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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

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The Arrangement (11) - First Light

Chapter summary: A much needed discussion takes place and it ends with Astarion coating his daggers with poison.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past trauma. Mentions of oral sex. Blood drinking,

Word count: 4.3k

Author's note: I am still unable to reply to comments (I'm waiting for tumblr support to fix this... I read all of the, I promise. You can also send and ask or head to ao3 so I can reply there. Thank you!

Series masterlist

Ao3

Wyll Ravengard was the picture-perfect of integrity.

Well, if you were to exclude his past dealings with the half-devil Mizora. But even then, he had been mostly justified in his assessment of the situation.

So it came as no surprise when you weren't able to find a single trace of judgement on his face.

Only evident concern.

Shadowheart had quickly filled him in on the Waterdeep situation as well as provided him with enough context when it came to Ava.

“Well, this is a… mess,” Wyll eventually drawled out.

Astarion, who was sitting to your right, immediately snickered. “Understatement of the year.”

Shadowheart, who was sitting to you left, promptly quipped, “I wonder whose fault that is.”

He leaned forward to glance at her. “Darling, all that pent-up frustration must–”

You heaved a deep sigh as you nudged him with your elbow, not in the mood to moderate their venomous exchange. “Enough!”

Wyll took a seat across from yours as a Fist stood by his side, hand clasping the handle of his sword in a silent warning.

“You should have told me about your arrangement with Ava,” he said, locking eyes with you. “I know all too well how some propositions are just rotten from the start and doomed to fail.”

Tension and guilt settled in the pit of your stomach.

Not even half an hour ago, you had been able to momentarily push aside the chaos that had been hurled at you in such short notice.

“It seemed like a fair exchange – if her words are to be believed, that is,” you said.

Wyll tensed up. “There is nothing fair about offering your blood to bloodthirsty fiends as an exchange.” He then glanced at Astarion. “No offense.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “None taken, darling.”

But Wyll did have a point even if your arrangement with Astarion was nothing akin to the one with Ava.

Yet…

“Nothing is set in stone. I don't have to go through with any of it.”

From beside you, Shadowheart managed an irritable look. “I cannot be the only one who finds all of this rather convenient. Even if there is someone connected to Cazador after you, why would she withhold that information? Doesn't she need you safe and sound, Astarion?”

“I suppose so, but who's to say? I would need to talk to her,” he said, eyes on Wyll. “I have to talk to her.”

Wyll immediately understood the implication in his words. “Now?”

“Well, obviously not now,” he said indignantly.

The sun was still up and dusk was hours away.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” you intervened, heart racing in your chest. “We need to find out first if there's something that links all of this to Ava.”

“Regardless of that, she still needs to answer for her deranged proposition,” Astarion replied.

Shadowheart scoffed. “You were the one who endangered her in the first place with that bizarre deal.”

He was on his feet faster than you could blink, scowling. “Do not make the idiotic mistake of thinking you are the only one here who cares for her.”

She rose from the sofa, matching his defyance. “Oh, I am sure you care for her – in your own twisted way.”

“Can you two stop it?” you half-shouted, coming to stand in between them before he could retort. “This is pointless!”

They glared at each other in silence for a moment before parting ways, with Astarion sinking down on a chair whilst Shadowheart began pacing around the room, evidently distressed.

“My friends, we need to think critically here,” Wyll spoke again. “Arguing with each other is the last thing we ought to do right now.”

Silence followed as tension dispersed.

“Now, as we wait for Lae'zel and Gale to return, I must ask a few questions, Astarion.”

He crossed his arms. “Oh, this should be fun.”

Wyll ignored his snarky remark, assuming a more serious demeanour. “Why would you resort to her in the first place? Was her promise more solid than the Wish spell?”

“There were no promises made,” he said acidly, a nerve clearly having been struck. “She’s merely experimenting and the prospect seemed too good to pass.”

“So, your blood for a way to lessen your vampiric hunger? That was the deal?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine and you watched as Astarion tensed up slightly.

He had never shared with them just how deep the horrors he endured under Cazador's command truly twisted inside him.

How all of it had taken a toll on his ability to be intimate with someone without feeling tainted.

How it had ultimately driven him into striking a deal with someone like Ava as despair took root.

And it wasn't your place to reveal any of it.

So you merely sat back and observed him in silence.

“It seemed good enough back then,” he said coolly. “Besides, it could also be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

That had Wyll arch an eyebrow. “The spawn?”

“Petras has been sending letters to report back, and – well, let's just say that dealing with 7,000 hungry vampire spawn isn't an easy feat,” he said. “I figured that if her experiment were to be successful, then it'd be beneficial for them as well.”

Oh.

Shadowheart waggled her eyebrows as her feet came to a halt. “So you weren't merely thinking about yourself?”

“Initially, yes. Of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“However, I was the one who doomed them to eternal hunger, so it seemed fitting I'd help.”

“They were doomed either way,” you quickly pointed out. “And it was Cazador's doing.”

His head turned to you. “Be it as it may, their hunger isn't sated for long. I know that all too well.”

Astarion wasn't exactly the epitome of selflessness, but you knew he had come to change some of his ways in the past few weeks after all the events that had unfolded.

And when it came to his own hunger, you figured old habits did die hard.

His eyes then landed on your neck for a moment before looking away.

“I reckon I already know the answer to this, but did you even plan ahead?” Shadowheart said, crossing her arms. “How would you even make this feasible for thousands of spawn with just your own blood? Or were they really just an afterthought?”

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Ava was handling the … logistics, shall we say. My blood would be the starting point, but not a requirement.”

She scoffed in utter disbelief. “And you took her word for it… blindly. You simply trusted some monster hunter with a blood fetish? This is ridiculous even for you.”

He was definitely a passionate admirer of the ‘laugh now, cry later’ school of thought, which also meant that when the consequences hit… they would hit hard.

“It's not like progress was being made with the Wish spell, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

A chill rushed through you like a knife. “Only a few weeks had passed, Astarion. All you had to do was wait–”

And then he snapped. His seemingly calm demeanour finally cracking open and revealing the hurt underneath.

“For centuries, all I did was wait! There were times I wished he would just destroy me once and for all to rid me of the burden of being ‘alive’ under such conditions,” he snarled, rising from the chair as he faced you. “I turned away from all that power I could have – the ritual… everything! I – I just…” His voice faltered and he heaved a sigh, reining back his outrage as his face softened into that expression that just broke you. “Is it such a crime that I want better for myself?”

You shook your head, feeling for him, but… “These things take time. Despair leads to rushed actions.”

He grimaced. “So you'd have me turn to hope?”

“Yes.”

He clicked his tongue. “There's nothing quite as cruel as hope, darling.”

You heard Wyll let out an exasperated sigh from across the room. “Astarion, I will not judge you for the decision you made to mingle with Ava – you had your reasons. But the consequences seem severe enough even if she isn't involved in either of the killings.”

He remained silent.

“It's not just about you anymore. She took an interest in her blood and is now using it as a bargaining chip,” he said. “That is unacceptable.”

“I fully agree with Wyll,” Shadowheart said as she came to sit next to you once again.

“And that is why you'll let me go to her,” Astarion said.

“You're still under house arrest. The Council of Four will–”

“To Hells with them all!” Astarion said through clenched teeth, fangs peeking through. “We're your friends, are we not? And since you're so adamant about my fault in this, allow me to set things right.”

“A good call,” Shadowheart chimed in with a nod.

Wyll seemed taken aback by his words and his frown deepened. “I may have the final word as the Grand Duke, but I cannot consciously go against a collective ruling.”

“The circumstances have changed,” Astarion retorted simply. “I will go to her and you're free to have your Fists point a thousand stakes at me along the way if it eases your mind.”

You could tell Wyll felt torn between duty and reasoning, and you didn't envy him in the slightest.

“You don't understand the consequences of–”

Astarion's face darkened and a devious smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, darling. I do understand. I simply do not care.”

Wyll took a deep breath, clearly realising he was fighting a losing battle.

He turned to face the Fist by his side. “Send word to the Council.”

The tall and broad man nodded before exiting through the front door.

“You can't be serious,” Astarion scoffed. “You should have kept this between us. They don't have to know.”

But Wyll merely shook his head. “We can do things your way and my way.”

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“I'm coming with you,” you said, fully determined..

Shadowheart immediately gripped your arm firmly. “No.”

Wyll rose from his seat. “He shall not go alone, but you don't need to get more involved in this than you already are.”

Astarion turned to face you and raised one hand. “Absolutely not. You stay.”

That made your blood boil almost instantly and a flash of anger crossed your face. “I can fend for myself. Just let me–”

But your words were muffled by a deafening swirling and pulsing sound that came from outside.

In no time, the door was slammed open as a visibly irritated Lae'zel stormed inside.

“Tsk'va! Mages and their nauseating portals,” she grumbled before closing the door shut and plunging the room in candlelight once again. “Almost spilled the contents of my stomach. Twice.”

Both you and Shadowheart flocked to her side and you spoke first, “Are you alright? Where’s Gale?”

She nodded dismissively, placing her esteemed greatsword on the long table. “He stayed behind to converse with a few of his acquaintances, trying to make sense of what happened.”

“Well? What happened, then?” Astarion asked as he approached the three with you with Wyll right behind him.

“The man succumbed to a multitude of slashing wounds.”

Your eyes widened as you gasped.

“Slashing wounds? Was it an animal? A monster?” Wyll immediately pressed.

“We do not know. It was a rather brutal sight even for someone like me,” Lae'zel said with a frown.

A shiver spread across your body and you felt nauseous all of a sudden.

“Was there anything odd about it?” Shadowheart asked.

“Because a man being brutally shredded to pieces isn't odd enough?” Astarion said with a scoff.

She ignored him. “Were there traces of necrotic magic?”

Lae'zel arched a brow. “No. What's with this interrogation?”

Shadowheart was definitely trying to find a common element between the two deaths… and Ava.

And it seemed that there was nothing there.

Yet.

“We are trying to figure out if Ava could have had a hand in this.”

Lae'zel didn't budge. “Who?”

“Ava.”

Lae'zel turned to Astarion. “Your hairdresser?”

This time, Shadowheart clicked her tongue impatiently, hands on her hips. “Astarion struck a deal with some monster hunter turned blood merchant and got her involved.” She extended one arm to at you. “This Ava woman now wants her blood for whatever nefarious reason and might also be the one to blame for the death that led to them getting arrest and – quite possibly – the one from today.”

Your eyes widened, quite astonished that she was able to spill all that information in one swift breath.

If the circumstances weren't quite so dire, you would also have chuckled from how she sounded like a child who was telling her strict parent on her misbehaving sibling.

Astarion was obviously offended. “Conveniently leaving out the part where I am entitled to mingling with whomever I want, and that I was completely oblivious to Ava's finding and her proposal.”

Lae'zel glanced at you. “What proposal?”

“It's fine. Don't worry. I won't go through with any of it,” you said reassuringly, placing your hand on her wrist, knowing fully well she was itching to swing her sword on him. “This is all one big mess, but he truly didn't know.”

Shadowheart growled. “You do not have to keep defending him!”

Wyll spoke before you could. “Shadowheart. I understand your indignation, but we need to move on from the constant pointless bickering. What is done is done.”

Astarion clapped thrice. “Ah! The voice of reason!”

She threw him a death glare before crossing her arms and tapping her foot irritably on the floor, but not uttering another word.

Lae'zel, on the other hand, had her narrowed eyes set on Astarion. “You are fortunate she adores that pretty head attached to your body.”

“Was that a compliment, Lae'zel?” he taunted.

“Your ability to turn any remark into an opportunity to feed your ego is truly astounding, Astarion.”

He smirked happily in response. “I do my best – or worst, depending on your taste.”

“Enough of this,” you interjected as you stared at Lae'zel. “When is Gale returning?”

She shrugged. “Unclear. He is also trying to find another contact who might help out with the Wish spell.”

“No.”

All heads turned to Astarion.

His brows knitted together. “No. No one else is getting involved until we figure out what is happening.”

Your eyes met his in mingled surprise and confusion.

Even Shadowheart was stunned silent as her face softened.

“I thought you wanted this more than anything,” Wyll asked.

“Well, yes. But not when people are turning up dead all around me.”

Lae'zel frowned. “So, all of this for nothing? Had a sudden change of heart about your inability to walk in the sun again?”

He rolled his eyes. “Heavens forbid I'm the one pointing the moral compass in the right direction. Don't act so surprised, darling. I still know what I want and what I need to do.”

You closed the distance between you and him, worry brewing in your heart.

“Astarion, the Wish spell isn't easy to come by. It's not easy to find someone willing to teach it and Gale is a powerful wizard and strong candidate,” you said, trying to reason with him as you placed a hand on his arm. “I understand your reluctance, but we might have to wait even longer if this opportunity is disregarded.”

He didn't even flinch. “This is ultimately my choice, and I choose to wait. I've had it with others dictating how I should feel and act. This is the sensible thing to do.”

For centuries, he had belonged to everyone – to anyone – but himself.

Both in body and mind.

So, if this was what he truly thought was best for him, who were you to deny him of it? Maybe you would have chosen differently, but this wasn't truly about you, was it?

He would tell you otherwise, of course. That you had been the stepping stone to his healing process since the nautiloid crash, but you couldn't and wouldn't take full credit for it.

This was a joint effort and you would empower him all the way through.

“I stand with you,” you said eventually said, breaking the silence.

He gradually relaxed under your touch.

Shadowheart spoke next, “I respect your decision, Astarion. We need to see if there is a link between the two deaths. I can go ahead through the portal and ask Gale to return.”

He nodded.

“Very well,” she said with a curt smile.

Wyll approached the door. “I will inform the guards to accompany you once dusk hits, Astarion.”

He nodded again. “Thank you.”

Lae'zel then cursed and left the room with a loud bang behind her as the door closed shut.

Your hand came to his shoulder and his crimson eyes were on you again. “Let me come with you.”

“No.”

You scowled. “I'm not some frail sorcerer. I can stand by your side and help.”

This time, he chuckled. “Sweetheart, you are more capable than most of us combined here. My reluctance doesn't stem from my lack of faith in your abilities,” he said, voice firm and collected. “If anything were to happen to you because of me, I'd never forgive myself. Allow me to handle this.”

Your heart was hammering fast in your chest from his words, and even though you wanted to argue with his decision, you held your tongue back.

In truth, you were mostly scared Ava would have something up her sleeve and hurt him. That was what was eating at your nerves.

But still, you nodded

It was settled then.

You made your way down the corridor, coming to a halt as the faint glow spilled from inside his room.

The door was open for a change.

A comforting smile curled your lips, knowing you'd find him inside.

As you approached the doorway, you spotted Astarion across the room, flicking through a few pieces of cloth placed on the round table.

You knocked twice on the wood “May I?”

He nodded. “It's your house.”

“Well, it's your room,” you retorted. “For now, at least,” you quickly added, not wanting to seem overbearing. After all, he wasn't ultimately here on his own volition.

“You don't have to keep asking,” he said with a faint smile.

Your eyes landed on his bed as you walked in, causing your heart to skip a beat.

A few hours ago, the two of you had been lost in each other's pleasure on that very same spot. Now, the bedclothes had been laid sprawled across it, no creases or any remaining proof of your earlier endeavour.

The two of you had been robbed of after care and a much needed talk about what had happened.

Even if he had seemed quite content during and after all of it, you found yourself always hung on the fear that you had rushed through it all.

So, you needed the affirmation. You needed to hear his thoughts on it and to ensure no boundaries had been crossed.

You approached the table and your gaze roamed cross the clear vials that he had placed by his twin daggers.

Odourless.

Colourless.

Poison.

“Lethal?”

He dabbed a selected piece of cloth on the clear liquid. “No.”

An uneasy feeling began to take root. “Do you think she'll try to hurt you?”

“It would be rather foolish of her,” he mused, dragging the damp fabric along each blade, coating them in a fine layer of poison. “But I've been wrong before about people, so – as they say – better safe than sorry.”

It wasn’t the reassurance you were seeking, but Astarion was more than capable when it came to self-defence.

“Besides, she needs me more than I need her,” he concluded, inspecting the glinting blade close to his eyes. “And if she fails to provide satisfactory answers, the Fists will deal with her.”

You nodded, but still failing to push your fear aside. “What if there is really someone after us? What if she's not connected to any of this?”

You had purposefully let out the faint implication that maybe there was a connection to Cazador. He didn't need to be troubled with that in case Ava was bluffing.

Astarion sheathed both daggers on either side of his waist before his eyes landed on you. “If that is the case, then she will tell me who it is. And she better have a godsdamned good justification for why she thought I would allow you to be involved.”

You absentmindedly bit your lip and he smiled warmly, coming to stand in front of you, wiping his hands clean from any trace of poison.

Silently, he leaned to press a lingering kiss on your forehead, his cool lips making you flinch slightly.

It was as if a surge of lightning had been cast throughout your body, setting you alight.

“About earlier…” you said, swallowing your nervousness.

He traced your jawline with his thumb before tipping your head back so you could properly meet his gaze.

“Darling, already back for another round?”

