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brunchable · 25 days ago

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Winter King, Chapter 8: Bad Blood

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Queen!Reader Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: Talks of assasination. Summary: Tensions rise as everything begins to unravel. A/N: It's here. It might feel a bit boring since this is focusing on the more serious stuff. I didn't want to go into detail though, because everything seem to be straight forward about who the bad guys are and their intensions. The first few part is a flashback and will be in 3rd person since I find it weird to be in a pov of a six y/o. Uhhh i might've miss people who wanted to be tagged. Sorry? I really need to post a form lol. Also not thoroughly reviewed, so all mistakes/inconsistencies are all on me.

The sun bathed the Zienna palace gardens in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows across the lush greenery. It was Y/N’s sixth birthday, and the celebration was as grand as it was beautiful. The scent of jasmine filled the air, mingling with the laughter of children and the murmur of noble guests who had gathered from across the realm to honor the princess.

Amid the festivities, Y/N stood in her lavender gown, twirling absentmindedly as she waited for her mother, Queen Seraphina, to finish speaking with one of the advisors. Her father, King Marc, was nearby, engaged in conversation with a pair of visitors—two regal figures, their posture straight, exuding an air of quiet authority.

“Y/N, come here, darling,” her mother called softly, her graceful hand motioning for her to approach. Y/N immediately perked up and hurried over, her small steps light as she reached her parents.

Standing beside the queen and king were two young boys, about eleven years old, each dressed in fine clothing that marked them as nobility from a distant kingdom. They stood tall, though their expressions were contrasting—one with a warm, open smile, and the other with a reserved, watchful gaze.

“Y/N, we have some special guests,” her mother said gently, her eyes filled with love as she introduced the boys. “This is James, and his twin brother, Isaac. They have traveled a long way to join us for your birthday.”

King Marc placed a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder, his voice rich and silky. “Their father is an old friend of mine, from the northern kingdom. It is an honor to have them here.”

Y/N looked up at the two boys, her eyes wide with curiosity. James, with his bright smile and calm demeanor, immediately put her at ease. He stepped forward, giving a slight bow, his manners polished beyond his years. “Happy birthday, Your Highness. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Y/N blushed slightly at the formality, offering a shy smile in return. “Thank you.”

Isaac, standing just behind his brother, offered a curt nod, his sharp blue eyes briefly meeting hers. Though he remained silent, there was an intensity in his gaze that Y/N found both intriguing and intimidating.

“Why don’t you three go play?” Queen Seraphina suggested kindly, glancing toward the gardens. “The other children are by the fountain, and there are plenty of games.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, glancing up at her father. King Marc gave her a reassuring nod. “Go on, darling. Have fun.”

James offered his hand to Y/N, his smile widening as he led the way toward the garden. Isaac followed closely behind, his steps measured and composed, though his eyes never stopped scanning their surroundings.

As they walked deeper into the garden, Y/N’s initial shyness began to melt away. The gentle rustling of leaves and the bubbling sound of the fountain made the space feel like their own secret world, separate from the grandeur of the palace behind them.

Birds sang in the trees, their melodies adding to the soft laughter of children playing near the fountain. Y/N, her lavender gown fluttering as she walked, led James and Isaac through the garden paths.

As they wandered away from the main celebration, Isaac finally broke the silence, his voice casual but carrying that sharp edge of curiosity.

“James is going to be king one day, you know,” he said, glancing at his brother with a slight smirk.

Y/N looked up at Isaac, her brow furrowing in confusion. “King? What do you mean?”

Isaac’s smirk widened, and he nudged James with his elbow. “I overheard them talking about it. They said James will be king, and…” He paused, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “That you’re going to marry him.”

James’ face reddened slightly, and he shook his head quickly. “Isaac, stop. You shouldn’t listen to everything people say.”

But Isaac was undeterred. “I heard it clear as day. One of the advisors said that when James is king, he’ll need a queen, and who better than the Princess of Zienna?”

Y/N blinked, her mouth slightly agape at the idea.

“Me? No, thank you,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “I want to stay here in Zienna, with my brother.”

Isaac chuckled, clearly amused by her reaction. “You don’t want to be queen?”

Y/N crossed her arms, her voice resolute. “No. My brother Marc is here. I’ll stay with him. I don’t want to leave Zienna, even for a crown.”

James, being polite, gave Y/N a gentle smile, though his cheeks were still tinged with pink. “You don’t have to marry me, Princess. You should do whatever makes you happy.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “But what if they try to make you?”

Y/N scrunched her nose, looking quite determined for a six-year-old. “Then I’ll say no. I’ll tell them I’m going to stay here forever with my brother, and no one can make me leave.”

James chuckled softly, but Isaac’s mischievous grin remained. “Well, you’ve got a lot of time to decide, I suppose.”

Y/N gave a confident nod, her resolve unshaken. “Exactly.”

As the three children continued to wander through the vibrant garden, young Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she admired the clusters of flowers swaying in the breeze. Her small fingers brushed over the soft petals of a nearby bloom, curiosity lighting her face.

James, standing a little ways behind, noticed the way she lingered on a patch of delicate white daisies. With the shy determination only an eleven-year-old could muster, he glanced toward Isaac, who was busy exploring the garden himself. Quietly, James crouched down and carefully picked one of the daisies, holding it gently in his hand.

With a quiet step, he approached Y/N.

“Here,” he said, his voice a little hesitant but filled with sincerity. Before she could take the flower, James hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer, his movements careful and uncertain.

He held the daisy up, and with a boyish smile, he brushed back a loose strand of her hair. Gently, he tucked the flower behind her ear, his fingers barely touching her skin.

“Now it looks perfect,” he whispered, his eyes darting between the flower and her face, as though making sure it was just right.

Y/N blinked up at him, her small hand reaching to feel the flower now tucked into her hair. Her cheeks warmed with surprise, and a smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you, James,” she whispered, her voice filled with the kind of simple, heartfelt gratitude that children often expressed.

James shrugged a little, trying to act casual, though his face flushed a deeper shade of pink. He scratched the back of his neck and looked down, suddenly feeling awkward. “It’s… nothing. I just thought it’d look nice,” he mumbled, kicking at the dirt with his shoe.

Y/N smiled brightly at him, her happiness infectious. “It does,” she said softly. “It’s really pretty.”

James looked at her again, his heart beating a little faster in his chest, but he nodded, his boyish confidence returning. “Good,” he said simply, but the warmth in his voice revealed more than the words did.

Isaac, having noticed the interaction from a few feet away, grinned to himself. He didn’t tease, though—something about the quiet sweetness between James and Y/N made him pause. He simply watched for a moment before turning back to his own wandering.

James glanced once more at Y/N, stealing a look at her with the flower in her hair. He felt proud, like he’d done something important, even if it was small. And as Y/N beamed up at him, that small, simple act felt like the most special thing in the world.

× × × ×

The soft notes of Queen Seraphina’s lullaby floated through the air, wrapping around the room like a warm blanket. Y/N’s eyelids grew heavy, lulled by the gentle melody her mother had always sung to her. As the last few notes faded into the evening, Queen Seraphina brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N’s forehead, smiling down at her daughter.

“Is that better, my darling?” Seraphina asked in a soft, tender voice.

Y/N nodded, her small fingers clutching the edges of her blanket. But there was a thoughtful look in her young eyes, something more than just sleepiness lingering behind them. After a moment of quiet, Y/N spoke up.

“Mama… what’s it like to be queen?” Her voice was curious, but there was an innocence to her question—a child’s simple wonder about the world.

Seraphina blinked, slightly taken aback by the question, but her smile never wavered. She gently stroked Y/N’s hair, her eyes thoughtful as she considered how to answer.

“Well,” she began softly, “being queen is many things, my love. It’s a great honor, and with it comes much responsibility.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, listening intently.

“It means always thinking of others,” Seraphina continued softly. “Of the kingdom, of the people. You must be strong when others need you, even when you’re tired. You must be kind, but firm, and always fair, even when it’s difficult.” She paused, her gaze softening as she looked into her daughter’s wide eyes. “And sometimes, it means showing mercy to those who have wronged you.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly, the concept of mercy still foreign to her young mind. “But… why would you be kind to someone who hurt you?”

Seraphina smiled gently, her hand brushing through Y/N’s hair in soothing strokes. “Because mercy is a strength, my darling. To punish is easy. But to offer mercy, even when your heart aches from the wrong done to you, takes great courage. It shows that you are not ruled by anger or vengeance, but by wisdom and compassion.”

She sighed softly, her eyes distant for a moment as if recalling her own struggles. “There will be times when people hurt you, betray you, or make you feel small. But as queen, it’s your duty to rise above that hurt and show grace where others would only see opportunity for retribution.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide with curiosity. “But won’t they do it again?”

“Perhaps,” Seraphina admitted. “But mercy doesn’t mean allowing someone to hurt you over and over. It means giving them a chance to change, to be better. And if they fail, you act as needed, but without letting cruelty taint your decisions. To be a queen is to understand that your strength lies not in how harshly you punish, but in how wisely you show compassion.”

She looked down at Y/N, her gaze softening. “But mercy, my love, is also a sacrifice. It requires you to set aside your pride and your pain for the greater good. And that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “is what makes a true queen.”

Y/N nodded slowly, though the weight of her mother’s words still swirled in her young mind. She thought of Isaac’s earlier comment about marrying James, her confusion slowly giving way to a new understanding of the responsibilities that came with such titles.

Y/N’s eyes shone with wonder, but a flicker of concern crossed her small face.

“Why do you ask, little one?” Seraphina asked gently, tilting her head with a knowing smile. “You seem very curious tonight.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then shyly glanced up at her mother. “Prince Isaac said… he said I’m supposed to marry James. He said I have to.”

Seraphina’s eyes widened in surprise, and then, much to Y/N’s confusion, she let out a soft, musical laugh. Her laughter was gentle, filled with love, as she shook her head slightly.

“Oh, did he now?”

Y/N nodded earnestly. “Yes, Mama. He said that because James will be king, I’ll have to marry him.”

“Well, my darling, sometimes little princes have big ideas. But don’t you worry yourself about that just yet.” Seraphina chuckled again, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She leaned down and kissed Y/N’s forehead softly.

Y/N’s eyes, still wide with curiosity, searched her mother’s face. “But… do I have to, Mama?”

Seraphina smiled warmly, brushing her fingers through Y/N’s hair. “You’re still so young, my sweet one. Right now, all you need to do is enjoy being you. Who you marry, what path you take—that is for the future to decide.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile. She shifted slightly under the blanket, her hand brushing against something tucked beneath her pillow—a small, delicate daisy that James had given her earlier in the day. She had held onto it all afternoon, not sure what to do with it, but when night had fallen, she had placed it under her pillow for safekeeping. Now, as her fingers brushed against the soft petals, she felt a warmth bloom in her chest.

“I like staying here with you and Papa. I don’t want to leave.” Y/N murmured, her fingers gently closing around the flower.

Seraphina’s heart swelled with love for her daughter. She kissed Y/N’s forehead again, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. “Then that’s all that matters right now,” she whispered. “You’ll always be our little girl, no matter where life takes you.”

Y/N’s eyes grew heavy again, the soothing sound of her mother’s voice lulling her toward sleep. Queen Seraphina stayed by her side, stroking her hair gently until Y/N’s breathing evened out and she drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

With a soft smile, Seraphina whispered one last time, “Sleep well, my love. You have plenty of time to decide who you’ll become.”

× × × ×

You sat on the balcony of your chambers, the soft evening breeze tugging at the edges of your robe as you slowly brushed your hair. The view of the gardens below, where your mother had once walked, usually brought you peace. Tonight, however, the air felt stifling. Your brother’s words still hung in the air, their weight pressing down on your shoulders like an unwelcome burden.

Marc stood in the doorway, watching you with that same stern expression he had worn since he became king. He had been pacing, delivering his decision like a royal decree, but you hadn’t been listening—not fully, anyway.

“You’ll leave for Monte Lune in a fortnight,” Marc repeated, his tone firm, as if trying to break through your defiance. “You are to marry James Barnes, the King of Monte Lune.”

You huffed, dragging the brush through your hair with a little more force than necessary.

“Are you serious?” You shot him a look over your shoulder, your eyes flashing with irritation. “I haven’t even met the man.”

Marc’s expression didn’t waver. “Yes, you have. You met him on your sixtg birthday.”

You laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. “Oh, that day. I barely remember it, Marc. His face is a blur. That was years ago.” You set the brush down, turning fully to face him, leaning back on the chair with your arms crossed. “And now I’m supposed to marry him?”

“Yes,” Marc said, his voice calm but unwavering. “You cannot refuse. The arrangements are already in place. The council has approved it, and I’ve given my blessing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your frustration bubbling over. “So, that’s it? You and the council decide my future, and I’m just supposed to smile and play along? What if I don’t want to leave? What if I want to stay here?”

Marc sighed, his patience clearly thinning. “Y/N, this is bigger than you. It’s about the kingdom, about securing our alliances.”

You stood abruptly, your frustration giving way to defiance. “And what if I don’t care about alliances? What if I’d rather stay here and—what was it you called it once?—become a spinster?”

Marc’s brow furrowed, but you could see the hint of exasperation in his eyes. “You’re not going to be a spinster, little sister. Stop being ridiculous.”

