. Instead, he loomed in the doorway: a towering figure in mold-streaked coveralls, burlap sack knotted over his head. One eye—wide, milk-blue, yet oddly innocent—studied you. In his fist dripped a wood axe, but he made no move to raise it.

Instinct overrode terror. “You’re hurt,” you whispered, noticing the gash bisecting his shoulder. You reached for the first-aid kit Pamela insisted stay stocked. He flinched yet allowed it, gaze following your every motion the way a half-feral dog watches the only hand that feeds it.

When you finished bandaging, you pressed a palm to his chest. “Jason?”

The name left your tongue like an invocation. The giant’s breathing hitched; then slowly, he retrieved a tarnished locket from inside his shirt—Pamela’s, the same oval cameo she once pressed into your palm for “safekeeping.” Two photographs faced one another: baby Jason…and now, tucked beside it, you.

Pamela had written your name beneath the picture, shaky but intent.

Everything clicked: the chores, the sewing lessons, the knife work, the rules. She’d been fashioning you into more than a ward. You were the keeper of her legacy, the caretaker—the bride—for the son who lived beyond death.

Jason remained mute, but devotion needs no dialogue. You learned his language in nods and tilts of that burlap-covered head: hunger, pain, agitation when strangers trespassed. He shadowed you while you cooked, his hulking frame squeezed into the doorway like a child desperate not to be left out. When you laid a sweater—Pamela’s favorite blue one—across his shoulders, enormous fingers fumbled with the buttons until you guided them.

Nights grew strangely gentle. He’d sit cross-legged by the hearth while you read aloud from Pamela’s brittle prayer book, big head tilting at the cadence of your voice. One evening flames spat sparks; you startled, and Jason’s arm swept you behind him in reflex as if flesh were expendable, you were not. The gesture shocked warmth into your marrow.

And yes, there were killings. Outsiders who trespassed, teens seeking thrills—they vanished beneath the frozen lake or hung like ornaments from the pines. You cleaned the machetes afterward, murmuring that he’d done “well.” Morality blurred; love is an elegantly cruel tutor.

#x male reader #male reader #slasher fandom #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees #jason vorhees imagine #jason voorhees x male reader #jason voorhes x reader #jason voorhees x you #jason vorhees x reader #friday the 13th #pamela voorhees #friday the thirteenth #friday 13th #slasher fanfiction #slasher x male reader #slasher movies #slasher community

282 notes · View notes

daryltwdixon · 9 months ago

Text

Double Lines

a requested one shot

"Hi it's me lol my request is Daryl and fem reader are a couple and they finally decided to try for a baby. When Rick returns he is proud of Daryl for everything he's done with the group as well as being a father figure to Judith and can't believe he's finally a father to his own kid. Just fluff lol up to you if there's a pregnancy loss or not in their journey to try to conceive, baby gender is up to you. Names for baby are DJ (Daryl Jr) or Elizabeth after Beth since she was your close friend as well as Daryl's 🖤🖤" @twistedprincess-92

fluffy, pregnancy, gentle Daryl, fem reader.

Daryl has his arms wrapped around you as you stand in the bathroom together. The tile flooring is cold under your bare feet, but that’s not the only thing bringing goosebumps to your skin. He’s kissing your cheeks and lips, then to your nose and temple.

“Whatever it is, I love you,” he whispers against your ear.

You smile and tuck your face into his neck. Praying, pleading, for once to see that double line. Before you made it to Alexandria, you were terrified of an accidental pregnancy. The thought of bringing a baby into this world terrified you, even though Judith had done so well. But her early years were hard. For her and the group. Daryl was just as scared as you were about pregnancy–maybe more from the fear of losing you. So when you both settled into Alexandria, the idea of a life outside of the apocalypse crept in more and more each day. You kept picturing a stumbling toddler running out to greet Daryl when he came home, what songs you would sing them to bed with, or how soft their cheeks might be. What a mini Daryl might look like, or a little girl who looked just like you might be like. Every day when you sat on your front porch, having coffee and quality time when Daryl was around, you’d picture him or her in his lap. Their eyes would be just like his, so icy blue like the first frost of winter. Their smile would be a mirror of yours, maybe with dimples or none. When you brought the idea to Daryl he was nervous at first, but he knew how much safer you both felt here. There was medicine, doctors, support to help during birth. One night, after a particularly long love making, you confessed to Daryl your thoughts. He had been worried at first, the natural panic of the past few years coming to him. But after assuring him of everything around you, how good Alexandria was for both of you, he finally agreed. That night, you spent many hours interlocked with him. It was one of the most beautiful nights with him, where you finally felt like something was happening for the better. Since then, he’s held you closer and closer when he hugs you. He pulls you into more kisses, his arms always finding your waist. He brings you flowers almost every day, never leaving the vase on your dining table empty.

Today you had told him, in a shaky voice, that your period was two weeks late. Every day since your period was supposed to be here, you just kept telling yourself it’s the stress–something hormonal. You knew there were reasons a period wouldn’t come. You’d had so many scares with Daryl because you were both starving and it was natural for a period to be missed due to the lack of nutrition. So you got used to making excuses for it. But Alexandria was��safe. It was home. So you finally decided to just tell Daryl, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. His eyes were like saucers when you came to him. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like that before. He immediately ran from you, and at first you were nervous you scared him away, that he needed to go out for a hunt to clear his mind. But instead, he came back quickly with a small, rectangular box. He pulled the pregnancy test from it, holding it out to you.

“Together,” he said. All you could do was fall into him for a sweet embrace.

So you find yourselves together here in the bathroom now. Waiting for those double lines.

“I love you,” you whisper into his neck.

He pulls you back, bringing your face up to his, kissing you deeply. He didn’t need words to tell you how much he loved you. His actions always spoke so much louder. When you come out of your kiss, your eyes naturally peek over to the test on the counter, and a gasp escapes from you.

There’s two bright pink lines across the tester.

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

It’s so funny, almost like deja-vu. You remember picturing this exactly nine months ago. Sitting on your porch, sipping coffee, watching Daryl with your child. Except instead of one, there were two. Yes, twins. When you found out both of you nearly fainted, the news was almost too much for your frayed pregnancy nerves. But now, seeing Daryl with his closed eyes on the porch swing, two babies laying sound asleep on him during a contact nap was the most magical thing you could ever want or need. You look over to the street from a bit of motion in the corner of your eye, and you see Rick walking over, Judith in hand. She’s walking over, blabbing about something in her toddler talk. He is smiling down at her, nodding and answering back. When he looks up and catches you watching, he lifts his free hand into a wave. You smile and wave him to come up to the porch steps. As he and Judith approach, you begin to stand.

“Stay, stay,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your cheek, “you must be tired,”

“How are you doing? Hi Judith,” you say softly, your eyes twinkling at the little one.

“We’re doin’ real good,” he says, “right Judy?”

“HI!” she says loudly, still not exactly used to using her ‘inside voice’, stirring Daryl out of his nap. The babies squirm on him, but he lays still, bringing his arms up around them tighter.

“Wow,” Rick says, watching Daryl. He’s shaking his head lightly, his eyes full of love.

“Thought I couldn’t do it?” Daryl says hoarsely with a smirk. Judith comes over to him to stare at one of the babies laying closest to her.

“No,” Rick says softly, shaking his head, “I knew you’d be amazing. You’ve always been good with the kids, Dare. I’m just…” he trails off, his throat bobbing, “I’m just real’ proud of you. How far we’ve all come,” he looks over to you now, his eyes misty. You give him a sad smile, reaching your hand out to hold his, squeezing tightly for a moment before dropping it again.

“You’ve done so much for us–for everyone. I’m real’ happy that you finally get to have this.” he finishes, leaning over, putting his hand on his chosen brother’s shoulder. Daryl stares at him intently, and nods genuinely.

“What’re their names?” Judith asks loudly. The baby closest to her opens his eyes, “Uncle Daryl? What are the babies’ names?” she asks again, impatient.

“This one here, J, is DJ. For Daryl Junior,” he smiles softly, touching DJ’s soft cheeks with the pads of his fingers.

“Wow, so he’s Daryl and you’re Daryl?” she says quizzically. Her face scrunched up in confusion.

“Tha’s right,” he says, meeting your eyes with a twinkle in his, he looks down at the other baby, still snoozing softly on him, “and this here is Elizabeth,” he says quieter now. He looks back up at Rick, a sad smile on his face. Rick returns it, and crouches down next to Judith, “that’s a beautiful name, huh, J? Tell Uncle Daryl what a nice name that is,”

She giggles, putting her fingers in her mouth and smiling, “I like it,”

“Surprised you didn’t say one of their names was Ass Kicker,” Rick smiles widely and you all laugh at the memory.

You and Daryl had decided the names early on, knowing you wanted to honor his lost friend Beth Greene. She was so gentle and good hearted. He missed her, and you knew it would mean the world to him to name his child after her. DJ was the harder one to get Daryl to sign off on–he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of his own name. He thought it was silly to name his son after himself.

“We’ll call him DJ for short–that way you won’t think about it,” you joked one afternoon.

He had taken a long pause, working on his motorcycle in the garage, tinkering with something in the engine. You had come by, hobbling over with your large belly to bring him lunch. He tended to forget to eat during the long hours he spent in the garage with his bike, and you liked visiting him during the day. When he saw you, he ran up to you to pull the stool he had in the shop under you. You sighed as you sat, and he kissed your temple as you took the weight off your swollen feet. He took the lunch from you with a small ‘thanks, baby’.

“So…?” you say breathlessly. You were getting so tired of being winded by walking 20 feet these days.

“DJ, huh?,” he finally said, “alright,” and that was that. Life had finally slowed down. You felt like everything that had happened between the two of you, the sacrifices that had to be made, the things that kept you up at night–had finally been worth it. You were safe, Daryl was safe. And now you had a beautiful family that was safe. It was all you could ever want and need.

#daryl #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead #daryl x reader #daryl one shot #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl twd #pregnancy trope #pregnancy #reader is pregnant #pregnant reader #sweet daryl #daddy Daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #daryltwdixon

495 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 11 months ago

Text

Snow Angel

Cregan's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Version

Cregan Stark x Reader | 900< | cw: fem!reader, angst, blood, injuries, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved

Cregan did not wed you because he was drawn by your bright eyes. He did not wed you because your smile could melt a hole through the ice that held up the Wall. No, he wed you because your house and his were long strained, and taking you as his wife would ensure peace between you.

He wed you because it was his duty, though he could not deny that he would soon come to love you for the prior things mentioned. But how could he, when it was never brought up?

As far as anyone knew, as far as you knew, your husband did you well simply because he was your husband.

Being the youngest of your family, you were rather neglected. You knew little beyond entertaining yourself and others with simple humor and preposterous ideas. Winterfell would come to adore the warmth that was borne from the coldness of your youth. They would do the same in how easily amused their lady was of the Northern coldness.

You loved the snow, but were fundamentally useless in it, knowing nothing beyond making snowmen. You knew not how to start a fire, nor build a tent; you did not know which flora to forage either, much less how to hunt.

Cregan did not fault you for it, for it was not your fault you were not taught. But he did not appreciate how you took more importance in chatting with his men than learning these skills; he tells you as much.

"But what you ask of me is your job," you simply respond, "mine is to keep the spirits lifted."

He huffs, breath turning into fog, "it would do you well to learn. What if there is no fire and no one who knew how to make one?"

"Then I ask if you plan to leave me to fend for myself, my lord?"

He tilts his head, jaw muscle feathering in offence, "do you think so little of me?"

"I thank the gods daily for supplying me with such a reliable husband," you smile, "and I pray the day will never come that I need to fend for myself."

Part of him is endeared by your darling naiveté, another is frustrated by it. He figures if he cannot convince you to learn, then he will make nature your teacher.

He instructs one of the servants to take you berry picking and to leave you somewhere that is not too close but not too far from Winterfell. The servant obeys her lord and does just that. She slips away from you through the foliage, making sure to leave you any tools or weapons you would need.

You were left completely unware, treading deeper and deeper into the forest, following where the berry bushes went. You were too wrapped up in your singing to realize you were completely alone.

That is until you heard a wolf howling.

You did not know where you were going. You did not know which way was North or South or which way Winterfell laid. All you knew was you wanted to go home with your basket of berries, but that seemed impossible when you dropped them into the ground with a deafening scream. Your leg had been snagged into something. You writhe in pain, finding your shin caught in the jaw of a bear trap. Your hot tears turn into frost and your breath grows shorter and shorter in panic.

Cregan was not one to worry. He patiently waited for you by the gates of your home, anticipating that you'd be the next one to come around. But it was never you… and then, it started to snow.

He calls a search party for you. He hears many a man call out your name as the night begins to take the forest. At the same time, the ground became slowly whiter and whiter while his worry thickened at a more rapid pace. Soon, his hair and shoulders were frosted over and his source of light no longer came from the sky but a torch in his hand.

"MY LORD!"

Cregan perks and run towards the man calling for him. He quickly reaches him and looks around for you, but you stood nowhere. He sees the man remove his fur hat and lower his gaze.

By the old gods.

He drops to his knees. The snow scatters, revealing the red that laid underneath. He brushes off your body, rigid and cold. He releases a horrified sound at the sight of your mangled leg. He cradles you in his arms and rushes you back home.

The maesters assure him you were still breathing and that there was hope for you yet. They might save your life, but you would lose your leg.

Cregan laments as the maesters operate on you. He seeks absolution by the weirwood tree and vows to serve you ardently, more ardently so long as your life is spared.

For a moment, the old gods looked upon Cregan Stark. They delivered his wife. You lived… if you could call it that.

You wake up to the face of your husband who immediately weeps at your side, begging you for your forgiveness. You clutch his cheek and tell him, "there is nothing to forgive."

But there is, and he would never forgive himself for how you never smiled at the snow again, or how you died midday as children made snow angels outside your window.

#house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfic #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark fluff #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon smut #cregan stark smut #cregan smut #cregan stark angst #cregan angst

702 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Bared Fangs.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Modern/Serial Killer AU, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Blood/Gore, Reader Gets Hurt, Obsessive Behavior, Gun Violence, and Unhealthy Relationships. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as Childe asked you if you wanted to go outside.

Honestly, you should’ve known something was wrong as soon as he found you reading in front of his fireplace, as soon as that crooked, schoolboy grin found its way to his lips and he forewent his usual routine of draping himself on top of you like some muscled, zealously homicidal weighted blanket in favor of ruffling your hair and toying with the collar of the flannel you were wearing (his flannel, technically, but you tried not to let yourself acknowledge how accustomed you’d grown to wearing your captor’s clothes or, more troublingly, how long it’d been since the last time you’d felt disgusted by it). “Snow should be done for a couple hours,” he started, nodding towards the frost-coated windows. It might’ve been a more charming sight if not for the scratches carved into the surface of the glass – souvenirs from there the first time you got your hands on one of his axes. “I’m thinking of stepping out, doing a little hunting before the storm kicks up again. Wanna come with me?”

You narrowed your eyes at your book, trying to hide the way your heart beat a little faster at the suggestion of being able to leave his claustrophobic cabin. But, with Childe, you were usually better off staying safely tucked behind the bars of your rustic cage. “Is this going to be a normal hunting trip or a you hunting trip?”

He only hummed. “’fraid I don’t know what you mean by that, princess.”

“Are we going to be hunting animals, or…” You trailed off, swallowing down the bitter taste that came with remembering why you were here. “… or, you know. People, or whatever.”

“This time of year?” He let out an airy laugh, like you’d asked to go skiing in the middle of summer. “There’s nobody on the mountain ’cept me and you.”

Still, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to try and think beyond your near-overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here. Childe was a murderer, a sadist, a kidnapper, but he wasn’t the type to play mind games. He tended to divide his reality between the world outside – where people could be hunted like quarry, their bodies left to rot in tents and rivers with only the occasional token taken as a keepsake – and the world inside the walls of his cabin – where he sat you down in front of a low-burning fire and told you stories about ice-fishing with his siblings and pouted when you admit his (admittedly, not entirely inedible) cooking could use a little more seasoning. After that first night – the worst night of your fucking life – he seemed to want to keep you resigned to the latter, at least until he came home covered in blood and desperate for something warm and familiar to fuck until he passed out.

Eventually, you sighed, closing your book and sitting up. “Fine. When do we leave?”

His grin widened, head lulling forward as he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “The front door’s already unlocked. I’ll give you a head start, a full five minutes. Actually, make it ten – just to make it a little more fun for you.”

There was a beat of silence, then another. “Childe, you’re making it sound like you’re—”

“Like I said, there’s nobody on the mountain but me and you.” He pulled away, turning on his heel. “I’ll be nice, too – won’t use anything with more than a twenty-foot range.”

“But, you— you can’t just—”

“Tick-tock.” He clicked his tongue, winking at you over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather cut straight to the good part.”

You should’ve known something was wrong, and now, running through the frozen wilderness desperately lost and barely dressed, your ten minutes spent and a killer undoubtedly chasing you down, you were paying the price for it.

You didn’t have time to be tactical. The snow was fresh enough to make every interruption unbearable obvious, meaning that – even if you were willing to stop and spare the seconds it’d take to hide your tracks, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Your only option was to run, but even that was easier said than done. Childe preferred to keep you in a state of hand-crafted domestic bliss, meaning what few clothes you did have were either picked out by or borrowed from him. Currently, all that separated you from the cold was his flannel, an oversized shirt, and a pair of his boots that you’d snagged on your way out. The chill snapped at your cold legs like the teeth of some unseen predator, the frigid air burning holes in your lungs, but the thought of what Childe would do when he caught you was enough to keep your feet moving, to keep you sprinting blindly through the forest. He wouldn’t kill you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t kill you, but—

A high-pitched holler, the sound of branches snapping underfoot and foliage being pushed aside somewhere behind you. You hadn’t stopped running after your first trembling steps away from the cabin, and yet, he couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet behind you – half a mile, at your most generous guess. You started to curse under your breath, then thought better of it, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to draw blood and pivoting to the left, where the forest seemed to be just a little thicker. If you couldn’t get away from him, you could at least try to hide before he got to you.

It was a haphazard, half-baked plan that was cruelly and immediately cut short as your foot caught on a root hidden by the snow, tearing away your right boot and leaving you sprawled over the frozen ground. Dampness sunk into your thin clothes, and you shut your eyes, trying to listen for Childe’s footsteps, but there was a reason none of his victims ever seemed to hear him coming. The forest’s minimal white noise was enough to swallow him entirely, the sound of birdsong and distant car engines disguising his presence despite your best attempts to—

Your realization was delayed, but intense.

Cars.

Cars meant roads. Cars meant civilization. Cars meant people, people who could take you away from here, away from Childe. You clambered to your feet, but failed to take so much as a step before a sudden, stabbing pain bit into your calf, your leg immediately buckling underneath you. You would’ve fallen entirely if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline running through your system, numbing the agony and choking the ragged scream that threatened to rise from the pit of your chest into a cracked whimper. It was one of Childe’s arrows – you would’ve been able to recognize that black steel from a mile away – but you didn’t let yourself linger on the implications. With grit teeth and balled fists, you limped forward, leaving a thin trail of crimson in your wake. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking, but it was there – a thin, wobbling, unpaved dirt road, only marked by two thin rows of tire tracks that sliced harshly through the otherwise unmarred blanket of snow. God, you never thought you’d be so happy to see dirt.