You broke into laughter. “No! No… that wasn't what I trying to say.”

He tapped your nose lovingly and it was as if the two of you were long-time lovers, used to each other's teases and mannerisms.

Your heart skipped yet another beat.

“I know. Just couldn't miss the opportunity to have you all flustered for me again,” he said with a devious grin. “But do go on.”

“I just want to make sure… it was alright… what we did, I mean,” you said in a whisper.

Astarion's brows furrowed together. “I thought that was pretty much evident…”

A lump swelled in your throat.

You truly didn't want to overstep any lines.

But you had to know. You had to hear it.

“I am talking about… up here,” you said, pressing a finger softly to his temple. “I… just want to make sure you're truly fine. That we're truly fine.”

You held your breath for a moment, dreading a worrisome reply.

He caught hold of your hand and pressed your finger to his lips. “I will always tell you if it's too much.”

A wave of relief washed over you and you allowed yourself to breathe normally.

Still…

You swallowed again. “Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he said, using your own finger to tap the tip of your nose, earning a heartfelt giggle from you.

“So… it wasn't too much?”

“No,” he said truthfully.

You nodded as he gripped your chin. “How did it feel?”

He paused for a while, pondering. “It felt… right.”

Your stomach turned and your heart sped up from how close he was to you.

How close he felt to you.

“I want to kiss you,” he said all of a sudden. “May I?”

You felt as though you would melt into a puddle from how desperate he sounded.

“You don't have to always ask,” you said truthfully.

He then pressed his cool lips to the corner of your mouth and you instinctively gasped. “I just adore the sound of your voice when you let me in.”

His lips moved to the opposite side, lingering there, and a rush of heat pooled in your cheeks.

“May I kiss you, darling?” he asked once more, pulling back just enough for his lips to barely touch yours. “May I taste you?”

Gods…

“Please do.”

He didn't need to be told twice.

The kiss started off slow at first as his lips molded into yours. But as soon as you made way for his tongue to slide inside, Astarion became the image of hunger.

He cradled your face in his hands and pressed both thumbs on your chin, so you'd open up wider for him.

A flash of memory filled your mind and you recalled how he used to do the same whenever you were on your knees, struggling to fit his thick cock in your mouth.

“You can take more of me, can't you, my sweet?” he'd say, voice dripping with lust.

You'd always struggle at first. Always. But he was such a caring lover and he would always ensure you took your time.

You quickly shuddered as your clit began throbbing evenly.

His tongue was as relentless against yours as his cock had once been, but his eagerness and hunger had his razor-like fang nip at your lower lip, drawing blood.

“Shit,” you groaned from the sharp sting.

Astarion immediately pulled back and you stared at him in confusion.

You felt a few drops dribbling down your chin.

Why wasn't he tasting you?

His eyes were fixed on your lips and his eyes narrowed with bloodlust.

“You're letting it go to waste?” you asked, swiping your finger across the bleeding wound.

He swallowed with a strained smile.

Oh, he was struggling to hold back…

“Well, darling… I don't intend on leaving the house with my cock hard with your blood.”

You clenched so hard you felt a gush of wetness being squeezed out.

But there was only so much Astarion could withstand, so you couldn't fight the moan that tore through your throat as he placed the softest kiss to your lip.

“Just before I go,” he whispered. “So I can take you with me.”

You clenched again and you could feel your clit swell up with each throb.

He eventually parted from you, licking his blood-stained lips as his eyes held that lustful gaze you adored.

“I'll be back soon.”

You were left petrified in place as he swiftly made his way out.

It wasn’t fair how soaked you were.

How soaked he had left you.

You glanced over your shoulder and realised the door had been left open all along and you rushed to the window, tugging on the curtain.

The sun had set as he appeared down below, followed closely by two Fists.

And the single mage slayer.

The three of them trailed after his steps and darted off into the distance.

And you realised that without a mage slayer around to keep your magic at bay, you could simply vanish.

You glanced at the vials of poison on the nearby table and smiled.

TBC

Series masterlist

Ao3

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #the arrangement #astarion smut

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dark-night-hero · 2 months ago

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Imagine being in a secret relationship with the one and only Gojo Satoru.

Imagine sitting in a bar, colored light pointed everywhere as you silently stare at your surroundings. Casually taking a sip of your drink as you lean back on your seat, head bobbing up and down along the music. How boring.

"He's been staring at you ever since we came here." "Who?" You raise a brow but did not spare your friend a glance and proceeds to take another sip of your drink. It was sweet, alcoholic but sweet. "Gojo Satoru from business department, you know. That guy with white hair, blue eyes-" "And the one who always wears tinted glasses, right. Who wears that indoors and not to mention at midnight." You chuckle, setting your empty cup down before standing up. "Gotta go to the bathroom."

Imagine looking at the mirror, your own reflect staring at you as you turn your face to the side to take a good look at your features. Unlike the other day there your hood and glasses would hide away your face, it was one of those days where you feel like stepping out of your shell and have fun. Well, more like to pissed off your boyfriend that was surely waiting for you out of the door. Making sure you're presentable as you arrived, you take one last glance in the mirror before walking your way out in the bathroom.

"Hey there." There was your boyfriend in his fitted white shirt that was hugging his body so well his well toned body could be seen. "Why hello to you too, Gojo." You smile at him before walking past him, if only he didn't block you on your way back into your friend's table. "No baby, you ain't going anywhere." He said as he grab a hold of your wrist pulling you at the back as you just stare at him in amusement, looking around for a moment only to find his best friend, Suguru shaking his head at the scene of you two before looking away like it was none of his business.

"So?" You cross your arms, looking directly at his eyes underneath those tinded glasses he was wearing. Something you will never understand at the same time you do kind of appreciate it. Because you know as soon as he remove that, people would be all over him, going crazy at his baby blue eyes. "What please do I owe you?" "You told me you're going out for some fun, what are you doing here?" "Pfffff" "Why are you laughing?" "I think it's funny how much a lo- heh, how someone like you could meddle in my life like this."

Imagine the way he flinch under your watch, his jaw tense as his hand curl into a fist. "What?" You laugh, one hand reaching out to touch and trace his jaw. "Are you mad, Satoru?" You chuckle before your hand travel on the back of his head and tugging him down harshly so he was on the same level as you. At the same time, his other hand lean on the wall for support, his glasses on the tip of his nose on the verge of fallling. This time, he was glaring at you like crazy. "Remember this is your arrangement not mine and just like how you don't want me to meddle with yours, I advice you not to meddle with mine to or who knows what could possibly happen." You push him away, about to walk of but he just won't move.

Imagine it's not like you wanted this to happened. He was the one who wanted to keep your relationship a secret, the one who said you cannot meddle with each out in public. And to be honest it's not that you didn't see where he was coming from, you were just this normal person, one among the crowd in the campus. Living differently from him who lived so well off along side his buddies. He was the heir into the Gojo industries. And you, you're just you, someone who have nothing to lose, nothing to offer.

"Move." You repeat when he doesn't move, trapping you between him and the wall. "Satoru move, others are starting to look." You whispered, gripping on his close before taking a deep breathe and relax. You tap him twice in the chest, refusing an eye contact as you gently push him away. Going in this bar was definitely a bad idea. You shouldn't have come out of pettiness. "Satoru, your fiancée is about to get over here, move." As soon as he said that, you felt him when stiff before immediately pulling away from you. "Well talk later." "You're coming home with her, we have nothing to talk about." "(First name)-" "Come to think about it. It's about time." "What do you-" "I'm done being your secret, goodbye Satoru." "... wait-" "Satoru!"

Imagine without thinking too much about it, you walk back in your booth like nothing happened and immediately drown yourself with more drinks. It's not like you don't understand where he was coming from. You knew that he loves you. You knew that damn well that he was hurting too. But while he got the whole world around his palm, you only have him. You only have him yet you cannot even call him mine. You're tired. You love him but you're tired.

Imagine if you knew that loving him would hurt like this. You would have turn the other way around the first time you saw him. Loving him was a losing game. "Hey, thats enough."

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

#dark night hero #jjk fanfic #jjk angst #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu satoru #gojo saturo #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x y/n

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brunchable · 3 months ago

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Winter King, Part Five : I Knew You Were Trouble

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place Queen Reader Words: 19K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: Implied poisoning, murderous intentions. Summary: The court pressures James to consider a consort, while Y/N takes control by offering to choose the consort herself, leading to a heated arguement with James, who refuses the idea. A/N: Soryy it took so long, I had rewrite the plot multiple times until I was satisfied ;___;

Over the past three months, things have shifted in subtle yet deeply unsettling ways.

It began innocuously enough—a shared cup of tea, offered with a bright smile and grace, becoming a fixed part of your daily routine. Morning and evening, without fail, Sharon appeared in the gardens or your chambers, her manner gentle and unobtrusive as she poured the fragrant liquid. What had once been a sporadic, almost ceremonial gesture slowly evolved into something far more rigid and persistent—a ritual that seemed to encompass your every waking moment.

“I thought I’d try something new today,” Sharon would say with a smile, handing over a new blend of tea. Each time, the liquid carried a faint floral aroma mixed with something unplaceable, something slightly bitter that lingered at the back of your throat. But you forced yourself to accept it, convinced it was meant to calm your fraying nerves.

At first, you accepted Sharon’s presence without question, appreciating what seemed like genuine concern and support during a difficult time. But as the days bled into weeks, and the weeks slipped into months, something began to change. It started as a faint dizziness, an inexplicable haze clouding your thoughts. Then came the irritability, creeping in like a shadow at the edges of your mind. The slightest inconvenience sets you on edge. The frustration of being unable to conceive—each failed attempt at another wound on your pride and your heart—gnawed at you, leaving you brittle and raw.

“Perhaps we should take a break,” Bucky had suggested softly one night, his hand resting gently upon yours. His eyes, though filled with understanding, held a trace of helplessness. “You are placing too much pressure upon yourself.”

“No!” The word snapped from your mouth like a whip, sharp and venomous. You pulled your hand away, fingers trembling.

“A break?” you nearly shouted, your voice rising in pitch. “A break is something we cannot afford! Do you believe this is some trivial matter that we can simply abandon until we feel ready to face it again?” You stood abruptly, your hands clenched at your sides as you glared at him. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”

Trying to conceive had once been an exciting endeavor—one filled with passion and hope. Every night you spent together had been charged with anticipation. But now, it felt clinical, almost like a job you were both obligated to fulfill. The intimacy you shared seemed tainted, weighed down by expectation and the pressure to produce an heir.

“Because I am afraid of losing you,” Bucky replied quietly, his gaze steady despite the tremor in his voice. “If this continues as it is… it will break us apart.”

“Losing me?” you repeated, incredulous. “You will not lose me because I am tired or upset, Bucky! You will lose me because you have given up! Because you refuse to endure what I must endure every single day!”

“That is not true,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I have never given up—”

“Then what would you call this?” you interrupted, gesturing wildly. “This pathetic attempt to avoid conflict? To ease your own guilt?” Your voice turned icy, each word sharper than the last. “You want to take a break, Bucky? Fine. Perhaps you should not have married me in the first place if you lacked the strength to handle what it truly means to be a husband.”

Bucky’s expression faltered, pain flickering across his face. He opened his mouth to respond but closed it just as quickly, his jaw tightening. He took a slow breath, looking at you as if searching for something—some trace of the person he knew beneath all the hurt and anger.

“Very well,” he said softly, his voice strained. “I see… I see that you need space.”

He stepped back, shoulders tense and jaw clenched, struggling to keep his composure. “I shall leave you for now. But we will speak of this again.” With a final, lingering glance, he turned and walked away, the soft sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence.

You watched him leave, the room feeling colder and emptier without his presence. The sting of regret tugged at your heart, but the anger was still too raw, too fresh, to let go of.

Since then, there had been a distance between you—one neither of you seemed able to cross. He’d reach out to comfort you, but you’d shrink away. And on the rare nights he could muster enough strength to join you, something always seemed to come up—an intense headache or exhaustion that rendered him unable to even speak.

Your frustration grew, not just with Bucky, but with everyone around you. Even Sharon, whose constant presence had begun to grate on your nerves in a way that was impossible to ignore. One afternoon, as Sharon approached with a familiar smile and a steaming cup of tea, you felt something inside you snap.

“I don’t want it,” you said sharply, surprising yourself as much as Sharon.

Sharon blinked, her expression smoothing into one of mild concern. “I just thought—”

“I said I don’t want it,” you repeated, your voice rising slightly. “Thank you, but… I’m fine.”

For a moment, Sharon simply stood there, her eyes flickering with something too quick to name. But then, with a gracious nod, she set the cup down on the table beside you and stepped back.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Sharon murmured, her voice soft, soothing. “If there’s anything else I can do—”

“There’s nothing,” you cut her off, turning your gaze away.

The small rebellion felt both liberating and hollow. The tea, left untouched, sat there until it grew cold and lifeless. After that incident, you found yourself spending more time away from the palace, seeking solace in places that offered you a semblance of peace.

Whenever you felt the walls closing in, you would steal away to the grand oak tree at the edge of the garden—a place that had become your sanctuary. There, you would climb up to one of the higher branches and settle in, surrounded by the rustling leaves and the gentle sway of the wind. It was a place where you could breathe, away from prying eyes and the weight of your title.

Other times, when the frustration grew too overwhelming, you would escape on horseback, galloping through the meadows beyond the palace grounds with Steve riding at your side. The wind in your hair, the thundering rhythm of hooves pounding against the earth—it was the closest thing to freedom you could grasp. Steve’s presence, though silent, was a comfort. He never asked questions, never pushed you to speak when you didn’t want to. He simply rode beside you, his steady gaze offering a quiet reassurance that you weren’t entirely alone.

And yet, even Steve’s presence came with its own peculiarities. Every time Sharon handed you a cup of tea, Steve’s demeanor would shift. Without fail, he managed to spill or knock over the cup—his hands suddenly clumsy and uncoordinated in a way that seemed almost unnatural for a man of his precision and strength.

“Steve, honestly!” you had laughed one morning after he’d accidentally brushed against your arm, causing the cup to tip precariously before shattering on the stone path. “Has guard duty made you clumsy?”

“Maybe,” Steve had replied lightly, his eyes scanning Sharon’s face for the briefest flicker of something—anything—that would give him a clue. But Sharon only smiled indulgently, bending to pick up the shards with the utmost care.

“No harm done, Captain,” she murmured, her gaze lifting to his with a flash of what looked like irritation. “I’ll make sure to bring another cup.”

The accidents became so frequent that you found yourself wondering if he was doing it on purpose, but Steve never offered an explanation. Instead, he stayed close by, his eyes never straying far from the cup or from Sharon herself.

In the shadows of the palace, Isaac had been moving quietly, digging deeper. His investigations started with whispers—rumors and innuendos that pointed to something far more sinister than mere court gossip. There were mentions of deals made in hushed voices, promises exchanged behind closed doors, and the growing influence of certain factions within the court. But each lead only raised more questions, leaving him grasping at shadows.

“It’s not just about the queen’s reputation,” Isaac had told Bucky one evening, his voice low and urgent as they spoke in the confines of Bucky’s study. “There’s something bigger here, something coordinated. The rumors are just the surface. Someone’s trying to destabilize the throne.”

Bucky’s gaze had sharpened. “Do you have any names?”

“None yet,” Isaac had responded, frustration lacing his words. “Whoever’s behind this, they’re covering their tracks well. There are a few lords who seem to be involved—whispering in the council, making moves that don’t add up. But I can’t connect them to anything concrete yet.”

Bucky had nodded, the tension in his shoulders visible even beneath the tailored fabric of his coat. His headaches, which had plagued him for years, were worsening, often rendering him unable to focus or hold conversations for more than a few minutes at a time. The sessions with Doctor Zemo were becoming more frequent, more intense, and each time, he left the basement chamber pale and drawn, barely able to stand.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. The pressure to conceive an heir, your growing emotional turmoil, and his own inability to perform his duties as a husband and king—it all weighed heavily on him. More often than not, he found himself standing at a distance, watching you with a mix of longing and frustration, unable to bridge the gap that seemed to widen between you with each passing day.

And all the while, Sharon continued to smile and pour her tea. Morning and evening, every day without fail.

Something was happening. Something dark and insidious that reached beyond the typical political machinations of the court. And with each passing day, as Sharon’s presence grew more prominent and your health seemed to falter, Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out.

× × × ×

The days leading up to the Queen Dowager’s 60th birthday ball passed in a blur of decisions and preparations. The grand ballroom echoed with the clatter of servants arranging tables and hanging elaborate floral displays. The scent of roses and lavender filled the air, but even that failed to soothe your frayed nerves.

“Your Majesty, should we add another string quartet or leave it to the chamber orchestra for the opening?” an attendant asked, hovering nearby.

“The chamber orchestra will suffice,” you murmured absently, your gaze drifting up to the ceiling’s intricate carvings. “Save the quartet for the dining hall.”

The attendant nodded and scurried off. You turned back to the table before you, staring at the neatly arranged seating chart. Every name, every position had been carefully planned, yet as you looked at it now, a hollow emptiness settled in your chest.