You smirked, stepping toward him, arms crossed. “Why not? Sounds like the only way I’ll get any freedom around here. Or maybe I’ll join a convent of nuns. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Peace, quiet, and no royal decrees dictating my every move.”

Marc’s face tightened, his voice growing more stern. “This isn’t a game. You can’t just—”

“Oh, I know it’s not a game,” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “It’s my life, Marc. I’m not just some piece on a chessboard that you can move around as you please. I love it here. I love this place, being surrounded by the memories of Mother and Father. And now you want to ship me off to some foreign kingdom to marry a man I don’t even know?”

Marc stepped closer, his voice softening, though his resolve remained firm. “I know you love it here. But you have a duty, Y/N. We all do. You’re my sister, and I love you, but this is what’s best for the kingdom.”

You shook your head, turning back toward the balcony, your fingers gripping the edge of the railing as you looked out over the gardens. “What’s best for the kingdom,” you muttered bitterly. “Always what’s best for the kingdom.”

Marc placed a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentler now. “I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important. You know that.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon, the weight of his words sinking in, though the fire of your defiance still smoldered inside you.

× × × ×

“To be a queen is to understand that your strength lies not in how harshly you punish, but in how wisely you show compassion.”

Your late mother’s voice echoed in your head. But compassion felt like a distant concept now. How could you offer mercy when the very people you trusted had sought to control you, to weaken you, to strip you of the future you had hoped for?

The revelation of the poisoned tea still churned in your stomach, the betrayal sharp and unforgiving. They hadn’t just denied you the chance to conceive an heir—they had poisoned your very body, seeding destruction where there should have been life.

You clenched your hands at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you stood next to the Queen Dowager, your posture rigid. Everything around you felt distant, as though you were watching from outside your body, the events unfolding without your true presence. A trance had settled over you since the announcement at the Queen Dowager's birthday—since Bucky had declared Wanda as his consort.

The murmurs of the nobles like distant echoes. Your eyes were on the center of the hall, not really fixed on a certain space. Wanda, in a simple yet elegant gown, approached Bucky with the grace and poise she had always carried. She moved with confidence, but you could see the guilt of this moment in your friend's eyes. There was no joy here—only duty.

Bucky’s gaze flicked briefly toward you, you caught his gaze but you quickly looked away, and for a heartbeat, you thought you saw brokeness flash in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the mask of a king fulfilling his obligations.

Wanda reached the center of the room, bowing deeply to Bucky. He acknowledged her with a nod, his eyes dark and unreadable.

The court official stepped forward, holding a scroll in one hand. His voice, clear and commanding, filled the hall.

"Lady Wanda Maximoff, you have been chosen to stand as consort to His Majesty, King James Barnes. Do you, of your own will, accept this role and pledge your loyalty to the crown and the king?"

"I accept." Wanda lifted her head, her voice steady though soft.

Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave her face as she spoke. You could barely breathe, your heart heavy in your chest. You knew this was coming. You knew what had to be done. But it still felt like a slow, torturous unravelling.

The official continued, "Please state your vow, Lady Maximoff."

Wanda straightened, her voice clear yet solemn. "I, Wanda Maximoff, pledge myself to the service of the crown and the king. I vow to stand beside you in loyalty and devotion, offering my counsel when sought, my presence in moments of celebration, and my discretion in matters of state. I do not seek the crown, but I offer my heart and my service to the good of the realm."

Bucky remained still as the official turned to him. "Your Majesty, do you accept Lady Wanda Maximoff as your consort, to stand beside you in loyalty and support, as a companion in duty?"

Bucky’s voice was firm, though there was a slight tremor that only those closest to him could detect. "I…accept."

Just as Bucky's voice finished echoing through the Great Hall, a loud crash reverberated from the entrance, the heavy wooden doors slamming open. All eyes turned as Prince Isaac strode in, dragging Sharon Carter behind him. Her dishevelled appearance and the shock on her face made the council members murmur in confusion.

Isaac's expression was one of cold fury, and his steps were unrelenting as he shoved Sharon forward into the center of the room, where the officiating ceremony had been taking place.

The Queen Dowager sat straighter, her sharp eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation. Bucky’s gaze immediately hardened, his entire posture stiffening as he watched his brother’s entrance with a dark suspicion.

Lord Carter, standing just to the side of the council members, blanched but quickly masked his shock. His face returned to a composed, unreadable expression, though his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edges of his coat. The flicker of recognition in his eyes did not go unnoticed by Isaac, who let out a humourless chuckle, his grip tightening on Sharon's arm as he forced her to her knees.

Steve, near the entrance, straightened, his arms dropping to his sides as he glanced between Isaac, Sharon, and Bucky, ready to intervene if necessary.

Isaac’s voice was cold, cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but I thought you might want to know exactly what kind of games have been played behind your back."

Sharon tried to stand, her face pale, but Isaac’s grip held her down firmly. She winced, but her expression was one of defiance mixed with fear. The nobles around the room watched with baited breath, their eyes shifting nervously between the royal brothers.

Bucky’s eyes, now dark with rage, flicked to Sharon and then to his brother.

"Isaac," he began, his voice dangerously low, "what is this about?”

“Go on, Lady Carter,” Isaac's voice was calm, almost too calm, as he spoke again. “Why don't you enlighten everyone?”

He jerked her arm slightly, forcing her to kneel lower as she flinched. Her breath hitched, panic clear in her eyes. Sharon's gaze flickered once more toward Lord Carter, silently pleading for some kind of guidance, but her father stood unmoving, his face cold and composed. It was clear she was on her own.

Isaac's patience snapped.

With a quick, ruthless pull, he tightened his grip on Sharon's arm, his face darkening with an ominous threat. He leaned down, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

“If you don't start talking in the next five seconds, Sharon,” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "I'll make sure every secret you've ever tried to bury comes spilling out right here.”

Sharon’s chest rose and fell rapidly as the pressure built around her, Isaac’s grip relentless and his whispered threat still hanging in the air. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting from Isaac to her father. Panic twisted in her gut, and finally, the words tumbled from her lips, desperate and frantic.

“I—I was following orders,” she stammered, her voice cracking. “I didn’t have a choice! My father—Lord Carter—he told me to lace the queen’s tea with contraceptives—I never knew it was mixed with poison!”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Every pair of eyes turned to Lord Carter, the weight of accusation crashing down on him. For a moment, the room seemed frozen in time, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

Lord Carter blinked, his expression quickly shifting from surprise to calm composure. He stepped forward, his posture straight and regal, addressing the room with a voice that dripped with sincerity.

“My lords and ladies, this is a grave accusation,” he began, shaking his head slowly, as if the very notion were absurd. “Why would I, a loyal servant of the crown, seek to undermine my king and queen in such a way? This… this is madness.”

He turned to Sharon, his face twisted in disappointment, his voice now filled with a fatherly reprimand.

“Daughter, I understand the pressure of the court can be overwhelming, but to lie—to attempt to place blame on your own blood to save yourself? That is truly unbecoming.”

The murmur of the court grew louder as Lord Carter’s calm demeanor and measured words began to sway the room. His voice was smooth, convincing, and there was a flicker of doubt creeping into the faces of the nobles.

Sharon’s eyes widened, her jaw tightening as she realized what was happening. Her father was throwing her to the wolves, sacrificing her to save his own skin. Rage boiled beneath her trembling exterior, her hands balling into fists.

“Liar!” she spat, her voice trembling with fury. She struggled against Isaac’s grip, her eyes locked on her father. “You told me to do it! You wanted me to—”

Lord Carter shook his head again, cutting her off with a wave of his hand.

“Enough, Sharon. You’ve already done enough damage with your wild accusations.” His voice remained calm, but there was a coldness beneath his words that made Sharon’s blood run cold.

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, the room divided between the seemingly composed Lord Carter and his increasingly frantic daughter. Sharon’s breathing grew heavier, her heart pounding in her chest as the realization set in—she was being betrayed by her own father, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

As the room descended into chaos, the murmurs of the court growing louder with every passing second, a storm brewed inside you. The revelations of the past few days—the poisoned tea, the betrayal by those closest to you, the endless charade—had all built up like a tidal wave, threatening to crash over everything you held dear.

Sharon’s panicked pleas filled the room, her accusations piercing through the tense air, but it was Lord Carter’s cold, manipulative calm that sent a surge of fury through your veins. His smooth, convincing words aimed to bury the truth, to cast doubt over his daughter’s confessions, but you could see through him—his lies, his deceit.

The storm inside you was blinding. Your vision blurred, and all you could see was red as you charged forward, your gown billowing behind you like a cloak of fury. The rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins, every fiber of your being fueled by the injustice, the betrayal, and the lies that had suffocated you for too long.

Before anyone could react, you reached Lord Carter, your fist flying through the air with a force that surprised even you. The sharp, resounding smack echoed through the Great Hall as your knuckles connected with his face.

The court gasped in unison, shock rippling through the nobles as Lord Carter staggered back, a red mark blossoming on his cheek where your hand had struck him. His composed mask cracked, rage flaring in his eyes as he stared at you, dumbfounded.

“How dare you!” he sputtered, voice tight with humiliation as he raised a hand to his cheek. But you didn’t flinch.

The anger in your chest blazed into an uncontrollable fire. With a sharp intake of breath, you lunged forward, seizing a fistful of his hair. Your grip was ironclad, your fingers digging into his scalp as you yanked him closer, his composure entirely shattered. His startled shout echoed through the hall, his limbs flailing as he tried to pry himself free from your hold.

“You disgusting, spineless coward!” you spat, each word drenched in venom. “You poisoned me! You tried to control my body, my future—you think you can get away with that? You think you can deceive everyone here, twist the truth to suit your treachery?”

Around you, nobles shifted uneasily, a few trying to step forward to intervene, but you were a whirlwind of fury, your grip unyielding. “You’re nothing but a coward! A filthy traitor!”

Lord Carter clawed desperately at your hands, but you only yanked his head back harder, a fierce satisfaction in seeing him squirm under your grasp. He tried to speak, tried to muster some words of protest, but you gave him no chance, your words a relentless assault.

The hall erupted in chaos. Gasps, hurried whispers, and scattered pleas for calm filled the air, but you barely heard them. In the back of your mind, you registered approaching footsteps, felt a hand brush your shoulder. Yet you didn’t relent, leaning in closer to hiss through gritted teeth, “I won’t let you worm your way out of this!”

Suddenly, a firm arm looped around your waist, pulling you back with a surprising strength. You fought the hold, thrashing against it, but another arm wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, thrashing against the unyielding grip, your fists still reaching out toward Lord Carter as he stumbled back, visibly shaken. “I’m not finished with him! That vile—"

“Enough,” a familiar voice murmured in your ear, gentle but firm. Bucky’s grip was unbreakable as he pulled you away, carrying you from the scene with your feet barely brushing the floor.

“Put me down!” you protested, your fury still burning hot as you twisted in his hold, casting a final, scathing glare at Lord Carter. “He doesn’t deserve to stand in this court! He’s a fraud—a poison!”

But Bucky’s hold didn’t loosen. He murmured your name softly, a quiet plea for calm as he tightened his arms around your waist. Despite your anger, the heat of his embrace began to seep into you, grounding you even as your chest heaved with fury.

You stilled, the last shouts of rage fading into breathless silence as he held you close, his presence the only thing keeping you from breaking free again.

Lord Carter’s face paled, the full weight of your words settling over the room. The tension was palpable, and for a brief moment, no one dared to speak. Even Isaac, who had been holding Sharon in place, watched you with a newfound intensity.

“Enough.” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

All eyes turned to him. His eyes darkened, a flash of the Winter Soldier rising to the surface for just a moment.

But he couldn’t lose control. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky stepped forward, his movement demanding immediate attention. The hall fell into a heavy silence as the tension grew thicker. His eyes locked on Lord Carter, and though his voice was calm, the barely contained fury was evident beneath every word.

“Lord Carter,” Bucky began, his voice cold, dangerous. “These accusations—whether true or false—are not something to be brushed aside with mere words.” His gaze flickered briefly to Sharon, who remained trembling under Isaac’s grip, before returning to her father.

“If you think you can use your daughter as a shield to deflect responsibility, you’re gravely mistaken.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, the desire to lash out clear in his stiff posture, but he forced himself to remain steady.

“There will be an inquiry, a full investigation,” he continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if any trace of treason is found—whether it leads to your daughter or yourself—you will both answer for it. Personally.”

The last word was a low growl, a promise rather than a threat. Bucky’s icy blue eyes never left Lord Carter’s, the weight of his authority and rage palpable. He was no longer just James Barnes—he was the king, and he wasn’t going to let this treachery slide.

Turning his attention briefly to Isaac, Bucky gave a curt nod. “Take them both to the dungeons. We’ll get to the truth soon enough.”

As Isaac moved to drag Sharon out of the hall, Bucky’s gaze flickered to you. There was a brief, almost imperceptible moment where the cold mask he wore cracked, and a hint of the man beneath—the one who hated seeing you caught in this mess—shone through. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the king who had a court to manage and a betrayal to uncover.

He turned back to Lord Carter, who stood frozen, his calm demeanor now visibly strained.

“You,” Bucky commanded, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. “You will remain here until this is sorted out. Any attempt to flee will be seen as an admission of guilt.”

Before Lord Carter could so much as draw a breath, Steve stepped forward from his post near the entrance, his face set in stone. His voice was firm, carrying the weight of an order. “Guards, seize Lord Carter.”