There wasn’t time to think. You stumbled out of the woods and into the road, the arrow’s head sinking that much deeper with every stuttering movement. The car you’d heard was still there, too; a by-the-numbers sedan, only a few hundred feet down the road. You threw up your arms up, then thought better of it; cupping your shaking hands around your mouth. You moved to call out, but whatever you might’ve said was stolen away from you as something dark flashed across your peripheral and another arrow planted itself in your right shoulder. This time, you crumbled like a dead leaf – broken into pieces by a morning gale.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Childe emerge from the tree line, his crossbow still in-hand. As he came to stand in front of you, your gaze shifted back to the car. You watched, your mind buzzing with pain, as it disappeared around a sharp bend, never so much as slowing down.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you heard Childe coo, wiping away the tears flowing down your cheeks before they could freeze against your skin. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, his voice low with a painful edge. “I guess I cheated, huh? Couldn’t help it – just knew you’d look so cute all bruised up and bleeding.”

Dropping his crossbow carelessly, he fell to your height. He was dressed for one of his usual hunts; a cut-off shotgun slung over his back, a hunting knife sheathed at his hip. The leather casing of the latter pressed into your side as he dipped lower, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. You felt his knee settle between your thighs, and weakly, your hands found their way to his chest. “Not here,” you mumbled, more afraid of the chill quickly seeping under your skin than being seen. “It hurts, Childe. I—I think you hit something imp—”

“I’ll be fast.” Another kiss, this one to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His calloused hands skirted over your sides, then your waist, hiking the thin fabric of your oversized shirt up to your midriff. You were already past the point of total numbness, and yet, the rough gravel beneath the snow cut harshly into your exposed skin. Rather than distracting you from the pain in your calf, your shoulder, it only seemed to draw more attention to your bleeding wounds, only seemed to make it harder to ignore the dull heat of Childe’s mouth against your chest. “Gotta take you out more often. You’re always beautiful, but I didn’t know you’d look this pretty.”

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. His arrow burnt into the tattered skin of your calf as his hands fell to your legs, groping at the plush of your thighs playfully before shifting his attention to the fly of his jeans. You knew what he wanted, he’d always been transparent, but the sound of shifting fabric, the sight of his rosy-tipped, stiff cock pressing flush against his stomach – that was enough for the loose coil of dread writhing in the pit of your chest to tighten into a tight, jagged knot of pure terror. You tried to sit up, to make your refusal that much more apparent, but Childe only caught you by your uninjured shoulder, shoving you into the ground with enough force to earn a pained scowl, a fractured whimper. His only response was a wordless, vaguely sympathetic noise, a softened lull to his wide smile. “No skipping out on this, babydoll. I can’t guarantee you’ll end up in one piece if I have to wait ‘till we get home.”

It was a fair warning, but anything he could have said would’ve been lost on you. Your heart was beating in your ears, blocking out any other sound. Pools of red blood and piles of limp bodies flashed across your vision and desperately, futilely, you clawed at the hand on your shoulder, kicked at his chest, thrashed underneath him like an animal unaware that resistance would only make the predator want to drive its teeth that much deeper. It was more Childe’s divided attention than your strength, but your heel found his side and, just for a moment, he slipped, letting out a soft grunt as the hand pinning you down fell away. You were scrambling onto your knees in a second, attempting to get your feet underneath you in another, but your little stunt was cut short as Childe lashed out, wrapping his arm around your neck and forcing your stomach against the ground. There was no whimpering, anymore – just a ragged, ear-piercing scream as his free hand found the arrow in your shoulder, tearing it out of you in one clean, unfaltering motion. His only response came in the form of a throaty moan; deep and terrible and followed immediately by the feeling of his cock against your dry cunt. You would’ve begged him to stop, offered to let him do anything he wanted to you if he just didn’t do this, but he didn’t give you time to bargain. Without hesitation, he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

Trembling sobs tore at your throat and past your lips, tears now flowing unabashedly down your cheeks. Childe kept his full weight against your back as he fucked into you with short, sharp thrusts – never happy unless he was burying himself in the deepest pocket of your poor, freezing pussy. Rather than desensitizing you, letting you fall back into some distant state of nonexistence, the snow seemed to burn where it was pressed into your cheek, your chest. You wished he would’ve taken off the rest of your clothes. You wished he would’ve just shot his stupid arrows into your skull and put you out of your misery.

It shouldn’t have felt good, you didn’t want it to feel good, but your body didn’t know that. Your cunt clenched and drooled around him, trying in vain to turn his assault into something you could enjoy, but the way he grunted into your ear snuffed out any pleasure you might’ve been able to feel. “Tryin’ to pull me back in,” he muttered, his voice already airy, already strung out. You couldn’t help but wonder if, had you only been able to run from him for another minute, he would’ve found something else to shove his dick into and left you out here to freeze to death. “Is that your goal? Wanna – Fuck, wanna help me warm you up?”

His hands fell to your hips, pulling your ass flush against his hips and letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much more brutally. Your injured leg grated against the dirt of the road and you cried out, your voice ragged and barely coherent. “St— Hurts, stop, stop, please, stop—”

“That’s it, always making such pretty sounds for me.” He buried his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Sometimes, it feels like all I wanna do it cut you open and crawl—”

He was interrupted by the dull roar of an approaching engine and something brightened inside of you, your eyes shifting towards the road, towards the well-beaten pick-up truck speeding in your direction. The breaks screeched as you and Childe came into the driver’s view, and for a second, you let yourself go slack underneath him, relief overwhelming your better judgement.

Childe wasn’t so sentimental.

His shotgun was in his hand before you could so much as process that he’d moved. Wordlessly, he fired off two shots; the first to the windshield on the driver’s side and the second to one of the front tires. You watched on helplessly as your last hope for salvation bucked, swerved, then veered off of the road entirely, catching on a snowbank and turning over once before crashing into the trunk of an oak that failed to so much as shake under the force of the collision. It was quieter than you’d expected it to be, the only sounds that of shattering glass and crunching metal. If there were survivors, no one screamed, or called for help, or came stumbling out of the wreckage. Childe’s breath hitched in his throat, his pace growing that much more erratic as he buckled into you – his pointed canines finding the tender junction at the base of your throat and burying themselves in your skin. It was less a love-bite and more an effort to eat you alive. What little blood he didn’t lap up washed over your chest, melting the frost and mixing into the snow beneath you. “Look—” He groaned, tried and failed to pull away from you. His voice reverberated against the curve of your neck as he went on. “Look what you turn me into, princess. Got me making all kinds of messes for you.”

Blood. Bodies. The taste of his cum on your tongue as your friends bled out under the same roof. You would’ve choked the air in your lungs if you’d been able to breathe, but there was no point lingering on pleasant hypotheticals. There were no distractions from the feeling of Childe’s hips grating against yours, the way his cock twitched as settled against you. A guttural moan tore past his lips as something thick and searing flooded into you, and you refused to let yourself acknowledge that this was the warmest you’d felt in days.

You stayed there, limp and frozen and miserable, as Childe pulled away from you, pulled out of you. Your eyes fell shut as he stumbled to his feet, your skin too numb to feel anything aside from the pressure of his arms around your motionless body. He pulled you against his chest, then let out a low whistle. “Might’ve gone a little overboard there. Sorry ‘bout that, princess.” A low chuckle, a gentle squeeze. “I just can’t help it, not when it comes to you. You’ll forgive me after a warm bath, right?”

You didn’t answer. The arrow in your calf must’ve fallen out, or maybe not – you couldn’t feel anything below your knees. Your hands felt like dead weight too, utterly disconnected from anything you might’ve used to control them, but every drop of panic, every ounce of horror – that all paled in comparison to the never-ending pit of pitch-black loathing that formed in your chest as you stared up at Childe. You hated him, wanted to see him torn apart with his own stockpile of weapons, but you really couldn’t blame him. Not for this, at least.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as the monster bared its fangs.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #childe x reader #yanderecore #yancore

1K notes · View notes

xx-lemon-drop-xx · 11 months ago

Note

How would NRC (only 18+ characters) react to their fem s/o texting them "Come here, I'm horny"?

I'm so sorry these are so short. Your girls getting a bit burnt out as of late for some reason. Anyways, I hope you like them <33

Warnings: MDNI, fem reader, suggestive but not really smutty, mentions of boners.

Request: Yes.

Words: 1,130.

Trey Clover

Trey was working on frosting a cake with Riddle when he received the text from you. And thankfully Riddle was short because he damn near choked at the message. A blunt, “Come. I'm horny." Was all you had sent.

However, catering to your needs, he let Riddle know something important had come up and he had to go tend to a leak in your roof. Riddle of course sensing the urgency had nodded with a simple; “Go, I can manage the frosting." Trey felt no remorse for fibbing to his friend and dorm leader, and went off to find you at Ramshackle.

Entering the broken down household he smiled gingerly over at you. "You needed me, peach? Go and lay back on the bed. I'll take care of you."

Cater Diamond

Cater was at the Light Music club when you texted him, and just in case it was urgent or some spicy drama from magicam had checked his phone right away. It was spicy, just in a way he hadn't thought it'd be. His face slowly flushed a red, gaining the attention of Kalim, who had asked if he was okay.

Cater cleared his throat, nodding. “Uh… Yes! Ah haha, I'm okay! Sorry, I just got distracted there for a minute.” While Kalim was none the wiser, the old fae on the other hand, was.

After he finished the club Cater quickly made his way to your dorm, shoving open your door he crawled over you, leaning down to press a searing kiss against you. “Hahh.. Babydoll, you can't just text me like that out of the blue!”

Leona Kingscholar

You really think this man was anywhere but napping?

He was less than amused to stir awake from his phone going off, alerting him of a text message. And for a moment he wasn't going to even answer it, rather he'd just roll over and go back to bed but something prompted him to pick up that phone and boy was he glad he did.

A smirk formed across his face and he texted back a simple “Omw" before rolling out of bed, hair messy and clothes disheveled before making his way to your dorm. He was there in record time, falling across your bed and grasping your hips to make you straddle him. Yeah, some pussy was definitely better than sleeping.

“Feeling like a whore? Then sit on this cock and take it like a good girl."

Vil Schoenheit

He was at a photoshoot when you texted him. He'd frowned slightly at your blunt order but underneath was particularly amused. His little potato needed him?

"You're going to have to wait, lovely. Photoshoot is almost over.” He could almost feel the way your lips puckered into a pout on the other side of the phone as he got back into position for another photo after his short break. Thirty minutes later he was leaving the photoshoot.

And fifty minutes later he was coming into your dorm room, sliding off his shoes and over coat before leaning over you on the bed, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “I'm sorry for being so long. Let me make it up to you, potato.” He dragged your hand up his leg onto the crotch of his pants, before moving to straddle you.

Rook Hunt

Was enjoying nature up in a tree when his phone buzzed in his pocket. On pulling it out and seeing your text message, you received back a slur of French, with a few heart Emojis after them. “English, Rook." His lips quirked at your sass. “On my way as we speak, Mon amour." He texted back, pocketing his phone before climbing down the tree.

Fast on his feet and in the area, Rook arrived at Ramshackle within five minutes. He hung his coat on the coat wrack and took off his shoes before padding up to your room.

“My petite amour, I have arrived.” He cupped your face, pressing light kisses against your chin and jaw. "Do tell me which part of me you crave first, Mon lapin.”

Idia Shroud

Thankfully Idia was in his room like always when he received your text. Instant red face. (And instant Idia jr peaking up but we don't talk about that) Almost thought you were tweaking or had text the wrong person, despite being your lover. However after getting his shit together he texts you back.

“Can you come here? I.. Might be in a predicament where I am unable to leave my room for a while."

When you came to his dorm instead of the other way around he had a pillow over his lap and his face and hair were both a light red in color. Grasping onto the pillow you pulled it off and crawled onto his bed after shutting and locking his door. Idia’s hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you down to straddle him. “Eheheh.. You have no idea how long I've waited for this." He grinned against your throat, before biting down on your shoulder to leave a hickey.

Malleus Draconia

Remains stone faced despite the very obvious tent rising in his trousers. If his tail were to be out it would've been wagging in slight excitement. Out of everyone, you might just be the only person to be able to boss around and command the prince of briar valley.

“You wish to mate with me? I will be over immediately, child of man." It takes him a moment to answer you. Not because he didn't see the message but because he still doesn't know how to use a phone that well still. Please be patient, he is very happy.

Appears outside your dorm as soon as he texts you back, eagerly knocking on your door in a beckon for you to let him in. As soon as you open the door he is grabbing you by the hips, guiding you against him. “My dearest peony, do feel free to seek me out everytime you have these feelings. I will be more than obliged to assist you.”

Lilia Vanrogue

Doesn't even answer your message. He was in history and then all of a sudden he was floating upside down in front of you. An amused look was on his face though despite the little grin his eyes were foggy with lust.

“Oh my what do we have here? Couldn't even keep your hands out of your panties in the short time it took me to get here? Fufufu~ let's have a look now, hmm?"

Lilia eagerly slots himself between your legs like he's always belonged there, nibbling and nipping at your legs as he makes his way up. “You taste exquisite, and I haven't even gotten to the main course yet.”

459 notes · View notes

jhyoos · 1 month ago

Text

Beauty And The Beast

beast!sevika x beauty!reader

mentions: dark content, romance, based on french version of beauty & the beast, wlw, mean sevika, angst, ambessa as gaston, reader is called beauty

summary : you scarfice yourself to live with a terrifying beast in order to save your father. overtime, you discover the beast is gentle and kind beneath her monstrous facade.

Once, there was a home filled with light.

It stood proudly on the edge of the sea, where salt met silk, and the scent of jasmine tangled with the wind. In this house lived a merchant—widowed, wearied, but not unkind—his shoulders heavy with age and grief. He had six children: three sons and three daughters, scattered like mismatched pearls across a velvet strand.

The youngest, the quietest, the one who wandered the gardens in bare feet and read novels by candlelight, was you.

And though the others had grown restless with ruin, you found solace in simplicity.

Your father, once the proud captain of ships, now walked with a limp and a heart softened by sorrow. Still, every evening, he would sit at your bedside and read aloud, voice dipping through pages of tales older than memory. Of girls with hair like night, of beasts with broken hearts, of love that bloomed like moonflowers in dark places.

It was never just fiction to you. It was a map. A key. A prayer whispered into the stars.

Then the sea turned cruel.

His last fleet sank in a storm of debts and salt. One by one, his holdings were stripped away, like leaves in autumn. And so, with nothing but a rusting cart and threadbare coats, your family fled the city’s grandeur and took root in the countryside—where the bones of trees rattled in the wind and the cottage was crooked with time.

Your eldest sisters—Mariette and Corinne—were furious.

"They expect us to live like peasants!" Mariette would hiss as she cleaned her fingernails with a broken comb.

Corinne cried when her satin gowns wouldn’t fit inside the single wooden chest she was allowed to bring. "This is barbaric," she declared. "Like being exiled."

The brothers, each in their own way, tried to help. Maxime, the oldest son, was brooding and bitter, speaking of debts he’d yet to repay. Tristan, clever but too soft-spoken, worked the soil with shaking hands. And Adrien, the youngest, tried to make everyone laugh, even when there was nothing funny left.

But you—you tended the herbs. You fetched water from the stream. You stitched old linen into curtains and sang softly to the geese. You did not complain.

"It suits you," your father said one morning, watching you gather wildflowers at the edge of the frost-laced orchard.

"What does?" you asked.

"This life. You look… peaceful here."

You smiled, placing a daisy behind his ear. "Peace isn't found. It's made."

He laughed then, eyes crinkling. And for a moment, he looked young again.

Then came the letter.

One of his ships, thought lost, had docked. There was a chance—slim, but real—that he might reclaim its cargo. Enough gold, perhaps, to pay off some debts. Perhaps even return to the city.

Your sisters burst into a flurry of demands.

"Bring back my sapphire earrings!" cried Corinne. "And my silk from Persia," Mariette added. "A music box," said Adrien. "A hunting knife," muttered Maxime. "New boots," said Tristan, though he glanced at you with guilt. "And a pearl comb, if you find one," whispered Adrien again, hopeful.

Your father jotted the requests down with a heavy sigh. When he looked at you, he didn’t ask.

But you stepped forward anyway.

"A rose," you said gently.

His brow furrowed. "A rose?"

"Yes. The kind that only grows by the sea. The kind you used to bring Mama."

His breath caught for a second. Then he nodded. “If I find one, you shall have it.”

He kissed each of you goodbye at dawn, his cloak too thin for the cold. When he reached you, he lingered. You took his hands—calloused, trembling—and held them to your cheek.

"You don't have to do this," you whispered.

"I do," he replied. "But I promise I’ll return."

He did not know that fate was already moving.

That the rose would bloom. That a curse would stir. That you, the softest of them all, would ride into the teeth of something ancient and wild.

But when the sun rose behind the hills and his figure disappeared over the ridge, you stood alone in the snow, one hand clutching your scarf, the other already aching with the weight of a promise not yet made.

The letter never came.

Not in three days. Not in four. On the fifth day, your father returned—ashen, soaked through from the storm, and whispering things you could barely understand.

“There was a castle,” he rasped, collapsing before the fire. “A rose… I only picked a rose… and then she appeared—”

You helped him out of his coat. The others listened, confused and horrified, as he stammered through his tale. A great hall filled with gold and wine. A bed of velvet. A table laid with all the gifts his children had asked for. And in the garden—a rosebush. Blooming, vibrant, in the dead of winter.

“I picked one,” he said, his voice cracking. “For you.”

A shadow had fallen over him then. A voice, deep as thunder. She had appeared—not a woman, not quite a monster. Cloaked in darkness. Eyes like dying stars.

“She said,” he swallowed, “I had one day to return… or she would come for you all.”

The others began to protest, to scream.

But you were already moving.

You packed before the sun rose. A single trunk, a woolen cloak, your mother’s locket. Your father cried when he saw you saddling the mare.

“I should never have asked—”

“You didn’t,” you said, hugging him tightly. “You didn’t have to.”

You kissed his forehead, and rode out into the frostbitten morning, wind stinging your cheeks.

You rode until your fingers went numb. Until the trees grew thick and strange. Until the path twisted itself into something uncanny.

And then, like smoke rising from nothing—there it was.

The castle.

Tall towers like spears. Ivy strangling marble. Frozen fountains, caught mid-song.

The gates opened as you approached. No guard. No voice. Just silence and snow.

You stepped inside.

The walls breathed. The chandelier flickered to life. A fire sparked in the hearth though no hand touched it.

A feast waited for you—hot bread, roasted roots, sugared fruit. Your coat vanished from your shoulders. Velvet slippers slid across the floor, as if guided by ghosts.

But she did not show herself.

Not yet.

Not until the mirror.

You found it after dinner, in a hallway of endless doors. It was tall, cracked, and framed in twisting thorns. And when you stepped before it—you saw her.

A reflection that wasn’t yours.

A woman—taller, broader. Cloaked in fur and shadow. One arm made of iron, gleaming faintly. Her face was half-hidden, but her eyes… her eyes burned.

You gasped. And just like that, she vanished.

Only the wind answered.

And still, the castle held you close.

And somewhere, behind the mirrors, she watched.

Waiting.

The days that followed felt stitched from dreams—beautiful, unsettling, and somehow not quite real.

The castle obeyed your presence like a loyal hound, yet its silence was sharper than any growl. Doors opened with a thought, fires flared when your hands trembled from cold, and music drifted from unseen places. But her—the Beast—was nowhere to be found. Not in the halls of crystal, nor the gardens shrouded in hoarfrost. Only in the mirror, sometimes. Only when you weren’t quite sure if you were awake or dreaming.

Still, the castle gave you what it thought you wanted.

A wardrobe bloomed with velvet gowns—midnight blue threaded with silver, pale green the color of moss after rain, crimson cut like fire against your skin. Jewels gleamed in boxes that opened themselves. Perfumed baths awaited, steaming and still, with lavender and rose petals floating like memories on the water.

And books. Shelves and shelves of them.