“You are managing admirably,” Lady Natasha murmured, stepping up beside you. Her voice, though soft, held a firmness that always made you feel seen. Lady Wanda and Lady Pepper were nearby, inspecting the floral arrangements and occasionally gesturing to the attendants. Nat’s eyes lingered on your face, a hint of concern in her gaze. “But you need to rest, if only for a moment. You’ve been exerting yourself beyond reason.”

You offered a faint smile. “I assure you, Nat, I am well. I just wish for everything to be as it should be.”

“It already is,” Lady Wanda added, joining the conversation with a small smile of her own. “But that does not mean you must work until you’re spent. We’re here to assist, and everything is progressing splendidly.”

“Wanda speaks true,” Lady Pepper agreed as she approached, a resolute glint in her eyes. “You have overseen every detail; pray, allow us to take up the mantle for a while. It is time for you to step back.”

You nodded, though the gesture felt hollow and stiff. They meant well, you knew that. Yet, the truth remained—this meticulous planning, this tireless organizing—was the only thing anchoring you in a world that seemed ever on the brink of slipping from your grasp.

“Thank you,” you whispered, casting your gaze once more upon the chart, your eyes blurring ever so slightly. “I’m feeling well, I assure you.”

Lady Natasha exchanged a quick glance with Wanda, who took a step closer. “We know it has been… arduous,” Wanda murmured gently. “And it is no shame to relinquish a little control. We are more than capable.”

“Yes,” Lady Pepper agreed softly, her voice laced with understanding. “Take a breath. Trust that all will be as you envisioned.”

You swallowed against the tightness in your throat, the ache in your chest growing sharper with every word of encouragement. It was exhausting, pretending everything was fine. Smiling when all you wanted to do was scream.

Forcing your gaze back to the seating chart, you nodded again. “Just a few more adjustments,” you murmured. “Then I shall heed your counsel and rest, I promise.”

But as you looked down at the list of names—each one meticulously placed according to rank and favor—familiar doubts crept in. Would any of this make a difference? Would this small victory in the face of so many challenges bring any peace? Or would it all be overshadowed by what you couldn’t control?

The thought lingered, bitter and cold, but you swallowed it down. Smiling tightly at your ladies, you straightened your shoulders. “Thank you for standing by me,” you said softly, meaning every word. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Natasha’s gaze softened, and she reached out, squeezing your hand gently. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Y/N.”

× × × ×

The morning hustle in the palace hallways had a different energy today—a curious buzz that lingered in the air as servants whispered excitedly to one another. After months away, Lady Monica Rambeau, head of your ladies-in-waiting, had finally returned. It was an unexpected homecoming, and though grief hung over her like a heavy shroud, she carried herself with the same grace and authority that had always marked her presence.

Monica’s heart beat faster as she approached the Queen’s private quarters. Her hands tightened around the edges of her dark mourning shawl, the fabric stark against her vibrant, rich complexion. She’d hoped—prayed, even—that during her absence, things would have gotten better for you. That the strain of court and the pressures of producing an heir would have eased. That she’d return to the same bright, resilient queen she’d left behind.

But the moment Monica stepped into your sitting room, her breath caught in her throat, and her heart clenched painfully.

You were seated by the window, a pale stream of sunlight casting an ethereal glow over you. You wore a flowing white gown that seemed to blend with the light, making you look almost ghostly. Your hair, which had always been meticulously styled, fell loosely around your shoulders, as if the care and attention that had once been given to it had been abandoned.

The most striking change, however, was your eyes—once vibrant and full of life, now dulled by a weariness that had etched itself into every line of your delicate features.

“Your Majesty…” Monica whispered, the words falling from her lips in a breathless rush as she took a step closer.

Your gaze lifted slowly, and for a moment, it seemed you didn’t recognize Monica. Your eyes lingered on the familiar face, a faint smile tugging at your lips. But it was weak, fragile, as if even that small gesture took too much effort.

“Monica,” you murmured, your voice soft and thin. “You’re back.”

Monica swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. The queen looked so different—so much thinner, almost brittle. The sight made her heart ache. She took another step forward, lowering herself into a graceful curtsy.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m so sorry it took me so long to return.”

“Don’t apologize,” You said quietly, the words seeming to drift through the room like a fragile breeze. “You were with your mother. She needed you.”

“Yes,” Monica whispered, blinking back tears as she straightened. “But I’m here now. And… I—” Her voice broke, and she inhaled sharply, steeling herself. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I should have been here. I should have—”

“Monica,” You interrupted gently, holding up a hand. “Please. You did nothing wrong. You did exactly what you needed to do.” There was a flicker of warmth in your gaze—brief, but real. “I’m glad you could be there for her.”

Monica nodded, but the guilt still gnawed at her insides. She should have been here, at your side, through whatever had happened to bring you to this state. The queen she remembered had been strong, vibrant, with a light that could cut through even the darkest of times. But now…

“Your Majesty,” Monica said softly, her voice trembling. “What has happened in my absence?”

Your smile faded, and you glanced out the window, your gaze distant. “Nothing worth worrying about,” you murmured. “Just… the usual struggles.”

Monica’s heart twisted. She didn’t believe it for a second. She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a gentle murmur. “Please, my queen… let me help. Tell me what’s going on.”

You remained silent for a moment. Then, slowly, your shoulders slumped, and a sigh escaped you—a sound so weary, so defeated, that it nearly broke Monica’s heart.

“They’re all waiting for me to fail, Monica,” You whispered, your gaze still fixed on the horizon beyond the window. “Everyone. The council, the court… even the people. They whisper that I’m incapable, that I’m… barren.” your voice caught on the word, as if it tasted like ash on your tongue.

Monica’s breath hitched, and she reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “No, that’s not true. They’re just—”

“They’re right, Monica,” you interrupted softly, your voice hollow. “It’s been months, and still… nothing. I can see the disappointment in Jame’s eyes, even if he doesn’t say it. What if I can never give him what he needs?”

Monica’s grip tightened, her heart aching with every word. “My queen, you are more than enough. You are everything. Don’t let those vipers make you think otherwise.” Her voice dropped to a fierce whisper, filled with a determination that burned like a fire. “You are not alone in this, do you hear me?”

You turned your head slowly, your gaze locking onto Monica’s. A crack appeared in your carefully constructed mask, and a tear slipped down your cheek, glistening in the pale morning light.

“Sometimes, I feel like I am,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the last word.

Monica’s breath hitched, and before she could stop herself, she pulled you into a tight, fierce embrace. “No, Your Majesty. You are never alone. I’m here now. And I swear, I won’t leave you again.”

You trembled in her arms, but she didn’t pull away. You let Monica hold you, let her warmth and strength seep into your tired bones. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean on someone.

“I’ll stay with you,” Monica murmurs, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “Every step of the way, until you’re strong again.”

The words are a promise, one that sends a faint spark of warmth through your chest. For the first time in weeks, you feel a glimmer of hope.

You open your mouth to respond, but the door to your chambers swings open suddenly, the handle clicking softly against the wood. Both you and Monica turn at the intrusion, surprise and wariness mingling in the air.

Sharon steps inside, a porcelain tray balanced in her hands, her expression calm and composed—until her gaze lands on Monica. Her eyes widen just a fraction, surprise flashing across her face before she quickly smooths it away. But it’s too late; Monica already seen the flicker of shock that she tried to mask.

“Lady Monica,” Sharon says slowly, the words measured and careful. “I… I didn’t realize you were back.” She hesitates for the briefest of moments, her gaze darting between you and Monica, then down to the tray she carries. “I was just bringing some tea for Her Majesty.”

Monica’s posture stiffens beside you, though she quickly masks her reaction, offering a polite smile. “Sharon,” she replies, her voice light but steady. “I returned just this morning. I wanted to surprise Her Majesty.”

There’s an edge in her tone, something protective and firm that makes you glance between the two of them uncertainly. You’ve always known Monica to be fiercely loyal, but right now, she seems almost… guarded. As if Sharon’s mere presence sets her on edge.

“Of course,” Sharon murmurs, the smile on her lips tightening just a fraction. She shifts the tray slightly, the delicate porcelain teacups clinking softly against the polished wood. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought the queen might enjoy a fresh cup of tea. It’s the blend she’s grown fond of lately.”

You glance at the tray, recognizing the familiar, subtle fragrance wafting up from the cups. It’s the same tea Sharon has been bringing you for months now, the one she claims promotes relaxation and balance. You’ve grown accustomed to it, its soothing properties a small comfort amid the turmoil of court life.

But something about the tension in the room has you hesitating. Monica’s presence beside you, her shoulders squared and her gaze locked on Sharon, makes the space feel suddenly charged.

“Is that so?” Monica says lightly, her tone carefully neutral as she steps forward, gesturing toward the tray. “How thoughtful of you, Lady Sharon. It’s always a comfort to know Her Majesty’s needs are being attended to so diligently.”

Without waiting for a response, Monica reaches for one of the cups, the steam curling gently in the cool morning air. “I’m sure Her Majesty appreciates the gesture.”

Sharon’s fingers tighten on the tray, her smile faltering for just a heartbeat before she carefully sets it down on the low table beside you.

“It’s nothing, really,” she murmurs, her voice smooth and controlled once more. “I just want to ensure the queen’s comfort, as always.”

“Then leave it here,” Monica says gently, turning to face Sharon with a polite but firm expression. “You’ve done your part, Sharon. Her Majesty and I have much to discuss, and I’m sure she would appreciate the privacy.”

Sharon’s gaze flickers toward the cups, and she hesitates—just for a second. It’s barely noticeable, but Monica catches it. You see the subtle shift in Monica’s posture, the way her lips press together almost imperceptibly as if sensing some deeper undercurrent in Sharon’s reluctance.

“Oh, but…” Sharon’s voice trails off as she glances between the two of you. “I’d be happy to stay and pour. It’s no trouble, really.”

“Leave the tea, Sharon,” Monica repeats softly, a slight edge to her words now. The shift in her tone is almost imperceptible, but it’s there—a quiet authority that brooks no argument.

Sharon’s smile tightens, and she inclines her head, her gaze dropping briefly. “Of course, Lady Monica.” She straightens, smoothing the front of her dress. “I just wanted to ensure it was to Her Majesty’s liking.”

“It always is,” Monica replies, her gaze never leaving Sharon’s. “But I’m more than capable of attending to Her Majesty now. I believe you have other duties to see to, don’t you?”

The words are light, almost offhand, but there’s an underlying firmness in them that makes Sharon’s shoulders tense. You watch, confused by the sudden shift in the atmosphere, unsure what to say or how to ease the strange tension that’s settled over the room.

“Of course,” Sharon murmurs, forcing a smile as she steps back from the table. “If there’s anything else you need, Your Majesty, you have only to ask.”

You nod slowly, offering her a faint smile. “Thank you, Sharon.”

With a final curtsy, Sharon turns on her heel and moves toward the door. But just before she reaches it, she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder at Monica.

“It’s good to see you again, Lady Monica,” she says softly, her gaze lingering on Monica’s face for a beat too long. “I’m sure Her Majesty is glad to have you back.”

Monica’s smile is polite, but there’s no warmth in it. “Yes, I’m sure she is.”

Sharon dips her head one last time, then steps out of the room, the door closing softly behind her. The instant the latch clicks shut, her practiced smile crumbles, the polished facade slipping away like a mask tossed carelessly aside. Her jaw tightens, and she sucks in a sharp breath, struggling to contain the simmering vexation roiling just beneath the surface.

She walks away briskly, each step measured and precise, though there’s a tension in her posture that betrays the emotions clawing at her insides. Her fingers tighten around the empty tray, knuckles turning white as she makes her way down the corridor, past the guards stationed discreetly at the queen’s door.

Her gaze remains fixed ahead, but her thoughts whirl in a storm of anger and frustration. She hadn’t expected Lady Monica’s sudden return—hadn’t anticipated the way the queen’s loyal lady-in-waiting would insert herself between them, throwing her off balance just when everything had been proceeding so perfectly.

Damn her, Sharon thinks viciously, teeth grinding together as she rounds the corner. Damn that meddling woman for reappearing now, of all times.

Her steps quicken, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she disappears into the shadows at the far end of the hall, seething in silence.

Sharon turned sharply at the end of the hallway, her gaze fixed on the floor as she tried to will away the burning frustration coiling tighter and tighter in her chest. But in her haste, she collided solidly with a broad, unyielding chest. The sudden impact jolted her, and she stumbled back, eyes widening as a hand shot out to steady her.

“Careful there,” a low, smooth like honey voice drawled, laced with a hint of amusement.

Her head snapped up, and she found herself staring into the shrewd, calculating gaze of Prince Isaac. His brow arched slightly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he studied her with unsettling intensity.

“Prince Isaac,” she breathed, dipping into a quick, reflexive curtsy. “My apologies, I didn’t see you—”

“Clearly,” Isaac murmured, his grip on her arm gentle yet firm. He tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing as they lingered on her face, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the tight set of her jaw. “You seem… distracted, Lady Carter.”

Sharon’s heart hammered against her ribs as she forced a polite, if strained, smile. “Just preoccupied with my duties, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to—”

“Preoccupied?” Isaac echoed, his tone deceptively light. His gaze flicked briefly to the empty tray she still held, then back to her face. “You know, it’s curious… I’ve seen people carrying all sorts of emotions through these halls—anxiousness, pride, even fear. But you, Lady Carter… you’re wearing something quite different.”

He took a step closer, leaning in slightly, his gaze sharpening. “What is it? Anger? Frustration?” His smile widened, though there was no warmth in it, only a keen, dangerous interest. “You look as though you could tear something apart with your bare hands.”

Sharon stiffened, her grip tightening around the tray until her knuckles turned white. “I assure you, Your Highness, it’s nothing of the sort. Merely… overwhelmed by the responsibilities of the day.” She forced her expression to smooth out, letting out a carefully controlled breath. “I didn’t expect Lady Monica’s return so soon. It’s taken us all by surprise.”

“Has it now?” Isaac murmured, his gaze lingering on her face a moment longer before he finally stepped back, releasing her arm. “You know, I’ve found that surprises can either be delightful… or deeply inconvenient, depending on one’s perspective.”

He paused, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. “And I’d wager you’re finding this particular surprise to be quite the inconvenience, aren’t you?”

Sharon swallowed hard, struggling to maintain her composure under the prince’s piercing scrutiny. She dipped her head slightly, offering a tight, controlled smile. “As I said, Your Highness, I’m simply adjusting to the changes. But I assure you, I will continue to fulfill my duties to the queen to the best of my abilities.”

Isaac’s lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile, his eyes glittering with a dark amusement that sent a shiver down Sharon’s spine. “I’m sure you will, Lady Carter. But a word of advice—” His voice lowered, taking on a soft, almost dangerous edge. “Be careful how you react to… unexpected obstacles. You wouldn’t want to show the wrong people just how easily they can rattle you.”

His gaze held hers for a heartbeat longer, then he stepped aside with a graceful, sweeping gesture. “After you, Lady Carter.”

Sharon dipped her head once more, murmuring a stiff, “Thank you, Your Highness,” before hurrying past him, her heart pounding as she walked away, his words echoing ominously in her mind.

Isaac watched her go, the smile never quite leaving his lips. Interesting, he mused, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure. Very interesting indeed.

× × × ×

The palace’s kitchens, usually a hub of bustling activity, were relatively empty at this hour—most of the staff having moved on to other duties now that breakfast had been served. Only a few cooks remained, murmuring quietly as they prepped for the midday meal.

Lady Monica Rambeau stood at the long wooden counter, her gaze fixed on the delicate porcelain teacup that Sharon had left in Y/N’s chambers earlier that morning. It looked innocent enough—a simple white cup with a floral motif, the faint remnants of tea staining the bottom. But there was something about it that held Monica’s attention.

She hadn’t thought much of it initially—Sharon’s insistence on Y/N drinking it in her presence had seemed overly protective, but perhaps the lady-in-waiting had merely been concerned for her queen’s well-being. After all, Y/N’s health had taken a visible decline over the past few weeks. It’s just tea, she had told herself, dismissing her unease.

But then, Monica had taken a closer look at Y/N’s medical records that the physician had shared upon her request—records she wouldn’t have normally questioned. She’d noticed a pattern in Y/N’s symptoms that didn’t quite fit.

There were inconsistencies.

A persistent lethargy. A delayed cycle that had seemed to worsen over time. And then there was the most telling clue—Y/N’s sudden aversion to certain herbal remedies that had once brought her comfort. Remedies that, now that Monica thought about it, seemed strangely similar to the blend Sharon had been bringing.

That realization had made something click in Monica’s mind, the unease blossoming into full-blown suspicion.

Her fingers hovered over the cup, hesitation flickering across her face. You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgement, she chided herself silently. But even as she tried to dismiss it, the unease remained.

She glanced around, ensuring she was alone, then carefully lifted the cup. The faint aroma of the tea lingered, delicate yet strangely medicinal. Monica’s brow furrowed as she inhaled again, a soft, thoughtful hum escaping her.

What is that smell?