Lord Carter’s composure cracked as the guards moved in, their hands firm on his arms as they began to escort him away. His face flushed with indignation, and he jerked his arm free from one of the guards, standing tall as if reclaiming his dignity.

"This is absurd!" he barked, his voice ringing through the hall. "You dare to lay hands on me? I am a loyal servant of the crown, and this is nothing but slander from a panicked girl trying to save herself!"

He turned sharply, his eyes darting between Bucky and Steve, his expression a mix of outrage and desperation. "There is no proof of these claims! No evidence! I will not be treated like a common criminal based on the hysterical accusations of my own daughter!"

Despite his protests, the guards tightened their grip, their movements unwavering as they led him toward the exit. Lord Carter struggled slightly, attempting to shake them off, his voice rising in anger. "You’ll regret this—mark my words! You’re making a grave mistake, Your Majesty!"

But Bucky remained unmoved, his cold gaze fixed on the scene, his jaw clenched as Lord Carter’s protests echoed behind him. The court watched in tense silence, the weight of Lord Carter’s protests doing little to sway the inevitable.

× × × ×

The hall fell into an eerie silence, the echoes of Lord Carter's protests fading as the heavy doors shut behind him. The tension hung thick in the air, the nobles exchanging uneasy glances as they tried to comprehend the spectacle they had just witnessed.

Pietro, standing close to Wanda, broke the silence with a tentative voice, his usual confidence faltering.

"What happens now?" He glanced at Bucky and then at the official standing awkwardly with the scroll in hand. "What happens with the ceremony?"

The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for someone to speak, to bring clarity to the chaos that had disrupted what should have been a momentous occasion.

From the side of the room, the unmistakable voice of Nick Fury cut through the quiet like a knife. His arms were crossed, his one good eye sharp as it flicked between Bucky and the council.

"Well, that’s up to you, Your Majesty," he said, his tone carrying the weight of the decision. "You want to finish this ceremony, or does this little… interruption change things?"

All eyes turned to Bucky, the unspoken weight of his decision settling over the hall.

Bucky's eyes flicked toward you, his queen, the only steady thing in the storm that had just erupted in the hall. For a moment, his gaze softened, the weight of the decision pressing down on him as he searched your face for reassurance, for guidance. You met his gaze with unwavering calm, silently offering the support he needed.

Drawing a deep breath, Bucky squared his shoulders, and when he spoke, it was with the strength of both a king and a man who had made his choice.

“This ceremony was meant to be about loyalty, about securing the future of this kingdom,” he began, his voice steady yet carrying the unmistakable edge of conviction. His gaze moved from you, then to Wanda, lingering just long enough to acknowledge the turmoil she was feeling. “But it’s become something else entirely—a spectacle tainted by deceit.”

Wanda, standing beside Pietro, visibly tensed, her breaths shallow as if she had been holding onto the pressure of the moment. Bucky’s next words cut through the room like a blade.

“The ceremony is canceled,” Bucky declared, his voice firm, allowing no room for challenge. “I will not tie this kingdom’s future to a decision clouded by lies and manipulation. Wanda, you deserve better than this mess, and until the truth is fully revealed, we won’t move forward.”

Wanda’s shoulders sagged in visible relief, her lips parting as she let out a breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding. Pietro cast a glance at his sister, his own tension easing slightly as the room shifted uneasily.

Bucky's attention swept back to you, his eyes filled with gratitude and a silent promise, before turning back to the hall.

“Let this be clear,” he continued, addressing everyone now. “We will uncover the truth, and only then will decisions about this kingdom’s future be made. This ceremony is over.”

The room remained in stunned silence, the finality of his words echoing in the grand hall. Bucky had made his decision, and no one dared challenge the authority behind it. Wanda’s relief was palpable, and though the weight of unresolved matters still hung in the air, it was clear that Bucky had chosen the path that honored not only his kingdom but the trust he placed in you as his queen.

× × × ×

Bucky stood in the war room, leaning heavily against the grand oak table, his hands braced on its surface as he spoke in a low, determined voice. Isaac sat across from him, his arms crossed, watching his brother carefully. The Queen Dowager, Winnifred Barnes, was seated at the head of the table, her regal presence commanding the room, her sharp eyes flicking between her two sons.

“The Queen needs time away from this chaos,” Bucky began, his words laden with concern. “Everything that’s happening—Lord Carter, Sharon, the consort—it’s taken a toll on her. She wants to go to Zienna to recover, and I think it’s the right desicion. She deserves some peace.”

Winnifred’s gaze softened at the mention of Zienna.

“It’s a place of healing,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Yes, it would do her well. But Bucky, with matters still unresolved here, can you afford to leave just yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ll stay and see this through, for her sake and for the kingdom. But once this is handled, I’m going to Zienna to be with her. She shouldn’t have to endure all of this alone.” Bucky shook his head, a firm resolve settling in his expression.

Isaac’s brows knit together as he listened, then he leaned forward, his voice cautious. “You’re certain you can resolve things here in time? Lord Carter and Pierce won’t go down easily, and the court is still on edge.”

The Queen Dowager arched a brow, her tone matter-of-fact as she asked, “And then, who will run the kingdom in your absence? Even a week away is a long time during a crisis like this. You can’t simply leave without a strong hand at the helm.”

Isaac shifted in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught the slight pause in Bucky’s words. He could already sense where this conversation was heading, and his expression hardened slightly.

Bucky straightened, his gaze drifting toward Isaac for just a moment. It wasn’t long, but it was enough to make Isaac’s shoulders tense. His younger brother narrowed his eyes, already understanding the weight of what Bucky was about to ask.

“Isaac,” Bucky started, his tone careful, but firm. “You’ve always had my back, always supported the crown when I needed you. And right now, I need you more than ever.”

Isaac’s jaw clenched as he sat up straighter, the realization hitting him fully. “You’re asking me to become Prince Regent, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Just for a short time, when I’m away. The kingdom needs stability, someone they can trust to lead in my place.”

Isaac’s eyes darkened as he leaned back in his chair, considering Bucky’s words. “You’re putting a lot on my shoulders, brother. Not just running the kingdom, but stepping into your role, even temporarily.”

“I trust you, Isaac,” Bucky replied, his voice unwavering. “And the people trust you. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you were the best choice.”

Winnifred, who had been watching the exchange silently, finally spoke, her voice measured.

“This is no small request, Isaac. Becoming Prince Regent means carrying the weight of the crown, and everything that comes with it.”

Isaac’s gaze flicked between his mother and his brother, the gravity of the situation settling heavily on him. He was a soldier, a warrior, but this—ruling in Bucky’s stead, even for a brief period—was different.

“You’re sure about this?” Isaac asked, his voice low but steady, his eyes locked on Bucky’s.

Bucky nodded, his expression sincere. “I am. There’s no one else I trust more.”

Isaac exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he mulled it over. He knew the responsibility, the risk. But he also knew he wouldn’t let his brother down.

“Alright,” Isaac finally said, his voice firm. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your Regent in your absence. But you better make sure Y/N gets the peace she needs. And don’t take too long.”

Bucky’s expression softened, gratitude evident in his eyes. “Thank you, Isaac. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Isaac gave a brief nod, though there was a flicker of reluctance in his gaze as he glanced at his mother. Winnifred’s eyes were sharp, watching her sons with a sense of pride, though there was also a hint of concern.

The Queen Dowager spoke once more, her tone gentler now. “You both know what’s at stake. The kingdom will need to see unity in this time of uncertainty. Isaac, you must be prepared for whatever may come. And Bucky…” Her eyes softened as she looked at her eldest son. “Take care of Y/N. But don’t forget—you are still king, and your people will need you to return.”.

“I’ll keep the throne warm for you, brother. Just don’t make a habit of this Regent business.”

“I won’t.” Bucky chuckled softly, the tension in the room easing just slightly.

After Winnifred left the room, a heavy silence settled between Bucky and Isaac. Their conversation lingered in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Isaac sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned back in his chair.

“So, that’s one down,” Isaac muttered, referring to the traitors, his tone low and tired. His sharp eyes were still clouded with thoughts about the looming investigation, but there was also a simmering reluctance buried deep inside him.

Then, as if trying to shake off the seriousness, he shifted, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Bucky.

“Sooo… Prince Regent?” Isaac asked, his tone light but the underlying tension unmistakable.

Bucky could feel his brother’s reluctance, the hesitation in his words. Isaac had always preferred to be on the battlefield, not tied to the throne. Bucky chuckled softly under his breath, leaning against the table as if to ease the seriousness of the situation.

"If I’m not successful in securing an heir, eventually, I’ll have to name you the heir," Bucky said, a smirk playing on his lips, though his voice carried a hint of truth beneath the jest.

Isaac froze for a moment, his expression darkening at the joke. His eyes flicked to Bucky, clearly not amused.

“Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking, Isaac.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, his tone shifting to something more serious.

Isaac stiffened, the idea clearly unsettling him. "You are the king. You have the duty to secure the throne’s future, not me. I’m no heir. I never wanted to be."

“I know you didn’t. But if something happens, if I’m gone, the people will need someone they can trust. That’s you.” Bucky’s expression softened, but he didn’t back down.

"You’re not going anywhere, Bucky. And you will secure an heir. That’s not my responsibility." Isaac shook his head slightly, frustration evident in the lines of his face.

Bucky met Isaac’s gaze head-on, his voice calm but unyielding. "You’re my brother. If anything happens, I trust you to take care of things. Even if it means stepping into a role you never wanted."

Isaac’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He hated the thought, the very idea of being king. It went against every instinct he had. But the way Bucky looked at him—earnest, unwavering—made it clear this wasn’t just a hypothetical conversation.

“I won’t let it come to that,” Isaac muttered, though his words lacked conviction.

Bucky gave a small, knowing smile.

“Neither will I.”

But the unspoken truth hung in the air between them—neither of them could control everything, and the future was always uncertain.

After a moment, Bucky pushed away from the table and clapped Isaac on the shoulder, the brief moment of tension passing. “But for now, just take care of the kingdom when I go. That’s all I’m asking.”

Isaac huffed, shaking his head but relenting. “Fine. But don’t get too comfortable when you follow her to Zienna. I’m not planning to wear a crown anytime soon.”

Bucky laughed softly, the tension easing as he gave his brother a lighthearted grin. “I’ll be back before you can get used to the title, Your Highness.”

Isaac groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

× × × ×

The morning air was crisp, a cool breeze sweeping through the courtyard as Bucky stood near the stables, watching you prepare for the journey. Dressed in riding clothes, you held yourself firm, though the weight of recent events settled heavily on your shoulders. Nearby, a carriage stood loaded with supplies, but it remained untouched—you’d insisted on riding, preferring the speed and maneuverability of a horse in case of an ambush. Around you, the best warriors waited in silent readiness, forming a protective entourage. Scott, a trusted friend, adjusted the reins of his horse beside yours, prepared to accompany you to Zienna.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you, taking in the determination in your eyes and the tension you couldn’t fully hide. As you approached him, he stepped forward, his presence grounding and warm.

“My love,” he murmured, reaching for your hand, his fingers gentle but firm as he held your gaze. “I know things haven’t been easy. But I need you to know—I’ll join you in Zienna as soon as everything is settled here.”

You nodded, looking down for a moment, your fingers tightening around his.

“I understand,” you replied softly, voice tinged with the exhaustion you’d been holding back. “But why do I feel like we’re always meant to be seperated. . . I don’t have a good feeling about this, James.”

His hand rose to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Everything will be fine, then when I’m finished here, I’ll be there. I promise.”

You managed a small, wavering smile, meeting his gaze with a quiet resolve. “I’ll be waiting for you, Bucky.”

He smiled gently, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, letting your breaths mingle in a shared, comforting silence.

“I wish you Godspeed,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Scott and the others will keep you safe, but still… take care of yourself.”

Blinking back the emotions that threatened to surface, you nodded. “And you. Don’t let them wear you down. Remember, I’m waiting for you.”

His hand tightened around yours, a silent reassurance. “I won’t let anything stop me from coming to you,” he vowed, the weight of his promise heavy between you.

For a moment, you stood there, suspended in quiet intimacy, until Scott cleared his throat gently. “Your Majesty, we should get moving if we want to reach the first checkpoint before nightfall.”

You nodded, your gaze lingering on Bucky’s as you reluctantly let go of his hand. With one last look, you turned and mounted your horse, steadying yourself as Scott and the warriors took their places around you.

As you rode through the gates, you glanced back, catching Bucky’s gaze one final time. He lifted a hand in farewell, his expression both resolute and tender—a silent reminder of his promise.

× × × ×

In the war room, Bucky stood at the head of the long, ancient table, his gaze hardened and his hands clenched at his sides. The air was thick with tension, the weight of recent revelations pressing down on everyone in attendance. Prime Minister Fury, Lord Stark, Lord Thor, and Lord Pietro surrounded him, their expressions equally grave. Isaac, who had been coordinating the efforts on the ground, stood beside Bucky, arms crossed, a look of fierce resolve in his eyes.

Lord Carter’s arrest had been a momentary victory, but it had sent Pierce scurrying into hiding, an alarming development that left Bucky with more answers. Sharon’s confession had revealed Haynesworth’s involvement—a coward now willing to cooperate under pressure. Yet despite this, the scale of Pierce’s plan remained daunting.