You’d stumble across entire libraries nestled behind hidden panels. Leather-bound folios of ancient poetry. Scrolls with pressed flowers marking forgotten verses. Children’s stories, maps of forgotten worlds, illustrated fables from distant lands. Books that seemed to rearrange themselves at night, offering you different wonders each morning.

They became your only companions.

You began to speak to them, softly, while reading by the tall frosted windows.

“If you’re listening,” you murmured one afternoon, tracing the delicate golden letters on a book’s spine, “I don’t mean to be ungrateful. But you can’t hide forever.”

There was no reply.

Only the snow outside, falling like whispers from the sky.

That night, you dreamt.

The same dream that had haunted you since your arrival.

You stood in a sun-drenched orchard, golden apples gleaming in the trees. A man—not quite a man—moved through the branches. Dressed in hunting leathers, hair falling in careless waves. He smiled at someone hidden from view. A woman. A princess. Her eyes mournful, her hands clasped.

She begged him to stop. He promised to change. He kissed her brow and vanished into the woods again.

And then, a golden deer.

Always the deer.

It leapt through the clearing, radiant and unreal, and the dream ended with the echo of an arrow not yet loosed.

You woke with a gasp.

And this time, you knew you were not alone.

She stood in the doorway—half-shadow, half-shape. Broad shoulders draped in a fur-lined coat. One arm silver, the other gloved in leather. Her hair fell in coarse, curling waves, streaked with gray at the temples. Her mouth, hidden beneath a scarf, didn’t move.

But her eyes did.

Steel and sorrow.

“Why won’t you speak to me?” you asked.

She tilted her head, then turned away, disappearing into the hall.

“Wait—please.”

You followed, barefoot, trailing your nightdress through corridors of black marble. Down endless staircases. Past portraits that watched too closely. Into the garden where the roses slept beneath a blanket of snow.

“I deserve to know who you are,” you said. “What you are.”

Silence.

Your breath caught in your throat. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Please. Show me.”

She froze. Then, slowly—agonizingly slowly—reached up and tugged the scarf away from her face.

You took a step back.

Scars, jagged and brutal, cut across her cheek. Her nose had once been broken. One eye, the left, was a pale shade of stormcloud, half-blind. And beneath her coat, iron plating disappeared beneath her collarbone, trailing down like vines of machinery across muscle and skin.

She did not blink. Did not flinch.

And neither did you. Not until the fear, raw and ancient, stirred in your belly.

You turned.

And ran.

Through the gardens. Across the snow. Toward the frozen lake that glimmered under moonlight like a mirror shattered into stillness.

“Stop!” Her voice, deep and rough as stone, broke behind you.

But your legs were faster than reason. Faster than mercy.

The lake groaned beneath your feet.

Then cracked.

Then gave way.

The cold was instant. Violent. Your lungs seized. You kicked, flailed, reached toward a surface that blurred into sky. The world turned to silence and blue.

And then—

An iron hand gripped the back of your corset.

You were yanked upward, sputtering, choking, hair slick to your face. She dragged you from the water like a storm dragging ships from sea.

You collapsed on the bank, coughing, shivering. She crouched beside you, her eyes wild.

“Why?” you rasped. “Why save me?”

She said nothing. Only unfastened her coat and wrapped it around your shoulders.

And for a heartbeat, a single heartbeat, her hand brushed your cheek.

Not with iron. With skin. Warm, calloused, trembling.

Then she was gone again.

And the snow kept falling.

The morning after the lake had swallowed you whole, you woke to warmth—a fire crackling in the hearth and the scent of rosemary wafting through the thick curtains. Your clothes were dry, your body wrapped in thick, luxurious blankets, and your skin tingled where the chill had once cut through you like a blade. You could barely remember how you’d gotten back to your room, or the wild gaze that had burned in her eyes.

But there was no trace of her in the room now. No hint of the woman who had saved you, whose touch still lingered on your cheek like a secret.

You sat up slowly, trying to push the shivers from your limbs. The castle felt colder today—darker, even though the sun had risen and its light slanted through the ice-covered windows. The roses outside seemed even more lifeless, the frost heavier. The air in the halls was thick with something ancient, an unspoken tension.

That was when you heard it—a low hum. A strange vibration in the air, as though the walls themselves were whispering. It tugged at the edges of your consciousness, pulling you toward something you couldn’t name.

With hesitant steps, you left the warmth of your room. The corridors seemed endless, colder, and yet they whispered to you, like a promise half-fulfilled. The mirrors, once distant and silent, seemed to hum with life today, their reflections warped and flickering, like echoes of a life that no longer existed.

You wandered, following the sound, your heart beat quickening in your chest. Eventually, you found it—the music. It wasn’t coming from a room. It was coming from a door—a door you hadn’t noticed before.

This door, unlike the others, was old. Ancient. Covered in vines of iron, the metal twisting around the wood as if it were trying to break free. There was no handle, only a faint indentation of a symbol that you couldn’t place.

You reached for it without thinking.

The door swung open with a creak that echoed through the silence.

What you saw inside made your breath catch in your throat.

It was a room of mirrors.

Dozens of them, stretching across the stone walls like portals to another world. They were all different in shape and size, framed with intricate designs of leaves, vines, and thorns that seemed to move as your eyes flicked across them. But what struck you the most was the center of the room, where a large mirror stood taller than the rest, its frame carved from the blackest wood you had ever seen.

This mirror… felt alive. It pulsed, its surface flickering with an eerie light. And within it—there she was.

The Beast.

She stood motionless, her body barely visible in the reflection. The scars that marred her face were harsher, more pronounced. The iron arm gleamed with an unnatural shine, and her gaze—her stormy eyes—were locked on you, as if she could see through the mirror itself.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Time seemed to stop, the silence between you stretching thin and tight.

Then, she moved.

The Beast stepped forward in the reflection, her figure distorting the surface of the glass like ripples on water. You couldn’t look away, even as a cold sweat began to gather on your neck.

“I thought you might come,” her voice echoed, deep and rich. But there was a sadness in it, a mournful sound that tugged at something inside you.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Something about the way she stood, something about her presence, made you feel small and yet… strangely at peace.

“You’re not like the others,” she continued, her voice lower now, as if it were a secret shared only between you and her. “They wanted to leave. They all wanted to leave. But you… you stayed.”

You found your voice at last. “I didn’t know what else to do,” you whispered. “I don’t understand this place. I don’t understand you.”

Her lips curled into something like a smile, but it was more sorrow than joy. “No one ever does.”

The mirrors around you hummed louder now, the reflections of the Beast blurring, overlapping. You felt yourself being drawn into their depths, the world around you starting to slip away.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath.

A long pause stretched out between you. She stepped closer in the mirror, so close that you could almost feel her breath on your skin. “I was once a noble warrior,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving yours. “A woman cursed by her own cruelty, by her own vanity. I was a fool. A selfish fool.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, and your heart twisted. You felt a sudden pang of empathy for her, even though you knew you should be afraid. The stories you had heard—stories of wicked beasts and wicked curses—did not match the depth of sorrow in her eyes.

She took another step forward in the mirror, and your heart skipped. You could almost feel her presence, as if she were standing right in front of you, her form made of shadows and light. “I was given a choice: to die or to be reborn. But in being reborn, I became something less than human, something that haunts the edges of this place.”

The words were like a spell, curling around you, binding you to her.

“Why are you showing me this?” you asked softly. “Why now?”

“Because,” she said, her voice softening, “you are the only one who has ever stayed. And I cannot change what I am until I am seen for what I truly am.” She looked down at her iron hand, flexing it slowly. “I have waited for someone to see me, truly see me. Not as a beast, but as a soul broken by time. Someone who isn’t afraid.”

You were silent for a long time, the weight of her confession settling on you like a heavy cloak. You wanted to reach out. You wanted to do something, say something to ease the burden she had carried for so long.

But before you could speak, the mirror shimmered again, her image fading back into the glass, leaving you alone in the room of endless reflections.

The room fell silent. The humming stopped. The mirrors turned cold again, their lifeless reflections only showing your own figure, standing alone in the darkness.

But the feeling lingered—the echo of her words, her presence, her pain.

And as you left the room, a single thought clung to your mind: Maybe, just maybe, the Beast wasn’t the monster after all.

The next days passed in a strange, haunted rhythm. You couldn’t escape the pull of the mirrors—their silent whispers haunting your every step. The Beast’s presence lingered in your mind like a shadow, both distant and impossibly close. You hadn’t spoken to her since that moment in the room of mirrors, but her words had become like a mantra in your head: You are the only one who has ever stayed.

You spent your days wandering the castle, tracing the arc of its strange halls, your feet gliding over the marble floors as if you were drifting through a dream. But it wasn’t the beauty of the castle that held your attention. It was the emptiness, the overwhelming silence that clung to the walls like cobwebs. There was something deeply lonely about this place—something that seemed to bleed into the very air you breathed.

The only thing that offered any comfort was the library.

The library, vast and ancient, seemed to stretch on forever. The shelves towered high above, filled with books that smelled of dust and magic. It was here, among the stories of distant lands and forgotten kings, that you felt a fleeting sense of peace. The books, once so ordinary, had become your refuge—a space where you could disappear into other worlds, away from the heavy gaze of the mirrors, away from the Beast.

But still, her presence lingered.

One evening, as dusk fell over the frozen grounds outside, you found yourself drawn back to the grand dining hall. The fire flickered in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows over the room. It had been nearly a week since you last saw the Beast, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, you felt an overwhelming urge to seek her out.

You entered the hall quietly, your footsteps muffled by the thick velvet of the carpet. The room, though beautiful in its own right, felt cold—empty. The long table, set for one, stretched before you, glistening with untouched silverware and delicate glassware. There, at the far end, stood a single figure, her back to you.

The Beast.

Her silhouette was a strange blend of shadow and form, her iron arm gleaming faintly in the firelight. She didn’t turn when you entered, but you could feel her awareness settle over you like a heavy weight.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. You stood there, watching her, and she—perhaps sensing your gaze—did not move.

Finally, you could bear it no longer.

“I came to find you,” you said softly, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

The Beast stiffened, her shoulders tightening as though bracing for something. When she turned slowly to face you, there was an unreadable expression on her face—something you couldn’t quite place.

“Did you?” Her voice was a low rasp, rich with something you couldn’t understand.

You nodded, not knowing what you hoped to find or what you could even say. All the words in your mind seemed too small, too fragile to break the space between you.

A long, tense silence followed. Then, the Beast’s iron hand moved, brushing against the edge of the table. She seemed to be considering something, her eyes narrowing slightly, as though weighing your presence in the room.

“Why do you stay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everyone else leaves, but you…” She trailed off, her gaze flicking to the side as though she couldn’t quite look you in the eye.

“I don’t know,” you replied honestly. “I don’t have any reason to leave. And… I don’t know if I could leave, not without understanding what’s here.”

Her eyes flickered with something—recognition? Hope? But it was gone in an instant, swallowed by the shadows that clung to her form.

She took a step toward you then, her movement slow but purposeful. You held your ground, though your heart raced in your chest. She was near enough now that you could see the scars that marred her skin, the jagged lines where her human form had been twisted and broken, the strange, mournful sadness that clung to her eyes.

“You want to understand me?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost intimate. “Then you must see me. Truly see me.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I’ve tried. I don’t understand everything, but I see you. I see more than just the Beast.”

A flicker of something passed over her face. For a moment, you thought she might say something—might finally reveal the truth of her curse—but then she turned away, walking toward the large, ornate door that led out into the courtyard.

Without turning back, she spoke again. “Then come with me.”

You hesitated, uncertainty gripping you. But something inside you stirred—something deeper than fear, a pull you couldn’t resist. Slowly, you followed her, your feet moving of their own accord as you walked through the long, silent hallways.

The castle was a maze, its winding corridors twisting like the threads of fate itself. But the Beast seemed to know where she was going, and you followed in her wake, drawn by something you couldn’t name.

Finally, she stopped in front of a grand set of double doors. The wood was old, worn, the edges softened by time. She turned to face you then, her iron hand resting lightly on the door.

“This is where it all began,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the silence. “This is where I was made.”

With a creak, she pushed the doors open, and the room inside took your breath away.

It was a ballroom, grander than anything you had seen in the castle, but it was in ruins—dust-covered chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their crystals dull and broken. The floor, once polished to a mirror shine, was cracked and worn. But despite its decay, the room was still beautiful—haunting, even.

The Beast stepped forward, her iron-clad footfalls echoing in the vast emptiness. She walked to the center of the room, her back straight, her head held high.

“This is where I once danced,” she said, her voice filled with a strange, painful nostalgia. “Before the curse, before the monster I became.”

You approached slowly, your gaze scanning the room. The air felt thick here, laden with forgotten memories, lost time. It was as though the very room had been frozen in the past, suspended in some moment before the fall.

The Beast stood there for a long time, her eyes closed as though she were reliving a memory—one so painful that it caused her to tremble.

And then, to your surprise, she extended her hand toward you.

“I may be a monster,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “But I remember what it was like to be human. To feel. To dance.”

You stood there, unsure, as the invitation hung in the air between you. Could you? Could you trust her, take her hand, and step into the shadow of her past?

But something inside you whispered that this was the moment—the moment when everything could change.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, placing your hand in hers.

And as the music began to play—a soft, haunting melody—you danced with the Beast, the two of you moving together in a forgotten waltz, spinning through the echoes of time.

The shadows no longer seemed so dark. The loneliness that clung to the castle began to ease, replaced by something fragile, something delicate: hope.

And for the first time since you arrived, you felt like you weren’t alone.

The Beast had shown you a piece of herself—a sliver of the person she had once been. And in that moment, you realized something that both terrified and thrilled you: perhaps, just perhaps, she could be more than the monster she believed herself to be.

And maybe—just maybe—there was love hidden in the ruins, waiting to bloom once again.

Days turned to weeks, and though the air around the castle had lightened, there was still something heavy resting in your chest. The Beast—Sevika—had become your world, and yet, despite the warmth she had begun to offer, there was still a lingering emptiness. You couldn’t ignore the ache in your heart, the yearning for the life you had left behind. Your father, your family—how were they? Were they well? Had they missed you as you missed them?

Sevika must have noticed the weight of it in your eyes, the way your gaze would drift to the window at the first light of dawn, your thoughts clearly far away. One evening, as you sat together by the fire, her low voice broke the silence.

“You miss them, don’t you?” Sevika asked, her gaze unwavering as she studied the flames.

You hesitated. The truth was right there on the tip of your tongue, heavy in your chest. The longing for home, the ache of memories that hadn’t faded despite the years. You missed your father’s smile, his gentle presence; you missed the chaos of your siblings, the simple rhythm of life before everything changed.

“I do,” you admitted softly. “I miss them all. I miss how things were before…”

Before the curse, before the castle, before Sevika had become the center of your existence.

Sevika’s expression softened, a hint of sadness in her eyes. She had seen the depth of your love for your family, and though she never voiced it, you knew she understood what it meant to be torn between two worlds.

“Go,” she said, her voice a low murmur, almost as if she were granting you permission. “Go to them. Spend time with them. You deserve it.”

“But what about you?” you asked, feeling the weight of the words as they left your mouth. The thought of leaving Sevika, of walking away from this place that had slowly started to feel like home, unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“I will be here,” Sevika answered, her eyes dark but steady. “You don’t need to worry about me. Go, and when you're ready... come back.”

Her words stung more than they comforted. She was letting you go. No anger. No desperation. Just the quiet understanding of someone who had been alone for far too long and knew how much you needed this.

And so, with a heavy heart, you left the castle the following morning. The road that had once been so unfamiliar to you now felt like a pathway you could walk in your sleep. You traveled for days, the distance between you and the castle growing with each step. Every day, you reminded yourself why you were leaving. Your family needed you. You hadn’t seen them in so long. You had to make sure they were okay.

When you finally reached the familiar outskirts of your childhood home, it felt like a dream. The house stood tall in the distance, its worn walls and crooked roof the same as you remembered. You could hear the laughter of your siblings, the scent of your father’s cooking drifting in the air. The warmth that washed over you was a balm for your soul.

Your father, who had grown thinner since your departure, greeted you at the door with tears in his eyes. He enveloped you in a tight embrace, murmuring your name as though afraid you might disappear. Your sisters surrounded you, their laughter filling the space around you like sunlight breaking through the clouds. They teased you playfully about how much you’d changed, how different you seemed, but you didn’t mind. You were home. And for the first time in months, you felt at peace.

For a week, life seemed almost normal. The weight in your heart had lifted for a time, replaced with the joy of family dinners, shared stories, and the comforting familiarity of home. You slipped into your old life with ease, finding joy in the simple moments that had once felt so ordinary.

But as the days passed, the silence that lingered between you and your father, your siblings, grew louder. You missed the sound of Sevika’s voice in the still of the night, her presence in the rooms of the castle. You missed the way she had slowly become more than just the Beast in your eyes. You missed her strength, her vulnerability—everything she had become to you. And the more you allowed yourself to remember, the more you realized that your heart had never truly left the castle.

One evening, as you sat outside with your father, watching the stars twinkle in the sky, the conversation turned to old memories, to stories of his youth and the life he had once known. You listened, hanging on every word, until a sudden realization struck you like a wave.

“Father,” you said, voice trembling slightly, “I have to go back.”

He looked at you, confused. “Go back? Where?”

“To the castle,” you said softly. “To her.”

His expression faltered, his brow furrowing in concern. “But why, my child? I thought you were happy here. I thought this was where you belonged.”

Tears filled your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined to be strong. “I am happy here, Papa. But I am also happy there. And… and I love her. I can’t ignore that.”

He sighed, his weathered hand resting on yours. “Then go. Go to where your heart calls you.”

The road back to the castle felt longer than it had the first time. The air seemed heavier, filled with an unease that clung to the bones. The sky above you was muted, a pale gray that bled into the horizon, mirroring the heaviness in your chest. Every step felt like a distant echo, a reminder of the promises you had made to yourself, to her.

As you neared the gates, they creaked open on their own, as if the castle itself was beckoning you back. But the sight that greeted you was nothing like the castle you had left behind. The stone walls, once majestic, now stood cracked and weathered, covered in a thick blanket of moss. The ivy that had once adorned the castle like a beautiful gown now seemed to strangle it, twisting around the towers like a living thing.

The gardens, once full of life, were overrun with thorns. The rosebushes you had once admired were now wild, their petals wilting, their thorns sharp and unforgiving. The air was thick with a strange, stagnant smell—like something had died, but no one had the strength to bury it.

As you stepped inside, the warmth of the castle was gone. The hearths were cold, the great chandeliers that once shone with light were dim and brittle, their crystal shards hanging like dead stars. The halls were quiet, the silence oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of the old wood beneath your feet.

Roses—dozens of them—lined the halls. Their vines twisted up the walls, their thorns sharp and jagged. The petals, once vibrant, were now dull, some already falling to the floor, leaving trails of wilted blooms in their wake. The scent of the roses was suffocating, thick with the weight of decay.

You walked through the corridors, heart pounding, as if you could hear her, Sevika, somewhere in the dark corners of this crumbling place. You followed the path, feeling the weight of time pressing against your chest, and when you reached the heart of the castle—the room where you had first found the rose—the air felt colder still.

There, at the center of it all, was the glass vase. The rose inside it, once vibrant and full of life, was now barely clinging to the last of its petals. It was sickly, fragile, its edges turning black, as though it too had been drained of life.

And then you saw her.

Sevika lay in the corner of the room, her massive form hunched, her iron arm resting at her side like a broken wing. Her once-proud posture was now a shadow of itself, her body weak, her breathing shallow. The vibrant glow that had once surrounded her was gone, replaced by an ashen pallor, a coldness that seemed to seep into the very walls of the room.