The scent wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. It was floral—light and sweet with a hint of something sharper beneath. Chamomile, perhaps. Maybe a touch of lavender. But there was another note, barely detectable, that made her pause.

Gingerly, she brought the cup closer, inhaling deeply. Her senses prickled with recognition, and her eyes narrowed. It was subtle—so subtle that most wouldn’t have noticed it at all. But Monica had spent years studying apothecary arts, learning the properties of herbs and plants, both medicinal and otherwise. Her mother had been an apothecary before her, and Monica had learned to identify even the faintest traces of herbs.

She set the cup down gently, her mind racing as she tried to place the scent. It was almost… bitter. Faintly astringent, like a hint of nettle or mugwort. But that alone wouldn’t cause concern. She needed to be sure.

Without another thought, Monica crossed to the corner of the kitchen where a neat row of jars and vials lined the shelves, each meticulously labeled. She scanned the contents quickly, selecting a small vial of dried herbs that she knew well.

She returned to the counter, pulling the lid off the vial and holding it beside the teacup. As she breathed in, the similarities between the two scents became more pronounced. Her eyes widened slightly.

“Silphium leaves,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

It was a common enough herb in the right hands—used to soothe headaches, ease tension. But in higher doses, or combined with other herbs…

Monica’s heart began to pound. No, it couldn’t be…

She glanced around again, her gaze sharp and assessing. No one seemed to be paying her any mind. Steeling herself, she lifted the cup once more, this time dipping a clean finger into the remaining liquid. Carefully, she brought it to her lips, tasting just a drop.

The bitter edge hit her tongue immediately, followed by a faint numbness that made her stomach twist. She spat it out hastily, her expression darkening.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, her pulse thundering in her ears.

Silphium on its own was relatively harmless in small doses. But this… this wasn’t just Silphium. There was something else mixed in—something that caused that peculiar numbness, something that could only have one purpose.

She massaged her head, trying to keep her breathing steady. She needed to be sure—absolutely certain before she took this to Y/N. But if her suspicions were right…

“Monica?”

She jumped, spinning around to find one of the head cooks, a kindly older woman named Greta, watching her with a curious frown. “Is everything all right, my lady?”

Monica forced a smile, though it felt strained. “Yes, Greta. Everything’s fine. I’m just… inspecting this tea.”

Greta’s brow furrowed, and she stepped closer, eyeing the cup warily. “Inspecting? Is something wrong with it?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Monica replied carefully, her mind still whirling. “But I need to run a few more tests.”

Greta nodded slowly, then leaned in, taking a cautious sniff of the tea herself. Her nose wrinkled slightly, and she pulled back, shaking her head. “It smells… odd.”

“Exactly.” Monica’s gaze sharpened. “Tell me, has anyone else seen this tea?”

Greta shook her head. “No, my lady. It was brought directly to the queen’s chambers this morning by Lady Sharon. But she’s been bringing tea regularly, hasn’t she? For weeks now.”

Monica’s grip on the cup tightened. For weeks.

“Greta,” she said slowly, keeping her voice calm and even. “Do we have a testing kit for foreign substances in the herbs storage?”

“We do,” Greta confirmed, her concern deepening. “Shall I fetch it for you?”

“Yes, please. Quickly.”

Greta nodded and hurried off, leaving Monica alone once more. Monica turned back to the teacup, her mind racing.

If Sharon has been bringing tea regularly… if it’s been laced like this for weeks…

The implications made her blood run cold. It would explain everything—Y/N’s increasing fatigue, the irregular cycles, the constant lethargy, irritation. It wasn’t a natural decline. It was being induced.

But why? And for what purpose?

Monica swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. She needed proof—solid, undeniable proof. Only then could she confront Sharon, could she protect Y/N from whatever sinister plot was unfolding right under their noses.

As she stood there, waiting for Greta to return, the door to the kitchen swung open abruptly. A figure stepped inside, moving with grace of someone accustomed to navigating unfamiliar spaces.

Monica’s gaze snapped up, her breath catching as she recognized Isaac Barnes. His keen eyes flicked to her immediately, taking in her tense posture, the cup in her hand, the look of determination on her face.

“Monica?”

She spub around to find Prince Isaac Barnes standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted by the morning light streaming in from the corridor. He arched an eyebrow at her, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Your Highness,” Monica stammered, dropping into a quick curtsy before straightening. “What are you doing in the kitchens?”

Isaac’s gaze drifted to the cup of tea, then back to Monica’s face. His smile widened ever so slightly, a glint of curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Just exploring, my lady,” he replied, his tone light. “And you? I wouldn’t have expected to find you here, of all places.”

Monica’s eyes narrowed slightly, though she kept her expression polite. Isaac’s answer was deliberately vague, but she knew better than to press him for more. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what had brought him here, now of all times.

“I’m… just checking on something,” she replied cautiously, then gestured toward the cup on the counter. “Lady Sharon left this for Her Majesty earlier, and I wanted to make sure it’s… suitable.”

Isaac’s gaze lingered on the cup, his expression unreadable. “I see.” He took a slow step forward, his eyes flicking to the various jars and vials scattered across the counter. “Quite the collection you have here. Does something seem off about the tea?”

Monica hesitated, then nodded slowly. “There’s a… bitterness to it that shouldn’t be there,” she murmured, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not certain yet, but I need to conduct a few tests.”

Isaac’s smile softened, though there was a hint of something serious in his gaze. “Well, then,” he said quietly, “I trust you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced around the kitchen, his gaze sweeping over the shelves and simmering pots with a casual air. But Monica caught the subtle way his eyes lingered on certain areas—the vials, the herbs, the jars lined neatly on the shelves.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Your Highness?” Monica asked, curiosity threading through her voice.

Isaac’s smile widened slightly, and he shook his head. “No, Lady Monica. I think I’ve found what I needed.” His gaze returned to hers, his expression open yet somehow… guarded. “But thank you for the offer.”

Monica nodded, still feeling the faint stirrings of unease as she watched him turn toward the door. Just before he stepped out, he paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

“Good luck with your tests,” he murmured, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “I have a feeling they’ll be… enlightening.”

With that, he disappeared into the corridor, leaving Monica standing there, her heart racing. She stared after him, her mind buzzing with questions.

What is Isaac up to?

She shook her head, focusing on the task at hand. Whatever his reasons for being in the kitchens, she couldn’t let herself be distracted. There was something wrong with that tea—something that could be harming Y/N. And until she knew exactly what it was, she wouldn’t rest.

Stay focused, she told herself firmly, her gaze hardening as she turned back to the teacup. She needed proof—solid, irrefutable proof.

Because if her suspicions were right, then someone very close to the queen was playing a dangerous game. And Monica would make sure that, when the time came, the truth would be revealed.

With grim determination, she set to work, the faint scent of herbs and deceit hanging heavy in the air around her.

× × × ×

The grand council chamber was cloaked in an almost suffocating stillness. The light filtering through the tall, arched windows cast long shadows across the polished marble floors, and the faint murmur of voices fell silent as Bucky took his place at the head of the table. A heavy mahogany door creaked shut behind him, sealing the room from the rest of the palace—and from those who had no place within.

He stood, shoulders tense, expression unreadable. To his left, Steve stood at attention, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered lords with an air of silent authority. To his right, Isaac leaned against the back of his chair, looking every bit the disinterested observer, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest in a restless rhythm.

Bucky’s gaze drifted, focusing somewhere in the distance beyond the walls of the council chamber, the voices around him merging into a low hum of meaningless sound. He blinked slowly, the heaviness in his skull dulling his senses. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past week, each night plagued by the unrelenting pain behind his eyes and the growing anxiety of the throne slipping through his grasp.

“And what of the queen’s health?” a voice broke through the haze, the sharpness of it pulling Bucky back to the present.

He blinked, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the source—Lord Pierce, leaning forward with a concerned furrow on his brow that did nothing to mask the cunning glint in his eyes.

“We’ve heard concerning reports that Her Majesty has been… indisposed as of late.” Pierce paused, his gaze sweeping the table, ensuring he had the attention of every lord present. “It’s been three months now, and still, no progress has been made in producing an heir.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. The question, though veiled as concern for Y/N, was nothing more than a thinly disguised attack on their marriage—on his ability to rule. The unspoken words hung in the air: Without an heir, your position on the throne is not secure.

Steve shifted slightly, his gaze flickering to Bucky with a trace of unease. Isaac, however, only sighed, his eyes rolling skyward as if to express how utterly predictable this line of conversation had become.

“Are we really going to discuss this again?” Isaac drawled, his voice low and edged with impatience. “We’ve already established the queen is under care and following every recommendation from the royal physicians. What more do you want—an announcement every time she sneezes?”

A ripple of murmured protest rose from the gathered lords, but Isaac’s pointed stare silenced them quickly enough.

“We are simply saying,” Lord Haynesworth interjected smoothly, his tone deceptively placating, “that the matter of succession is a pressing concern. If Her Majesty’s health is truly hindering the—”

“She’s not ill,” Bucky snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. The entire chamber stilled, all eyes turning to him. Bucky took a slow breath, reigning in his frustration, but his eyes burned with a warning as they swept over the faces of the council. “My wife is not ill.”

Lord Carter, who had remained silent until now, leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. His gaze was calm, almost pitying, as he regarded Bucky. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, no one is questioning the queen’s capabilities. We all wish for the royal family to flourish. But in the event that her condition does not improve—”

“Condition?” Isaac echoed, pushing off the chair and crossing his arms, his tone edged with mockery. “What condition, exactly, are you implying, Lord Carter? Do enlighten us.”

Lord Carter’s lips curved in the slightest smile, as if he’d been anticipating this confrontation. “We must consider the stability of the throne. Should Her Majesty continue to face difficulties in… fulfilling her role, the council must be prepared to suggest alternative solutions.”

The blood roared in Bucky’s ears, drowning out the whispers that erupted around the table. He forced himself to breathe evenly, his vision narrowing on Carter.

“Alternative solutions?”

Carter’s gaze was steady, unflinching. “If, in a few more months, there is still no heir… it may be prudent to consider the option of a consort. Someone who could—”

The rest of his words were lost in the rush of anger that surged through Bucky, the very air around him seeming to vibrate with the force of it. A consort. Another woman. The very idea was an insult, not just to Y/N, but to him—to everything they’d fought to build together.

The chamber fell deathly silent, waiting for his response.

“Absolutely not.” Bucky’s voice was low, a deadly calm washing over him. ”

A few lords shifted uncomfortably, but Haynesworth leaned forward, his gaze critical as he regarded Bucky with a frown. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, the role of a consort is not merely a matter of convenience. It’s a tradition as old as the crown itself, woven into the very fabric of our history. Even your father had consorts—”

“My father is dead,” Bucky cut in, his voice sharp and final. “And so are the traditions for consorts.”

Murmurs erupted around the table, half of the lords exchanging incredulous looks. Lord Pierce’s gaze darted toward Carter, a flicker of triumph in his eyes at Bucky’s seemingly reckless declaration.

“Your Majesty, tradition is not something that can be discarded on a whim,” Carter interjected smoothly, his voice dripping with feigned patience. “It is a foundation that keeps the kingdom steady. Without it—”

“Without it, we’d be free to build something better,” Lord Tony Stark interrupted, his voice laced with disdain as he glanced pointedly at Carter and Pierce. “You speak of tradition as if it were sacred law. But tell me, how many traditions have been cast aside in the past century alone? Were those changes not necessary?”

“And who decides which traditions are necessary to change?” Haynesworth countered, his tone rising with indignation. “You, Lord Stark? Or perhaps you, Your Majesty?”

“Traditions are nothing but the opinions of dead men,” Lord Laufeyson drawled from his seat, a bored smile playing on his lips as he toyed with the silver ring on his finger. “They only hold power as long as the living allow it. If the king says consorts are no longer needed, then they aren’t.”

Carter’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering to Laufeyson with a flash of irritation. “You would so easily dismiss centuries of precedence?”

“Precedence?” Lord Pietro Maximoff scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “If you’re so keen on maintaining ‘precedence,’ then why aren’t you suggesting more consorts for your sons, Haynesworth? Why isn’t your house volunteering to uphold this glorious tradition?” The young lord’s smirk was infuriatingly smug, his silver eyes gleaming as he cast a sideways glance at Lord Carter. “Or perhaps it’s only a tradition when it benefits certain families.”

“That’s enough!” Haynesworth barked, his face flushing an angry red. “This isn’t about personal gain—”

“No, it’s about power,” Lord Odinson interjected, his voice like thunder in the tense silence. He stood from his seat, his imposing frame casting a shadow over the table as he fixed Haynesworth and Pierce with a steely gaze. “And you’re using the absence of an heir as an excuse to push for changes that would weaken the crown’s authority.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the lords aligned with Stark, Laufeyson, and Maximoff. Bucky could see it—the lines of division forming along the table, the alliances and rivalries that had long simmered beneath the surface now bubbling up to the fore.

“Enough of this,” Bucky growled, the low, dangerous tone of his voice cutting through the clamour. “There will be no consort. No matter what you call it—tradition, necessity, or whatever else you think to dress it up as—it won’t happen. My wife is my queen, and she will remain so.”

“Your Majesty,” Carter began again, his voice coaxing, but before he could continue, Isaac’s dry laughter filled the chamber.

“Do you not understand plain speech, Lord Carter?” Isaac said lazily, his gaze flicking over the gathered lords with thinly veiled contempt. “Or do you need the king to draw you a picture?”

“You should mind your tongue, Prince Isaac,” Lord Pierce warned, his tone dark. “You speak too freely.”

“And you speak too much,” Isaac shot back, his smile cold and predatory. “All this talk of tradition and stability… it’s starting to sound like you’re questioning my brother’s authority.”

The tension in the room shifted palpably, a collective breath held as all eyes turned back to Bucky. He remained still, his gaze locked on Lord Carter, a predator sizing up its prey.

“I won’t repeat myself,” Bucky said, his voice like a blade cutting through the silence. “There will be no consort. If the council’s time is to be spent arguing over dead traditions, then this meeting is over.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, slowly, Lord Stark nodded, a faint smile curving his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “Well said, Your Majesty. The council should be focusing on more pressing matters. There’s no point in entertaining these… outdated notions.”

“Agreed,” Lord Laufeyson murmured, his gaze never leaving Lord Carter’s face. “Perhaps it’s time we turned our attention to what truly ails the kingdom.”

A ripple of grudging assent swept through the room, but Bucky’s gaze remained hard, unyielding. He would not bow to pressure, nor would he allow anyone to question his wife’s place beside him.

“Good,” Bucky said softly, his voice cutting through the air with an edge of finality. He leaned back slightly, casting a withering glance around the table as he continued, “Then let us move on—"

The door to the council chamber swung open with a sharp crack, and every head snapped toward the sudden sound. There, framed in the doorway, stood the queen, your chin lifted high, shoulders set with a defiance that dared anyone to challenge your presence. Scott hovered just behind you, his face pale and eyes wide with a mix of fear and guilt.

“Your Majesty, please,” Scott implored, his voice a desperate whisper meant only for your ears. “It’s not wise—”

“Enough, Scott.” Your tone was quiet, yet it cut through the air. You didn’t spare him a glance, your gaze fixed firmly on the room beyond.

The lords scrambled to their feet, chairs scraping loudly against the marble floors. Uncertainty flickered across their faces, and a ripple of discontent moved through the room as they exchanged uneasy glances.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice was low, the surprise evident in his gaze as he half-rose from his seat. “What are you—?”

But you didn’t look at him. You turned instead to face the gathered lords, the light catching the gleam of determination in your eyes. For a moment, there was only silence—an oppressive, suffocating silence that seemed to stretch on forever, the lords standing like soldiers before a battle.

“If you’re all so desperate for an heir—so willing to throw around the idea of a consort,” you said, your voice clear and ringing with a strength that made even the most brazen lord falter, “then I will choose the consort myself.”

The words fell like stones into the silence, echoing in the shocked stillness of the chamber. The lords stared at you, their expressions shifting from disbelief to outrage to confusion in a matter of seconds. Isaac straightened, his brows lifting in interest, while Steve’s gaze sharpened, his entire body tense as if ready to intervene.

“Your Majesty—” Lord Pierce started, his voice wavering slightly, but you silenced him with a sharp look.

“You think I don’t know what you’re all doing?” you continued, your gaze sweeping over each of the lords in turn. “You think I’m blind to the whispers, the rumors, the little games you play? You may talk of ‘concern’ and ‘stability,’ but all you really care about is securing your own power, making yourselves indispensable to the throne.”

Lord Carter’s face tightened, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes. “Your Majesty, this is highly improper—”

“What’s improper,” You shot back, your voice rising with each word, “is discussing my marriage as if it’s some business transaction, as if I’m not even a part of it!” You took a step forward, your fingers trembling slightly as you drew yourself up to your full height, daring any one of them to speak. “But if you want a consort so badly, then I will choose her.”

“Y/N, No—” Bucky began, his voice strained, but you cut him off, turning to him for the first time since entering the room.