Isaac broke the silence, his voice a steady cadence of grim pragmatism. “My men and I have been able to weaken Pierce’s forces. The mercenaries we’ve detained have given us some insight into his network, but it’s clear we’re still facing a significant threat. Pierce has more men, well-funded and positioned, not just mercenaries, but soldiers loyal to him and his cause.”

Lord Thor frowned, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

“A coup,” he murmured, barely containing the disgust in his voice. “He’s not simply out for power; he’s mobilising the people, stirring resentment. He’s been playing on their fears for longer than we realized.”

“Indeed,” Fury added, leaning forward. “The arrests, the reduced supplies to outlying towns, the instability—he’s planted seeds that we’re only now starting to see bear fruit. He’s crafted his campaign to draw as many as he can to his side, creating the appearance that the crown is to blame for their struggles.”

Bucky’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as he processed their words. His kingdom was under attack from within, and the loyalty of his people was being manipulated by a man willing to incite chaos for his own gain.

“We can’t let Pierce continue to spread his poison,” Bucky said, his voice low but resonant. “If he manages to incite a full-scale rebellion, we risk losing not just the throne, but the very unity of this kingdom. . . Luckily Lord Starks provision of food and supplies weakened his campaign?”

Isaac nodded in agreement, his expression cold and focused. “I’ve had my men infiltrate some of Pierce’s hideouts, and we’re intercepting his communications where we can, but it’s not enough to turn the tide. If we’re to shut him down, we’ll need to identify his main camps and disrupt his resources—especially his connections to sympathetic lords who may still be in hiding.”

Lord Stark, ever the strategist, leaned back thoughtfully. “Pierce’s resources are formidable, but he can’t stay on the run without outside help. There’s a network feeding him, sheltering him, financing his troops. We’ll need to isolate and dismantle that network, one link at a time.”

Isaac’s voice took on an edge. “It’s not only Pierce’s direct allies we need to worry about. He’s stirred unrest among the common folk. They believe his lies about the crown, and that loyalty to him could grant them relief from the hardships they’ve suffered. That’s why he’s growing stronger.”

Fury added, “The situation’s delicate. If we move too brashly, we could reinforce Pierce’s narrative that the crown’s oppressing the people. But if we delay, he gains more ground. We’re working against time—and perception.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, frustration simmering just below the surface. He knew they had to strike with precision, neutralizing Pierce without alienating the kingdom they sought to protect. His gaze flicked toward Isaac, the only one who fully understood the precarious balance between strength and subtlety that Bucky faced.

“Isaac,” Bucky began, his voice resolute, “you’ve already done a damn good job of weakening their numbers. But we need more. I want a detailed strategy. Find their supply lines, their contacts in every town on the kingdom’s edge. Cut them off, quietly. And Haynesworth—press him until he reveals every name, every hideout, every ally Pierce has.”

Isaac gave a grim nod, the hint of a smirk touching his lips. “Consider it done. Pierce’s men may think they’re loyal, but everyone has a breaking point. We’ll use it to our advantage.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted to Stark and Fury.

“And we’ll need to address the people’s concerns. Show them that the crown isn’t neglecting their needs. Send more food and relief to the outer regions. Make it clear that Pierce’s attempts to block supplies were part of his campaign to weaken the kingdom.”

Fury’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A good move. If we can reach the people directly, we can begin to counter Pierce’s influence. But it’ll take more than supplies. They need to see a strong, united crown—one that stands in defiance of Pierce’s lies.”

Bucky clenched his fists, determination etched into every line of his face. He wouldn’t let his kingdom fall to traitors, nor would he allow Pierce’s influence to taint the loyalty of his people. With Isaac, Fury, Stark, and the others, he would strike hard and fast.

× × × ×

Lord Alexander Pierce sat in the dimly lit chamber of his hideout, his face a mask of restrained fury as he processed the recent setbacks. His usually composed demeanor was fractured, his jaw clenched tightly as he seethed over the news of Lord Carter’s imprisonment and Haynesworth’s cowardice. He had carefully woven his network of allies over the years, a web of loyalists and useful puppets, yet one by one, they were beginning to unravel.

“Imbeciles,” he muttered, his gaze cold and distant as he paced the room. He knew that with Carter locked away and Haynesworth under palace protection, his own position was more vulnerable than ever.

Pierce’s attention was drawn to a shadowed figure near the doorway. One of his most trusted operatives, a man whose services were as lethal as they were discreet, waited silently, prepared for any orders. Pierce’s gaze settled on him, the weight of his decision already clear.

“Haynesworth has betrayed us,” Pierce said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “He has exposed us to the crown, and he knows too much. We can’t allow him to hide under palace protection and think he’s safe.” He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with dark intent. “See to it that he and his family are eliminated.”

The operative nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “It will be done, my lord.”

Pierce waved him away with a flick of his wrist, his mind already spinning with plans to stabilize the crumbling foundation of his revolt. But his contemplation was interrupted by the entrance of another figure—the leader of the mercenaries he had enlisted, a hulking, scarred brute with wild eyes and a snarl that twisted his face into something menacing.

The mercenary leader stomped forward with heavy, brutal steps, his broad, muscled arms crossed over his chest. His gaze fixed Pierce with an unyielding stare, the barely concealed rage in his eyes making it clear he was not a man of patience.

“We had a deal,” he growled, his voice like the scrape of iron on stone. “My men and I have risked much for you, but the royal vaults remain untouched. My men are getting restless. They want blood and gold, not empty promises.”

Pierce clenched his teeth, forcing himself to keep his composure. “And you shall have it,” he replied smoothly. “But we must act with precision. Rushing into the palace is not an option yet.”

The mercenary leader let out a guttural laugh, baring his teeth in a fierce grin that was anything but friendly. “We’ve been patient enough. Your plan’s unraveling, and my men won’t sit around much longer. If we don’t strike soon, they’ll get their gold elsewhere—even if it’s from the crown’s own coffers.”

Pierce’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. He knew he had to maintain control over these mercenaries—they were his strongest line of offense. But he couldn’t afford an all-out assault on the palace until the right moment.

“You will have your prize,” Pierce said, his tone icy and firm. “But we do this on my terms. You’ve seen the chaos I’ve sewn within the court; the crown is weakened, and soon their defenses will be as well. An attack on the palace will come—but it must be swift and decisive.”

The mercenary leader leaned in close, his breath reeking of ale, his voice a low, savage rumble. “I’ve lost good men holding back for you, Pierce. We want our share, and if you won’t give it, we’ll take it ourselves. We’re done sitting on our asses.”

Pierce held his gaze, unflinching, though inside, he felt his grip on the situation slipping. He couldn’t allow a reckless assault that might undo all of his careful planning. But he couldn’t lose control of the mercenaries, either.

With a deep breath, he straightened, his gaze hardening. “Very well,” Pierce conceded, though his mind was already working through contingencies. “Begin preparations for an infiltration. We will test the palace’s defenses, probe for weaknesses. If we find a vulnerability, we will exploit it.” His lips curved into a thin smile. “But remember—do not underestimate the crown. This kingdom will fall by our hand, but only if we strike with precision.”

The mercenary leader’s barbaric grin returned, revealing broken, jagged teeth as he gave a curt nod. Without another word, he turned and stomped out of the chamber, leaving Pierce alone in the dark, the weight of the plan settling heavily on his shoulders.

Pierce clenched his fists, his mind sharp and focused as he considered the stakes. The royal vaults, the crown, the kingdom itself—they would all be his. But first, he would have to make every piece on the board move exactly as he commanded.

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monster-disaster · 1 year ago

Text

[lion rakshasa] Dain

lion rakshasa!Dain x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Summary: Dain needs a massage.

With a sigh, you open the door to let the warm breeze run through the small cabin. The scent of oils, candles, and cleaning supplies mix with the dry smell of the night. The rush of air caresses your cheeks and plays with your hair as you lean against the door jamb. You cross your arms in front of your chest. Your gaze wanders over the view of the resort.

The other cabins around you are closed. Their windows are dark. You are not surprised, though. It's already late, and you feel the tiredness in your bones and the soreness in your muscles. You almost laugh. You could kill for a massage. Rolling your shoulders, you straighten your posture. The familiar throbbing between your legs is almost painful, and you wish for nothing more but a warm bath and your comfortable bed.

Lush greens and colorful flowers bloom on the side of the road, leading to the pools on your left side. There is a small waterfall that falls from one to the other. The sound is relaxing and seems loud in the silence. The crystal-clear water sparkles under the silvery glow of the moon. Your gaze moves up to the sky, pausing on the glinting stars before dropping on the hotel nearby. Light filters through a few windows. One side of the building is covered with greenery. You can barely see the sand-colored wall underneath the leaves, waving in the rhythm of the wind.

And behind everything, there is the desert with its ever-changing form. Under the cover of the night sky and the stars' gentle glow, the endless sea of sand spreads out as far as the eyes can see. It looks like it melts into the darkness at the horizon. In the distance, grand dunes emerge from the ground with elegant edges and slopes.

"Hey!" A deep voice breaks the silence, and you almost jump from the surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to frighten you. You are the masseur, right?" You smile and shake your head. "It's fine," you tell him. "You are Dain, I hope?" He nods, and you step away from the door to let him in.

The male is burly, even for a lion rakshasa. His mane is a few shades darker than the fur covering his body. He is a mix of muscles and fat. His shoulders are broad, but a slight belly is bulging under the white towel around his waist. The fabric stretches around his trunk-like thighs.

He looks good. He definitely looks good.

You close the door behind you with a soft click.

"You can take off the towel if you want to," you tell him. "And lay down on the table." The male grunts, and with a quick tug, he takes off the towel and puts it on a chair nearby. You can see the muscles of his thighs working as he moves. His tail sways to the side in a gentle rhythm. Your eyes are glued to the hard flesh of his bottom as he lies on his stomach on the massage table. "It won't break under me, right?" He asks. His voice is muffled. "No," you assure him. "You will be fine, I promise."

As you start to work, the soothing scent of the oils you use fills your nostrils. The inside of the massage cabin is covered in an orange hue from the candles. Small flames dance on top of them. The dim light makes the color of his fur darker. They are soft under your hands. His tail still sways left and right, and from time to time, you can hear a deep purr rumbling out of his chest. You can feel it in your core.

Using your body weight, with the heel of your hands, you stroke down the line of his spine until you reach his tail. You knead the hard muscles of his back, changing the motion of your hands every now and again as you watch his reactions. Dain's breathing is calm and even, and slowly but surely, you can feel him relax under you. You circle your thumbs on his shoulder blades, going up to his shoulders. Your fingers dig into him, finding every nerve and knot on your way. When you are done with his upper body, you move to his legs, using your thumb to massage and rub his muscles. "I'm sorry," he grunts when his tail curls around your arm for the second time. You let yourself laugh a little. "It's fine." Your finger slides over his tail, reaching the base. You are careful and gentle as you stroke it. He jumps at the sudden contact but doesn't move to get away. Another rumble breaks through his chest. "Is it good?" You ask him. "Yeah," he grunts. "But it starts to hurt." For a second, you panic, letting go of his tail immediately. "I'm sorry," you gasp. Dain shakes his head. "Not that," he replies, turning to the side, then onto his back. "That." "Oh."

Oh.

A lazy smirk pulls on your lips at the sight. Dain's hard cock bobs as he moves. He is thick and wet from the pre-cum that slips down his shaft. A drop follows the line of a vein on the side of his cock. His balls are heavy between his legs.

You continue your session. Moving from Dain's legs to his upper body, you work on his muscles, letting him relax and enjoy the silence. Your gaze lands on his erection every now and again, but you don't make a move yet. You tease him and massage him all over.

His eyes are closed. An amused smile plays on his lips. "You are the devil." His voice is hoarse. "Am I?" You grin, smoothing your palms down his chest. His fur shines under the dim lights with the lotion you used on him. His cock jerks when your fingers brush the base. Another drop of pre-cum drops down his shaft. "Gods, woman!" Dain groans. You laugh but decide to have mercy on him. He was still more patient than most of your guests.

Your fingers curl around the base of his shaft, squeezing the flesh softly. A low groan echoes off the walls, and you can feel him twitching under your hold. Dain is warm and soft under your palm. The lotion and his pre-cum mix as you move up. Your other hand rests on his thigh. His muscles are tense with anticipation. You feel it too. Need burns your insides as you pump his shaft lazily. You use your thumb to smear his juices even more on his cock, following the thick vein on the side up to the head. Your nail grazes the sensitive skin. The rakshasa shudders under you. His breathing is labored. "Are you sure you are not a cat?" He asks with humor in his voice. "You play with my cock like a new toy." You grin, leaning closer. The air escaping your lips is warm on Dain's erection. "But it is my new toy." His deep laugh ends in a snarl when you lick up on his length from the bottom to the top. You flick the soft skin under the head. His taste is strong on the tip of your tongue. It's salty and makes you want more. You lap up on him again, once, twice, three times. "Fuck!" He growls. The sound vibrates through the air, going straight between your legs. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you force a smug grin down and take his cock into your mouth. You go inch by inch, letting your lips stretch around him. Keeping your hand on the base, pumping him slowly, you lick and suck on his crown, pressing your tongue into the tip. You can feel him snapping any second, but you are not done yet. You squeeze him, making him snarl again before his breath is taken away as you slide him down deeper into your throat. You hum around his length, letting the vibration of your throat rush up his spine. "Fuckfuckfuck!" Spurts of pre-cum fill your mouth, dripping down on his cock and balls. His hips push up against you, wanting to fuck your mouth. You hum again in agreement, hollowing your cheeks some more. Tears burn your eyes as he starts to move up and down. He thrusts into your mouth hurriedly, chasing his pleasure in your warm, wet mouth. Your tongue is flat against the underside of his cock. "You born for this," he growls. "A warm mouth for all the monsters who come here." You are slick between your legs. Your pussy throbs with desire even though you are already sore because of your previous guests. "You feel so good around my cock! Fuck!" Your free hand from his thigh slips to his balls. They are heavy in your palm as you start to play with them. His cock twitches in your mouth more often than a few seconds ago. "I'm going to cum," he warns, still pushing his hips. Your jaw and throat ache. You let him use you to reach his high. Your hand on his cock jerks him faster, and you bob your head against his thrusts. You want him to lose his mind when he comes into your mouth. The cabin is filled with his groans and moans.