“Sevika?” Your voice cracked as you rushed to her side. You kneeled beside her, your hands trembling as you cupped her face, feeling the coldness of her skin. Her once fierce eyes were now closed, her breath coming in ragged, weak gasps.

You shook her gently, your heart breaking with every second that passed. “Wake up. Please… Sevika. Please.”

The words caught in your throat, your mind racing with a thousand questions. What had happened? Why was she like this? What could you do?

You looked at the rose in the glass vase. Its last petal was hanging by a thread, its beauty now a pale shadow of what it once was. And in that moment, you understood.

It wasn’t just the curse that had drained her strength. It was the curse of the rose—the curse of love that could never fully bloom, of promises that could never be kept. The beast inside her, the part that had been cursed to remain forever in this form, was dying along with the rose. She couldn’t survive without it, just as the rose couldn’t survive without her.

Your hands shook as you took her hand in yours, pressing it against your chest. “Please, Sevika. You can’t leave me. You can’t.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, holding her face gently in your hands. “I—I love you. I love you more than I ever knew I could. I never wanted to leave you. I should never have left you.”

Her eyelids fluttered, her weak breath catching in her throat. A flicker of something—of recognition—passed across her face, though it was faint, distant.

“Sevika…” you whispered again, your voice trembling, “I don’t care if you’re the Beast. I love you. I love you in every form, every way, no matter what you’ve been made to be. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me alone.”

Her eyes cracked open slowly, weakly, the dim light catching the glint of the iron in her gaze. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, though it was bittersweet, full of pain.

“I knew you would come back,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, barely audible. “I knew it, even when the darkness came… I knew you’d come for me.”

You held her tighter, desperate, your fingers clutching her arm like a lifeline. “I should have never left you. I should have been here. I’m so sorry, Sevika. Please…”

“Don’t apologize,” she murmured. “It was never your fault. It was always mine. I... was never meant to be loved. I was born from that curse, from that dark place. The beast I am… I’m just a shadow of what I could have been. The rose... it was all I had left.”

“But you have me,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion. “I’ll always be here. I’ll always love you, Sevika. Please, don’t die. Don’t leave me.”

The last petal of the rose in the vase fell, its delicate form floating to the ground, like a whisper in the wind. The rose was gone.

And with it, Sevika’s strength faded.

But as her body grew weaker in your arms, a glow began to emerge from within her, faint at first, like the dying embers of a fire, then slowly growing stronger. The thorns that once covered her body began to recede, like they were shedding their grip on her soul. The beastly form she had worn so long seemed to be unraveling, piece by piece, as though the curse itself was finally breaking apart.

“Sevika?” you whispered, your voice thick with tears.

And then, in a final, breathtaking moment, the transformation began.

Her iron arm, once a symbol of her curse, shifted and changed. Her body glowed with a soft, golden light, and the twisted vines and thorns that had once marked her skin melted away, leaving her bare and vulnerable. Her once-rough features softened, becoming something almost familiar, something that looked like the woman you had come to love.

Her eyes, now full of warmth, opened, meeting yours with a clarity that sent shivers through your soul.

“You came back,” she whispered, her voice still weak but full of love.

And in that moment, you knew that the curse had been broken—not just by the rose, but by the love that had bloomed between you both. The love that had been tested, torn apart, and rebuilt stronger than ever.

“I never left,” you whispered back, your lips trembling as you leaned down, your forehead resting against hers. Slowly, you closed the distance, your lips meeting hers in a kiss. It was gentle at first, hesitant, as if both of you were afraid to believe that this moment was real. But as the kiss deepened, a fire ignited between you, a burning passion that had been hidden for so long.

Your hands cupped her face, feeling the softness of her skin, the warmth of her breath against you. She responded in kind, her fingers trembling as they brushed through your hair, pulling you closer, as if she too couldn’t believe that the curse had finally been broken.

For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no darkness, no curse, no fear. There was only the two of you, finally free to love each other without the weight of the past.

When you finally pulled away, your lips still tingling with the intensity of the kiss, you gazed into her eyes—eyes that were no longer filled with sorrow or regret, but with love. True love.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice full of reverence, as if saying it out loud somehow made it more real.

“I always have,” you replied, your heart soaring. “And I always will.”

And as you kissed her again, you both knew that nothing, not even the darkness that had once held you captive, could ever tear you apart again.

It was said the castle never stopped blooming.

Even when snow blanketed the world in white, roses still bloomed on its windowsills, warm with the memory of a love that had defied the cold. Vines curled like lacework across marble balustrades, and petals drifted like silk through the air, eternal as breath.

In the heart of it all was you—and Sevika.

The ballroom where the curse had broken now held music every night. Not the mournful hush of enchanted halls, but lilting notes played on harps and flutes, accompanied by soft laughter and candlelight. The mirrors no longer reflected loneliness but joy, shared glances, and the golden flicker of love lived out loud.

You often walked the gardens in the twilight hours, hand in hers. Her iron arm, once feared, now shone with filigree and gold in the low light—etched with the vines of the rose you had once asked for. She had changed, yes. But not in the way stories warned of. She had bloomed, just as you had, and together you grew—a wild, wondrous tangle of what it means to be fully seen, and still, fully loved.

And every spring, beneath the grand arch of roses in the garden where the curse first cracked open to let love in, you renewed your vow.

“I love you,” you whispered, always the same way, forehead against hers, heart pressed to heart. “I love you,” she answered, every time as if she were still astonished by the miracle of it.

And the castle listened.

The wind carried your laughter. The roses remembered your names. The stars always seemed to shine a little brighter over that place—where a girl who asked only for a rose gave her heart instead, and in return, found a soul that matched hers petal for petal, thorn for thorn.

And so, the tale lived on.

Told by firesides, inked into songbooks, whispered by lovers in gardens and alcoves.

A story of iron and softness. Of wild roses and velvet mornings. Of a girl who loved a Beast, and a Beast who learned to be loved.

Not the end. Never the end.

Only ever after. And always, in bloom.

taglist : @krilara @authenticaqua @chigichansgf @dreamylovelydove @ferxanda @morticeras @smaugayra @hell0-ki55y @abbyanderswife @azteriarizz @moodient @that0nyx @sleepycrybbylaiah @elleoa @koralinebox @torradeironic @furrytaesss @minaridior @importantllamawombat @ivorydevil @rhian88 @pink-ladybugs @femininefables @ancrygurl @vkumi @yaracampbell @foralltheprettygirls

an: i wrote this half-asleep ill fix anything that needs fixing in the monring

111 notes · View notes

yerimbrit · 5 months ago

Text

here's the mistletoe (so go on and kiss me twice) : p. hanni

synopsis: it's last minute christmas decorating with your friends, and, as always, anything and everything is an opportunity for you to tease your girlfriend.

# : pairing ! nonidol!pham hanni x fem!reader

# : tags ! fluff fluff and more fluff, would you like a side of fluff with your order of fluff? yeah?, christmas decorating, short jokes (directed at hanni wbk), ft newjeans

# : wordcount ! 1.5k

# : warnings ! none

for the first time ever in the two years that you've been living with each other, all members of your friend group are home for christmas. obviously, you guys want to make it special, right? decorating the moment it hits midnight on the first of the jolly month?

...except everyone's been busy with finals and whatnot, and the only day that all six of you are free is the 23rd. two days before christmas, and a day before christmas eve.

early this morning, minji and haerin went out to go buy a tree. and you'll give it to them, it's a damn pretty looking tree. it leaves just enough room to spare for the topper to breathe, and it's body is the ideal shape for a christmas tree—like the ones you'd see on those holiday cards. putting those two on tree-hunting duty was a good idea, even if they were decided from losing a game of slapjack.

(that day still gives you the shivers. the air around haerin as she chose her victim to accompany her on her expedition was absolutely chilling.)

the rest of the jobs were decided by first come, first served. unfortunately, danielle and hyein called dibs on baking all of the sweet treats and pastries for the party, so that left you and hanni for decorations.

look, you love hanni. she's a wonderful friend and an even lovelier girlfriend. it's just... you know, with all the decorating... how are you supposed to resist making short jokes targeted towards her when everything gives you a chance to? and that's exactly how your trip to home depot went. every other aisle would have you lightly teasing your vertically challenged girlfriend, and every other aisle would have her scolding you or landing a half-hearted punch on your shoulder. ouch.

"you guys sure are late," hyein jokingly crosses her arms upon your arrival. her mask breaks almost immediately, and she has to stifle a giggle. there's spots of flour on her face, and danielle, who is beaming next to her, has pink frosting smeared on her cheek. looks like their baking session went a little haywire.

hanni huffs, swinging a horridly orange home depot branded bag over her shoulder to set down next to the freshly installed tree. "do you know how crowded home depot is on christmas eve eve?"

"must've been hard reaching for the last box of ornaments," minji snorts, leaning over from her spot on the couch to try to peek inside the reusable bag. hanni swats her hand away and proceeds to point and laugh at the ugly christmas sweater that the taller has donned.

you giggle at their interaction before placing the rest of the orange bags next to the one hanni put down and make a beeline to the open kitchen, where a tray of warm and decorated cookies lay. there's a broken snowflake-shaped cookie with unsightly neon turquoise frosting pasted messily on top, and you decide to put it out of its misery by plopping it in your mouth. "mmh, warm, buttery, and sweet. as expected, you two."

the baker pair share a proud look and a fistbump, and then a voice sounds out from right beside you alongside a crunch. "these are good."

startled, you look to your right and haerin's staring right at you with a gingerbread man—headless, because she bit off its head—pinched in a hold between her pointer and her thumb. you press a hand to your heart, "when did you get here!?"

she ignores your question, instead walking away to peer into the products you and hanni reaped from the warehouse. if you listened closely, you could hear the feline quietly hum the home depot theme song. unbelievable.

minji tries to start something, likely about how haerin got to look before she did, but danielle interrupts before she can even let a second word of complaint escape her lips. "let's get decorating!"

with the sunshine's interruption, the group breaks into laughter and minji takes the three orange bags to the dining table where their contents can be spilled out. ornaments, string lights in both tacky rainbow colors and the neat white ones, and other little trinkets and decorations—you really just grabbed everything that was left, not that it was a bad thing! it's just... really random compared to everything else.

"whoever's last has to decorate the tree," danielle calls out, a small smile settling on her face, and she places her finger on the tip of her nose, "not it!"

you got caught off-guard, and that ultimately leaves you as the last one standing. even haerin's in on it, the little devil—she's developing her own characteristic shit-eating grin and it's starting to piss you off.

"you're out, y/n," minji laughs, and her eyes subtly snap between you and hanni, "pick someone to work with you."

your gaze trails over to your girlfriend, who frantically shakes her head in distress. 'no,' she signals with her eyes, 'please don't pick me.'

hyein waves a swaying hand in front of you, a teasing glint in her eyes, "don't take too long picking, unnie, or else the beautiful tree they picked will be all for naught!"

well, you didn't have to be told twice. "hanni."

"nooooo!"

"i can't believe you chose me. i mean, couldn't you tell i didn't want to be picked? my own girlfriend betraying me, how could you?" the shorter girl grumbles, handing you an ornament to hang on a higher section of the tree. the two of you have worked through almost all of it after hanging four sets of string lights, two multicolored, two white.

"it's not that bad, han," you chuckle, expertly looping the red ornament's string around a branch. the leaves brush against your skin and it's electrifying—in a good way, of course. "besides, this way you don't have to complain about what kind of placement minji or hyein decided on, yeah? plus, you're the perfect height to reach those bottom branches."

hanni gasps in offense, her jaw dropped. "i'm not that short!" and she hands you the last ornament to hang: an otter with a santa hat.

you grin, taking it from her hand and pointing at the small plush, "this one looks like you."

"really?" she furrows her eyebrows.

you hold it up next to her face for comparison. "definitely."

after putting the otter plush in an empty-looking spot in the middle of the tree, you pick up a star topper and present it to your girlfriend, who looks at you with a deadpan stare. "you're not actually asking me to put it on, are you?"

"i'm deadass," you smile, "take it, i'll help you up."

hanni stares at you for a bit longer, as if she were waiting for you to break your expression and claim that it was a joke. unfortunately for her, you don't, only pushing the topper into her hands. "how are we even going to—ah, what the hell!"

you've gone and easily lifted your girlfriend up by the waist, just enough so that she could reach the top of the tree. she squirms in your hold, and you giggle at her struggle. "hurry up, han!"

"okay, okay! move forward a little, will you?"

with your help, hanni manages to perfectly place the star on top of the tree and returning her to the ground earns you a satisfied hum and a hug, which you reciprocate. out of character, but not unwelcome.

now done with the tree, you can finally look around to your surroundings where the entire house has been christmasified: string lights, plushies with santa hats, a winter village on the windowsill on top of a white cloth resembling snow, and a train track on another windowsill. there's shuffling from below you, and you lock eyes with haerin who gradually rises from her brief squatting position on the ground. a smirk slowly takes over your face. hanni tilts her head in confusion.

the feline stands on her tiptoes to dangle the mistletoe above you and hanni's heads, and once the smaller girl realizes what the plant was, her face explodes into a multitude of reds and pinks.

the others, witnessing this scene unfold, start chanting and playfully raising their fists. "kiss! kiss! kiss!"

you press your forehead against your girlfriend's. "looks like we have no choice but to kiss, hanni."

her eyes soften. "you're saying it like it's a chore."

you shake your head slightly in disbelief, scoffing. "i'm just saying, it's an honor to ki-"

before you could finish your sentence, you feel the fabric of your shirt get tugged forward, and soon you feel a soft pair of lips pressed against your own. the kiss is soothing but exciting, and you lean into the familiar warmth. nothing else mattered in that moment, all you can focus on is the way she tastes like mint—it's only a bit embarrassing that you might taste like the sweet buttercream cookie that you had earlier.

a burst of cheers erupt from around you, causing you to break away from the kiss. but you don't pay any mind to the others—instead, you pull hanni closer into an affectionate hug. you lean forward to brush your lips across her ear, smiling at how quickly it turns red from her blush.

"merry christmas, han."

hanni buries her face into your shoulder. "merry christmas, y/n."

a/n : MERRY CHRISTMAS it's still technically christmas for me so i'm not late I SWEAR ok i know that I said i wouldn't write any more fluff but that was a lie... i would be a devil if i ruined the holiday spirit with angst happy holidays!!

#hanni pham x reader #pham hanni x reader #hanni x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans imagines #girl group x reader #girl group imagines #kpop gg x reader #newjeans #newjeans hanni #gxg

255 notes · View notes

cillivnz · 1 year ago

Text

RUNAWAY BRIDE [Lord Dimitrescu]

pairing. Lord Alcides Dimitrescu x Ex!Wife Reader

genre. angst, smut.

warnings. nsfw (18+). infidelity, abandonment, cannibalism, gore descriptions, murder, separation, hunter-prey-chase dynamics, manipulation, pregnancy, cursing, pet-names, mention of cults, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, overstimulation, clit-play, breast/nipple-play, multiple orgasms, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, doggystyle, crying.

word count. 3.7k+

a/n. idk how i feel about this :,) sweet anon, thank you so much for requesting this! i apologise for not getting to work sooner, but i hope it was worth the time! feedback is always appreciated <3 NOT PROOFREAD. EXCUSE INACCURATE TRANSLATIONS (I USE GOOGLE)

translations. “Mireasa fugară” - The Runaway Bride. “draga mea sotie” - my darling wife. “mireasa mea fugitivă” - my runaway bride. “Comoara mea” - My precious. “căprița mea mică” - my little doe. “iubițel” - darling/sweetheart. “Draga mea” - My darling.

listening to. HIM — Lose You Tonight - Thulsa Doom Extended Dub

TEARING HELL FOR LEATHER, you were cursing Fate and her knack for irony, because as you galloped like a doe from one forest Spruce to another, you were sure you were being compared to one by your tiger hunters; a dumb doe, too.

For thinking you could outrun them.

Vampiric barbarians that chased prey like you for sport, and devoured your meaty, lifeless bodies for dinner.

‘None of it seemed to be a problem to you then, so why now, my darling?’

You could hear his voice ring in the eye of your mind, a taunt, perhaps a warning, that you had no choice now but to suffer the consequences of a lustful love that once became the root of your existence.

You had been the talk of the town, rather, every town coming under The Four Houses; firstly, for your damn-near blasphemous marriage to him, and then when you ran away from him, leaving him to be a bastard widow of sorts.

Lord Alcides Dimitrescu and his Runaway Bride.

“Mireasa fugară”

Of all titles given to you, from ‘his little doe’, to Lady Dimitrescu, or even ‘Mother Dearest’ by your adoptive children, the one that stuck was this.

As you tear through the verdure of the outskirts of your renounced Castle, you hope the now-grown men chasing you remember how you were their “Mother Dearest” as boys.

“Mother, that’s enough,” grunted Boian, your oldest, ever the most obedient and faithful, but his loyalties will remain to his father, and so he’ll hunt you down for his validation, if he must.

“Yeah, Mommy, aren’t you getting tired of the cats-and-mouse chase?” Cătălin intervened, a snarky comment always on the brat’s lips, but his mischief and naughtiness had always warmed your heart.

“Just come back to father— to us,” begged Dorin, your youngest. He had always been the most attached to the idea of you as his mother, clutching onto your dress and hiding behind you when his father would scold him for blinding the messenger raven by throwing rocks at it, and would always consider you to be the epitome of the ideal woman.

Your eyes well up at their cries for you, but you must do this. You mustn’t ever return to Castle Dimitrescu, the hellish abode of Satan himself.

Not after his cannibalistic tendencies were shamelessly rubbed in your face, a mortal noblewomen who lost the people of her kingdom to her husband’s appetite.

The night was cold, the frost blanketing over the foliage like a cruel lover’s intoxicating embrace.

Speaking of a noxious love, you were preparing in your chambers, to let go and breathe the air of freedom and quit living in a necromantic land ruled by tyranny.

“‘Ya almost done?” A thick transatlantic accent broke the eerie silence of your quarters.

Where the only sound heard was that of your beating heart, now, the planting of wet kisses along your spine was sounded, too.

“Karl…” you whimpered in hesitation,

“I know, bub, we’re leaving as soon as ‘ya finish packing.” He planted one final kiss on your shoulder before leaving you alone; once again the silence fell.

Your heart palpitated, sinking into the pit of your stomach with guilt, making you sigh as you second-guess your decision. It’s ironic how you spent your entire life in the belief of infidelity being the biggest sin— the ultimate blasphemy to betray whom you’re betrothed to, and now you’re forsaking your husband to live a “normal” life with his friend.

“Fuck me,” you groan. You were never one to use profanities so casually, but the given circumstances had you cursing like a sailor. Clutching your bag of belongings, you make your way outside of the chambers. You see your chamberlain bustling about the halls, eagerly preparing for dinner for the five of you— Lord, Lady, and children. She nods curtly at you, “Pasha, where must the Lord be,” you inquire. She immediately stops tending to the kitchen staff and pays full heed to you. “He is still at the Tower of Worship, m’ Lady,” Pasha replies.

Right, so he’s still where he’d said he’d be; where he requested you to accompany him, but you refused, feigning a faux headache that your stress soon turned genuine.

“I am going to accompany him there, don’t wait for me for supper,” you dismiss her and her ‘but’s’ of concern for your health.

As you walk towards the Tower, your steps felt faltered, meek. The damp, chilly air only constricted your breathing and the large ruby on your ring finger that once fit you like a glove, back when he proposed to you on one knee, levelling your height then, felt like needles pricking into your soft flesh— a beautiful but bitter reminder of your imprisonment.

The ruby glowed when you walked past the Tower, as if telling you that the object of your desires— your demise— is in there.

You ignore all omens screeching at you, and disappear into the night; Karl Heisenberg waiting for you on the outskirts of the town in a chariot.