“Yes,” You said softly, but there was no softness in your gaze, no weakness in her stance. “If this is what they’re going to keep pushing for—if they want to undermine us at every turn—then I will take that choice away from them.” You glanced back at the council, a bitter smile twisting your lips. “I’ll pick someone none of you have power over. I’ll pick a woman who won’t be swayed by your schemes and bribes. You’ll get your heir, but it will be on my terms.”

“Your Majesty, with all due respect,” Lord Haynesworth interrupted, his voice tight with thinly veiled anger, “you cannot simply decide something of this magnitude on a whim. The council—”

“The council,” you spat, the word laced with scorn, “seems to forget that I am not a doll to be moved around at your convenience. You may think you have a say in this, but you don’t.” Your eyes burned as they locked onto each lord in turn. “Not when it comes to my husband or to my family.”

“Y/N—” Bucky’s voice was quieter now, but you shook your head, a fierce resolve radiating from you.

“I won’t let them dictate what happens in our marriage, James,” you murmured, but loud enough for all to hear. “If they want to discuss consorts, then let them. But they’ll do it under my terms, with my rules.” You turned to the council, your smile now a razor-sharp edge. “And if you push me on this, I promise I’ll choose someone who will make your lives a living hell.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Lords shifted uncomfortably from where they stood, glancing at one another with unease. It was one thing to murmur about a consort behind closed doors; it was another entirely to have the queen confront them head-on with a promise to turn their own weapon against them.

Pierce cleared his throat, his voice strained. “Your Majesty, no one is questioning your authority or your—”

“Good.” Your tone was crisp, “Then we won’t need to have this conversation again, will we?”

No one dared to answer.You held their gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before turning on your heel, your skirts sweeping behind you as you strode toward the doors. The lords remained standing, unsure whether to sit or move, their eyes locked on you retreating form with a mix of wariness and resentment.

As you passed Scott, who hovered anxiously at the entrance, you glanced back at Bucky, your gaze softening—just for a fraction of a second.

“Scott,” you said quietly, without turning to look at him. “Have someone compile a list of eligible bachelorettes from every house in the kingdom. I want it on my desk by morning.”

Scott’s eyes widened in shock. “Your Majesty, but—”

“Just do it,” you whispered sharply, your voice carrying the weight of all the suppressed emotions swirling within you. “Please.”

Scott hesitated only a moment longer before bowing his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

You didn’t wait for his response, didn’t look back as you continued down the hall, your steps steady and sure. But with each stride, the reality of what you’d just promised—what you’d committed yourself to—settled deeper into your bones.

The door to the council chamber closed behind you with a soft thud, sealing you away from the heavy silence of the room, and the questions burning in Bucky’s eyes.

Back inside, the lords shifted uneasily, their voices hushed as they exchanged tense murmurs. Isaac let out a low whistle, a grin tugging at his lips as he glanced at Bucky.

“Well, that was unexpected,” he drawled, arching a brow. “Didn’t think she’d take the whole consort suggestion so… personally.”

Steve shot him a warning look, his jaw clenched. “Isaac, now’s not the time.”

Bucky’s eyes were still locked on the door through which you had vanished, his expression frozen in a mask of strained calm. But there was no hiding the storm brewing behind those blue eyes—the anger simmering just beneath the surface, the tension thrumming through his frame like a tightly wound wire.

One by one, the lords exchanged wary glances.

Lord Pierce shifted to his seat, clearing his throat lightly as he dared to break the silence. “Your Majesty… we only have the kingdom’s best interests at heart.”

His attempt at placation fell flat, the words ringing hollow in the wake of Bucky’s unflinching stare. Another exchanged look between Lord Carter and Pierce—a fleeting, unspoken conversation passing between them.

Lord Carter leaned forward, his brow furrowing with a hint of uncertainty, the carefully maintained mask of composure slipping ever so slightly. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, if we could—”

Bucky’s gaze snapped back to the gathered lords, eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. “Enough,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to reverberate through the very air. “I’ve made myself clear.”

There was a collective shift among the lords, shoulders straightening and spines stiffening, as if they were preparing for the storm that was Bucky’s wrath. But not one of them dared speak again.

Instead, they exchanged more guarded looks, wary glances laden with questions and uncertainty. This time, no one stepped forward. No one dared push any further.

The subject of a consort—their audacious suggestion—hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste, a tension that thrummed like the final, discordant note of a song that hadn’t ended quite right.

But Lord Carter’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. The faintest twitch of his lips betrayed the simmering rage he kept tightly leashed, his gaze drifting to the door where you had disappeared moments earlier. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped, revealing something dark and dangerous beneath the surface.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling beneath his chin as he exhaled slowly through his nose. “We hear you, Your Majesty,” he murmured, the words carefully measured, lacking the usual oily charm. “I simply fear that… certain sacrifices may be necessary, given the circumstances.”

A subtle dig—aimed not at Bucky, but at you.

Loki’s eyes, sharp and knowing, flickered briefly to Lord Carter, his lips curling ever so slightly in faint amusement. Pietro, lounging near the end of the table, raised an eyebrow, his keen gaze catching the fleeting look of disdain on Lord Carter’s face.

“Sacrifices,” Loki echoed softly, his voice a low purr that seemed to coil around the room, drawing attention like a magnet. His gaze shifted lazily between Bucky and Lord Carter, his expression a mask of feigned curiosity. “An interesting word choice. I do wonder… whose sacrifices are you referring to, my lord?”

Lord Carter’s eyes darted to Loki’s, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before he schooled his expression back into something more neutral. “The sacrifices of the crown, of course,” he replied evenly, though his tone carried an underlying edge. “The sacrifices one must make for the good of the realm.”

Pietro let out a soft snort, his fingers tapping idly against the table. “Ah, yes. The sacrifices of others—always easier when one’s own comfort is preserved, isn’t it?”

A few of the lords shifted uneasily, the corners of their mouths twitching as they tried to suppress small, furtive smiles. Bucky, however, wasn’t smiling. His gaze remained fixed on Lord Carter, unblinking, assessing.

“Do you have something more to say, Lord Carter?” Bucky’s voice was deceptively soft, yet it carried an unmistakable weight—a warning.

Lord Carter’s eyes flicked to the other lords, his jaw clenching as he forced a tight smile. “No, Your Majesty,” he said slowly, each word clipped and deliberate. “I only meant to remind the council that time is of the essence. We cannot afford to wait forever.”

“Then stop wasting time,” Bucky bit out, his tone slicing through the room like a blade. “This discussion is over.”

The finality of his words reverberated through the chamber, leaving no room for argument. Yet the flash of anger in Lord Carter’s eyes lingered, hidden just beneath the surface. He bowed his head slightly, his expression placid and composed once more.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” he murmured.

But as the council members began to rise, murmuring their goodbyes and shuffling toward the door, Loki’s gaze lingered on Lord Carter, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

× × × ×

Isaac, now leaned casually against the pillar near the council chamber’s entrance, his posture relaxed, almost bored, as he watched the scene unfold. From this vantage point, he looked every bit the disinterested observer—a younger brother with no real power, no real role. But anyone who looked closely would see the slight narrowing of his eyes, the faintest twitch of his lips as he listened intently to every word exchanged between Bucky and the council members.

“Then stop wasting time,” Bucky bit out, his voice hard and edged with authority. “This discussion is over.”

Isaac’s gaze drifted lazily to Lord Carter, whose expression remained impassive, though the subtle clench of his jaw betrayed the fury simmering beneath the surface. Isaac suppressed a smile. There it is.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Lord Carter murmured, bowing his head in acquiescence.

But it was Loki’s soft, almost offhand remark that caught Isaac’s full attention. The trickster’s voice carried through the room with a hint of sardonic amusement. “For someone so concerned with sacrifices, you seem rather… invested in the queen’s inability to produce an heir.”

Isaac watched, his gaze sharp and curious, as Lord Carter’s face tightened imperceptibly. A fleeting shadow of irritation crossed the man’s eyes before he composed himself, forcing a tight, practiced smile. He inclined his head to Loki, then turned on his heel, his movements clipped, precise.

“You’re really testing the waters, aren’t you, Loki?” Isaac murmured under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching as he took in the scene.

Lord Carter’s exit was abrupt, but Isaac noticed the way his fingers flexed at his sides, knuckles white with suppressed rage. Isaac shifted slightly, his gaze following Lord Carter’s retreating figure. So much for keeping up appearances.

Loki’s and Pietro’s soft exchange reached his ears, but Isaac kept his face carefully neutral, feigning disinterest. He straightened slightly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as if to give himself something to do, something to focus on—anything to maintain the illusion that he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention.

“He’s furious with her,” Pietro muttered, a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he leaned closer to Loki.

“Indeed,” Loki murmured, his voice low and smooth. “And that, dear Pietro, is what makes him so very interesting.”

Isaac’s gaze flicked between the two men, watching the way their eyes followed Lord Carter’s departure with almost predatory intensity. So, you’re paying attention, too.

He shifted his weight, drawing in a slow, deliberate breath. Then, with a deliberately casual air, Isaac pushed off the pillar and strolled forward, offering Loki and Pietro a languid, almost lazy smile as he stepped into the center of the room.

“Lively conversation, wasn’t it?” he drawled, his tone light, almost teasing. “I thought Lord Carter might have a stroke when you mentioned sacrifices.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable. “Oh? You were listening?”

“Hard not to,” Isaac replied, a hint of innocence in his tone as he shrugged. “It’s not every day we see the lords so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Riled up.”

Pietro’s lips curved into a grin, and he inclined his head slightly. “A delicate subject,” he mused. “One that seems to strike a nerve.”

Isaac hummed thoughtfully, his gaze flickering briefly to the door where Lord Carter had vanished. “Yes, well, some people are more invested in the outcome than others, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” Loki echoed softly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Isaac. “But what of you, Prince Isaac? You seem to be taking this all in stride.”

Isaac’s smile widened, a flash of mischief lighting his eyes. “Me? I’m just here for the show, gentlemen.” He inclined his head, a mockery of a bow. “And what a show it was.”

× × × ×

The moment the doors to their private chambers slammed shut behind you, Bucky stood in the center of the room, his shoulders rigid, his jaw clenched so hard it appeared as though he might shatter his teeth.

You faced him, your chest heaving as you struggled to maintain composure. You had walked straight into the lion’s den—into the council chamber where you did not belong—and spoken words that could not be taken back.

"I cannot believe you did that," Bucky growled, his voice low and dangerous. It was the voice of a man hanging on by a thread. "Do you have any idea what you have just done?"

"I know exactly what I have done," you shot back, your voice trembling with the effort to hold yourself together. "I did what was necessary."

"What was necessary?" Bucky repeated incredulously, taking a step toward you. His eyes were blazing, the blue of them almost electric. "Do you believe it is your responsibility to waltz in there and discuss choosing a consort as though you are deliberating the color of drapes for the dining hall?"

You flinched, but held your ground, lifting your chin. "What was I supposed to do? Stand there and allow them to tear me apart,, without uttering a word in my own defense?"

"You had no right!" Bucky roared, the words echoing off the walls. He took another step closer, his anger barely contained. "No right to enter there and—and agree with them. You do not defend our marriage by making it sound as though it is expendable."

"Expendable?" you scoffed, the sound harsh and bitter. Your voice dropped to a whisper, the pain in it cutting through the air like a blade. "Do you believe I desire this? To even consider such a possibility?"

"Then why say it?" he snapped, his hands flexing at his sides. "Why offer them the satisfaction of hearing you say you would choose a consort?"

"Because it was the only way to make them stop!" you cried out, your voice breaking. "They were never going to relent, Bucky. They would have continued pushing and pushing until—"

"Until what?" Bucky interrupted sharply, his gaze narrowing. "Until I gave in? Until I agreed to replace you as though you were a mere piece of furniture?"

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back furiously. "No, until they decided I was not worth defending anymore. Until they convinced you I was not worth defending."

Bucky recoiled as if you had struck him. His expression twisted into something raw, something almost wounded. "Is that what you think?" he asked, his voice thick with disbelief. "You think I would turn on you? Just like that?"

"I do not know what to think anymore!" you shouted, your voice breaking on the last word. "You scarcely speak to me. You gaze upon me as though I am some fragile thing you must keep at arm's length. You defend me to the council, and yet you cannot even look me in the eye when we are alone!"

"I defend you because you are my wife!" Bucky’s voice cracked like a whip, the force of it reverberating in the space between you. "Because I cannot bear the thought of them tearing you down. And all I have done for the past three months is fight for you—while you are in there, agreeing to throw it all away?"

"It is not that simple, Bucky!" you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You are not the one they scrutinize every second of every day, whispering that I am not good enough, that I am failing you. Failing the kingdom."

"And you believe this is any easier for me?" Bucky shot back, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Watching you suffer, knowing I can do nothing to help you? Knowing that every night we try—every night I fail—you are the one they blame?"

You flinched, the words striking deep. You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek before you could stop it. "Bucky, I..."

"I have been defending you since the day we wed," Bucky continued, his voice hoarse. "And do you know what hurts the most? It is not what they are saying. It is not the rumors or the accusations. It is you. It is that you do not believe I am on your side."

"That is not true!" you protested, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I know you are on my side, but I—"

"But you still walked in there and handed them the one thing they have been trying to take from us," he cut you off harshly, the fury in his voice barely leashed. "The moment you agreed to choose a consort, you handed them a victory. You handed me over."

You staggered back, the accusation hitting you like a physical blow. "No... Bucky, I was merely trying to—"

"To what? Save me?" He laughed, a bitter, humorless sound that sent a stab of pain through your chest. "Do you truly believe they will stop at a consort, Y/N? Do you believe they will be satisfied with anything less than taking you away from me?"

"I was merely... I was trying to make things easier for you," you whispered brokenly, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. "I did not wish to make you choose."

"Choose?" Bucky’s voice dropped, a dangerous softness creeping into his tone. "There was never a choice, Y/N. There will never be a choice. It is you. It has always been you."

His words hung in the air, the truth of them stark and undeniable. But there was no comfort in them—not in this moment, not when the damage had already been done.

The ache in your chest deepened as you gazed into his eyes, seeing the rawness there, the hurt and anger and love all twisted together in a knot that neither of you seemed able to untangle.

"Bucky..." you breathed, your voice trembling. "I cannot—"

"No," he cut you off sharply, his jaw clenched. "You do not get to finish that sentence. You do not get to stand there and pretend this is something you must shoulder alone."

"I am not pretending," you cried, your voice breaking on the words. "I know what this means. Do you believe I do not hear the whispers, that I do not see the way they look at us—at me? As if I am some failure, as if I am the reason this kingdom does not have an heir?"

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, the fury simmering beneath his skin barely contained. "It is not your fault—"

"Then whose is it?" you interrupted, stepping forward, your hands trembling as they reached for his. "Every month that passes without an heir, it worsens. The pressure, the doubt... the guilt." You swallowed hard, trying to push back the sob threatening to tear free. "And now, because of me—because I cannot give you what they want—they are pushing for a consort."

Bucky’s hands were like iron around yours, his gaze blazing as he shook his head. "This is not on you. It is them."

You nodded, a bitter smile twisting your lips. "I know. But if it is not me, it will be you. They will twist everything until there is no option left but to..." You closed your eyes, sucking in a shaky breath. "Perhaps it is better if I just... step aside."

"Step aside?" The words were low, dangerous. "You expect me to stand by and allow them to replace you?"

"I am not saying you must stand by," you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of it. "I am saying... I am saying I shall do it. I shall choose the right consort. Someone who will support you, someone who will not attempt to take the throne—someone who will give you an heir."

Bucky froze, his entire body going rigid as if struck. The silence that followed was suffocating, a heavy, choking thing that made your lungs burn. For a heartbeat, two, you thought he might turn and walk away—leave you to shatter in the emptiness you had just carved between you.

But then, slowly, Bucky’s hands tightened around yours, his grip bruising in its intensity. His eyes, when they met yours, were dark, filled with a kind of anguish that stole the breath from your lungs.

"You believe I would allow you to do that?" he asked softly, each word a deliberate, precise strike. "You believe I would permit you to choose another, allow them to take your place in our bed? In our lives?" He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "I would burn this kingdom to the ground before I allowed that to happen."

Your chest hitched with a sob, tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head. "But they will make you, James. They will twist everything until you have no choice. If I choose—if I step aside—they cannot say anything."

"Do you not understand?" Bucky’s voice broke, raw and strained, reverberating off the cold walls of the chamber. His grip tightened around your arm, not in anger, but in desperation. "It will never be anyone else. You are my queen. You are my wife. And I care not if we have a hundred heirs or none—I will not allow them to take you from me. Not like this."

Your heart ached at the sight of him, the pain etched across his face. He looked torn apart, pulled in too many directions, and you knew—you knew you were one of the forces pulling him, tearing him at the seams. You glanced away, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. You could not afford to be weak now.

"You are the King, Bucky." Your voice was steady, but it carried a hollow echo. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as your vision blurred. "I shall choose in the morning."

Bucky recoiled as if struck. His hand fell away from your arm, his expression crumbling into one of utter frustration and disbelief.