"Fuck!"

He floods your mouth, and you gulp down everything he has to give you. The work of your throat squeezes his cock even more, pushing him harder and harder into his orgasm.

The male needs long minutes to come back to his senses. "Will you be there tomorrow?" He asks, still panting. His voice is hoarse, and his cock lays soft on his thick thigh.

You really want to know how it feels inside you.

"I will write you up."

- Masterlist Mirage Resort Masterlist Patreon

#monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster x reader #monster x human #monster smut #mirage resort

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pin-k-ink · 5 months ago

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matters of the heart // ukitake jushiro & kyoraku shunsui (pt. 3)

tw ⇢ highly suggestive content, threesome, implied sexual content but no explicit descriptions, unrequited love (kinda), some ukitake x kyoraku if you squint, bittersweet ending

wc ⇢ 2.5k

part one | part two | part three

The afternoon sun bathed the grounds of the First Division in a warm glow as you exited the meeting hall alongside Ukitake and Kyōraku. A light breeze carried the sweet scent of plum blossoms as the three of you meandered down the path together, no particular destination in mind.

"What a snoozefest," Kyōraku sighed dramatically, fanning himself. "I could barely stay awake through those dreadful inventory reports."

You chuckled at his antics. "As if you don't catch up on your napping during every dull meeting, you old lush."

"A fair accusation," he admitted with a roguish grin. "Though these days I do try to maintain some semblance of decorum befitting my elder statesman status."

Ukitake scoffed lightly at that. "Since when have propriety and discretion meant anything to you, Kyoraku?"

"Why Ukitake!" Kyōraku gasped in mock offense. "I'll have you know I am the very picture of distinguished refinement nowadays."

You couldn't stifle your bright peal of laughter, earning a wolfish wink from the older captain. Even Ukitake chuckled richly, unconsciously drifting a bit closer as you walked.

"If by 'distinguished refinement' you mean 'unrepentant laziness and wanton behavior,' then I wholeheartedly agree."

The familiar banter flowed easily as you strolled alongside the two captains, occasionally brushing arms in a way that sent little frissons dancing across your skin. The casual camaraderie was comfortingly familiar after centuries of closeness.

Yet you were exquisitely attuned to the undercurrents simmering just beneath - how Ukitake's gaze would linger heatedly whenever you met his vivid jade stare, or how Kyōraku's eyes seemed to smolder over any exposed sliver of skin as you moved.

The atmosphere thrummed with restrained tension, like the slightest misstep or lingering pause could upend everything into scorching intimacy once more. Still, you felt an odd tranquility simply basking in their presence, understanding you three teetered on the precipice of profound intimacies.

For the first time, you didn't ignore that inexorable yearning. When Ukitake's knuckles brushed yours, you didn't flinch away from the shiver it sparked. And when Kyōraku's voice took on that low, suggestive rasp, you held his stare boldly rather than deflecting.

The heated undercurrents soon shed any pretense at casual innocence. Until finally, Ukitake cleared his throat meaningfully, halting in the secluded garden as his voice took on a lower timbre.

"I don't think we're feeling inclined towards polite conversation this evening, are we?" He let the weighted words linger, gaze flicking between you and Kyōraku laden with suggestion.

Kyōraku absorbed the intimation, expression sobering briefly before that wolfish grin curved his lips. He shifted nearer to you. "No...I don't suppose we are."

The heated tension was palpable as the three of you made your way to your quarters, the closest destination. A charged silence blanketed your footsteps, the anticipation thick enough to taste on the back of your tongue.

No sooner had the door slid shut behind you than Ukitake was pressed flush against your back, calloused palms skimming over the curve of your hips as he pinned you deliciously between his solid frame and Kyōraku's prowling advance. The older captain stalked forward until you were caged between them, russet eyes blazing with undisguised hunger as he cupped your jaw to angle your mouth up for a searing, openmouthed kiss.

You melted into the ferocious clash of lips and questing tongues, a low keen spilling free when Ukitake's teeth grazed the sensitive juncture of your neck and shoulder. His large hands drifted higher to knead at the swell of your breasts in firm squeezes through the layers of fabric in tandem with each slick glide of Kyōraku's mouth claiming you.

The two captains moved in an intoxicating synchronicity rutting you between their scorching hardnesses. Dexterous fingers made short work of your uniform in a flurry of shuddery exhales and rustling fabric until you were bared before their ravenous gazes. Dusky nipples pebbled in the cooler air, only to be instantly soothed by the twin brands of Kyōraku's palm cradling one tingling curve as Ukitake's mouth blazed a molten path over the other with merciless suction.

You cried out inarticulately at the intense duality of sensation, hips bucking shamelessly to grind back against the rigid line of Ukitake's impressive cock confined in his hakama. Kyōraku rumbled out a sound of approval deep in his chest, withdrawing just enough to latch hungrily onto the exposed column of your throat as you arched into his attentions with a keening whimper of need.

Finally, their heated onslaught culminated with you being lowered onto the rumpled bedding in an elegant tangle of limbs and scorching caresses. Searing kisses and urgent explorations stretched in an endless, simmering feedback loop of rapture cresting higher with each ragged inhale. Until all that existed in the universe was the exquisite coalescence of your existences transcending into sublime singularity in that suspended infinity.

In the aftermath, you luxuriated amidst the ruin of tumbled bedding and disheveled bodies strewn about in sacred indolence. A fine sheen of perspiration still gilded your heated flesh, thrumming with echoes of transcendence only just surrendered.

Kyōraku let out a bone-deep groan of repletion, idly tracing patterns into the sweeping curve of your ribcage where you were nestled between his larger frame and Ukitake's slighter form curled in studious appreciation against you. The pale-haired captain simply hummed out a soft, contented noise, pressing a deliberate graze of velvet lips against the crown of your head as his callused palm wandered lower to settle possessively over your abdomen.

All around you, the air hung thick and muggy with the lingering scent of sex - ribbons of intermingled spiritual pressure and heady arousal still clinging in the atmosphere's ionic charge. Yet beneath that smoldering corona of sensuality was an unmistakable resonance of something far more profound.

As if you three existed within the eye of a maelstrom, briefly suspended in rapturous singularity where time itself hung in delicious abeyance. Allowed to simply exist within the radiant coalescence of fates rendered molten and quintessentially intertwined into a seamless, eternal orbit.

It was a transcendent resonance beyond the mortal tethers which had bound your existences for so long - the culmination of celestial forces finally acknowledging and embracing their inescapable gravities towards sublime synthesis. An irrevocable truth temporarily made visceral and tangible through that suspended infinity of soulful coalescence.

For a time untold, you simply basked in the sacrosanct quiet in one another's vital presences. Content to let the echoes of eternity reverberate through your mingled existences as all that was and ever would be blurred into an ouroboros of rapturous surrender and inevitable gravities finally consummated.

Until at last, Kyōraku's rich timbre rumbled out in a rasping murmur that somehow managed to resonate straight into the very fabric of your essence.

"Well now, I don't know about the two of you...but I do believe this old soul feels decidedly reborn in the most profoundly invigorating of ways."

You felt more than heard Ukitake's answering hum of wordless agreement vibrating against the sensitive sweep of your jugular. But it was his questing hand drifting higher to entwine possessively with Kyōraku's larger palm against the flat of your abdomen that seemed to speak entire volumes of unspoken affirmations and promises.

For several weightless breaths, the intimately tangled sprawl of you simply existed within the sacred accord of raptures earned and celestial gravities eternally acknowledged. Until finally, the last lingering resonance shivered and settled - like a rippling cosmic crescendo answering the universe's ultimate anthem before lapsing back into the stillness of inevitability fulfilled.

In the aftermath of such incomprehensible transcendence, there could only be the sweetest of surrenders to that infinite, unbreakable trine reaffirmed and accepted in its ultimate, sublime resonance. So you simply shifted deeper into their encompassing embrace, pressing reverent kisses to the salty hollow between collarbones as your fingers intertwined with those of your oldest companions in existential reclamation.

"Then it seems we were all reborn anew this evening..." you rasped out with aching sincerity. "Unto this inevitable truth at last."

You lounged back against the ornately carved headboard, sheets pooled around your waist as the afterglow still tingled deliciously across your bare skin. Ukitake mirrored your pose, the scorching heat of his body radiating where your shoulders brushed.

Kyōraku remained sprawled nearby, head pillowed on your hip as he watched you both with a lazy, satiated smile. "Now there's a vision I could get utterly spoiled admiring forever," he rumbled in that deep, gravelly timbre.

You shivered at the pure sin lacing his tone, arousal flickering low in your belly. Before you could respond, Ukitake's mouth was blazing a path along the sensitive column of your throat in unhurried kisses and teasing nips.

"Somehow I doubt that's the only indulgence you have in mind, you old lech," he murmured against the thundering pulse beneath your jaw, voice dropping into that gravelly register that never failed to rekindle smoldering embers low in your belly.

Kyōraku let out an appreciative groan as he watched Ukitake's mouth meander over your skin with clear relish. "No need to be coy, Ukitake. We're all friends here who've shared rather...intimate company enough times to know each other's preferences."

You squirmed helplessly under the onslaught, breath hitching on a needy whine as Ukitake's wicked tongue swirled around one of your nipples. His only response was a low, heated chuckle vibrating against your tingling flesh.

His gaze was naked hunger as it tracked the path of Ukitake's lips, Higher and higher until he claimed your mouth in a scorching, openmouthed kiss that punched the air from your lungs with its intensity. You arched shamelessly into the velvet heat of his questing tongue, fingers burying into his disheveled hair to angle him even closer as you both rumbled out matching sounds of rapture.

Kyōraku's groan was nearly pained as he drank in the lewd image, hastily palming himself through the rumpled blanket in an unconscious bid for friction. Still, there was an unmistakable sweetness tingeing his molten regard that transcended mere lust. An affectionate bittersweetness, as if he recognized a profundly intimate resonance between you and Ukitake that his own bond could never wholly replicate - no matter how sublime.

When you finally resurfaced gasping from Ukitake's searing kiss, cheeks stained with arousal, it was to find Kyōraku already extracting himself from the decadent sprawl with reluctant grace. You blinked at him with bemused confusion, but he simply shook his head with a tender smile curving those wicked lips.

For all the heat and naked desire that simmered in the thick atmosphere blanketing you three...there was a profound depth of intimacy between you and Ukitake that stood on another celestial plane entirely. One he couldn't hope to encroach upon no matter his eternal brotherhood.

Kyōraku seemed to reach that very conclusion in the same suspended beat. Because he was already loosely tying his robes back on, pressing a kiss to the sensitive juncture of your neck and shoulder.

"I'll leave the two of you to indulge in your well-earned intimacies undisturbed for now," he murmured roughly, chasing away any confusion with a roguish wink and flash of that dimpled smile you'd grown to cherish over eternities. "Though don't think for a second this means I'll be sated forever, my dears."

You wanted to protest his gentle departure, to insist he stay and join you both in chasing the next molten crest of euphoria. But Kyōraku was already leaning down to claim your lips in one final lingering, soul-scorching kiss that seemed to sear entire profundities directly into that breathless communion.

His tongue delved deep to taste and brand before withdrawing with clear reluctance, leaving you dazed and clinging. Chasing the remnants of his unmistakable farewell until understanding finally blossomed alongside the sweet ache of bittersweet yearning blooming in the wake of his departure.

Then Kyōraku was simply...gone, whisking himself out the door and into the night-cloaked halls with footfalls lighter than accustomed for such an old scoundrel. Leaving you and Ukitake to bask in the profoundly intimate wake, bodies still tangled and trembling from the echoes of transcendent intimacy.

It was the pale-haired captain who finally broke the weighted hush that had descended in Kyōraku's wake. One calloused palm cupped the line of your jaw with infinite tenderness as he guided your joined gazes into soulsearing alignment—emerald fires blazing with eternal truths laid molten-bare between your mingled existences.

"He sees far more than we often give credit for, doesn't he?" Ukitake rasped, the low timbre of sincerity reverberating straight through to your depths. "For him to recognize that what exists between us..."

He trailed off meaningfully, allowing the heated intimation to linger in the suspended stillness as his calloused thumb traced your swollen lower lip with infinite tenderness.