“What happens now,” you inquire, breathless from kissing Karl. “We’ll live off of regular means. I’ll look for a job in welding, and you— well, bub, with a face like yours you could start your own cult,” he smirks, nuzzling his bearded face into your neck.

You try to laugh but your conscious was grim.

“HE KNOWS, IT’LL ONLY A MATTER OF TIME!” Cătălin had a possessed look on his face, his raven hair wild in the wind, yellow eyes fluorescent in the dark.

Tears stream down your face, the wind carrying them to your storming children.

You were tired, wanting the nightmare to be over. Never having anticipated these to be the consequences— hell, had you known, you would’ve never accepted either man’s proposal— neither Alcides nor Karl.

Alas, a woman’s beauty is to blame for bad luck.

When the sound of thunderous strides tearing through foliage is no longer heard behind, you stop dead in your tracks, hidding behind the largest tree of the forest, a century old banyan.

Your haggard breath created a veil of fog around you, your eyes dart in every nook and corner for a sign of your predators, not knowing they’re circling you from each direction, until the leap in front of you.

“Mamă,” Dorin cooed, his voice soft. Cătălin pushed past him, cornering you further in. He wipes the sweat on his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes flick from a pale beige colour to an electric yellow.

“Say you want us to take you back to Dad,” he grabs you by the shoulders, forcing you to look into his eyes. Your pupils dilate, your subconscious felt manipulated into a trance.

“No!” You intended to slap away his grip, but what surprised the three was that there was no need for you to. Your own eyes glimmered a fluorescent amber, hypnotising him to back off.

“That’s enough,” Dorin intervened, his voice gruff, depicting maturity you didn’t know he was capable of possessing.

Boian stood closest to you know, your eyes watering with heavy tears, like the reflection of the sun in a stream.

“Rest, mother.” His eyes shined the brightest, compelling you to comply, and your tired mind just wanted it for the sufferance to end.

THE FIRST SIGHT YOU SEE when you awoke was of the gothic ridges adorning the ceiling of your— Alcides’ bedroom.

Wait, what—

You shoot up from your grave of silk bedding, eyes landing directly on the man you were dreading, the man you abandoned, the man you married.

His kept stubble grew into a full beard, tiny specks of grey were illuminating in his roots, and he was seemingly taller, with the pride of having stolen you from the world once again.

“Good morning, draga mea sotie,” he spoke with a nonchalant face, but you of all people knew when you heard amusement in his tone. “I take it you slept well, thanks to our oldest—”

“Keep my boy off of your necromantic ways,” you cut him off.

“Dare you suggest I cut off his diet? Starve my boy? Rob him off of his luxuries—”

“I’m suggesting you raise normal nobles, not cannibals in a cult,” your voice came out weaker than you expected, and the faux offense feigned on the tyrant Lord’s face turned into a smug grin, “There’s nothing normal about nobility, and you’re one to talk,”

“They told me what happened.”

Your eyes widen— the same eyes he’s referring to right now. “No. Th-that was an accident—”

“‘That so? How come you have the symptoms of a plague that never infected you, hm?” He moves closer, from the edge of the bed to right beside your bare knees. “Unless you’ve had it embedded in you, or you’ve resorted to our diet, the odds are not in your favour, mireasa mea fugitivă.”

“How dare you call me that,” you sneered.

“How dare you hide my unborn child from me.”

“How dare you leave me.”

You dare not look at him now, face turned away from him, clenching your jaw while your eyes well up with fury.

“Comoara mea, look at me,” his large hands grab a hold of your chin, and the gentleness took you by surprise. He makes you face him, and when you look into his amber eyes your expression softens.

He stares into your glassy doe eyes, parted plump lips quivering, “There’s căprița mea mică,” he smiled— not smirked in his usual conceit, but smiled— the smile you received when you stood in the chapel of the Tower of Worship, and swore yourself to him.

His lips find yours in a yearning kiss— gentle, longing, and passionate. You clutch his half-unbuttoned shirt, remembering how you’d have to stand on your tiptoes to button them for them, not that the trimmed chest hair ever bothered you, if anything, it got you hot and bothered, which is why you buttoned him up. The fabric crinkles under your grip, and whether you were holding onto him to push him away or pull him closer was something you couldn’t figure out.

His hands tear open your blouse, and you couldn’t help but compare the act with the way you’ve caught him ripping through human flesh.

You pull away.

“You know why I left, and why I’ll leave again,” your chest heaved, breathless.

“Because I’m cruel? A cannibal?”

“Like your little paramour was any better.” He spat, and your eyes widened.

He knew about Karl, “What?”

“Please, ‘y really think he left you in a tavern full of drunken hunters every night and day to weld weapons? He’d deal in his work for a pound of flesh from the very hunters whose tables you’d been scrubbing,” he revealed, running a hand through his onyx locs.

He knew everything.

“Karl couldn’t— where is he?!” The realisation of his a sense dawned on you.

“Being served— as dinner.” He smirked.

The metal man was dead.

“Come on, don’t tell me you felt for that bastard. He was your exit ticket, I know, but other than that what’s he got,” says your ex-husband, meaning to say, “What’s he got that I don’t— that I didn’t?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, so the tantalising question hangs over the cold tension of the room.

This time his hand grabs ahold of your nape, tugging the hair towards him.

“Don’t go all quiet on me now, my darling,” he cooed, voice husky and soft despite the harsh pain he was inflicting on your scalp.

“What do you want, Alcides?” You spat, and he smiled at his little spitfire.

“Another chance,” he spoke almost instantly, a request lingering in the air.

“—To do better for you, and my unborn child.” He’s patient, oh so careful with you, like this doe’s made of glass.

He grips your calf, causing you to wince. Immediately he searches for the reason of your pain, noting it to be a laceration.

“Lie back, relax, and let me take care of you,” he cooed, making his way to catch your lips, “Let me worship you the way I should’ve.”

You couldn’t help but lean into the kiss. He had a way with words, a way so profound that he had you wrapped around his abnormally large finger the minute he set eyes on you.

You succumb. And fuck, do you succumb?

“Mireasa fugară”, her Tyrant Lord— a cruel tale men would recite at the tavern table, laugh at Fate and her knack for irony. Perhaps, they’d compare her beauty to their distraught wives’, curse their luck for not making her theirs, they’d surely have treated her better than the Cannibal, and the barkeep ladies yearn for the sight of a mammoth hulking in their pub, offering a penny to anyone who’d tell him with whom his wife ran away with. He who hunts hunters for sport, lost all wits and appetite for destruction over a woman.

The men laugh, their ale clinks, the barkeeps scrub the tables with a satiated sigh. Such is life, a beautiful ending to a tragic tale.

His kisses follow the trail from the corner of your lips to your jawline, your prominent collarbones. He takes a minute to observe the glass flesh which was earlier always adorned in tyrian purple like a leash of love; now the slate was clean, the collar, erased— a cruel reminder of the last time you made love— so casually that night, and had he known it would’ve been the last for a very long time, he’d have given you a night to remember— not that you ever forgot.

Alcides got to work, gently suckling on your pulse points. His beard pricked your soft flesh, sending jolts of arousal through you. You bit your lip, holding back moans, but the minute his mouth landed on your breasts, you were a goner. He kneaded them, caressed and fondled them. He noticed how your breasts had swell up, your body preparing for sustaining the child that hadn’t even developed into a bump yet. His serpentine tongue peaked out, encircling your hard nipple. Wet kisses trailed along the valley of your breasts, every inch of your body was covered in his essence.

When he reached your belly, he peered at you. Amber yellow eyes were blown out in lust, staring into the crests of your soul as his lips pressed into your flesh in a chaste kiss.

“It’s happy,” he began, causing your trance to break momentarily, “To have its parents back together,” he continued. A swell of overwhelm gathered in your heart, but that was every moment in a relationship with Alcides.

All thoughts and sense left your mind when his face was between your thighs. His broad shoulders were enough to have you fully spread out for him, even more than you’d like. He observed your body, the flutter of your walls, the blood rush to your clit, all were odes to his heed, and with immediate urgency.

The first lick to your cunt sent you spiralling back to doomsday. What every fibre of your being tried to prevent was unravelling right before your eyes, and the worst part? You wanted it to happen, you craved it, needed it like he needed human flesh. Maybe you two weren’t so different in your desires, you gnaw at his being alive and he eats corpses.

“Prettiest pussy,” he spoke, smothered in your thighs. His gentle licks were putting pressure on your sensitive spots, the texture of his abnormal tongue had always coaxed your soul to ooze through your orgasmic tides. Your clit was constantly taunted by the tip of his tongue, flicking and sucking on the bundle of nerves, relishing in the sight of you writhing and pulsating.

Soon enough, his tongue slipped into your velvety walls, the wet muscle stretching your constricting walls in a manner so painfully good.

Sex with Alcides had always been excruciatingly good, and tonight this artist put on his finest performance for his favourite audience of one.

You were squirming in his grasp, trying to get away before coming undone, but he wouldn’t budge, if anything, his tongue dove in deeper into your clenching pussy.

With fervent rubs of your clit, he had you coming in his mouth, a celestial maiden quenching the thirst of a mortal with ichor.

You struggled in overstimulation, but Alcides only lapped further at the juices dripping down his chin.

“One,” he rose, parting your legs further. He positioned his fingers on your mound, pressing down firmly. The feel of your cunt convulsing with need sent him tremors down his spine. He eased a finger in, and you gasped at the sudden intrusion. The sharp digit sat fat and deep inside you, slowly curling to the rhythm of its master’s drum.

Your clit throbbed, and with senses as heightened as yours, it ached. Alcides was quick to soothe or intensify the pain, leaning in to lick leisurely at the bud, while his finger teased your sweet spot.

Another digit in had tears welling up in your eyes, and soon the stream flowed down your cheeks as his rhythm picked up pace.

“Hurts, iubițel,” you whined, and Alcides froze.

‘iubițel’, was something he hadn’t been addressed as for years. A genuine smile flashed on his handsome face, you’re accepting it— accepting him.

“I know, Draga mea, but you can take it,” he got back to sucking your clit while scissoring your cunt open with his thick digits. “Alcides, fuck!” You moaned wantonly, gushing all over him. He grinned from ear to ear, eager to coax more of that squirt out. His movements tripled in velocity, and soon enough, he pulled out only to replace his digits with his mouth, drinking every spurt of your juices.

“Two,” he groaned, licking his glistening lips.

He pulled you closer by the neck, crashing his lips onto yours in a passionate tango of tongue. He was quick to turn you around, manhandling you on your fours came naturally to him; too easily did you comply.

The feeling of his fat cockhead rubbing against your tender entrance was nostalgic to say the least, but fear of not being able to take him soon crept it. Even when he’d fuck you day and night, you could barely, just barely accommodate the mammoth’s monster cock, and now that it’s been years without practise, you could only pray to Gods you wouldn’t rip in half.

As the tip slide in, you felt a wave of euphoria crash your shores of uncertainty. Concealing in lust was the love you had now opened yourself up for.

Alcides spread your ass, relishing in the feel of the plump fat of your curves in his large palms. He gave your hips a squeeze before letting his palm fall on the swell of your ass.

You gasped at the smack, looking back at him through wet eyelashes. “My little doe, my beautiful, beautiful wife,” he gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

He pushed in further and further until no inch was left, until your thighs were clad together and your bodies conjoined.

Feeling merciful, Alcides decided to let you adjust to his intrusion. As you clenched and cried on his cock, Alcides took a minute to close his eyes and smile on cloud nine. The feel of your warm, tight, wet cunt choking his cock to death was a feeling he longed for, and it was then he knew no other desire of his could amount to you. He would leave it all for you. He will.

“Alcides, fuck,” your pornographic moans were sound in the whole chambers. He set out a slow pace, yet every thrust was felt in your cervix. “Good G-God, darling,” Alcides moaned, his breath hitched as your tight channel gripped him like a vice.

He snaked a hand to settle between your thighs, pinching your clit.

You were in tears, beads of sweat pearlescent on your body, brows furrowed in pleasure and pain, a beautiful symphony.

“Slow down—” you managed to shriek, but Alcides was too far gone to act on it, he could only bring you solace to endure what his desires have in store for you. He kisses your spine, bathing your silk skin in wet kisses.

He pounded into your cunt, the whole room rumbling with the thrusts of the titan above you. He had an ironclad grip on your hips, slamming them back on his cock as he pistons into you. “Fuck, I couldn’t live without you,” he croaked.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he beseeched, causing you to nod rapidly, face buried into the sheets.

“Alcides, I’m going to—” your tears and slick stained the sheets, you broke down on his cock, the sensation, the memories too much for your precious and fragile little heart to endure.

He pulled out.

He glared at your gaping hole, your flustered face crying in frustration at the painful denial.

Alcides slams inside of you, “I need— need to look at you while I cum,” he groaned, resuming his animalistic thrusts.

Your legs wrapped around his narrow waist, nails ripping through the flesh of his broad back.

Rutting into your cunt, he bent forwards to catch your bouncing breasts into his mouth, squeezing the two together.

He left your hip to abuse your clit, tormenting the swollen bud with overstimulation.

“Cum with me. Cum with your husband,” he was lost inside of you. Rambling sweet nothings like never before, making every cell inside of you swell up with love and lust.

“Alcides!” You moaned, feeling his warm seed shoot into you.

“Oh my god!” You saw stars.

It finally came to you, in bits and pieces of your being, Fate isn’t cruel, but comic.

“Three,” he groaned, crashing beside you.

Three earth-shattering orgasms for the three years you abandoned him.

“I love you, I’ll do anything for you,” he caressed the side of your face.

“I love you, too,” you sighed, feeling exhaustion embrace you.

You spent so long running, only for your strides to lead you back to bed with him, to home.

Fate isn’t cruel but comic, because the bones you were so against finding devoured in your house became your daughter’s favourite toys.

Just like her father, Alcides, Alcina Dimitrescu loves the grotesque, but her doe of a mother even more.

main masterlist. more of Lord Dimitrescu. SEE ALSO. important clarification in rgds to this fic.

#lord dimitrescu #lord dimitrescu x reader smut #lord dimitrescu smut #lord dimitrescu sons #lord dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu genderbent #resident evil village #resident evil #lady dimitrescu #size difference #resident evil dimitrescu #monsterfuck #monster smut #vampire smut #divorce #ex wife #makeup sex #🧚‍♀️ anon

804 notes · View notes

wholoveseggs · 1 year ago

Text

~Series♡~

{<- masterlist}

18+

Smut ~ Violence ~ Fluff ~ Angst

~Warmth

Part One {5k} ♡♡♡ --- It's your wedding day, but it feels more like being sold off than a celebration. You're about to marry into the most powerful family in history, but it's not by choice—it's all politics. All you can do is hope that the guy waiting for you at the altar is decent and that somehow, you'll survive whatever comes after "I do."

Part Two {6k} ♡♡ --- Its day two of your unexpected honeymoon, as trust begins to blossom, the question lingers—will he exceed your expectations or leave you longing for more?

Part Three {8k} ♡♡♡ --- Back in the vibrant streets of New Orleans, relishing in your newfound freedom. Life takes an unexpected turn as the shadows of your past life loom large, pulling you back into the life you just escaped. Yet, amidst the haunting echoes, you find strength in a partner who is ready to go to any lengths for you.

~Extraordinary

Part One {5k} ♡♡ --- Just a quick little ménage à trois with the boys.

Part Two {7k} ♡♡ --- Just a quick little ménage à trois with the boys... but its round two.

Part Three {8.5k} {Holiday Special} ♡♡♡ --- Just a quick little ménage à trois with the boys... but its round three & under the mistletoe.

~Indulgences

Part One {3k} ♡♡ --- Elijah's red door is cracked open and his heart broken, so naturally Klaus takes him to a strip club to cheer him up.

Part Two {3.5k} ♡♡ --- Elijah returns to the club, seeking solace in the dimly lit corners. You navigate the allure of his wealth and charm while trapped in the grip of your possessive boyfriend.

Part Three {5.5k} ♡♡♡ --- As your relationship with Elijah deepens, conflict arises and you are put in an impossible situation.

Part Four {7k} ♡♡♡ --- In the aftermath of violence, you forge new connections and leave behind all the pain that has plagued you for so long.

~Pop Quiz

Part One {7k} ♡♡ --- How can you possibly pay attention in history class when your professor is that hot? Let's hope you don't fail your exam...

Part Two {9.5k} ♡♡♡ --- Its been a few weeks since you last saw your professor, and you are feeling insecure about the nature of your relationship. You decide to make a grand gesture to capture his attention. Hopefully it doesn't blow up in your face...

~Mine

Part One {5k} ♡ --- A drunken hookup with Klaus complicates your friendship with Elijah, leading to an awkward morning after.

Part Two {5k} ♡♡♡ --- Rebekah talks some sense into you and you aim to repair your relationship with Elijah.

~Crimson Frost

Part One {6k} ♡♡♡ --- You are to be wed to Niklaus of the Mikaelson clan, but when tragedy strikes and blood is shed in the snowy night, the true strength of family bonds and the power of love are put to the ultimate test.

Part Two {5.5k} ♡♡ --- After the raid on your village you are separated from your little sister and your betrothed Niklaus, not knowing if they are alive or dead. Holed up in a hut with Elijah during a raging snowstorm, you train and prepare to hunt down the Blackthornes. Meanwhile, Niklaus, Kol and Rebekah have found safe haven in a nearby village, the leader Ansel provides all he can.

Part Three {6k} ♡♡♡♡ --- Things heat up between you and Elijah as you prepare to rescue Gerda and Henrik. In the pursuit of your sister things get bloody and an unexpected warrior comes to your aid.

Part Four {5.5k} ♡♡♡ --- Your reunion with Nikaus and Elijah doesn't go as planned and betrayals are revealed. Threatening the peace and safety you fought so hard for.

Part Five {8.5k} ♡♡♡ --- As you prepare for your wedding, secrets come to the surface and your future hangs in the balance.

~Rules

Part One {2k} ♡♡ --- As the little sister of the Salvatores, trouble always finds you. Whether it's from a vampire, werewolf or an original, you are always at the center of it. When the mysterious villain Elijah comes to Mystic Falls, everyone is trying to stop him from hurting Elena. But you? You might be falling in love...

Part Two {4k} ♡♡ --- Its a beautiful day in Mystic Falls, so you decide to put on your favorite dress and grab a drink. Hoping to attract a man {or two} to satisfy your appetites.

Part Three {6k} ♡♡♡ --- You head over to Elijah's place, ready to have a fun night together. But when you don't mind your manners, you end up paying the price.

Part Four {6.4k} ♡♡ --- Tonight is the night of the dinner party and tensions are running high. Caught between the love for your family and your own desires, things take a dramatic turn

Part Five {10.7k} ♡♡♡♡ --- It was never a good idea, falling in love with the enemy. But how were you supposed to know how it would all end up?

~The Gardener

Part One {2k} ♡♡♡ --- The relationship between witches and vampires has always been fraught with complexity— a toxic mix of power and revenge. Raised to preserve nature’s balance, you’ve been taught that vampires are a perversion of life itself. You have a duty and a purpose, to eliminate all vampires. You're willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill it, even if that means falling into bed with the enemy.

Part Two {2k} ♡♡♡ --- Your mission to seduce Elijah continues, and it's becoming harder and harder to separate your feelings for him from your duty. Your ancestors call out to you, warning of death and destruction, and tensions within the coven are high. Your time is running out, and you have to find the white oak ash, and soon.

Part Three {2k} ♡♡♡♡ --- You have fallen into a comfortable routine with Elijah, but the threat of war looms on the horizon. Will you betray him or will you follow your heart?

Part Four {2k} ♡♡♡♡ --- Things come to a head when you decide to confront the Mikaelsons, before your magic consumes you.