"No." He shook his head, chest heaving with the effort to keep himself together. "No, I do not want a choice. I do not wish for you to have to make that choice."

But you merely stood there, unmoving, a pillar of silent resolve. "It is not about what you want, James. It is about what is best for the kingdom."

"Damn the kingdom!" he exploded, the words tearing out of him like a curse. His voice reverberated through the chamber, the force of it shaking the very air between you.

"I need you—do you not understand that?" His hands moved as though he wished to reach out to you again, but he faltered, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He looked down, squeezing his eyes shut as though trying to ward off the storm building inside him.

But it was too late.

A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his skull, sudden and brutal. Bucky stumbled back, a guttural groan escaping him as he clutched his head. He tried to breathe through it, tried to force the pain down, but it only grew sharper, the pressure building until it felt like his skull might crack open.

"Bucky?" You stepped forward, your earlier resolve forgotten as fear tightened around your heart. You reached out, your fingers brushing his shoulder, but he jerked away as though your touch burned him.

"Stay away!" His voice was strangled, twisted, and not entirely his own. He staggered backward, the muscles in his neck straining as he fought against the change clawing at his mind. "Just—just stay away from me."

But you could not leave him. Not like this. "Bucky, please, let me—"

"No!" His roar echoed through the chamber, and then everything seemed to happen at once, "STAY AWAY FROM ME."

One moment he was there, staring at you with wide, tortured eyes. The next, his expression twisted, his features contorting into something savage, something unrecognizable. His arm lashed out, faster than you could process, and then you were flying back, your body slamming into the wall with a sickening thud.

Pain exploded across your back, and you gasped, the air knocked out of your lungs. The world spun, black spots dancing at the edges of your vision. But before you could even regain your breath, a vice-like grip closed around your throat, lifting you off the ground.

The Winter Soldier’s face loomed before you, his eyes dark and empty, his expression a mask of cold fury. The hand around your neck tightened, cutting off your air, and you struggled, your fingers scrabbling uselessly against the unyielding metal.

"B-Bucky…L-Let go. . ." you choked out, tears stinging your eyes as you tried to reach him, tried to break through the void in his gaze. But it was like staring into the abyss—there was no recognition, no flicker of the man you knew. Only the Soldier.

The edges of your vision began to blur, your lungs burning for oxygen as you clawed at his arm. But he did not flinch, did not even seem to notice your struggle. He just kept squeezing, his gaze locked onto yours, unseeing and merciless.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash as the door to the chamber burst open.

"Bucky! Stop!" Steve’s voice thundered through the room, filled with an urgency that made the air crackle. He was at the Soldier’s side in an instant, his hands closing around the metal arm with a strength that only Steve Rogers could muster.

"Bucky, let her go!" Sam’s voice joined Steve’s, and together, they pried at the Soldier’s grip. But it was as if Bucky’s strength had doubled, the force of his hold unrelenting. Your vision was dimming, your struggles weakening as the world faded around you.

"Let her go!" Steve roared, and with a surge of strength, he shoved Bucky back, the force finally breaking the Soldier’s grip.

You crumpled to the ground, gasping and coughing as precious air rushed back into your lungs. You barely registered Scott’s panicked voice beside you, his hands shaking as he tried to help you sit up.

The Winter Soldier staggered back, a snarl twisting his lips as he whirled on Steve. But Steve did not back down, his gaze locked onto Bucky’s, unflinching and determined.

"Come on, Buck," Steve murmured, his voice low and steady, meant for Bucky and Bucky alone. "You are stronger than this. Do not let it win."

For a moment, the Soldier paused, a flicker of something—something human—crossing his face. But then his expression twisted again, and he lunged, his metal arm swinging with brutal force.

Steve ducked, sidestepping the attack, his movements precise and controlled. "Sam, get Y/N out of here," he ordered, not taking his eyes off the Soldier.

"Got it," Sam replied tightly, his arm sliding around your shoulders as he lifted you to your feet.

"Bucky…" you whispered, your voice a broken rasp. You tried to reach for him, but Sam gently pulled you back.

"Not now, Your Majesty," Sam murmured, his tone soft but firm. "Let Steve handle this."

As you moved toward the door, you cast one last, desperate glance over your shoulder. The Soldier was still fighting, still lashing out with a mindless fury that sent shudders through you. But somewhere, buried deep beneath the violence and rage, you thought you saw a flash of blue—just for a second.

"Bucky…" you breathed, and then Sam was leading you away, your heart breaking with every step.

Behind you, Steve faced down the Winter Soldier alone, his voice a steady murmur as he tried to coax his friend back from the darkness.

"It is all right, Buck," Steve murmured, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "We are going to get through this. Do you hear me? We are going to get through this."

But the only response was a roar of fury as the Soldier lunged again, and the door slammed shut behind you and Sam, cutting off the sound of the battle that raged within.

"Your Majesty, please," Scott’s voice was shaking as he hovered beside you, his face pale with fear. "We need to get you somewhere safe."

But you did not respond. You merely stared at the closed door, your breath coming in short, painful gasps as the weight of what had just happened settled over you like a suffocating shroud.

It will never be anyone else.

His words echoed through your mind, a haunting reminder of what had been—and what might never be again.

× × × ×

The late morning sun filters softly through the delicate lace curtains of your private sitting room, casting a warm, golden glow that does little to dispel the chill clinging to the air. The room, usually filled with laughter and quiet conversations, now feels suffocatingly still. Monica, ever vigilant, hovers nearby, her gaze flicking between you and the door, as if expecting trouble to walk right in.

The soft click of heels on marble announces Sharon’s arrival before she even enters. With the same serene smile she always wears, Sharon steps through the door, a polished silver tray balanced perfectly on her palm. The teacup, filled with the familiar amber liquid, gleams invitingly under the morning light.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Sharon greets smoothly, the warmth in her voice radiating false cheer. She sets the tray down on the small table beside the chaise where you sit, her eyes skimming over your face with a hint of concern. “I thought you might like your tea a little earlier today. I added extra herbs for relaxation—something to help ease the tension.”

Monica nods politely, her expression neutral, betraying nothing of the unease simmering beneath her skin. “Thank you, Lady Carter,” she says, her tone gracious. “Just leave it here. I’ll see to it that Her Majesty drinks it.”

You glance up, the movement slow and deliberate, and for a fleeting moment, Sharon’s smile falters. Your fingers absently rub at the base of your throat, where the skin has turned a mottled shade of purple. The faint bruises stand out starkly against the pale column of your neck, a reminder of the night before—of Bucky’s unrelenting grip and the darkness that had taken hold of him.

“Your Majesty…” Sharon’s voice softens, laced with a concern that almost sounds genuine. She takes a small step forward, as if she wants to reach out. “Are you… feeling all right?”

Your gaze drifts to the cup of tea, then back to Sharon. For a moment, there is something unreadable in your eyes—something sharp and wary. But you force a smile, though it’s strained and barely touches your lips.

“Just tired,” you murmur, your voice hoarse, almost painful to listen to. You wince slightly, your fingers still pressed gently against your bruised throat. “But the tea will help, I’m sure.”

Sharon’s gaze lingers on your neck for a beat too long before she catches herself, her smile brightening. “Of course. Please, do take your time. It’s a special blend—calming and soothing. I brewed it myself this morning.”

You nod, reaching for the teacup. Your fingers brush the delicate handle, the porcelain cool beneath your touch. But just as you begin to lift it, a gentle hand wraps around your wrist, halting your movement.

“Your Majesty,” Monica says quietly, her voice steady but firm. She doesn’t look at Sharon—doesn’t acknowledge the tension that suddenly crackles between you. Her eyes remain on you, a silent plea and warning all in one. “Perhaps it’s best to let it cool a little. You know how sensitive your throat is right now.”

You blink, taken aback by the interruption. You glance between Monica’s serious expression and the teacup still poised in your hand, feeling the subtle but unmistakable pressure of Monica’s grip. Slowly, reluctantly, you set the cup back down on the saucer.

“Right,” you murmur, your brow furrowing slightly. “I suppose… it might irritate it.”

Monica nods, releasing your wrist with a barely perceptible sigh of relief. “Exactly. We don’t want to cause more discomfort.”

Sharon’s smile tightens, though she quickly schools her expression back into something more pleasant. “If Her Majesty prefers, I could bring something else,” she offers smoothly, her eyes shifting to Monica with an almost imperceptible edge. “Perhaps a broth, or a different blend of herbs—something gentler on the throat.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Monica replies before you can speak, her voice calm and composed. “I’ll see to her comfort. Thank you, Lady Carter.”

For a moment, the air in the room seems to freeze. Sharon’s gaze lingers on the cup of tea, then flickers back to Monica, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. But she only nods, her smile never wavering.

“Very well,” Sharon murmurs, dipping her head in a graceful nod. “Please, do let me know if there’s anything more I can do for Her Majesty.”

Your fingers twitch toward the teacup once more, but Monica’s hand rests gently atop yours, stilling the movement.

“We appreciate your concern, Lady Carter,” Monica says evenly, the weight of her gaze finally meeting Sharon’s. “But as I said, I’ll take care of it from here.”

There is a beat of silence, thick and heavy, before Sharon’s smile widens, all teeth and no warmth. “Of course. I’ll take my leave, then.”

She turns, her movements fluid and unhurried as she makes her way to the door. But just before she steps out, she glances back, her eyes locking onto yours with a peculiar intensity.

“Please rest well, Your Majesty,” she says softly. “And remember, I’m always here if you need me.”

The door closes with a soft click, and the tension in the room eases slightly. You exhale slowly, your fingers still brushing the delicate handle of the cup.

“Monica…” you begin, but the older woman’s gentle but firm voice cuts you off.

“No, Your Majesty,” Monica says quietly, her hand still resting on yours. “Not today.”

You frown, confusion and fatigue warring in your gaze. “But it’s just—”

“Not today,” Monica repeats, her voice soft but resolute. She glances at the teacup, her expression darkening. “You don’t need that today.”

You stare at the cup for a long moment, then nod slowly, allowing yourself to be guided away from it. As Monica leads you to the chaise, your eyes linger on the abandoned cup—on the amber liquid that seems to shimmer ominously under the soft glow of the morning sun.

For the first time in weeks, the tea remains untouched.

× × × ×

The air in the study of the Carter estate crackled with tension, the grand fireplace roaring with heat, but the chill in the room was unmistakable. Lord Carter stood by the window, hands clenched behind his back, his frame rigid with barely contained fury. His gaze was fixed on the darkening horizon outside, the sky tinged with the last traces of sunset, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere—burning with rage.

Behind him, Sharon stood near the door, her head slightly bowed as if she could avoid the inevitable storm brewing in her father’s expression. She’d seen him angry before, but this was different—more intense, more dangerous. She could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating, as though the walls themselves were pressing in.

“She dares,” Lord Carter spat, his voice shaking with anger. “That wretched queen dares to think she has outsmarted me. After everything… she thinks she knows everything.”

Sharon flinched as the words hit her, but she said nothing. She had learned, long ago, that silence was sometimes the best defense against her father’s fury. He paced in front of the window now, his hand twitching as thought resisting the urge to break something. The study, usually an image of calm authority, now felt like a tinderbox waiting for a spark.

“She humiliated me in front of the entire council,” Lord Carter continued, his voice low but simmering with hatred. “James stands there like a whipped dog, defending her—that woman—and you…” His gaze snapped toward Sharon, and for the first time that evening, she wished she could disappear. “You promised me progress.”

Sharon’s stomach twisted. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words stuck in her throat. She had been so sure, so certain that her plan would work—that weakening the queen’s health would make her more compliant, more vulnerable. But now…

Her father’s voice cut through her thoughts like a knife. “How is the tea going, Sharon?” He asked the question quietly, too quietly, and that made her pulse race even faster.

Sharon swallowed hard, finally forcing herself to meet his gaze. “She hasn’t been drinking it. . .” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was making progress, but… Monica is back. She’s been by the queen’s side constantly since her return.”

Lord Carter’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his neck strained.

“Monica,” he hissed, as though the very name tasted of poison. He turned away, fists clenched at his sides. “I warned you, Sharon. I warned you not to let anyone get in the way.”

Sharon flinched again, instinctively stepping back. “Father, I’m trying—”

“You’re failing,” he snapped, rounding on her. His eyes flashed with an intensity that made her heart pound. “If Monica is back, then she’ll suspect something. She’s always been too clever for her own good. You should have handled this before she returned.”

“I didn’t expect her to come back so soon,” Sharon tried to explain, her voice trembling slightly despite her efforts to keep calm. “But I can still—”

“You can still what?” Lord Carter cut her off, his voice a dangerous growl. “This was supposed to be simple. A quiet weakening, a slow descent into illness. But now she’s refusing the tea, and Monica is back to interfere. You’re letting this slip through your fingers.”

Sharon bit her lip, her mind racing for some solution, some way to fix the mess that was unraveling before her. But no matter how much she tried, every path seemed blocked by Monica’s return.

Lord Carter turned away from her again, his fingers tapping against his chin as he stared into the flames of the fireplace. His silence was more terrifying than his anger.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again—his voice low, cold, and utterly devoid of emotion. “Then you know what needs to be done.”

Sharon’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?” she whispered, though she already knew.

Lord Carter didn’t look at her as he continued. “Monica has always been a problem. If she’s standing in our way, we remove her. Permanently.”

Sharon’s breath hitched, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You want me to… to kill her?”

Lord Carter turned then, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous resolve. “You’ve already been poisoning the queen,” he said flatly, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “Killing Monica is no different. She is just another obstacle.”

Sharon’s eyes widened in horror, her breath catching in her throat. “W-What? Poisoning the queen?” she echoed, her voice trembling with disbelief. “You said it was just… just contraceptive, Father!”

Lord Carter’s gaze remained cold and unyielding, his lips curling in disdain. “And you believed that? You thought preventing an heir was all we needed? No, Sharon, it had to be more. The queen’s power had to be diminished entirely. You were simply too naive to see the bigger picture.”

Sharon’s heart pounded as she stood there, frozen by the weight of his words. She had done terrible things before—sabotaged, lied, manipulated—but this… this was different. This was murder.

Lord Carter’s expression softened slightly, but there was no warmth in it. Only the cold steel of a man who had long since buried any sense of morality. “You’ve come too far to back out now, Sharon. Either you do this, or you lose everything. Do you understand me?”

Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. But then, slowly, she nodded. She had no choice. Not if she wanted to survive her father’s wrath.

“Good,” Lord Carter said, turning back toward the window. “And if anyone else stands in our way—Monica, the queen, anyone—remove them. We’re too close now to be stopped.”

Sharon’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched her father’s back, her mind racing with a thousand dark thoughts. She had always known her father was ruthless, but this… this was something else entirely. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to go through with it.

But as the flickering flames cast shadows across the room, one thing became painfully clear: she had no choice.

× × × ×

Monica descended the stairs, her soft footsteps echoing faintly in the emptiness. She had just finished a late meeting and was heading toward her chambers, her mind lost in thought.

Above her, hidden in the shadows at the top of the staircase, Sharon stood, her pulse racing with every passing second. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: “Monica must be removed. She is a threat to everything we've worked for.”

Sharon’s hands clenched tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she was running out of time. Monica’s constant presence by the queen’s side was unraveling her carefully laid plans. Tonight had to be the night. She couldn’t wait any longer.

The grand staircase was the perfect opportunity—isolated, with no one around to witness what was about to happen. Sharon had made sure the railing had been loosened earlier by a servant. But now, patience was no longer an option. Monica needed to be dealt with immediately.

Monica, unaware of Sharon’s presence, continued her descent, her steps steady. She reached the middle of the staircase when Sharon silently slipped out of the shadows, her movements quick and precise. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her heart hammering in her ears as she neared her target.

Without hesitation, Sharon surged forward, closing the gap between them. Just as Monica reached the next landing, Sharon struck. She placed her hands firmly on Monica’s back and shoved.

The push wasn’t strong, but it was well-timed.

Monica’s eyes widened as she felt the unexpected force behind her. Her arms flailed as she stumbled forward, desperately trying to grab hold of the banister. But the railing, already weakened, gave way with a loud, splintering crack.

A sharp gasp escaped Monica’s lips as she lost her balance completely. She tumbled down the stairs, her body slamming against the stone steps with brutal force. Her ankle twisted, and she could feel the sharp pain as her head hit the cold marble. She rolled painfully down several more steps before finally crashing at the bottom, her limbs sprawled awkwardly, her breathing shallow.

Sharon stood frozen at the top of the staircase, watching the scene below her. Monica lay still, her body motionless except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. Sharon’s heart pounded in her ears, her mind racing. She had done it. She had pushed Monica.

But then she hesitated—what if Monica wasn’t dead? What if she survived? Panic set in.

Monica stirred, a faint groan escaping her lips as she tried to move. But the pain in her body was too much. Her vision blurred as she attempted to sit up, the world around her spinning. She felt blood trickling from a wound on her forehead, the coppery taste filling her mouth. Her head throbbed, and before she could even process what had happened, darkness overtook her. She lost consciousness, her body slumping back against the cold stone floor.