You could only nod wordlessly at first, captivated by the intensity burning behind his stare. For Kyōraku had willingly surrendered these most sacred, sublime moments in recognition of the infinite gravities anchoring your soul ever tighter around Ukitake's in that breathless infinity.

His mouth claimed yours again in a searing brand of transcendent belonging - bodies melting back into the sort of sublime soulbond that seemed to resonate straight through the bedrock of creation itself. Until the entire universe had winnowed down into the exquisite singularity of your joined devotions.

You clung to Ukitake with everything you had, desperate to lose yourself fully in the endless eddies and euphoric tides of his kiss. Of surrendering completely to the infinite gravities pulling your existences into tighter and tighter resonance until separateness became an outmoded concept.

His hands roamed your curves with possessive reverence, kindling an answering inferno in your blood until you were both trembling on the precipice of rapturous oblivion once more. Then with one achingly precise rock of his hips, Ukitake sheathed himself inside you in a blazing arc of sublime coalescence.

You cried out at the exquisite brand, back bowing as he stilled for a beat - letting the tremors of your joined apotheosis blaze outwards into the universe in scorching ripples. Each particle of your beings seemed to snap into molten alignment, soulfire and stardust combusting in tandem as Ukitake began to move with purposeful leisure.

There were no words in that timeless eternity, just the shared truth of your bond consecrated between your tangled forms. The world outside ceased to exist as Ukitake moved with devoted reverence, pushing you both ever higher towards rapturous completion.

Until finally, blissful euphoria crashed over you in a blinding supernova, shattering you apart as you surrendered to that consecrated oneness. You drifted adrift in the stillness afterward, unwilling to fully emerge from the singularity you'd distilled into.

But inevitably, the temporal world began to reassert its inescapable pull. You stirred apart with profound reluctance as the tremors slowly subsided into embers. Until you found yourself cradled in Ukitake's lap, your tangled bodies the sole remainders of the infinite plane you'd briefly transcended into.

No words were exchanged in that suspended moment, only the wordless resonance of the elemental truth forged between your souls. You simply traced the contours of his beloved face, allowing the profound intimacies to linger in smoldering silence - a bittersweetness settling in the spaces where your essences slowly unwound until the next eternity beckoned you into sacred consonance once more.

#bleach #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach smut #bleach x reader smut #ukitake x reader smut #ukitake smut #ukitake x reader #bleach ukitake #jushiro ukitake #kyoraku smut #kyoraku x reader #bleach kyoraku #kyoraku shunsui x reader #shunsui kyoraku #kyoraku x reader smut

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fatguarddog · 4 months ago

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I keep coming back to your demon lord post and every time it makes my stomach tingle as I wonder what would hapoen next 🥴

The one where it's like "you're the heir of a kingdom but you're given to a demon as a surrender" ? Or something along those lines

I mean after he's amused himself by making you instantly pile on the pounds of the feast he's conjured for you, I believe the demon had a bath prepared for the both of you Water so hot it seems scalding, it is a demonic bath after all, but it doesn't seem to harm you as your ample form settles in. The demon lord settling in beside you, his large form sliding effortlessly into the huge tub. He waves his attendants away so he can have you all to himself, refusing to let you wash yourself because he wants to touch you. Running his hands all over you and enjoying your newly chubby body as you melt into the heat of the whole situation

Perhaps he conjures some fruit for you to snack on as he massages you, can't have you going hungry after all~ Once he's satisfied that you're squeaky clean, he helps you out of the bath and towels you off before lotioning your lush curves and purring in your ear about how delicious you look, and just how much more gorgeous you're going to become as he fattens you up further with a life of decadent obedience. When you're all soft and supple and dazed from such an intense introduction to your new normal, he drapes you in a silk robe and effortlessly takes you into his arms to go to his chambers

It's going to be a long night

#anon #hutch answers #weight gain #stuffing #demons #wg kink #wg fiction #wg story

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wallflowerglitter · 6 months ago

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Shoot for the stars

#lush cosmetics #I know the Uk one had regular stars and the us one had bath melt stars #can’t remember which this one was #shoot for the stars #bath #bathtub #bath bomb #lush #blue #lush shoot for the stars #it’s toffee caramel scented

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alornights · 2 years ago

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⟢ sleepovers and treatments

➜ in which ! kyle enters the world of lush and beauty.

💌 ﹫kyle broflovski.

✩ 🎸 warnings﹗none.

🍓 ⟡ notes — i need to get my lush life together tbh

kyle never was that interested in skincare or beauty if we're being real here, seriously guys, be honest.

of course he takes care of his hair but, very minimal.

so when he starts dating you and is invited for a sleepover at yours, he's beyond shocked at what he witnessed in your bathroom.

"Why do you have so much stuff." He murmured in disbelief, jaw dropped at the sight of your bathroom.

You laughed pulling out two face masks. "It makes me feel good, I feel accomplished and it makes me feel pretty."

He rolled his eyes, "I don't think you need all that though."

"Probably," You joked pushing him so he was sitting on the toilet, walking between his legs to start putting on his face mask, "But it's fun, it's cool, and it's trendy. And you feel like you aged down 50 years so I say that's a win."

"Oh really?" He questioned, his arms dragging you closer to him by your waist, giving you a kiss on your collarbone. "We'll see about that."

and see he did.

usually he would just, not do this. like he would just refuse.

but something about the way you just lit up whenever he let you do something had his heart melting.

so he let you put all kinds of products on his face, and tbh, took note of what might work, for research purposes ofc.

you even managed to get him to realize how bad his hair is and how he needs to bring it to its glory. lord knows how much he needed your advice on that one.

one of the main reasons he let you do this though, was because of how close you would get to him.

he loves you. which means he loves being around.

so the fact that you're so up and close to him most of the time sends butterflies to his stomach and almost gets him to giggle.

if you're standing while he sits, he'll let his hands rest at your hips to circle them or draw/write things into your skin.

extra points; he kisses any skin he sees to make you flustered.

extra extra points; you sitting in his lap so whenever he wants hell just start kissing your neck, whispering sweet nothings.

this whole ordeal lasts fucking hours. let's say you start at like 7, this shit will take up until 11 or 12.

why? either you two get distracted talking about gossip or kyle is being dramatic and refuses to do something.

"Do I have to?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow, watching you take out your nail equipment.

"Yeah, your nails are horrendous to look at. You have some hot hands, they can be even hotter with good nails." You explained with a smirk, "And it's not like I'm going to color them unless you want me to."

"... What colors do you have?"

ended up not doing any color nail polish sadly, one day you'll get him though. don't worry, time is unlimited.

"All this... for a bath." He uttered turning to you in shock seeing what you had laid out for him.

He tilted his head as he watched the bath continue to steam up. Looking to the end of the bath he realized there was a stool with a few things on it.

For one, his favorite drink was in a wine bottle. Ice and mini umbrella included. Then there was a radio with old classic hits playing, some grapes, a lit vanilla candle, and a bunch of different varieties of bath bombs.

All this, for a bath.

You simply smiled, "Welcome to the lavish life."

he will be doing this at home any chance he gets.

or he'll just go over to your place. either which works.

you tried for funsies to try and do his makeup and he simply refused knowing it would somehow get passed around.

but, he wanted to do your hair to see if he was any good (totally not bc he wanted to do it for you every day in case you didn't want to). and how could you deny your boyfriend?

you started off with braids and he was surprisingly good at it for his first time. a few mistakes but overall pretty good.

this is just a silly lil thing but i imagine the two of you listening to barbie, specifically can you keep a secret while doing your routine.

NO ACTUALLY I LIED, IT WOULD BE FABULOUS, SHARPAY EVANS. JUST IMAGINE DANCING TO THAT SONG IN FRONT OF MIRROR OH LORD. KYLE GOING ALL SASSY-

by the end of the night, he feels like a new man.

he's never, and in his words, "felt so clean"

"So...." Kyle murmured climbing onto the bed to lay his head on your chest.

You smiled immediately letting your hands play with his curls, "Hmm?"

".... When are we doing this again?"

#south park x reader #kyle broflovski x reader

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rindouspuppygirl · 10 months ago

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gn!reader x ran : recovering from trauma + dealing with mental illness (hurt/comfort)

was feeling down, so i wrote ran haitani comforting gender neutal mentally ill reader!

TW: mental illness, implied suicidal ideation, mentions of abuse, mentions of therapy, reader masking, gender neutral

ran can tell somethings wrong, when you get home. he always notices. youre the type to mask your feelings, hide the frustration and sadness coiling in your chest... but youve been dating long enough, you cant fool him anymore the cheerful "hello" and tight hug from you dont convince ran. even your little peck to his cheek as you grin and ask about his day... your eyes seem empty. he can see how close to breaking you are

ran knows you try not to do this. its a longterm habit from dealing with toxic and abusive relationships - you cant break it overnight. still, it hurts... less because its a lie, and more because ran knows even you dont realize how much youre hurting.

but he can tell you need to decompress, so he doesnt push... not yet. offers to cook one of the few meals he can make without your help (hes trying to be independent, but hes a lazy spoiled brat) and you accept ... but the sparkle in your eyes is dull

ran does what he can. runs you a bath before he starts dinner, picks out your favorite towel and comfiest pjs. he lights that candle you love but never use, and drops in one of his prized lush bath bombs while hes at it. puts on a relaxing spotify playlist... at this point, youve caught on. still... the hard shell youve donned starts to melt, even as ran leaves to cook ran isnt as surprised as he should be when you glom onto him from behind while hes cooking, freshly bathed and smelling like rose. hes thankful the sauce just needs to simmer.

he also isnt surprised when theres a wetness on his back he knows is tears, not bathwater. he hums softly, turning off the stove burner before picking you up and carrying you into your shared bedroom

ran gently runs his long fingers through your damp hair, murmuring reassurances and praise as you sob incoherently about your stressors. you are so strong. you want to do the best by everyone. its alright if you make mistakes...

clinging tightly to him, warm and safe... it feels like the anchor you could only dream of for so long. youre in therapy, and you do everything you can. but you need support, and ran does everything he can to help

your life is so much better, but maybe that is scary, too. you dreamed so little, didnt believe youd get far. and ran and your friends believing in you is terrifying. you sometimes feel undeserving.

but here, buried in ran's warm embrace... the smell of his home cooking, his cologne and signature smell, the bath bomb he shared with you...

your breathing begins to calm, albeit your chest aches. you smile up at ran with teary eyes. he smiles back.

it will be okay, after all... it really will.

#ran haitani #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev x reader #ran haitani x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyorev #zoey originals #long post #fics #?#ran #gender neutral reader #gender neutral

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honeycollectswhump · 10 months ago

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PLEASE aftermath of the shock collar piece?👉👈 back to normal? back to ashtray being loved and lovingly used for his normal standard purpose? so he knows he in fact didn't do anything wrong? and he's a good boy? MAYBE... MAYBE EVEN... merciful mistress mireille checking on him to make sure he's gonna be alright?🥺 because maybe she's worried she went a bit too far with all the shocks?🥺

-🪷

Citrine Kisses

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, cigarette burns, past torture (referenced)

When her servants carry in the ashtray the next day, no amount of makeup they have desperately seemed to apply can hide his condition. As Mireille lounges on her velvet couch, worth someone’s fortune, she can’t help but notice his sickly sweet, pale tone and the occasional twitch he tries and fails to hide. It’s unbecoming of such a luxurious good as him, laughable for the price she paid for him to be pretty.

It almost makes her want to ring her stupid servants back and have someone, anyone, answer for ruining her scene with a pathetic excuse for a golden ashtray. And yet…

And yet she doesn’t.

Despite it all, he still looks beautiful, doesn’t he? There is beauty to be found in his alabaster skin, no matter if it was caused by the thick collar around his pretty thin neck, which has still left imprints like two pricks of a vampire. The thought makes her laugh, elegantly like chiming bells, like candlelight and a passionate kiss. No, Mireille wouldn’t mind being a vampire.

Twirling a lush black lock around her finger, a cigarette between her lips, she leans forward, taking in the sight of her ashtray. If he were a diamond, she’d hold him in her hand against the light, letting rays of sun play with the rainbow. What happened yesterday, it too was like seeing a rainbow illuminate her walls, each gasping scream echoing in her mind like a marvellous symphony.

Under her gaze, the ashtray goes still like a marble statue. He never raises his eyes, just like it should be. Silently worshipping but never being brash enough to gaze upon her.

Mireille bathes in the knowledge that the ashtray’s biggest fear must be displeasing her. That is all he was made for after all. Maybe… maybe that is why he now holds himself differently, but it’s not like she could expect a simple thing like him to understand the aesthetic intention behind the shock collar, the joy and entertainment so unlike a punishment. Of course, the ashtray is too simple to get that.

It almost makes her feel bad, if only for the unappreciated amusement getting drowned out by his pleading devotion. He had been good yesterday, had been less an ashtray and more a diamond yet to be polished. She is merciful, Mireille thinks with a slight smile, and his pretty screams have earned him a reward.

Gracefully, she takes her cigarette from her lips, gazing at it for a moment, before delicately placing a hand on his shining golden locks. Immediately, the ashtray leans into her touch, imperceptively stretching himself to press himself into her palm.

He was made mindless but a simple drawled “Ashtray” is enough to get his attention fully on her. Melting under her gracious touch, her thing turns towards her, lowered and on his knees. Mireille pets his head a couple of times, like she has seen with her friend’s lapdog. She much prefers love as an act of passion, of art and burning.