~Dark Star

Part One {6.8k} ♡♡ --- Bound by love that defies centuries, Elijah Mikaelson will do whatever it takes to resurrect his lost wife. Even if it means forsaking everything he believes in. Once the north star guiding his family, his shattered heart now leads him down a darker path, transforming him into a version beyond redemption. A damned soul, drawing his family into an abyss they may never escape.

Part Two {8.2k} ♡♡♡ --- In a 13th-century convent, you’re drawn to the mysterious nobleman Elijah Mikaelson, who stirs desires forbidden in both heart and faith. In the present day, the Mikaelson family teeters on the edge, torn over what to do with Elijah, now trapped in torment by Klaus’s dagger. Haunted by memories of love and loss, Elijah relives the past, and his siblings face a grim choice: leave him in despair or risk the havoc he might unleash.

Part Three {6.8k} ♡♡♡ --- Klaus and Marcel hit a dead end searching for your killer. Until Cami offers a fresh perspective that could change everything. Kol uncovers a spell that might resurrect you, but the cost is steep. And centuries ago, under starlit skies, you surrender to a forbidden night with Elijah, binding your fate to his in ways that transcend time.

Part Four {6.8k} ♡♡♡ --- In the present day, Cami takes matters into her own hands by going to the police, urging detectives to search for your killer. Meanwhile, Rebekah and Kol return to Mystic Falls to seek Bonnie Bennett’s help...and run into an old friend. In the past, your church has a watchful eye on your every move as fear of demons brew among the villagers, risking your exposure and ruin.

Part Five {8.3k} ♡♡♡ --- Elijah’s obsession with resurrecting you drives his family deeper into darkness, where alliances fray and unexpected lives are lost as Bonnie Bennett becomes their reluctant pawn. In the 13th century, love turns to betrayal as your forbidden bond with Elijah transforms under the weight of sin, faith, and the cruelty of vengeance.

Part Six {8.4k} ♡♡♡ --- A tense family dinner reveals the fractures in the Mikaelson bond as Elijah’s madness pushes his siblings to the breaking point. In the 13th century, you wake up with a new hunger, your transformation into a vampire marking the beginning of a new and prosperous life. Setting up everything that is to come.

~Stains

Part One {3.7k} ♡♡ --- One spilled coffee, one ruined suit, and one infuriating man you can’t seem to avoid...

Part Two {2.4k} ♡ --- A bouquet of flowers, a generous donation, and a man who turns everything into a game you are destined to lose...

Part Three {3.4k} ♡♡♡ --- One lavish gala, one stunning dress, and one kiss you can’t take back...

Part Four {4.9k} ♡♡ --- One meddling Mikaelson, one stubborn heart, and one heated confrontation that leads to surrender...

Moonlight {60k} ♡♡♡♡

--- As Emma navigates a life filled with abuse and darkness, a chance encounter with Klaus and Elijah, who she believes to be demons, sets in motion a tale of forbidden desires, ancient pacts, and the struggle between light and darkness. Will Emma succumb to the darkness or find liberation?

#lissa responds #lissas masterlist #lissas series #the originals #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson smut #elijah mikaelson smut #the vampire diaries #tvdu #ao3 #fan fiction #elijah mikaelson masterlist #masterlist #tvd

468 notes · View notes

greenwitchcrafts · 8 months ago

Text

October 2024 Witch Guide

New Moon: October 2nd

First Quarter: October 10th

Full moon: October 17th

Last Quarter: October 24th

Sabbats: Samhain- October 31st-November 1st

October Hunter's Moon

Also known as: Blood Moon, Drying Rice Moon, Falling leaf Moon, Freezing Moon, Harvest Moon, Migration Moon, Moon of the Changing Season, Sanguine Moon,, Shedding Moon, Ten Colds Moon, Winterfelleth & Windermanoth

Element: Air

Zodiac: Libra & Scorpio

Nature spirts: Frost Faeries & Plant Faeries

Deities: Apollo, Astarte, Belili, Cernunnos, Demeter, Hathor, Herne, Horned God, Ishtar, Lakshmi & Mercury

Animals: Elephant, jackal, ram, scorpion & stag

Birds: Crow, heron & robin

Trees: Acacia,apple, cypress & yew

Herbs: Angelica, burdock, catnip, pennyroyal, sweet Annie, thyme & uva ursi

Flowers: Apple blossom, calendula, cosmos & marigold

Scents: Apple blossom, cherry & strawberry

Stones: Amethyst, beryl, cat's eye, chrysoberyl, citrine, obsidian, opal, sapphire, tourmaline & turquoise

Colors: Black, blue, dark blue, blue-green & purple

Issues, intentions & powers: Cooperation, darkness, divination, healing & hope

Energy: Artistic works, creativity, harmony, inner cleansing, justice, karma, legal matters, mental stimulation, partnerships, reincarnation & uncovering mysteries or secrets

The Harvest Moon is the full Moon that occurs nearest to the autumnal equinox date (September 22, 2024). This means that either September or October’s full Moon may take on the name “Harvest Moon” instead of its traditional name. Similarly, the Hunter’s Moon is the first full Moon to follow the Harvest Moon, meaning it can occur in either October or November.

The Harvest Moon & the Hunter’s Moon are unique in that they are not directly related to this folklore or restricted to a single month. Instead, they are tied to an astronomical event: the autumnal equinox!

• October’s full Hunter Moon orbits closer to Earth than any of the other full Moons this year, making one of the four supermoons of 2024! As the Moon drifts over the horizon around sunset, it may appear larger & more orange—how perfect for the fall season!

It is believed that this name originates from the fact that it was a signal for hunters to prepare for the upcoming cold winter by going hunting. This is because animals were beginning to fatten up in preparation for the winter season. Moreover, since fields had recently been cleared out under the Harvest Moon, hunters could easily spot deer & other animals that had come out to search for remaining scraps. Additionally, foxes & wolves would also come out to prey on these animals.

Samhain

Known as: Ancestor's night, Feast of Apples, Feast of Sam-fuim, Feast of Souls, Feast of the Dead, Geimhreadh, Hallowmass, Martinmass, Old Hallowmass, Pagan New Year, Samana, Samhuinn, Samonios & Shadowfest

Season: Autumn

Element: Water

Symbols: Apples, bats, besom, black cats, cauldrons, ghosts, gourds, jack-o-lanterns, pumpkins, scarecrows & witches

Colors: Black, gold, orange, silver & white

Oils/Incense: Basil, cloves, copal, frankincense, gum mastic, heather, heliotrope, mint, myrrh & nutmeg

Animals: Bat, bear, boar, cat, cattle & dog

Stones: Amber, anatase, black calcite, black obsidian, black tourmaline, bras, carnelian, clear quartz, diamond, garnet, gold, granite, hematite, iron, jet, marble, onyx, pearl, pyrite, ruby, sandstone, sardonyx, smokey quartz, steel & tektite

Food: Apples, ale, beef, cider, corn, nuts, fruit, garlic, gourds, grains, hazelnuts, herbal teas, mushroom, nettle, nuts, pears, pomegranates, pork, poultry, pumpkin pie, sunflower seeds, thistle, turnips & wine (mulled)

Herbs/Plants: Acorn, allspice, angelica, besom, catnip, corn, deadly nightshades, dittany of Crete, fumitory, garlic, mandrake, mugwort, mullein, oak leaves, patchouli, reed, rosemary, rue, sage, straw, tarragon, thistle & wormwood

Flowers: Calendula, chrysanthemum & heather

Trees: Apple, beech, buckthorn, hazel, pine, locust, pomegranate, willow, witch hazel, yellow cedar & yew

Magical: Faeries

Goddesses: Al-Lat, Baba Yaga, Badb, Bast, Bebhionn, Bronach, Brunhilde, Cailleach, Carlin, Cassandra, Cerridwen, Copper Woman, Crobh Dearg, Devanyani, Dolya, Edda, Elli, Eris, Erishkigal, Fortuna, Frau Holde, Hecate, Hel, Mania, The Morrigan, Nemisis & Nicneven

Gods: Arawn, Baron Samede, Chronus,The Dagda, Dis, Hades, Nefertum, Osiris, Pluto, Woden & Xocatl

Spellwork: Divination, fire magick, night magick, shape-shifting, spirit calling & water magick

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Crossroads, darkness, death, divination, honor, introspection, otherworldly/underworld, release, visions & wisdom

Activities:

•Dedicate an altar to loved ones who have passed

• Boil a simmer pot to cleanse your space

• Have a silent dinner

• Light a candle for your loved ones & yourself

• Decorate your house and/or altar

• Release negative energy & cleanse yourself with a ritual bath

• Pull tarot cards to see what may be in store for you ahead

• Cleanse, clean & de-clutter your space

• Host or attend a bonfire

• Leave offerings for the Sídhe

• Journal & reflect on your accomplishments, challenges & everything you did this year

•Go on a nature walk

• Learn a new form of divination

• Have a bonfire with your friends and/or family

• Carve pumpkins, turnips or apples

• Express yourself creatively through art, music, ect

• Visit a cemetery & help clean off areas that need it or to visit a family member/ ancestor & leave an offering

• Hold a seance

• Bake spooky treats & bread as offerings

• Refresh your protection magicks, sigils & rituals

Samhain is about halfway between the autumnal equinox & winter solstice. It is one of the four Gaelic seasonal festivals along with Imbolc, Beltane, & Lughnasa. Historically it was widely observed throughout Ireland, Scotland, & the Isle of Man.

Samhain is believed to have Celtic pagan origins & some Neolithic passage tombs in Great Britain & Ireland are aligned with the sunrise at the time of Samhain. It is mentioned in the earliest Irish literature, from the 9th century & is associated with many important events in Irish mythology.

The early literature says great gatherings & feasts marked Samhain when the ancient burial mounds were open, which were seen as portals to the Otherworld. Some of the literature also associates Samhain with bonfires & sacrifices.

• According to Irish mythology, Samhain (like Beltane) was a time when the 'doorways' to the Otherworld opened, allowing supernatural beings and the souls of the dead to come into our world; while Beltane was a summer festival for the living, Samhain "was essentially a festival for the dead".

•The festival was not recorded in detail until the early modern era. It was when cattle were brought down from the summer pastures & livestock were slaughtered. Special bonfires were lit, which were deemed to have protective & cleansing powers.

At Samhain, the aos sí were appeased with offerings of food & drink to ensure the people & livestock survived the winter. The souls of dead kin were also thought to revisit their homes seeking hospitality & a place was set at the table for them during a meal. Divination was also a big part of the festival & often involved nuts & apples.

Mumming & guising were part of the festival from at least the early modern era, whereby people went door-to-door in costume, reciting verses in exchange for food. The costumes may have been a way of imitating & disguising oneself from the aos sí.

• In the late 19th century, John Rhys and James Frazer suggested it had been the "Celtic New Year", but that is disputed.

Some believe it is the time of The Goddess' mourning the death of The God until his rebirth at Yule. The Goddess' sadness can be seen in the shortening, darkening days & the arrival or cold weather.

Related festivals:

• Halloween( October 31st)-

In popular culture, the day has become a celebration of horror, being associated with the macabre and supernatural.

•One theory holds that many Halloween traditions were influenced by Celtic harvest festivals, particularly the Gaelic festival Samhain, which are believed to have pagan roots. Some go further & suggest that Samhain may have been Christianized as All Hallow's Day, along with its eve, by the early Church. Other academics believe Halloween began solely as a Christian holiday, being the vigil of All Hallow's Day.

Popular Halloween activities include trick-or-treating (or the related guising & ghouling), attending Halloween costume parties, carving pumpkins or turnips into jack-o'-lanterns, lighting bonfires, apple bobbing, divination games, playing pranks, visiting haunted attractions, telling scary stories, & watching horror or Halloween-themed films

• Day of the Dead(November 1st-2nd)-

el Día de Muertos or el Día de los Muertos

The multi-day holiday involves family & friends gathering to pay respects & to remember friends & family members who have died. These celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember amusing events & anecdotes about the departed. It is widely observed in Mexico, where it largely developed, and is also observed in other places, especially by people of Mexican heritage.

•The observance falls during the Christian period of Allhallowtide.

Traditions connected with the holiday include honoring the deceased using calaveras & marigold flowers known as cempazúchitl, building home altars called ofrendas with the favorite foods & beverages of the departed & visiting graves with these items as gifts for the deceased.

The celebration is not solely focused on the dead, as it is also common to give gifts to friends such as candy sugar skulls, to share traditional pan de muerto with family & friends, & to write light-hearted & often irreverent verses in the form of mock epitaphs dedicated to living friends & acquaintances, a literary form known as calaveras literarias.

Some argue that there are Indigenous Mexican or ancient Aztec influences that account for the custom & it has become a way to remember those forebears of Mexican culture.

• All Saint's Day(November 1st)-

Also known as All Hallows' Day or the Feast of All Saints is a Christian solemnity celebrated in honour of all the saints of the Church, whether they are known or unknown.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

369 notes · View notes

milkbobatyun · 8 months ago

Text

a false sense of security

pairing: wanderer/scaramouche x gn!reader

genre: angstober, events, yandere

summary: he would hunt you down to the ends of the earth, just to bring you back to your rightful place beside him

word count: 478

a/n: ofc i had to make him yandere, like have you NOT seen him when he was balladeer??? (so sexy oml). this piece can be read as a continuation of anyone but you

you had thought that if you could run to the other side of teyvat, he would stop chasing you.

oh how foolishly wrong you were.

scaramouche’s changes scared you. his thirst for power was insatiable, like a wild fire that had quickly grown out of control. the fire consumed him in every way, burning away the innocent, wide-eyed kunikuzushi, leaving behind only the heartless, cruel balladeer.

he yearned to be worshipped like a deity, with mortals bowing and grovelling at his feet. he wanted to feel powerful, to show to the god who had cast him away his true worth.

his pursuit of power made him greedy, blinding him from everything he had and held dear. distancing him, from you.

how he hated your empty promises and blatant lies.

you promised that you wouldn’t leave him, that you would always remain by his side.

so how was it, that now, he was hunting you down, sending his soldiers hot on your trail like a pack of hunting dogs?

like a rabbit with rabid dogs chasing at its heels, you scampered, ducking beneath branches and tearing carelessly through bushes, no heeding the clawing fingers of the branches, that sliced through your skin.

you could run, yes, but you could never, NEVER hide from him.

your breath fogged up in the chilly air, the cold seeping through the clothes you had thrown on in your panic. clutching your clothes tighter against your body, you carefully scaled the mountain.

one wrong move, one slip of the foot, and the soldiers would track you down, binding you and presenting you to their lord like a prized prey.

you pressed on, the frost clinging to your eyelashes, your cheeks, your nose.

you were not going to turn back.

every day you lived in fear.

you were thousands of kilometers away from him, but still you chose to venture out of the house with your hair and face obscured by a hood, throwing glances behind you as though someone watched your every move.

every twitch of the shadows had you tensing, ready to run at any sight of danger. some nights, you feared sleep, afraid that his men would snatch you from your bed. yet, as you slowly settled into your new life, your defences began to crumble.

you were thousands of kilometers away from him, the oceans and desert separating you from the cold wasteland he inhibited.

surely, you were safe now.

what a dumb little bunny you were.

you had thought yourself free of his grasp. separated by oceans and rivers and deserts, there was no way his soldiers could reach you.

yet, in the twisting shadows of the alleyways, peeking through the boarded up windows, eyes always scrutinsed your every move, like a hunter, keeping watch with a careful eye, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

no, you were never safe.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #scaramouche yandere #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x you #kabukimono #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x you #angst #angstober #angst oneshot

205 notes · View notes

satansdarlin · 7 months ago

Text

Marigold Margins: Chapter one

Wayne Enterprises CEO!Tim Drake x Fem!reader

Notes: a thank you to my lovely gf for beta reading this for me, this has been set up to at least to have ten chapters but I might combine some into one. Tim and the reader are both in their early twenties between 21-25ish. (Also indi and scarlet might be the yns of their own up coming stories :^ if yall would be interested). Drop a comment or a reblog! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, slightly toxic work environment, dick being shameless and trying to set you and Tim up, timmy being cute

Word count: 8.4K

Rating: T

Shit, your feet hurt like a bitch. Your heels clicked against the marble floor, each step sending sharp reminders of the blisters forming on your skin. The golden stilettos had seemed like the perfect accent to your outfit this morning - now they felt like an exercise in masochism. Fashion over comfort: the eternal struggle.

"Morning, Gary," you called out to the janitor, who was already familiar with your early arrivals.

He paused his work, offering a knowing smile. "Good morning, miss. Mr. Drake hasn't made it in yet."

"Thanks for the heads up." You appreciated Gary's small kindnesses - they were rare enough in this department, where your rapid promotion to executive secretary had earned you more enemies than friends.

The executive elevator hummed to life as you pressed the button for the top floor. While waiting, you shifted your weight, trying to ease the pressure on your aching feet. Tension. The word perfectly described your entire situation at Wayne Enterprises. Was the forty-dollar hourly rate worth it? Absolutely. What secretary made that kind of money, complete with generous paid leave? But loving the job? That was... complicated.

The work itself came naturally to you. The real challenge was Timothy Jackson Drake himself. Everyone knew about him - Gotham's wonder boy, the youngest CEO in the country, part of the infamous Wayne family. But after a year as his secretary, you'd learned there was more to him than the nepotism narrative suggested. He'd earned his position through genuine brilliance and dedication. That same drive, however, meant he had... expectations. While never openly cruel, he could be relentlessly demanding.

The elevator announced your arrival with a soft chime. Your morning routine unfolded with practiced efficiency: lights on, computers booting up, files arranged on your desk. The coffee maker gurgled to life, filling the office with its rich aroma. You prepared Mr. Drake's desk with military precision - work files stacked just so, his favorite mug ready, a banana and granola bar positioned nearby (which he'd likely ignore until you forced lunch upon him).

Settling at your desk, you dove into the morning's emails and calls. The sound of dragging footsteps announced Tim's arrival, and you glanced up to find him looking like he'd just crawled out of bed - or perhaps never made it there at all. He mumbled something vaguely resembling gratitude before shuffling into his office, his silhouette visible through the frosted glass partition that separated your workspace from his. You watched as he slumped into his chair, took a long drink of coffee, and gradually transformed from zombie to CEO. It was a fascinating metamorphosis you'd witnessed countless times. The way his shoulders would straighten, how his eyes would sharpen from bleary to laser-focused. Even his typing changed - from hunt-and-peck to a rapid-fire staccato that filled the office.

"Meeting minutes from yesterday?" His voice carried through the intercom, significantly more human than his earlier greeting.

"Already uploaded to the shared drive and hard copies are in the blue folder on your desk," you replied, allowing yourself a small smile. After a year, you'd learned to anticipate his needs with almost supernatural accuracy.

"The Robertson contract?"

"Legal returned it this morning. I've highlighted the changes they suggested in yellow. Green tabs mark where you need to sign."

There was a pause, then: "What would I do without you?"

"Drown in paperwork and caffeine withdrawal," you answered before you could stop yourself. These little moments of casual banter were dangerous - they made it too easy to forget he was Timothy Drake-Wayne, your boss, and not just Tim, the overworked genius who occasionally made you laugh.

The intercom crackled with what might have been a chuckle. "Fair enough."

The morning proceeded with its usual rhythm until your phone buzzed with a text from Bruce Wayne's secretary. Your stomach dropped as you read the message: the Wayne patriarch was making one of his surprise visits. These always put Tim on edge, though he'd never admit it.

You pressed the intercom. "Mr. Wayne will be here in fifteen minutes."

The typing sounds from Tim's office stopped abruptly. Through the frosted glass, you could see him run a hand through his hair - a nervous tell you'd picked up on months ago.