Sharon’s breath caught in her throat, and her body tensed. This wasn’t the clean, easy accident she had planned. Fear surged through her, and without waiting to see if anyone had heard the fall, she turned and fled back into the shadows. She needed to get away before someone saw her.

Her footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as she hurried away, her mind racing with panic. She couldn’t afford to be caught.

Moments after Sharon disappeared, two palace guards patrolling the nearby hallway heard the distant sound of something—someone—falling. Their footsteps quickened as they reached the staircase. At the bottom, they found Lady Monica lying unconscious, blood staining the side of her face, her body twisted painfully.

“Lady Monica!” one of the guards shouted, rushing to her side. He knelt down, feeling her faint pulse, relief flooding through him. “She’s alive. Quickly, get the physician!”

The second guard ran off, disappearing down the hall in search of help, while the first guard stayed by Monica’s side, carefully positioning her to avoid further injury. The grand staircase, usually a symbol of regal elegance, was now tainted with the scent of blood and the ominous aura of a near-tragedy.

× × × ×

After the incident where he lost control and harmed the queen, he had needed to leave—a necessity to keep you safe… from himself. Bucky lay in bed, his face pale and drawn from the relentless headaches that had plagued him for years. Isaac sat by his bedside, his expression grim, while Steve and Sam stood nearby, their eyes fixed on their friend with concern.

Bucky shifted slightly, trying to ease the pounding in his head. "What is it, Isaac?" he asked, his voice hoarse but lined with worry. Isaac had been unusually quiet since entering the room, a sign that something was terribly wrong.

Isaac exchanged a glance with Steve and Sam before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It is about Monica."

Bucky’s brow furrowed, his body tensing immediately. "Monica? What of her?"

Isaac took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "She fell… down the grand staircase earlier this night."

The words struck the room like a hammer blow. Bucky’s eyes widened in shock as he pushed himself up slightly on the bed. "Is she well?"

"She is," Isaac answered quickly, nodding. "She has only recently regained consciousness, but… there is something you must know."

Steve and Sam exchanged uneasy glances, stepping closer to the bed, sensing the gravity in Isaac’s tone.

"What is it?" Bucky pressed, his voice thick with concern.

Isaac hesitated for a moment, choosing his words with care. "Monica… claims she did not fall. She claims she was pushed."

The room fell deathly still.

Steve furrowed his brow, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. "Pushed? What do you mean, pushed?"

Isaac’s gaze shifted to Steve. "That is what she said. She recalls someone behind her… someone pushing her down the stairs."

Sam’s face darkened, and he stepped forward. "Why would someone do such a thing? Who would do this?"

Isaac shook his head slowly, the weight of the situation pressing down upon the room. "She did not see who it was. She lost consciousness after the fall. But she is certain—someone pushed her. This was no accident."

Bucky closed his eyes briefly, his jaw clenched in anger and frustration. "Could it be related to what is happening with Y/N? Could they be trying to reach her through Monica?"

Steve’s brow furrowed deeper, the tension in the room mounting. "It is possible. Monica has been by Y/N’s side since her return, caring for her… She has always been loyal. Perhaps someone views her as a threat."

Isaac suddenly let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head as though something had just clicked in his mind. The sound caught the attention of the others, and they turned to him, startled by the shift in his demeanor.

"Do you find this amusing?" Steve asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Isaac leaned back in his chair, still shaking his head, a dark smile curling his lips. "What a mess this is," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible but laden with realization. He looked up at Steve, his expression now serious. "And no, Steve. I do not find it amusing."

“Then why—”

Isaac’s eyes darkened, cutting Steve off before he could finish. “Because I may know who is behind this… and you had best pray it is not connected to the matters I have been investigating outside the palace walls.”

Bucky, still propped up on the bed, straightened, his brow creasing with concern. "What are you implying, Isaac?"

Isaac stood up, his expression hardening, determination visible on his face. “I must return to the palace tonight. There is more at work here than mere court politics. If this is tied to what I have uncovered, then the danger is far greater than we could have foreseen.”

Steve stepped toward him, his eyes searching Isaac’s face for answers. "Isaac, what exactly are you dealing with?"

Isaac gave Steve a brief glance but shifted his focus back to Bucky. The words were on the tip of his tongue, and they were too important to delay. He stepped closer to his brother’s bedside, his gaze sharp.

“Y/N is not safe within the palace,” Isaac said bluntly, his voice cold and honest. "And I do not mean solely because of those who plot against her."

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you saying?”

Isaac’s gaze flickered with a mixture of frustration and concern. “I am saying that even with you there, she is not safe. You cannot control what is happening to you, Bucky. We both know it.” His tone was brutally honest, cutting through the room like a blade. "What will happen the next time you lose control?"

Bucky’s face tightened, the memory of what he had done to you cutting deeper than any physical wound. He did not respond immediately, his breath catching in his throat. His mind flashed back to that dreadful day—your face pale with fear, your body fragile beneath his grip as the Winter Soldier surfaced. He had not meant to hurt you, but he had.

Isaac’s tone softened slightly, though his words remained firm. “I do not say this to hurt you, brother. I say it because you must face the truth.”

Bucky’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “I would never—”

“You did not mean to,” Isaac interrupted, his voice steady but relentless. “But it happened. And what is to stop it from happening again? You battle yourself every day, and the more you seek to protect her, the more dangerous you become.”

The room was thick with tension, the truth of Isaac’s words hanging heavily in the air.

Steve’s face was taut with concern, but he remained silent. He knew Isaac was right—Bucky’s unpredictability, especially with the Winter Soldier still lurking deep within him, posed a constant threat. It was only a matter of time.

"I shall return to the palace," Isaac said decisively. "I will continue my investigation, but you must prepare yourself for whatever is coming. If Sharon—or anyone else—is behind this, then this is far from finished."

Isaac glanced briefly at Steve and Sam, his expression unreadable, before turning and heading toward the door.

As he reached for the handle, he paused, casting one last look at his brother. “I will do all in my power to keep Y/N safe. But we must be honest about the dangers we face.”

Bucky said nothing, the weight of Isaac’s words bearing down upon him. His heart ached with the memory of the moment he had lost control, the horror in your eyes. Isaac left without another word, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence. × × × ×

You sit at the grand desk, your fingers lightly tracing the edges of the parchment before you. On the table lies a list of names—potential consorts for Bucky—that Scott had handed you earlier. The sight of the names only deepens the pit of discomfort in your stomach.

Your eyes scan the names, but your mind is far from the task. Despite the formalities, the political pressures, and the expectations of the court, all you can think of is Bucky—of his absence and the aching space it leaves in your heart.

A soft knock on the door startles you from your thoughts. The door creaks open, and you glance up, your heart skipping a beat. For a moment, you think it’s Bucky. But as the figure steps further into the light, your breath catches.

It isn’t him.

It’s his twin brother, Prince Isaac. The resemblance is uncanny, though there is something sharper in Isaac’s demeanor—an edge that sets him apart from Bucky’s more familiar warmth. His presence fills the room in a different way, his dark gaze locking onto yours as he steps forward.

You quickly stand, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you try to compose yourself. You’ve seen Isaac around the palace, of course—always lingering in the background, watching but never approaching. But this is the first time you’ve spoken face to face.

"Your Majesty," Isaac greets with a formal bow, his voice smooth, yet carrying an undertone of something darker, something almost unreadable. "I hope I am not intruding."

You blink, recovering from your initial surprise. "Not at all," you reply, your voice measured. "I—" You hesitate briefly before continuing. "I thought you were Bucky at first."

A faint smile tugs at the corner of Isaac’s lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. "A common mistake," he says, his tone light, yet there’s an undercurrent of something heavier. "Though I assure you, the differences are far more than they seem at first glance."

You nod, still feeling slightly off balance from the unexpected encounter. You gesture toward the desk. "I was just reviewing… some matters of state." You don’t want to mention the list of consorts, as the topic feels both awkward and deeply personal.

Isaac’s gaze flickers to the papers on your desk, though he says nothing about them. Instead, he steps further into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. "I’ve been meaning to introduce myself properly, Your Majesty. It seems fate has delayed that until now."

You incline your head slightly. "Yes, I’ve seen you around the palace, but we have not had the chance to speak."

Isaac gives a slight nod, his eyes never leaving yours. "I apologize for that. Matters of… importance have kept me away from more formal introductions."

You sense the weight behind his words, though you’re unsure if you should press him on it. Instead, you decide to keep the conversation polite, at least for now. "You needn’t apologize. I am aware that you’ve been preoccupied with other affairs. I hear your work takes you far beyond the palace walls."

Isaac’s expression shifts subtly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he quickly masks it. "Yes. My duties are… varied." He pauses, his gaze growing more intense. "But my primary concern is always the safety of the royal family."

There’s something in the way he says it that makes you uneasy, though you can’t quite place why. You fold your hands in front of you, offering a polite smile. "I appreciate your concern, Prince Isaac."

Isaac’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he glances back toward the desk, where the list of consorts lies partially rolled up. "And how goes the selection of potential consorts for my brother?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

Your fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the table. You don’t want to discuss it with him—especially not when your heart feels so conflicted. "It’s… a process," you reply vaguely, trying to brush off the question. "One that requires much consideration."

Isaac arches an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Indeed. I can imagine it is a difficult decision. Though I am sure you will choose wisely." There’s a pause, and then he adds, more quietly, "I doubt anyone could replace you in Bucky's heart, though.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Bucky’s name, and you find yourself momentarily speechless. Isaac has touched on a truth you’re trying so desperately to ignore—that no matter who is presented to you, no one will ever replace the place you holds in Bucky's heart.

Isaac’s gaze softens slightly, though his voice remains firm. "The court may demand certain things, but the heart seldom aligns with such demands."

You look up at him, a flicker of vulnerability crossing your expression. "I... suppose you’re right."

Isaac steps closer, his presence looming but not oppressive. "If I may speak candidly, Your Majesty," he says, his tone quiet but steady, "I know my brother better than anyone. He left because he believed it was the only way to protect you."

You feel a lump form in your throat at the mention of Bucky’s departure. "He thought he was protecting me by leaving, that sounds about right." you murmur, more to yourself than to Isaac.

Isaac’s gaze softens further, though his eyes still hold that sharpness. "He lov— means well. That is why he left." He pauses, his voice lowering. "But you should know, running away from the ones we care about does not always keep them safe."

Your chest tightens at Isaac’s words. The weight of your decisions—of the future you’re supposed to secure, and the person you love who is far away—presses down on you all at once. You look down at the list of consorts again, your heart heavy with uncertainty.

Isaac takes a step back, his expression unreadable once more. "I shall leave you to your considerations, Your Majesty," he says, his voice formal again. "But if you ever need counsel… you know where to find me."

You open your mouth, words bubbling up as uncertainty grips you. "Wait."

Isaac pauses, turning back to face you, his expression unreadable. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

You glance at the list of names on the desk and then back at him. The idea of selecting someone to fill the void in Bucky's absence feels too heavy, too painful to do alone. "I… I need your help."

Isaac’s eyes narrow slightly in surprise. "You want my counsel in choosing a consort?" His voice carries a note of disbelief, as though he hadn’t expected this request.

You nod slowly, your voice soft. "Yes. I trust that you know Bucky better than anyone. I want to make the right decision, for him… for the kingdom."

For a moment, Isaac says nothing. He studies you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, perhaps even sympathy.

"I understand," he finally replies, stepping closer once again. His tone has shifted, quieter, more serious. "I will help you."

Relief washes over you, though a lingering unease remains. You gesture to the list on the desk. "These are the names the council suggested. But I do not know some of them personally. I want someone who would truly support Bucky, someone who would not try to—" You hesitate, unable to finish the sentence, your heart aching at the thought of someone else standing beside him.

Isaac steps beside you, his gaze sweeping over the list. "These names," he says slowly, "are politically motivated. The council seeks alliances that strengthen their own positions, not necessarily what is best for my brother."

His words confirm what you feared, and you let out a soft sigh. "Then who would be the right choice?"

Isaac’s fingers lightly trace one of the names, his gaze thoughtful.

Natasha Romanoff Carol Danvers Yelena Belova Wanda Maximoff Sharon Carter Ivanya Haynesworth Jane Haynesworth Ciara Pierce Alana Ross

"There are few here who would serve Bucky's interests. But I can tell you who to avoid."

You look up at him, your heart clenching at the dilemma before you.

Isaac's gaze meets yours, and his voice drops to a whisper, firm and reassuring. "Bucky will return, and when he does, he will not care about a consort or the court’s demands. You know that, do you not?"

His words strike deep, echoing a truth you’ve been trying to ignore. You swallow hard, looking back down at the list, your voice barely audible. "I don’t know anymore."

Isaac places a hand gently on your shoulder, his voice steady and certain. "Trust me, Your Majesty. Together, we will ensure no one takes advantage of this situation. We will make the right decision, for Bucky and for you."

For the first time in a long while, you feel a flicker of hope. You meet Isaac’s gaze, nodding slowly. "Thank you," you whisper.

Isaac offers a faint smile. "You are not alone in this. I am here to help, Your Majesty."

You lean forward slightly, resting your hands on the edge of the desk, your gaze drifting back to the list of names. "Wanda… she’s kind and empathetic. I know she would be supportive of Bucky in the way he needs." You glance up at Isaac, searching for some reaction, hoping for guidance.

Isaac’s expression remains neutral, but there’s a flicker—so brief it’s almost imperceptible. His eyes soften just for a second at the mention of Wanda’s name, a subtle shift in his otherwise composed demeanor.

"Wanda is indeed… remarkable," Isaac says, his voice steady but with a weight behind his words that lingers. He glances away, only for a moment, as if guarding a thought he won’t voice. "She would be a strong choice, no doubt."

There’s a silence that follows, one you can’t quite place. You catch the faintest trace of something in Isaac’s tone—admiration, perhaps? It’s gone before you can fully grasp it, but the subtle hint lingers in the air between you. He composes himself again quickly, his gaze meeting yours, sharp and clear.

"But whether she would want this role, as we’ve discussed, is something to consider," Isaac continues, his tone once more composed, giving no further indication of the brief flicker you saw. "Her loyalty and strength, however, would make her an asset to anyone she chose to stand beside."

You nod slowly, feeling as though you’ve glimpsed something more, but unsure if it was truly there. The conversation shifts back to the list of names, yet the faint trace of Isaac’s earlier reaction stays with you, leaving you with the slightest suspicion that perhaps Wanda occupies a place in his thoughts beyond simple respect.

As the conversation with Isaac winds down, the weight of your decisions still presses heavily on your mind, though the subtle sense of clarity Isaac has provided lingers. You stand, smoothing the fabric of your gown, your gaze drifting once again to the list of names on the desk.

Isaac watches you for a moment, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. "If you need anything else, Your Majesty, do not hesitate to call upon me," he says, his voice formal once more.

"Thank you, Isaac," you reply softly, offering him a small but sincere nod. "Your counsel has been invaluable."

Just as Isaac is about to turn and leave, you feel a sudden tug in your chest—a need for one last question, one that’s been lingering at the back of your mind since he arrived. Before he can reach the door, you take a breath and call out softly, “Prince Isaac?”

He pauses, hands on the door handle, and turns back to face you. His expression shifts slightly, as though he knows what you’re about to ask but has been waiting for you to voice it.

“How… how is Bucky?” you ask, your voice quiet but filled with concern. “In Annecy, I mean. Is he doing… is he all right?”

Isaac’s features soften, and the sharpness in his gaze briefly gives way to something gentler. He steps back toward you, his demeanor more personal now.

“He’s managing,” Isaac replies, careful to choose his words. “Annecy has been a place of respite for him. He’s doing what he needs to do, focusing on himself for now.”

You nod, though your heart aches with the unspoken worries swirling in your mind. “I just… I miss him. I want to be there for him.”

Isaac’s gaze lingers on you, understanding etched across his features. “He knows that,” he says gently. “And I believe he’ll return when the time is right. For now, he’s doing what he feels he must, but it’s not forever.”

A wave of relief mixes with the ever-present ache of Bucky’s absence. You offer Isaac a small, grateful nod, managing to keep your emotions steady.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “For telling me.”

Isaac offers a brief smile, dipping his head slightly. “Take care, Your Majesty,” he says, his tone formal again but still carrying a trace of warmth.

With that, Isaac turns and exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The door clicks shut, and you exhale slowly, the conversation lingering in your mind. You feel both reassured and uneasy, knowing Bucky is far away, but at least he's safe for now—so you hope.

You glance back at the list of potential consorts, but your mind is elsewhere, focusing instead on the people who matter most to you—those who’ve stood by you, offered their strength and loyalty. You take a deep breath, resolving that this next step must be handled delicately.

"Scott?" you call, your voice soft yet firm.

Within moments, Scott appears at the door, his posture respectful as always. "Yes, Your Majesty?" he asks, his tone deferential.

You offer him a gentle smile. "Please extend an invitation for tea. I would like to meet with Lady Maximoff. This afternoon, if she is available."

Scott nods immediately, his professionalism unwavering. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will deliver the invitations at once."