The ashtray shivers under her touch, as she lets her long fingers glide down his jaw and tilt his head up to meet her eyes. “You love that, huh?”, she chuckles, and that alone seems to give him to strength to hold himself straighter.

“You’ve been a good boy, a very good boy. Your screams have been delightful, you’ve done so well.”

A hazy smile appears on his lips as if drugged, and for a moment she considers the fun in that. Instead, though, she holds out her hand, beckoning him to lay his hand in hers. Of course, the ashtray complies, it is all he knows, eager to please like a dog or something less.

Holding eye contact makes her ashtray flush sweetly, and he shivers again. This, she thinks, is also art.

“You are my favourite toy, I want you to never forget that.” Mireille purrs, lightly holding his hand like a prince would a princess’, his fingers curled around hers. “A reward would only be fitting, don’t you think? Something to commemorate this?”

She turns the cigarette between her fingers until it feels right, before placing the glowing end of it on the ashtray's pale skin, pressing down until the citrine gets swallowed up by ash.

Never once does he flinch, steadily looking at her. A practice of worship, the greatest price of them all.

Soon, when her servants wash away the dirty ash, a bright red spot will remain, burning through skin and tissue, a kiss his body will never be able to heal. And her ashtray, her stupid little ashtray, will look at it in doglike adoration, his most precious possessions are the scars she allows him, and he will be thankful.

Sometimes Mireille wonders if the ashtray pities her servants for their lack of burning, wonders if her little lamb prides itself in the red scarf wrapped around its neck, telling a story of how the butcher will one day cut its throat.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox, @whumpshaped, @clickerflight let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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pursuitseternal · 1 year ago

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“Tempting:” nsfw update to “Our Blood is Thicker:” ETL Astarion x Tav (OC)

Astarion x Fem OC | E | 5.2 K Astarbation and longing

Summary: Bloody from their battle, Cordehlia tales her party across the river, to wash away their scent and to wash away the stains of her violence. And while she wishes to bathe, Astarion has other ideas. Other, more tempting, ideas.

CW: Astarbation, romantic voyeurism, caught with his hand down his pants literally, lost memories recovered, shared night watch with feelings, trauma dumping (mutual), hurt comfort, ear stroking, How To Pet Your Angsty Vampire ™️

Previous Chapter | AO 3 | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 3: Tempting…

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“Who knew you were so bloodthirsty?” Astarion purred as the party paused to catch their breath and clean their weapons.

There was no more threat. And it felt good for him to be free, to be spattered from the fruits of his labor. Well her labor too. He looked at her glorious form. Her pale skin was blood spattered and sticky. Her chest heaved under that light armor, but she knelt by the monster hunter’s body, praying for his speedy passage from this life. However misguided it may have been.

Cordehlia gazed at her hands, red and tacky as she tried to wipe them in the dead grass. “It isn’t a thirst for blood. When you’ve battled as many armies as I have… when you have made it to victory by the sheer force of your will, you learn to try to find some sort of…”

“Pleasure?” Astarion guessed.

“Healing?” Gale offered at the same time.

The she-elf’s lips quirked at their replies. “Both I suppose.” She avoided the wizard’s eyes. He looked so… concerned, worried.

“I’m sure your battle-wisdom saw the Gur’s death as the only solution,” Gale whispered, bending down to crouch near her, wiping his own bloodied hands on the grass, even if he had seen little blood against the Gur. “I worry though, if your… attachment to the vampire can influence your choices.”

She gave a smirk. “Of course he’s an influence,” she chided, a bit defiantly. “But as are you all. I haven’t stained my hands for centuries with the blood of Orcs, Humans, Sorcerers, and Aliens to ignore the lesson of never abandoning one of your own. And besides, Astarion is not a monster…” she spat the last words. As if the allegation were aimed at her… perhaps it was. Perhaps her pride bore the wounds from long ago, from giving so much to someone who… she shuddered to think of it more.

“It is reassuring to hear of such fierce loyalty,” Gale grinned. “I’d like to think you would do that same for me… for all of us.”

“Of course,” she nodded, a hint of gravity to her tone. “Now, perhaps we get away from the stink of bloodshed and make camp, I’m sure I’m not the only one starving and needing to bathe.”

“There is a narrow river nearby,” Shadowheart joined in. “Good for both washing and losing the stink of blood.”

“Good work,” Cordehlia smiled. “Lead the way then.”

The cleric smiled, heading deeper into the trees.

They moved quickly, pausing only once they heard the soft rushing of water. It was easy to cross, shallow and narrow and clear in the faint sun. But Cordehlia couldn’t help but notice Astarion’s hesitation before planting his feet in the running water.

Hesitation that melted to joy the instant he stepped in. He was… elated. Giddy. Speeding in his stride to join at Cordehlia’s side.

“You seem happy,” she smiled.

“Another gift of the parasite, it would seem,” he crowed. “It doesn't burn like hellfire. I haven’t stepped into a river since… well,” he looked at her from the corner of his crimson eyes, flashing his fangs down at her. “You know.”

“More than you probably do,” she gave him a sad smile. “You loved the water.”

He fell silent, nothing but the sounds of the water’s gurgle and the splashes they made trudging to the opposite bank. The forest was dense, thick, leafy bushes, wide-trunked oaks, so lush and fertile and green.

It made Cordehlia long for home.

It made the longing in her heart for her past all that more painful.

Numbness crept around her, making her skin itch with her victim’s blood. Making her soul crawl with shame at … the monster she had become. Her cheeks burned, every word the wizard had whispered at her… he knew. He saw it in her soul, and Astarion only drew that creature out to play all the more.

The reflection of the same temperamental, vicious, thirsty beast that clawed beneath her skin. For the good of her kind, she had fought. For protection, freedom, for a land of their own again where they could dwell in the light and dance beneath the stars.

It had been… selfless, she had thought, becoming a fighter, a commander, skilled with the blade and graced with the wisdom of her years.

But as she watched Astarion lingering with his boots in the rushing waters of the river, a wide smile on his face as he watched the foaming bubbles swirl at his feet… her heart tore in her chest. Aching.

Being a vampire didn’t make him a monster.

Not any more than being blinded by rash judgments made her.

He hadn't chosen his fate. But she… she did. To escape the pain and grief and loss.

And as she looked at her blood spattered hands, her stomach soured. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Astarion?” She snipped at him.

His giddiness irritated her. Infuriated her. And he rounded with that coy, insufferable smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he purred back loudly, “what, too many clothes on for a romp in the river for you? I’d be happy to shed a few layers if you wish to join me…”

He plodded up the bank, stopping short. He threw of that heavy doublet, letting it land gods knew where.

Hells, his shirt was soaked. Sweat or river water, it didn’t matter. It was sheer, clinging to the rises of his chest, every definition of his hard stomach….

But she was not in the mood. “Go be helpful, you rake. I need to bathe,” she snapped, pointing in the direction of the others, where the sounds of chatter and clattered chests and unpacking echoed.

“Alone?” he crooned, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Yes,” she bit, roughly unclasping the buckles of her armor from her chest to toss away as well. “Gods, yes alone.”

“If that is what you wish,” he purred, eyes sweeping over her own bloodstained chemise. That crimson gaze paused where she felt it stickiest, where it hugged her hips and clung to her breasts. “But since we are alone, it seems… Perhaps you might allow me a bite?”

“What?”

“Just a little, it was so taxing, that fight. You know he wanted me dead… it is a miracle I’m still standing, you know….” Oh how his voice dripped with the honey of manipulation. That sweet edge of guilt softening his ask. “A little of your blood goes a long way for me, you know. And as a spawn,” his teeth flashed, that leering smirk that made her hot in places she wished it wouldn’t, “I’m always, always hungry.”

She hissed a breath, exasperated. “Be quick,” she shushed.

He was quick. Quick to hold her to him with a single arm around her back, hand pressing just above the rise of her ass. The other cradled her chin, turning her perfectly, so softly with a caress of his fingers before he sliced those razored fangs into her neck.

She shook, breath catching and not in just pain. It was still so wonderful, her body stretched and pressed against his. Missing the way it had always felt against her flesh. Hard where she was soft. Tall where she was shorter. Lithe where she was sturdy.

And before she had wished for its ending, he pulled away, licking his lips of her blood. “Just as delicious. I doubt I will ever tire of tasting you, my darling Cordehlia.”

“Leave,” she hissed, wiping her hand over the red wetness that trickled down her neck. “Please,” she added as a single tweak of hurt twisted his brow. As if he really had meant what he said. As if she spurned something that was true. “I feel disgusting. The sooner I wash, the sooner I’ll feel more inclined to a… delightful disposition, I’m sure.”

“You look far from disgusting,” he smiled softly, his eyes losing that lurid sharpness. “Blood spattered… heart racing with the thrill of the hunt… a hint of excitement to have me near, I would even guess. It made you taste all the more wonderful.”

“Please leave…” she sighed. Tired. Her hands fumbling with the rest of the pieces of her armor.

“As you wish, my darling,” he nodded, the tones of a perfect gentleman in his voice, as he turned to head up the bank. Pausing only to grab his coat from the ground before heading into the thick forest.

But there was more than mere reluctance that seemed to compel him to stay.

It was her.

And now, with her blood in his belly, coursing with its fire and flavor and passion in his veins. He throbbed.

In a way he didn’t remember experiencing.

He stopped behind the foliage. Frozen by the sounds of splashing in the river.

And that throbbing grew worse. Lower… prominent. Hard.

Just like last night. The only other time he felt this. That blessing of consuming living blood for once. Her blood rushing right through his muscles, hardening his cock with need. He had been determined to ignore it last night in the dark, his belly too hungry for thoughts of sex or self pleasure. Only thoughts for more blood to fill him.

But now, he wasn’t so distracted. Not from the sweet splashing of water as she swam so close.

Those sounds were… tempting. She was tempting.

For once, he wasn’t hard because he had to be. Wasn’t compelled to seduce or flirt for any reason other than he wanted something.

Someone.

He stopped, crouching into the greenery, slipping soundlessless to the edge of the water. It was so easy. So tempting.

Why not indulge… why not let himself find pleasure for once for himself. Not for his master.

The river was so close, the ripples lapping the shore even at this distance from their source.

From where she rose from its surface. Her skin so pale, hair darkened and wet. One knee into the earth, he crouched with all his stealth and felt his cock pulsing. As if her blood was calling back to its mistress.

By the hells… he had never wanted anything more.

It would be so easy still, just a few laces holding him in where he was so well concealed.

Fuck it, he decided. Fuck it, if he couldn’t fuck her.

And she was so enticing. And frustrating. So stubborn and soft and defensive of him and accusatory of him. All of it. It made his teeth set on edge, made his muscles long to push her against the nearest tree again. To put a blade to her throat or sheath his cock between her legs, he didn’t know which drive was stronger.

But it didn’t matter right now. He could finally do something for himself.

And what was the harm… he would bring her under his charms soon enough. It was what he did best.

Gods… he twitched the second his fingers gripped around his own cock. A spasm of pleasure rippling right to his groin. It would take long, he chuckled to himself as he slowly stroked up and down. Palming the seeping seed from its head, he spread it around a bit. This would be rough, but he couldn’t remember the last time he sought his own pleasure.

This was long overdue.

That’s it… he groaned, watching her slowly rise from the river, watching the water droplets trickling over her pert breasts, running like a stream between them as she stood. He grit his teeth and beat faster. Jealous of the water.

She rinsed her hair, fluffing it to catch in the beams of sun. If she wasn’t a nymph… a goddess of the waters herself the way she moved just as fluidly, as elegantly. He closed his eyes, pressing that image into his mind forever.

Her creamy skin and fiery hair… the thrill of having watched her for so long… of finally seeing more of what laid beneath the cursed swatches of fabrics and yards of gowns that clung to her curves. She was so close, he could hear her breathe… if he strained his hearing. Hoping he was far enough away that the water splashes would hide the dry rubbing of his cock in his fist… He would promise a million lifetimes just to make her his. His for a million lifetimes…

He was close, that tug of climax digging at his groin as he watched her bathing.

Until he heard the sound of boots too close.

Astarion gasped, his cum spilling into the dirt, his cock pulsing and twitching as more seed dripped and shot before him. So good… so very good. He couldn’t remember when he last felt so… happy. Sated.

And then, he gasped again as the cool kiss of a blade caught along his jaw.

“What’s this… a rogue caught sneaking?” Cordehlia hummed in amusement, drawing around from behind where he crept in the undergrowth.

Astarion laughed, low, quiet and tired. “Don’t tell me you’re not flattered, darling…” He glanced to how his cock still stood proudly in front of him. Long and pale and achingly hard in his hand. “…tell me you’re not impressed.”

“Impressed to find my rogue caught literally with his hand down his pants?” She scoffed, “please.”

He looked her up and down as he began shoving it back inside the band of his breeches. That dirty tunic of hers was haphazard, hastily thrown on. And nothing else, he noted with a pang in his groin again. Her mouth may be turned down at the corners, but he watched her pulse in her neck race, observed how her eyes dilated as she looked him over as well. “My my, Cordehlia,” he purred, standing from the ground, arching a single brow, his voice twisting in mischief as well as his mouth. “You’ve seen this before haven’t you?”