"Right," he said, voice tight. "Can you-"

"I'll get fresh coffee, clear your schedule for the next hour, and make sure the quarterly reports are ready," you interrupted, already standing. "And yes, I'll grab you a proper breakfast from the café downstairs. You'll need more than a forgotten granola bar for this."

Another pause. "Have I mentioned you're terrifying sometimes?"

"Only when necessary, sir." You slipped on your torturous heels again, ignoring the protest from your feet. Bruce Wayne's visits always meant a performance - from everyone.

As you rushed to prepare for the impromptu meeting, you couldn't help but wonder what drama today would bring. Bruce Wayne's "casual visits" were never actually casual, and being caught in the crossfire between two of Gotham's most powerful men was not how you'd planned to spend your morning.

But then again, when did anything at Wayne Enterprises go according to plan?

You stood up when the elevator binged, quickly tapping the intercom to alert Tim with a short chirp. Your hands clasped professionally in front of you as your eyes landed on Mr. Wayne, himself. The man commanded attention without even trying, filling the space with his presence in a way that made your spacious reception area feel suddenly cramped.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Drake is in his office." Your greeting was the perfect blend of professional courtesy and careful distance. Your gaze slid over to Samantha, Mr. Wayne's assistant, and you felt your smile tighten imperceptibly. She returned it with one of her trademark saccharine smiles, so sweet it could rot teeth. The fakeness radiated off her like cheap perfume.

Last thing you needed was another gentle lecture from Tim about "trying" to be nice to her. You still remembered his exact words from last time: "I know she's... difficult, but we need to maintain good relations with Bruce's office." Easy for him to say – he didn't have to deal with her passive-aggressive emails and tendency to "accidentally" schedule conflicts with Bruce's calendar.

Bruce Wayne nodded in acknowledgment, his steel-blue eyes taking in every detail of the office with that unnerving intensity he was famous for. "Thank you. The quarterly reports?"

You smoothly retrieved the leather portfolio from your desk. "All prepared, sir. I've included the updated projections you requested, along with the comparative analysis from last quarter." You handed it to him with practiced grace, careful to maintain eye contact for exactly the right amount of time – long enough to show confidence, short enough to show deference.

"Excellent." He accepted the portfolio, and you caught the slight raise of his eyebrows – approval? surprise? With Bruce Wayne, it was impossible to tell.

Samantha's voice cut through the moment like a dulled knife. "I hope those numbers match what we have downstairs. It would be... awkward if there were any discrepancies." Her tone suggested she'd enjoy nothing more.

You felt your smile freeze in place. "Everything has been triple-checked against the master database, of course." And quadruple-checked, because you'd learned early on that giving Samantha any ammunition was like handing matches to a pyromaniac.

The sound of Tim's office door opening saved you from further interaction. He emerged looking every inch the CEO – tie straight, jacket buttoned, not a hair out of place. The transformation from his earlier zombie state was complete.

"Bruce," he greeted, managing to make the single syllable sound both warm and professional. "I wasn't expecting you today."

"Best meetings are the unexpected ones," Bruce replied with that particular smile that always made you wonder if he actually believed that or just enjoyed keeping everyone on their toes.

You caught Tim's slight shoulder tension as he gestured toward his office. "Shall we?"

As they moved past your desk, Tim gave you the briefest of glances – a look you'd learned to interpret over months of working together. This one clearly said: "Hold all calls unless the building's on fire, and maybe even then."

Samantha lingered, adjusting her designer handbag with deliberate slowness. "I'll need copies of all correspondence between our offices from the last month," she announced, as if she hadn't already received them twice.

"I'll have those ready by the time the meeting concludes," you replied smoothly, silently adding 'you insufferable paper-pusher' in your head.

As she finally followed the men into Tim's office, you sank back into your chair, already pulling up the correspondence files. At least you'd had the foresight to grab that extra shot of espresso in your morning coffee. Something told you this was going to be a long day.

Eventually, as you'd expected, Samantha was ushered out of the room to give the two men privacy. The glass frosted further, obscuring Bruce and Tim from view – a clear signal that whatever discussion followed would be more about family than business. You mentally added "pick up comfort donuts" to your afternoon agenda, already knowing Tim's favorites: chocolate-glazed for regular bad days, Boston cream for family drama.

The rhythmic clicking of your keyboard filled the silence, punctuated only by Samantha's restless shuffling. She cleared her throat with obvious intent, and you looked up, raising an eyebrow in what you hoped was a passably polite expression.

"You know we've never actually talked," she began, voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Which is so weird considering aren't we the same age?"

You bit back the urge to point out that she was actually five years your senior and somehow acted a decade younger. The irony wasn't lost on you.

"How did you exactly get this job?" she pressed on, tilting her head in practiced curiosity. "I always heard Mr. Drake was... picky."

Your eye twitched at the obvious implication, but you maintained your composure. Years of advanced placement courses had taught you patience, if nothing else. "Mr. Drake hand picked me for this job," you responded, keeping your tone professional and detached.

She gasped with theatrical surprise, as if this wasn't common knowledge in the Wayne Enterprises gossip circuit. "Really? Do you mind if I ask why?"

'Yes,' you thought, but instead rolled your head side to side, releasing some tension with a satisfying pop. "No, I don't mind. Mr. Drake chose me because he met me through the Martha Wayne scholarship. I was looking for a job during that time and my professors recommended me for the position."

You deliberately omitted how Tim had tracked your academic career with interest long before that – how you'd graduated high school two years early, earned a full ride to Gotham University, and excelled in advanced courses he'd specifically recommended. Let her draw her own conclusions; you had nothing to prove to Samantha or anyone else.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. You could practically see her trying to piece together a narrative that fit her preconceptions, one that wouldn't force her to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, you'd earned your position through merit rather than whatever implications she was so eager to make.

Before she could formulate another sugar-coated barb, your phone buzzed with an incoming email. The subject line made you suppress a smile: it was from Tim, sent from his phone.

"If you'll excuse me," you said, turning back to your computer with practiced dismissal, "I have some urgent matters to attend to."

You could feel her hovering, reluctant to give up her fishing expedition. But years of dealing with Gotham's elite had taught you the art of creating an impenetrable wall of professional busy-ness. After a few more moments, she finally retreated to one of the waiting area chairs, her designer heels clicking in defeat.

Opening Tim's email, you found a single line: "Order lunch in. This might take a while."

You glanced at the frosted glass of his office, wondering what family drama was unfolding behind it. In your year working here, you'd learned to read the signs: the level of frosting on the glass, the tension in Tim's shoulders, the particular way Bruce Wayne's visits seemed timed to maximize inconvenience. Something was definitely up, and judging by the atmosphere, it was bigger than the usual Wayne family dynamics.

"The Martha Wayne scholarship?" Samantha's voice dripped with faux interest, her voice cutting through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. "That must have been... nice. Getting a free ride like that."

Your fingers paused briefly over your keyboard before resuming their steady rhythm. Two could play at this game. "It was an honor," you replied evenly. "The foundation only selects the top 1% of applicants. I'm sure you're familiar with the process, working so closely with Mr. Wayne."

Her smile flickered for just a moment. "Oh, I handle more of the... executive side of things."

"Of course." You kept your eyes on your screen, responding to an urgent email from R&D while she processed your subtle jab.

"Still," she persisted, examining her manicured nails, "it must be challenging, working for someone so... young. Especially given your... background."

You felt your jaw clench but maintained your professional demeanor. "Mr. Drake's age has nothing to do with his capabilities. He's one of the most brilliant minds in Gotham's business sector." Your tone carried just enough edge to make it clear you wouldn't tolerate any disparagement of Tim.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by it," Samantha backpedaled, though her smirk suggested otherwise. "It's just that some of us had to work our way up the traditional path. But I suppose there are... other ways to advance."

You actually had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that her "traditional path" had involved an uncle on the board of directors. Instead, you smiled pleasantly and reached for your coffee. "Everyone's path is different. For instance, I started in the scholarship program at fifteen, finished my degree at twenty, and earned this position through academic excellence and practical capability. But you're right – there are many ways to advance."

The subtle emphasis on your achievements made her shift uncomfortably in her chair. Before she could respond, your intercom buzzed.

"Miss (L/N), could you send in the Miller files?" Tim's voice was perfectly professional, but you caught the underlying tension.

"Right away, Mr. Drake." You stood, gathering the requested documents, grateful for the interruption. As you moved toward his office, you called back to Samantha, "Please excuse me. Duty calls."

You could feel her glare burning into your back as you approached Tim's door, but you kept your posture straight and your stride confident. You'd worked too hard to let someone like Samantha make you doubt your place here, even for a second.

Besides, you had more important things to worry about – like what kind of family drama was causing that muscle in Tim's jaw to twitch visible even through the frosted glass, and whether you should upgrade those comfort donuts to a full stress-eating care package. You handed him the files before going back to your desk.

Your phone buzzed against the desk, the screen lighting up with a notification that made your stomach turn.

Text notification: 1

Asshole: hey bbg can we talk? I know you're probably still mad at me…

You swiped away Josh's message with perhaps more force than necessary. Josh. Your sweet, charming, lying ex-boyfriend who apparently thought "probably still mad" was an adequate response to finding him in bed with your supposed best friend. You'd been playing an exhausting game of dodge-the-ex across Gotham for weeks now, removing yourself from your usual haunts just to avoid his attempts at "explaining." The mere thought of him made your skin crawl.

"Whose that? Your little boyfriend?" Samantha's sugary voice cut through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. How someone could have such a grating voice was beyond you.

"Ex. Ex-boyfriend," you corrected automatically, then mentally kicked yourself for engaging. You shook your head, redirecting to safer, professional territory. "I'd rather not talk about it. Do you think you could send over the info for the upcoming Christmas gala when you get back to your office?"

Samantha's face fell into an exaggerated pout at your deflection, clearly disappointed at being denied fresh gossip fodder. You could practically see her filing away this nugget of personal information for future use. Nothing stayed private for long in Wayne Enterprises, but you'd be damned if you gave her the satisfaction of spreading this particular story.

Your phone buzzed again, and you flipped it face-down with a bit more force than necessary. The movement caught Samantha's attention, her eyes lighting up with predatory interest.

"Bad breakup?" she pressed, leaning forward slightly. "Those are always so... difficult. Especially when you have to maintain a professional image at work."

The implied threat in her words – that she could make this gossip very public, very quickly – wasn't lost on you. But you'd handled worse than Samantha's attempts at social manipulation.

"The Christmas gala details?" you repeated, your tone making it clear the previous topic was closed for discussion. "Mr. Drake needs to review the schedule, and I'd like to avoid any potential conflicts with Mr. Wayne's calendar."

Her lips pursed at your professional pivot, but before she could attempt another probe into your personal life, the sound of approaching footsteps from Tim's office made you both straighten instinctively. The frosting on the glass cleared as Bruce emerged first, his expression unreadable as always. Tim followed, and your trained eye caught the tension in his shoulders, the slight clench of his jaw that spelled out family drama in neon letters.

"I'll expect those reports by Friday," Bruce stated, though something in his tone suggested this wasn't really about reports at all.

"Of course," Tim replied, professional mask firmly in place. Only someone who knew him well would catch the slight strain in his voice.

Samantha jumped to attention, gathering her things with practiced efficiency. "I'll send over the gala information this afternoon," she chirped, finally, blessedly ready to leave.

You watched as Bruce and Samantha departed, waiting until the elevator doors closed before turning to Tim. He was still standing there, staring at the closed elevator doors as if they held the secrets of the universe.

"I ordered Thai from that place you like," you said softly. "And I can have someone grab those donuts from downtown if-"

"You're a lifesaver," he interrupted, running a hand through his carefully styled hair, completely destroying its professional arrangement. "But can we... can we not eat in the office?"

You blinked in surprise. In all your time working here, Tim had never suggested leaving the office for lunch. "Of course. Where would you prefer?"

"The roof?" He looked almost sheepish suggesting it. "I just... I need air that doesn't smell like Wayne Enterprises for a few minutes."

Your phone buzzed again – probably Josh – but you ignored it. "I'll grab the food when it arrives. You should go up now, get some fresh air."

He nodded, already loosening his tie as he headed for the stairwell. Twenty minutes later, you found him sitting on the maintenance ledge, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, looking more like a college student than a CEO.

"One Pad Thai with extra peanuts," you announced, settling down beside him with the takeout bags. "And yes, I grabbed extra spring rolls."

"You know me too well," he managed a small smile, accepting the container you handed him. "I'm sorry about..." he gestured vaguely with his chopsticks, "all that."

"Family's complicated," you offered, carefully keeping your tone neutral as you opened your own lunch.

"Bruce wants me to relocate to the Metropolis office," he said suddenly, staring out at the Gotham skyline. "Says it would be 'good for my professional development.'"

You nearly choked on your spring roll. "Metropolis?"

"Yeah." He stabbed at his noodles with more force than necessary. "Because apparently running the Gotham office isn't enough of a challenge."

"That's ridiculous," you said before you could stop yourself. "You've increased productivity by 40% since taking over, our client retention is at an all-time high, and the employee satisfaction surveys-"

"Have you been memorizing my achievements?" He turned to look at you, a hint of amusement breaking through his stress.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "It's my job to know these things."

"Right. Your job." Something flickered across his face too quickly to read. "Speaking of jobs... you'd have to come too, you know. To Metropolis. If I agreed."

Your heart did a complicated flip in your chest. "Are you... considering it?"

"No," he said quickly, then paused. "Maybe. I don't know." He set down his food and turned to face you fully. "Would you? Come to Metropolis, I mean? If I asked?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications neither of you were ready to address. Your phone buzzed again in your pocket, but for once, you didn't even notice.

You hummed softly, letting your gaze drift over Gotham's sprawling landscape. From this height, you could actually see past the city's ever-present smog, though any true Gothamite knew the city's real beauty emerged after dark. The endless sea of lights, the way the neon cut through the darkness – it was home, or at least it had been.

Your phone buzzed again, another message from Josh joining the pile. You glanced down at the string of notifications, each one a reminder of how quickly your social circle had imploded. Some friends they'd turned out to be – taking his side, sending nasty messages about how a "prude" like you had it coming. The betrayal still stung, but maybe not as sharply as it should. Maybe that said something about how ready you were to leave it all behind.

Your parents had always encouraged you to spread your wings beyond Gotham's borders anyway. "The world's bigger than Crime Alley," your mom used to say. You slipped the phone back into your pocket, silencing the ghosts of relationships past.

"Yeah, I'd come with you," you said finally, turning back to Tim with a slight smile. "It's my job to be at your side during all the professional hours anyway."

Something shifted in his expression at your words. "'Professional hours,'" he repeated, as if testing the phrase. "Right. Because that's what this is about. Professional... obligations."

The way he said it made your heart skip a beat. There was a weight to his words that seemed to encompass more than just office dynamics and working relationships. The autumn breeze picked up, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city below, and you found yourself hyperaware of how close you were sitting, how his rolled-up sleeves revealed surprisingly toned forearms, how his hair was still slightly mussed from running his hands through it.

"Tim," you started, then caught yourself. "Mr. Drake-"

"Don't," he interrupted softly. "Don't do that. Not up here." He gestured to the expanse around you. "We're literally above all that right now."

Your phone buzzed again, and this time Tim noticed your slight wince. "Everything okay?"

"Just..." you waved a hand dismissively, "ex-boyfriend drama. Nothing important."

His expression darkened slightly. "Josh?" At your surprised look, he added quickly, "I... might have overheard some break room gossip. About what happened."

"Great," you muttered, heat rising to your cheeks. "Good to know my humiliation made it all the way to the executive floor."

"Hey," his voice was gentle but firm, "you're not the one who should be humiliated. He's the idiot who-" he cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Sorry. Not my place."

"No, it's..." you found yourself smiling despite everything, "it's kind of nice. Hearing someone take my side for once."

The look he gave you then made your breath catch. "I'm always on your side," he said quietly, and somehow you knew he meant more than just the Josh situation.

You forced yourself to take a steady breath, trying to calm your racing heart. No. Absolutely not. You were not going to develop feelings for your boss. It didn't matter that Tim was barely a year older than you, or that his disheveled appearance right now made him look unfairly attractive, or that the way he was looking at you made your stomach do flips. This was a completely professional relationship and it would stay that way. You cleared your throat and offered him a carefully measured smile.

"Well, if we do end up moving to the Metropolis office, I'd have to start looking at apartments over there," you murmured, already running calculations in your head. Even with your generous salary, Metropolis real estate prices were notorious. Maybe you could find something affordable downtown, though the commute would be rough. Your inner penny-pincher was already cringing at the potential security deposits and elevated cost of living.

"About that," Tim straightened slightly, his expression shifting to something you couldn't quite read. "Wayne Enterprises has corporate housing in Metropolis. High-rise apartments, actually. Usually reserved for executives and their... key personnel."

The way he said 'key personnel' made your pulse jump again. Traitor heart.

"Key personnel?" you echoed, trying to keep your tone light.

"Well," he shifted slightly closer, and you caught a whiff of his expensive cologne mixed with coffee, "can't have my irreplaceable assistant living in some sketchy downtown apartment, can I?"

"I'm hardly irreplaceable," you protested weakly, even as your brain helpfully reminded you that no other assistant had lasted more than three months before you.

Tim's expression turned serious. "You are, though. You're the only one who's ever..." he paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, "understood. The job. The pressure. Me."

The last word hung in the air between you, loaded with unspoken implications. You became acutely aware of how close you were sitting, how easy it would be to just lean a little closer, how his eyes seemed to darken as they met yours.

Your phone buzzed again, shattering the moment. Tim's gaze flickered to your pocket, then back to your face, something almost like frustration crossing his features.

You sighed, glancing down at your persistently buzzing pocket. "I should probably..." you mumbled, finally pulling out your phone. You knew Josh well enough to know he wouldn't stop until you dealt with him directly. Your face twisted in disgust as you scrolled through the barrage of messages – a nauseating mix of sweet manipulation ("baby, please, we can work this out"), degrading insults, and crude comments about your intimate life together. The last ones made your skin crawl, especially his boasts about being the 'only one who could make you feel that good.' Gross.

You could feel Tim's eyes on you as you stared at the screen, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't just feed into Josh's need for attention. The weight of Tim's gaze was different from the usual scrutiny you felt in the office – more protective than professional.

"Maybe you should just block him?" Tim suggested, his voice carrying an edge you rarely heard. The CEO tone, as you privately called it – the one that made board members squirm.

You shook your head, words tumbling out before you could stop them. "No way. I need him to see I can live without him." The admission hung in the air, more vulnerable than you'd intended. Your fingers hovered over your phone's keypad as you entered your passcode, very aware of how childish that might sound to someone like Tim.

But when you glanced up, there was no judgment in his expression – just something fierce and protective that made your breath catch. He shifted closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cool rooftop air.

"He already sees it," Tim said quietly, his eyes fixed on your face. "Every day you walk into this building, every meeting you handle perfectly, every time you prove you're exactly where you belong – that's you living without him. And doing it better than he could ever imagine."

The intensity in his voice made you look up, and suddenly you were trapped in his gaze, your phone temporarily forgotten in your hands. This wasn't your boss speaking anymore – this was something else entirely, something that made your heart race and your professional boundaries start to blur.

Your breath caught as you suddenly became hyperaware of every point of contact between you – his fingers wrapped gently but firmly around your bicep, his head tilted toward yours, close enough that you could see the flecks of blue in his eyes. "Mr. Drake, I-"

He rolled his eyes, but there was a playful warmth in the gesture that made your stomach flip. "Tim. Just Tim for right now."

Your lips parted to respond, but the creak of the rooftop door shattered the moment. Dick Grayson, the eldest Wayne sibling, emerged into the afternoon light, and Tim immediately pulled back, professional distance snapping into place like a shield. The sudden absence of his warmth left you feeling oddly bereft.

"Hey Timbo, sorry to interrupt your lunch but I need a favor." Dick's trademark charming smile did nothing to soften Tim's exasperated expression.

"Sure, just let me finish my food-" Tim paused, catching something in Dick's expression. "This is kind of favor you need now?" When Dick nodded apologetically, Tim grumbled but began closing his takeout container.

Before standing, he turned back to you, placing his hand over your phone. His eyes locked with yours with an intensity that made your knees weak despite sitting down. "Block him." It wasn't a request – it was pure CEO Tim Drake, the voice that brokered no argument. "We won't have room for people like him if we move to Metropolis, am I understood?"

The 'we' in that sentence felt weighted with possibility, but you pushed that thought aside. "Yes, Mr. Drake."

You watched as he gathered his things, noting how his professional mask slipped perfectly back into place, though something in his eyes remained softer when he looked at you. As he followed Dick toward the door, you could have sworn you saw him shoot his brother an irritated look.

Your phone buzzed again in your hands, but this time, instead of anxiety, you felt a surge of determination. Tim was right – you didn't need Josh's validation. With steady fingers, you pulled up his contact information and hit 'block.'

The city stretched out below you, Metropolis somewhere beyond the horizon, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe properly.

Red and blue lights pulsed across your face as the bass thundered through your chest, making your ribs vibrate with each beat. The news of the Metropolis transfer was official now – you and Tim would be heading the new office. You couldn't quite suppress the smug satisfaction you'd felt watching Samantha's face fall when the announcement was made, her practiced smile cracking just slightly at the edges.

Now, though, you were somewhat regretting sharing the news with your family. Your elder sisters had immediately sprung into celebration mode: Indi, the successful Gotham model, had easily swept you all past the velvet ropes of one of the city's hottest clubs, while Scarlet had managed a few congratulatory drinks before motherhood called her home to your nephew.

That left you nursing a dirty triple Shirley temple (which had been a mouthful to order over the deafening music) and hugging the wall like it was your job. From your vantage point, you could see Indi on the dance floor, practically melded to some guy she'd been flirting with all night. The sequins on her dress caught the strobing lights, making her look like some sort of disco ball goddess – exactly the kind of attention-grabbing presence she was known for.

You took another sip of your drink, the cherry sweetness a sharp contrast to the adult addition of vodka. The music shifted, something with a heavier beat that made the crowd surge with renewed energy. You checked your phone out of habit – no more texts from Josh, thank god, but there was a work email notification that made your heart skip:

From: Timothy Drake-Wayne

Subject: Tomorrow's Schedule Change

Time Sent: 10:47 PM

Your finger hovered over the notification, debating whether to open it. Tim had been... different since that day on the roof. Not obviously so – you both maintained perfect professionalism in the office – but there were moments: lingering glances, fingers brushing when passing documents, the way he'd started saying your name just a touch softer than necessary.

As you hesitated to open it someone bumped into you, luckily you saved your drink from spilling all over the black halter dress you were wearing showing off your back.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't-” the masculine voice was cut off as you looked up and you both stilled. Seeing Tim out of a suit was jarring, seeing tim out of a suit and in a club? That was wild.

“Mr. Drake!”

“We are out of work. Just tim” he sighed at you but it was almost in a pleased exasperation.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Drake but you'll have to try harder than that,” The teasing words slipped out before you could stop them. Tim blinked and then a wry smirk pulled on his face.

Tim's eyes darkened at your challenge, that CEO intensity suddenly focused entirely on you. "Try harder?" He stepped closer, just shy of improper, voice dropping low enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. "What exactly would that take?"

The bass pulsed through your bodies, and you were acutely aware of how different this felt from your usual office dynamics. Here, in the strobing lights and thundering music, with your back exposed by the halter dress and his suit traded for dark jeans and a fitted black henley, the careful professional distance you maintained seemed to blur and shift.

"Tim!" A familiar voice cut through the moment. Dick Grayson emerged from the crowd, another brother – Jason – trailing behind him. "Thought I saw you come this way." His eyes landed on you, and his grin widened. "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly very conscious of how close you and Tim were standing. "Mr. Grayson," you managed, trying to sound professional despite the club setting.

"Oh god, not you too," Dick groaned. "It's just Dick, please. We're not at work."

"Leave her alone," Jason cut in, giving you a knowing look. "Some of us appreciate proper manners." He turned to Tim with a smirk. "Though I gotta say, baby bird, running into your secretary at a club? That's some rom-com level timing."

"Assistant," you and Tim corrected simultaneously, then shared a quick glance that made Dick's grin grow impossibly wider.

"Right, assistant," Jason drawled, making the word sound far more suggestive than it had any right to be. "The one Bruce mentioned is moving to Metropolis with you?"

The music shifted again, something slower but still thrumming with energy. Tim's jaw tightened slightly at the mention of Bruce, and you found yourself unconsciously shifting closer, a movement that didn't go unnoticed by his brothers.

"Speaking of Metropolis," Dick's eyes gleamed with mischief, "I hear the nightlife there is pretty tame compared to Gotham. You two might have to make your own entertainment."

"Dick," Tim's voice carried a warning edge that made you think of board meetings and difficult clients.

"What? I'm just saying, all those late nights in the office..." Dick trailed off suggestively.

You took a long sip of your drink, using the moment to steady yourself. "I should probably find my sister," you said, looking for an escape from this increasingly dangerous conversation. "She tends to get... ambitious when left unsupervised too long."

"The model?" Jason asked, eyebrows rising. "Tall, sequined dress, currently wrapped around that guy by the DJ booth?"

You turned to look where he was pointing, and sure enough, there was Indi, having apparently upgraded from her previous dance partner. "That's her."

"Runs in the family, huh?" Dick muttered, too quiet for anyone but Jason to hear, though the sharp look Tim shot him suggested he'd caught it too.

"I'll walk you over," Tim said suddenly, placing a hand on the small of your back. The touch sent electricity down your spine, his fingers warm against your exposed skin.

As you moved through the crowd, Tim's hand stayed steady on your back, guiding you through the press of bodies. The contact felt simultaneously too much and not enough, and you found yourself hyperaware of every brush of his fingers, every slight pressure as he steered you around dancing couples.

"I didn't know you came to places like this," you said, having to lean close to his ear to be heard over the music. His cologne filled your senses, different from his usual office scent – something darker, spicier.

He leaned down, his breath tickling your ear as he replied, "I don't, usually. Dick dragged me out to 'celebrate' the Metropolis news." His tone on 'celebrate' suggested this wasn't entirely voluntary. "Though it's looking up now."

The implications in that last statement made your heart race, and you were grateful for the dim lighting hiding your blush. You were nearing the DJ booth now, Indi's sequined dress acting like a beacon in the strobing lights.

Tim's hand slipped from your back as you reached the edge of the dance floor, and the loss of contact felt almost physical. You turned to face him, finding his eyes already on you, intense despite the chaotic lighting.

"About that email," he said, stepping closer to be heard over the music. "I was wondering if you'd like to-"

"Baby sis!" Indi's voice cut through whatever Tim was about to say. She detached herself from her dance partner, practically bouncing over to you. "There you are! And with company?" Her eyes raked over Tim appreciatively. "Very nice company."

"Mr. Drake-Wayne," you introduced formally, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism even as Indi's eyebrows shot up in recognition.

"Your boss?" she stage-whispered, not nearly as quietly as she probably thought. "The one you're moving to Metropolis with?" Her grin turned predatory. "Oh, this is interesting."

You felt your face flame. "Indi-"

"Dance with us!" she declared, already reaching for both you and Tim. "Consider it a pre-Metropolis celebration!"

The music swelled, and you found yourself being pulled onto the dance floor, Tim's amused expression the last thing you saw before the crowd swallowed you up. His hand found yours in the chaos, steady and warm, and suddenly the bass didn't seem quite so overwhelming.

As Indi disappeared back into the crowd, presumably to find her previous dance partner, you felt Tim pull you closer, his other hand finding its way back to your exposed back.

"So," he said, mouth close to your ear, "about that email..."

Your heart thundered in time with the music as you waited for him to continue, but a commotion near the bar caught your attention. Your eyes widened as you recognized a familiar figure being escorted out by security.

"Is that...?" Tim followed your gaze.

"Josh," you confirmed, watching as your ex-boyfriend was firmly guided toward the exit, his protests lost in the music. "I didn't even know he came here."

Tim's hand tightened slightly on your back. "Want me to have security make sure he stays out?"

The protective edge in his voice made something warm bloom in your chest. "No," you said, surprising yourself with how much you meant it. "He's not worth the effort anymore."

Tim's eyes softened as he looked at you, and suddenly the club, the music, even Josh's dramatic exit – it all faded into background noise. "Good," he said quietly, though you heard him perfectly despite the chaos around you. "Because I was thinking..."

The music shifted again, something slower, more intimate, and Tim pulled you imperceptibly closer.

"Yes?" you prompted, your heart racing as his hand traced small circles on your back.

"Maybe we should discuss those Metropolis arrangements... over dinner?"

The implications in his tone made it clear this wasn't about corporate housing or office logistics. You looked up at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes, and felt a smile tug at your lips.

"That would be highly unprofessional, Mr. Drake," you said, but there was no real protest in your voice.

His answering smile was worth every HR regulation you were about to break. "I thought you told me to try harder, hm?"

And there, in the middle of a Gotham nightclub, with your ex being thrown out and your sister probably watching with glee, you finally let yourself lean into the warmth of Timothy Drake-Wayne's embrace.

"Dinner sounds perfect," you whispered, "Tim."

His smile could have lit up all of Gotham.

That's how you and Tim had gotten swept over into a booth and were actually just talking for once. Well. You both might have been a bit tipsy.

“Honestly Josh wasn't even my worst ex. There was this one girl, Maxine. Max and I dated for like all of college but she'd never bring me home or anything cause she was still closeted and stuff which I mean I get it. I didn't come out til I was like sixteenish luckily my family had enough things to worry about with my sister scarlet becoming a mom that one of us being bi-sexual was kinda glossed over. But anyway Max ended up breaking up with me and getting engaged to just some guy within like a month.” Your hands moved as you spoke, nearly sloshing your drink but Tim steadied it for you and gave a sympathetic nod.

“I get that,” he murmured. Your eyes trailed over the crowd again silently checking up on your sister. You nearly spat your drink out causing Tim to also look over. “I think your brother is trying to serenade my sister.”

You watched in horror and slight pride as indi and dick were clearly flirting with each other on the other side of the club.

“Probably planning how to embarrass us next too,” Tim hummed his hand resting on your thigh.

You let out a soft laugh, not moving away from his touch. "Oh god, can you imagine the family dinners? Indi would absolutely weaponize her model status to terrorize Bruce Wayne."

Tim's thumb traced absent patterns on your thigh, sending little sparks of electricity through your body. "Honestly? I'd pay to see that. Bruce needs someone to ruffle his feathers occasionally." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I have to say, you've been doing a pretty good job of that yourself."

"Me?" You blinked in surprise, taking another sip of your drink.

"Mmhmm." Tim shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours in the intimate space of the booth. "The way you handle Samantha? Your complete overhaul of the filing system? That presentation you gave last week?" His voice dropped lower. "Bruce hasn't been this impressed by anyone since Barbara Gordon herself."

The comparison to the legendary Barbara Gordon – now CFO of Wayne Tech – made you flush with pride and embarrassment. "I just do my job."

"No," Tim's voice was serious now, though his hand remained warm on your thigh. "You do so much more than that. You..." he paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "You make everything better. Easier. Not just the work stuff, but..." he gestured vaguely with his free hand, "everything."

The vulnerability in his voice made your heart clench. You'd never seen him quite like this – guard down, words flowing freely, eyes soft in the dim club lighting. It was a far cry from the composed CEO who commanded boardrooms and managed million-dollar deals.

"Speaking of making things better," you said, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy moment, "remember that time you caught me stress-eating donuts in the supply closet after the Johnson meeting?"

Tim's laugh rumbled through his chest. "And instead of being professional about it, I just sat down and asked for one?" His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Best decision I ever made. Though I still maintain Boston cream is superior to your chocolate glazed preference."

"Excuse you, chocolate glazed is a classic for a reason." You nudged his shoulder playfully, then froze as you caught sight of Dick and Indi again. "Oh my god, they're exchanging numbers."

Tim followed your gaze and groaned. "Dick's never going to let this go. He's probably already planning double dates."

The casual way he said 'double dates' made your stomach flip. "Is that what this is?" you asked before you could stop yourself. "A date?"

Tim's hand tightened slightly on your thigh as he turned to face you fully. The booth suddenly felt much smaller, more intimate. "Do you want it to be?"

Your breath caught as you met his gaze. There was no trace of the CEO now – this was just Tim, looking at you like you were something precious and dangerous all at once.

"I..." you started, then jumped as someone slid into the booth opposite you.

"Baby bird!" Jason's voice cut through the moment like a knife. "And the assistant who's definitely just an assistant." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Tim's hand didn't move from your thigh, though you saw his jaw clench slightly. "What do you want, Jason?"

"Can't a guy check on his baby brother?" Jason's grin was positively feral. "Especially when said brother is getting cozy with his very attractive employee in a very public place?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but before you could formulate a response, Indi appeared at the table, Dick in tow.

"Sister swap!" she announced cheerfully. "Dick's taking me to this amazing late-night food truck, and you" she pointed at you with a perfectly manicured finger, "are coming with us because I refuse to eat street food alone with a strange man, even if he is unreasonably attractive."

"Hey!" Dick protested, though he was grinning.

You felt Tim's hand squeeze your thigh once before reluctantly withdrawing. "Rain check on that answer?" he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

Your heart did a complicated flip in your chest as you nodded. As you slid out of the booth, letting Indi pull you toward the exit, you couldn't help but look back. Tim was watching you go, something intense and promising in his expression that made your skin tingle.

"So," Indi linked her arm through yours as you emerged into the cool Gotham night, Dick and Jason trailing behind you. "Want to tell me why you never mentioned how hot your boss is? Or why his hand was very obviously on your thigh for the past hour?"

"Or why you're both looking at each other like you're starring in your own personal rom-com?" Dick added helpfully.

You groaned, but couldn't quite suppress your smile. "Can we just focus on finding this amazing food truck you mentioned?"

"Oh honey," Indi's grin was wicked, "you really think we're letting this go? You're about to move to Metropolis with that man. This is prime sisterly interrogation material."

As your sister dragged you through the neon-lit streets of Gotham, Dick and Jason providing running commentary on the best late-night eateries, you found your thoughts drifting back to the booth, to Tim's touch, to that unanswered question hanging between you.

Your phone buzzed in your purse:

From: Tim

Message: Dinner tomorrow? Somewhere without nosy siblings?

You bit your lip to hide your smile as you typed back a response:

To: Tim

Message: Only if you promise to let me order chocolate glazed dessert.

His reply was immediate:

From: Tim

Message: Deal. Though I still say Boston cream is superior.

"Oh my god, you're texting him already, aren't you?" Indi peered over your shoulder. "This is adorable. Dick, look how adorable they are!"

"I hate all of you," you declared, but your grin betrayed you.

"No you don't," Dick said cheerfully. "Just wait until family game night. Bruce is going to have an aneurysm."

As your sister and the Wayne brothers debated the merits of various food trucks, your phone buzzed one last time:

From: Tim

Message: For the record? I definitely want it to be a date.

The Gotham night suddenly felt a lot warmer.

"You know, we do have another sister-"

"Indi! Stop it!"

You lunged for your eldest sister, but she was already showing Dick and Jason photos of Scarlet on her phone. Running a hand down your face, you fought the urge to text your other sister a warning about Indi's matchmaking schemes.

"Scarlet might actually kill you, you know," you deadpanned. Indi just shrugged, elegant and unrepentant in her sequined glory.

"That girl needs more to life than her shop and Harkin," she stated with a dramatic eye roll, scrolling to another photo.

"Harkin brings up my point. She's a mom, Indi. She can't just—"

"Lalalala can't hear you!" Indi sang out, covering her ears like a child rather than the successful model she was.

"I swear you are not the oldest out of all of us," you muttered, watching as Dick and Jason peered at the phone with increasing interest. "She runs a successful business, has an adorable kid, and is actually happy. Why are you like this?"

Dick looked up from the phone, his expression thoughtful. "The flower shop on Kane Street? With the blue awning?"

"You know it?" you asked, surprised.

"Bruce gets arrangements from there sometimes," Jason supplied, then smirked. "Though I'm betting he'll be ordering a lot more now that his son's dating the owner's sister."

"We're not—" you started automatically, then stopped, thinking of Tim's text burning a hole in your phone. Were you? The memory of his hand on your thigh, his quiet question in the booth, made your cheeks warm.

"Oooh, she's blushing!" Indi crowed triumphantly. "And here I thought Scarlet would be the one to snag a Wayne. She always was the pretty one—"

"Shut up," you groaned, snatching her phone. "Scarlet will murder us both if she finds out you're showing her photos to random men in clubs."

"Random men?" Dick pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know we are now practically family. In fact..." He plucked Indi's phone from your grasp with surprising agility and continued scrolling. "As your future brother-in-law, I think I have a right to know all about my new sisters."

"Oh my god," you muttered, watching helplessly as Indi and Dick huddled over the phone, Jason offering commentary that was absolutely not helping.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Tim

Message: Everything okay? Jason just sent me a very cryptic text about flower shops.

You looked up to find Jason watching you with a knowing smirk. "Did you seriously just text him?"

"Someone's gotta keep baby bird in the loop," he shrugged. "Besides, your sister's shop really does do nice arrangements. Bruce wasn't lying about that."

"The pink roses last month were from there," Dick added absently, still scrolling with Indi. "The ones for that charity gala?"

You remembered those roses. Scarlet had spent hours getting the gradient just right, each bloom a slightly different shade of pink fading to white. She'd been so proud of that order, even if she hadn't known it was for Wayne Enterprises.

"Speaking of flowers," Indi's eyes gleamed dangerously, "didn't Scarlet just hire that new delivery guy? The one with the motorcycle?"

"Indi, I swear to god—"

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Tim

Message: Should I be worried that Dick just asked Alfred for the flower shop's number?

You typed back quickly:

To: Tim

Message: Your brothers are conspiring with my sister. Send help.

His response was immediate:

From: Tim

Message: On my way. Though I should warn you, once Dick gets an idea in his head...

You looked up to find Indi and Dick exchanging contact information, presumably to better coordinate their matchmaking schemes, while Jason watched the whole thing with undisguised amusement.

To: Tim

Message: Too late. I think we're going to be seeing a lot of family dinners in our future.

From: Tim

Message: Good thing I like your family then. Even if Indi is currently plotting with Dick to revolutionize Wayne Enterprises' floral arrangements.

Despite everything, you couldn't help but smile. Your ridiculous family and his ridiculous brothers, all tangled up in each other's lives now. It should have been terrifying, but somehow...

"See?" Indi nudged you, having apparently finished her plotting with Dick. "This is what happens when you finally let yourself have some fun. Now come on, that food truck isn't going to wait forever."

As you let yourself be pulled along the Gotham streets, your phone warm with Tim's messages in your hand, you thought maybe – just maybe – your sister had a point.

Even if you'd never, ever admit it to her face.

Taglist:

@ahqkas

@prettyktarou

@a-candle-maker

@mact85

@babxtxxn-blog

@mercys-manic-episode

@lilithskywalker

@princesstrunkz

@a-taken-url

#fluff #timothy drake #tim drake #tim drake x reader #red robin #red robin x reader #ceo!tim drake

165 notes · View notes