She smiled. The minx smiled, casting her eyes away as she resheathed her blade. “A lady doesn’t speak of such things, Astarion.”

“Ah, but you are no lady…” his smirk flashed to show his teeth, “least ways not for me, isn’t that right?”

“You know,” she chimed, clearly changing the subject. “You’re not as creative as you might think.” She just kept smiling like a fool. Swallowing a laugh. Like this was terribly funny. “I suppose you don’t remember,” she giggled. “But this isn’t the first time you have been caught with your weapon out watching me down by a river….”

Those images… she had looked so young… and he… he felt the same. When he had heard the sound of boots in the grass behind him… “Something strangely similar, no coincidence if it happened twice,” he crooned. Her smile faded as she looked into his eyes. “But… wasn’t it your father that caught me last time? I see you’re just carrying on your family legacy.” He smirked as he stood to square his body, daring a step to close the distance between them. “Unless there was something else you were just too tempted not to see…”

He leaned in, creeping in on her, close enough to glance down the collar of that wet chemise. “So, my sweet, what happens next?” He murmured, tempted to wrap his arms around her, to pull her flush against him where she could feel how she still made him hard. And he wasn’t so sure if it was only because of her blood in his body.

“Next?” she hummed, crossing her arms over those pert breasts. “For us?”

“You read my mind…”

“Oh, that’s simple,” she crooned, arching back slightly to look right up into his face. Her lips pouted, her eyes batting those long lashes at his smirking, arrogant, conceited grin. “We go to camp and finish helping, and then you are taking first watch since you haven’t lifted a finger helping in the slightest.”

“B-but...” he sputtered, a whine in his voice as she turned and began to walk away. “I do need rest too,” he fairly whimpered.

“I understand,” she threw a grin over her shoulder, finally breaking back from the forest onto the path. “Which is why I will rest first and come relieve you tonight.”

That’s when she reached the rest of her discarded clothing and armor. Astarion held his breath, watching as she bent over to pick it up from the ground.

“Sweet hells,” he sighed. That hem of her shirt sliding up the backs of her thighs, barely covering the swell of her ass, teasing around what laid between her legs. He forced himself to look away. Not for her sake. For his. One second longer, and he was sure something would be staining the insides of his trousers with cum.

And all he could do was keep his eyes on the grass and listen to her soft giggle as they kept moving.

—————-

Night was quiet, even if the evening had been eventful. Another member of the party appeared out of nowhere. A human warlock come for one of her own, but with her charm and her persuasion and her insight, Cordelia managed to convince the newcomer, Wyll, not to return to his mistress with Karlach’s head in hand.

And now, the Blade of Frontiers had joined the company. One more mouth to feed, Gale had grumbled, lightheartedly, but still a little grieved.

Of course, Astarion had been quick to point out that he didn’t count, of course. A joke that sent everyone giggling nervously, no one more than Cordehlia who avoided the heated look he flashed at her through the mirth. But aside from that near little slip up, he had not made any mention of their agreement. Instead he made a big show of heading out to hunt before his turn at first watch.

By a little after nightfall, as the rest of the party began milling towards their beds, he returned. And not empty handed. With a smile, he handed a pair of rabbits to Gale, some whispered something of a joke that made the wizard laugh quietly.

An unfamiliar sight. An unusual exchange.

And then he sauntered over before where she sat on her bedroll by the fire. “You look so deliciously surprised. You know, I can do something thoughtful from time to time.”

“I knew that,” she taunted in reply. “I just didn’t know if you did.”

He giggled. High pitched and bubbly.

At once, the sound filled her heart with joy. And pain. “I’ll relieve you soon,” she cleared her throat, sliding her legs into the warmth of her bed. “Don’t get yourself… or us… into any trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He withdrew a single step before he paused again. “You know, you don’t have to sleep out here, if you do not wish it.”

She said nothing, turning her back towards him as she rolled onto her side.

“I have a perfectly good tent, comfortable, luxurious even in comparison, you would be more than welcome to occupy.”

Still nothing from her.

“After all, if we are sharing watches, it would only make sense to share more than just a duty. It’s not like I would be there with you while you slept...”

“Good night, Astarion,” she replied. Conversation ended.

He sighed. Continuing on his way back towards that aforementioned tent. And soon, Cordehlia fell into that less-than-restful sleep.

She woke to darkness, a night thick and starless. The fire still crackled, but it seemed faint. Weak.

Soft.

Stretching out her aching legs, her sore back, she slipped from her bed. Finding him at the edge of camp, perched comfortably on the pillows that he had set in the entryway of his tent. His mouth turned softly as she drew before him. A smile as she approached. “Cordehlia,” he whispered her name.

“You better rest,” came her terse reply.

“When there are so many other wonderfully tempting things to do in the dark, my sweet?” he purred, patting the cushion beside him. Beckoning her to sit.

Cordehlia bit her lip. Gods, after sleeping on the earth, if a pillow under her ass didn’t make her body cry and make her mouth water. Carefully, slowly, she sat. Giving enough space between them.

“Nice to see you do indulge yourself from time to time,” he whispered, sliding his body to view her. Simultaneously closing that distance between them just a bit. “I doubt I shall rest for an hour at least,” he drew closer as he spoke. His breath cold on her neck. “Any suggestions for how to pass the time?”

She twisted to face him.

Oh, mistake.

She thought herself ready for something like this, but… the way his hair shimmered in the distant firelight, the way those full lips of his parted and tweaked in the gentlest of smiles…. The way he was so very, very close.

She wasn’t at all stealed over in body, heart, or soul for such a feat as this. She closed her eyes, shutting them firmly as he gave her that soft, low giggle.

Not helping.

“Talk,” she cleared her throat, “ahem. We could talk. Or you could ask me questions of what was from … before.”

Her eyes opened to see him withdrawn. Those hard lines returning to his face, his shoulders stiff and squared as he gazed into the dark behind her.

“I suppose it would help you to know more… given that I’ve already had one monster hunter sent on my trail. I’m sure my old master will be relentless…” then he fixed the intensity of his eyes into hers.

Fear.

Loathing.

Panic.

“Cazador won't stop until he has me back.”

She froze. Careful not to fidget. And yet, he trembled. Eyes wide and voice pressed with rage.

“Of course he would send the Gur after me… that was why I… died. The case that would launch me into power and fame and rise to popularity. Banishing them from the city, making them keep their kind beyond all the walls of Baldur’s Gate, as far as my jurisdiction would allow. That night, I was attacked. Beaten. Left to die in the streets.”

It was Cordehlia that now shivered. The chill of death seemed to steal over her heart as she listened. It was… worse than she had ever imagined. The facts of his death, those she had found all those centuries ago. But this…

“That’s when… he found me. Cazador Szarr… he offered me eternal life, to keep me from bleeding out in the sewer of the street. Little did I know just how long eternity would be as his spawn.”

He fell silent. Chest heaving, throat choking as he tried to swallow. Then he began to shake.

“Shh, Astarion,” she instantly reached for him. As she had a thousand times in their lives.

But he hissed, flinching. “Don’t,” he panted. “Don’t touch me.” His voice little more than a hiss. “Not now… not right now…”

“It’s alright,” she poured her low, soothing voice over him instead. “I’m here,” that made him look up at last. “You’re here…”

His eyes were wide. Wet. Gods, what had they done to him.

“Shhh…” she cajoled again. “If you let me, there was always one thing I could do to help you when… you would feel like this.”

My love. Her heart wanted to add.

He still shook, but he managed a nod. “Gently,” he pleaded.

“There was never another way between us before, Astarion,” she whispered. Slowly she raised her hand, letting her fingers, lighter than air, trace their touch behind his ear. The soft pads of her fingers rubbed over that pointed edge of his ear, softly held between her thumb and finger.

Instantly he stilled. His shaking ceased. His shivers dissipated. Her touch was warm, calming and tender as she caressed his ear.

Slowly.

Lovingly.

His mouth hung open but no words came out. They just couldn’t.

“I can’t even recall how many times you would be worked into a frenzy… by your parents… by my parents… by your overwhelming need to be praised…” she continued quietly, her voice ringing with remembrance. Those soft memories that she had buried deep inside her, finally sliding out as she whispered them for his ears alone. “I tried it once, when you were…” she swallowed, the edge of pain now in her throat as he watched the same contorting her beauty, “when you were resting your head in my lap…”

His eyes flickered, that same sultry fire returning behind their crimson color.

Holding her breath, he did what she most feared… lowering those thick, unruly curls over her thighs.

That same weight pressed into her lap, that same comforting heaviness his body always gave her. Her hands continued to play around his ear, twirling and stroking into his hair.

The night breeze around them… the faint flicker of firelight… if it weren’t for the chill of undeath on his skin, the lack of pulse in his neck as he laid on her legs… she could close her eyes, savoring the balm of him. As if no time had passed. As if they both hadn’t bloodied their hands and dived into the darkness.

He rolled onto his back, eyes closed, breath steady. And her hands couldn’t help but to share the same soothing attentions to both sides of his devastatingly handsome face.

“I…” he started before swallowing. “We…” he tried again, almost pushing back against the way her hands caressed into his hair. But the spell was broken, having worked its charms. He sat up, those eyes narrowed again, peering at her with that pretense of rakish flirtation. “You’re full of surprises aren’t you?”

Her mouth twitched. As if she had a million flirtatious things to reply. But instead she just patted him on his cheek and smiled slightly. “You really should be getting some rest, our kind does still need some sort of …”

He caught her hand in his, his fingers gripping her firmly, keeping her body close to his. Crimson eyes scanned over her, heavy-lidded and lustful. “Resting at night is still such a novelty. Creatures of the dark aren’t used to… resting after sunset.”

Cordehlia smiled, carefully trying to slip from his grasp. But he held tight. She hummed, a nervous smile on her mouth. “Then indulge me and try it. I need you strong come dawn. Druids and Tieflings will abound, and I’ll need a rogue who is sharp in his mind and strong in body.”

His smirk widened, predatory and bright as she held her breath to see those fangs so close. “If you wanted me truly strong you would offer me more than just rest,” he rasped, gaze flickering where her pulse raged in her veins.

She swallowed, “More blood? What was earlier then?”

“Oh that? That was just a little treat… from my little treat,” he leaned closer, his breath so close she could feel it inhaling the skin of her neck.

“You are insufferable.”

His body went rigid, every muscle taught as he barely brushed against her arm, her shoulder. “Well, since I can’t be inside you, darling, the least we can do is for you to be inside me….”

Gods, her belly dropped to her knees, every nerve inside her catching fire and melting, pooling her desire to gather between her thighs.

“I don’t think I’m quite recovered from earlier,” she managed to reply. Only to feel a small, cool bottle shoved into the hand he still held. “What’s this?”

“You know your potions, She-elf,” he chuckled as she looking at the faintly glowing ruby liquid. “Nicked a potion of healing off the Gur’s body.” His brow arched, adding just that little darker edge of wickedness to his leer. “Can’t say I won’t take care of my treat…”

She opened it, instantly swallowing it down. Instantly feeling that hazy ache in her head clearing from his continued feeding.

Only to have him pull her flush against his chest, to have him place a gentle kiss on the bend in her neck before slicing into it with his fangs.

She groaned, subtle, letting her body arch against his, letting his hands cradle the back of her head, fingers knitted into her hair. Her eyes fluttered shut, her mind swept away by the feeling of his lips on her skin, the press of his body against her breasts, and then there was that new sensation. The dripping, pulsing of her blood as he swallowed her down, the way she could feel how her essence fed him. Strengthened him. Sated him. Pleased him.

She groaned again, this time she just couldn’t hold back the sound of how much she enjoyed this. It was… lewd. Pleasured. And instantly, he broke from her veins to smirk at her. Just for that moment, before he returned his mouth to her skin.

This time, he lapped at her with his tongue, tracing wet swirls with his spit through her blood.

She began going limp, but not from blood loss, he realized, from ecstacy. From pleasure. Her body couldn’t hide behind her barbs or anger or deflective questions.

She wanted this. She wanted him.

And gods, as her blood filled him, he felt alive, aroused by its strength, its potency. How it filled his aching stomach, soothing his hunger. How it hardened him in the groin again, making every little shiver and shift of her body as it brushed his lap all the more agonizing and tempting.

He gripped into her shoulders, pushing her away. Lest he take too much. Of her blood. Or her body.

And he didn’t want that.

“Thank you, Cordehlia,” he spoke, steady, even tones. “I enjoyed that immensely, and by the sounds of it… you did too.”

She said nothing, just gazing at him with those large, bright silver eyes. He could get lost in their brilliance. Warm and inviting. Like he had stared into them for a hundred years already. Maybe he had. “I… I think I will rest now,” he stood and began to draw inside the flaps of his tents, ignoring the way she trembled as he left. Ignoring the way his breeches were far too tight with how hard she made him.

“I trust you are no longer hungry,” she bid after him. He paused in the middle of the little gap in the doorway.

“Oh, don’t underestimate yourself. My hunger for you will only deepen,” he smirked down, a slight bow to his head, where she still lounged on his cushions. “Good night.”

For as much as he didn’t want to leave her alone, he didn’t want to go too far. And it was just too tempting… with the nearness of her body, the scent of her skin… like spring rain and meadow flowers, like all that was golden and shimmering and good in the woods.

He laid down in the dark of his tent, praying that at least those pillows would smell like her before dawn.

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