As Scott exits the room to carry out your request, you let out a quiet sigh, your mind already racing through the upcoming meeting. These women are not just potential allies—they are people you trust, whose opinions matter deeply to you. The thought of seeing them, of discussing the choices ahead, brings a small sense of comfort, despite the heavy decisions still lingering on the horizon.

You glance once more at the abandoned list on your desk, knowing that whatever lies ahead.

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@im-normal-about-characters @hayleythecannibal @tallaennatargaryen

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urdreamydoodles · 4 months ago

Note

Love your works!!!! And I love Mr. Pickles!!!

May I ask for headcanons if reader dies in their arms?

Asking for: Emma Frost, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Piotr Rasputin, Beast, and Illyana Rasputin

No pressure ofc!!! Thank you!!

And have I mentioned that I fucking love your works?!?!

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You die in their arms (Part.1)

In the heat of battle, you succumbs to fatal injuries in the arms of your partner. Each X-Men, torn apart by grief, reacts to the devastating loss, facing the crushing reality that their greatest power cannot bring back the person they love most.

Characters: Emma Frost, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Colossus, Hank McCoy & Magik

First of all, thank you for this message, you are my first request and you have no idea how much it touches me. And secondly, your compliments make me blush, I'm glad you like my work, because personally I've never had as much fun as writing about something as this. Get ready for a LOT of headcanons because I have a lot in store. Above all, don't hesitate to ask for other requests <3 And thanks to you, you inspired me to make your request for other X-Men and X-Women. PS: MR. PICKLES WILL RETURN

Emma Frost

The battlefield was littered with chaos—explosions, screams, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air. You and Emma had been fighting alongside the X-Men, as you had countless times before, but this time was different. This battle had been brutal, and even though you had faced danger before, nothing had ever felt this dire. You had always fought by her side, both of you in sync, but as the fight raged on, you felt your strength starting to wane.

Emma’s voice was sharp and commanding in your mind, as always. “Stay with me, darling. We’re almost through this,” she had said, her mental link giving you strength. But when the blast came—one you hadn’t seen coming—it sent you flying, the pain immediate and overwhelming. You crumpled to the ground, clutching your side, feeling the warmth of your own blood seeping through your fingers.

Emma’s scream tore through the battlefield, her telepathic wail so fierce it silenced everyone for a moment. In the next second, she was at your side, her diamond form shimmering as she knelt down, her hands trembling as they reached for you. The moment her fingers touched your skin, her diamond exterior shattered, leaving her vulnerable in a way she never was on the battlefield.

"Y/N," she whispered, her voice breaking. "No, no, no... this can’t be happening."

You struggled to stay conscious, your vision blurring as you looked up at her, the love of your life, her face twisted in anguish. "I’m sorry," you choked out, each word a struggle. "I tried... I really tried."

Tears fell from her eyes, something she rarely allowed herself to do. She pressed her forehead against yours, her voice shaking. "Don’t you dare say goodbye. Not yet. I won’t let you go."

But you could feel it. The life slipping away, your heartbeat growing fainter. You reached up weakly, your hand brushing against her cheek. "Emma... I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Emma’s breath hitched as she gripped your hand, holding onto you as if her sheer willpower could keep you alive. "I love you too," she whispered back, her lips brushing your forehead. "Please... please stay."

But you couldn’t. Your eyes fluttered shut, your body growing still in her arms.

For a moment, Emma just sat there, her mind refusing to accept what had just happened. Then, with a heart-wrenching scream, she unleashed a wave of telepathic energy so powerful that it swept across the battlefield, knocking down enemies, sending shockwaves through everyone’s minds. She cradled your body, her chest heaving with sobs, her mind desperate, reaching out to you, trying to find any trace of your consciousness.

But you were gone.

And for the first time in her life, Emma Frost felt utterly, completely broken.

Charles Xavier

The fight had been relentless, and despite the X-Men’s best efforts, the battle had taken a terrible toll. You had always been the calm in Charles’ storm, the grounding presence he could rely on when the weight of leading the X-Men grew too heavy. But today, everything had gone wrong. You had been separated from the team, cornered by enemies, and though you fought bravely, you had been wounded—badly.

By the time Charles found you, the world had already started fading around the edges. He wheeled towards you with a speed and desperation you had never seen in him before. His voice echoed in your mind, trembling with fear. *"Y/N, hold on. Please, just hold on."*

You could barely open your eyes, the pain in your body making it difficult to even breathe. But you heard him, and you smiled weakly, your heart aching as you felt his mind reaching for yours, trying to steady you, trying to keep you present. "I’m sorry, Charles," you rasped, your voice so faint it barely carried over the sounds of battle. "I wasn’t strong enough."

"No," Charles said, his voice firm, though you could hear the fear beneath it. "You are strong. You’ve always been strong. Don’t leave me, Y/N. I can’t lose you."

You felt his hand grasp yours, his grip trembling. You had always marveled at how Charles carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, always keeping his emotions tightly controlled. But now, there was no control. There was only fear, and love, and desperation in his eyes.

"You were always my strength, Charles," you whispered, your hand squeezing his as best as you could. "I love you. So much."

Tears filled his eyes, his voice breaking as he spoke. "And I love you. You are everything to me."

You could feel his mind wrapping around yours, trying to hold you there, trying to stop the inevitable. He was begging, pleading with you to stay, to fight, but your body was failing. You felt the warmth of his love in your mind, a comfort even as the world started slipping away.

"Please, Y/N," Charles whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Please, don’t leave me."

But you couldn’t hold on any longer. The pain faded, the world grew silent, and your grip on his hand loosened.

Charles sat there, his hand still holding yours, as the battlefield around him seemed to blur into nothing. His heart shattered, and in that moment, all the strength and control he had maintained for years crumbled. He lowered his head, his tears falling onto your lifeless body, and he sent out a silent scream, a wave of raw emotion so powerful that it resonated across the minds of every living person on the battlefield.

Charles had lost many people in his life. But losing you felt like the end of everything.

Jean Grey

The battle had taken its toll, not just on the X-Men but on the world itself. You and Jean had fought side by side, your powers complementing each other in ways that made you an unstoppable force. But this battle had pushed you both beyond your limits. You had been caught in an explosion, your body thrown against the rubble, the pain blinding and all-consuming.

Jean was at your side in an instant, her telekinetic powers lifting the debris off you, her hands trembling as she reached for you. "No... no, no, no," she whispered, her voice cracking as she cradled your head in her lap. "Y/N, stay with me."

You could barely keep your eyes open, the world spinning as you struggled to breathe. "Jean..." you whispered, your voice so weak, so broken. "I... I don’t think I can..."

"Don’t you dare say that," Jean said, her voice fierce but laced with panic. "You’re going to be okay. I won’t let you go."

You could feel her mind reaching out to yours, wrapping around your consciousness, trying to keep you there with her. Her love flooded your mind, a warmth that soothed the pain, but you could feel your body slipping away, your strength fading.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your hand weakly reaching for hers. "I’m so sorry."

Jean’s tears fell onto your face as she held you closer. "Don’t apologize," she said, her voice breaking. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve always been there for me. Please... just stay a little longer."

You could see the anguish in her eyes, feel the desperation in her mind as she tried to hold on to you. But the pain was too much, and your body was failing.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"I love you too," Jean said, her voice shaking as she pressed her forehead against yours, her tears falling freely now. "Please... don’t leave me."

But you were slipping away, the world growing darker, quieter, as you took your last breath. Jean’s sobs echoed in your fading consciousness, her mind screaming out for you, trying to pull you back. But it was too late.

Jean held your lifeless body in her arms, her chest heaving with sobs. She let out a scream, a psychic wave that shattered the air around her, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Her grief, her agony, her love—they all collided in that moment, her powers surging uncontrollably as she held onto you, unable to let go.

In that moment, Jean Grey—one of the most powerful beings in the universe—felt utterly powerless.

Colossus

The battle was at its peak, and the sounds of war echoed around you. Explosions rocked the battlefield as Colossus, in his full metal form, fought valiantly beside you. His towering figure was always a source of comfort, an indestructible wall between you and the chaos. The ground shook beneath your feet as you moved to join him, your heart pounding with adrenaline.

But then, an enemy blast caught you off guard, the impact throwing you off your feet. You hit the ground hard, the pain immediate and overwhelming. Blood seeped from your wounds as you struggled to breathe, your vision blurring. You tried to push yourself up, but your body refused to respond. The sound of heavy metal footsteps reached your ears, and you knew Piotr had seen you fall.

His metallic form glimmered in the firelight as he ran toward you, his eyes wide with terror. You had never seen him like this, even in the most dangerous situations. He dropped to his knees beside you, the cold steel of his hands cradling you gently despite their immense strength.

"Y/N!" His voice was thick with fear, a sound you'd never thought you'd hear from someone as powerful as him. "Please, no. Not you. Not like this."

You tried to smile, but the pain was too much. "Piotr..." you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I... I can't..."

He shook his head, his metal features twisting in agony. "Don’t speak. I’ll protect you," he promised, though the pain in his voice told you he knew there was nothing he could do. He tried to stem the flow of blood from your wound, his massive hands shaking.

His metal body was usually unyielding, but now he seemed so vulnerable, so afraid. He held you close, his cold arms pulling you against his chest. "Stay with me, please," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. His entire body trembled as he struggled to maintain control.

Your hand reached up weakly to touch his face, the cool metal of his cheek sending a shiver through your fingers. "I love you," you whispered, the words catching in your throat as darkness closed in around you.

He let out a sob, his steel form shuddering with grief. "I love you more than anything, Y/N. You’re everything to me."

But it was too late. Your breath faded, and your hand slipped from his cheek, falling limply to the ground. Piotr let out a roar of anguish, his voice reverberating across the battlefield. He held your lifeless body close, his tears mingling with the blood and dirt that stained your skin. Even in his indestructible form, he felt more broken than ever before.

Magik

The battle had spiraled out of control, and you found yourself separated from the rest of the X-Men, the air thick with smoke and the sound of clashing metal. You had always admired Illyana’s ability to remain calm in the face of chaos, but this time, the situation was different. The enemies were relentless, and no matter how hard you fought, it wasn’t enough. Then, out of nowhere, a blade struck you, piercing through your side, and you collapsed to the ground.

Before you could even cry out, the world around you warped, and you found yourself in Limbo. Illyana stood before you, her eyes wide with horror as she took in the sight of your bloodied body. “No...” she whispered, her sword clattering to the ground as she rushed to your side.

You tried to speak, but the pain was overwhelming, your vision flickering in and out of focus. Illyana’s hands shook as she pressed them against your wound, trying to stop the blood that poured out of you. “I’ll fix this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can fix this.”

You had always known that Illyana was powerful beyond measure, but in this moment, she looked small, fragile, as though she was trying to hold onto something that was slipping away. She stared down at you, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she knelt beside you, her hands glowing with the dark magic of Limbo.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes. “Not like this.”

You reached up with what little strength you had left, your hand brushing against her cheek. “Illyana,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I love you.”

Her breath hitched as she leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours. “I love you too, more than anything,” she said, her voice shaking. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”

But you could feel your life slipping away, the pain becoming numb as the darkness closed in. You wanted to stay, to hold on, but it was too late. Your hand fell limp in hers, your chest rising for the last time as your heart stopped.

Illyana let out a scream that echoed through the very fabric of Limbo, a sound so filled with grief and fury that it sent shockwaves through the demonic realm. Her magic surged uncontrollably, her power crackling through the air as she cradled your lifeless body in her arms. In her rage, the demons of Limbo cowered, the sky itself trembling in fear.

But no amount of power could bring you back, and that realization shattered her. She held onto you, her tears falling onto your skin, whispering your name over and over again as the world around her grew dark, consumed by her grief.

Hank McCoy

The battlefield had turned into a warzone of destruction, and even though you and Hank had fought together many times before, this battle was unlike any you had experienced. You had always admired how composed and intellectual Hank was, even in the most dire of situations. But this time, the enemy had been too quick, too brutal, and before you could react, you had been struck by a powerful blast.

Your body hit the ground hard, pain shooting through you as you struggled to breathe. Blood spilled from the wound in your chest, and every breath felt like a mountain weighing down on you. Through the haze of pain, you heard Hank’s voice, panicked and desperate, something you had never heard from him before.

“Y/N!” He shouted, rushing toward you, his blue fur standing on end as he dropped to his knees beside you. His large hands were gentle as he cradled your head in his lap, his eyes wide with terror as he took in the sight of your injuries. “No, no, this can’t be happening.”

You tried to smile up at him, but the pain was too much. “I’m sorry, Hank,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t... I couldn’t...”

“Shh,” he said, his voice shaking. He pressed his hand to your wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. His eyes were filled with panic, his normally calm and collected demeanor completely gone. “You’ll be alright. Just stay with me.”

You could feel the life draining from you, the world growing darker around the edges. You reached up weakly, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

Hank’s eyes filled with tears, something you had never seen from him before. “I love you too, more than you’ll ever know,” he said, his voice breaking. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his tears falling onto your face. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t... I can’t do this without you.”

You wanted to stay, to hold on, but your body was failing, your heart slowing with every passing second. You looked up at him one last time, your vision blurring as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

And then, everything went dark.

Hank let out a strangled sob, his entire body trembling as he held you close. His mind raced, trying to think of a solution, something that could bring you back, but he knew it was too late. You were gone, and nothing could change that.

He sat there for what felt like an eternity, holding your lifeless body in his arms, his tears falling freely as he whispered your name. The battlefield raged on around him, but for Hank, the world had stopped. You were gone, and with you, a part of him had died too.

#emma frost x reader #charles xavier x reader #jean grey x reader #colossus x reader #hank mccoy x reader #magik x reader #marvel imagines #marvel headcanons #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel #x men imagines #x men headcanons #x men #x men x reader #imagines #imagine #headcanons #x reader

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guiltyasdave · 4 months ago

Text

peace

character: Oberyn Martell

word count: ~1.4k

tags/warnings: sooooo much angst, death, gore (you guys know how oberyn died)

a/n: i have NOTHING to say for myself. this is pure pain, i cried several times while writing it. created for @perotovar's amazing offering of frith challenge (thank you for the moodboard!!), pairing oberyn with freyja. i know nothing about norse mythology, so if any of this makes zero sense, i am so so sorry.

the biggest shoutout to @sizzlingcloudmentality who basically came up with the whole idea because my brain wasn't braining at all. thank you for holding my hand through this and for always cheering me on <3 this wouldn't exist without you.

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications to be the first to know about fic updates and find my full masterlist here!

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Darkness engulfs him. Chaos still echoes around his head, but it’s quiet now.

He cannot open his eyes. Why can’t he open his eyes? Where there was pain, sharp and biting, is nothing now.

His armor sticks to his skin, drenched in sweat. His face is just as sticky. Wrong, somehow. Why can’t he open his eyes?

He doesn’t know how he got here. Where here even is. Has he gone back to Sunspear? It’s much too cold. Why can’t he remember?

The stone under his feet is hard, rough against his bare soles. A shiver runs through his body.

Soft pressure lands on his shoulder, the touch light as a feather. A hand.

“Him.”

A woman’s voice, just as feathery, a soft melody that rings through the darkness surrounding him. A faint echo follows her words. Where is he?

“Prince Oberyn.”

Her breath is soft against his ear, her hand still resting on his shoulder.

“Where am I? Who are you?”

At least his voice doesn’t betray him. Still strong, still used to commanding a room, leaving no doubt that he’s worthy of being heard.

A quiet laugh sounds as she’s leaning in closer. Her lips ghost over his earlobe.

“You will see.”

Her fingers trace his, such soft touches against the ridges of his scarred, calloused ones. They intertwine, and he lets her lead him, searching his way through the darkness. Why can’t he open his eyes?

She hums, a somber, pensive note.

“You do not remember.”

No.

The faint echo of her footsteps falls quiet beside him. “Let me show you.”

The touch of cool fingertips ghosts over his temples. His eyes remain closed, out of his reach, but images fill his head regardless.

The bright blue sky, the sun burning down on him. Sweat clinging to his skin. The spear in his hand, coated in blood. The rage running through his veins, the bittersweet taste of vengeance on his tongue. The opportunity to seek justice, finally.

He had been thinking of his sister, laughing together when they were kids, running through the gardens. Then watching her leave. The hope shining in her eyes the last time he saw her, hugged her.

The shout of Say her name! Say it! still heavy on his tongue, when the world tipped upside down, his body moving too quickly, until his back hit the hard stone ground.

The sickening crunch, reaching his ears before the pain registered, before his head got caved in. The confession he had been waiting for, fighting for— now meaningless, drowned out by the overwhelming pain, as the world went dark.

The last thing he hears is Ellaria’s scream, piercing through him. Today is not the day I die. Aching fills his heart, heavy, weighing him down. He thinks of her, of all the promises he made, now to be broken. He thinks of his daughters. He wasn’t ready to leave.

A sob escapes him, his fists clenching at his sides. The woman’s fingers rake through his hair gently.

“Why am I here?” He hadn’t noticed before, but speaking doesn’t feel right either.

“I have been watching you your whole life, Prince Oberyn.” She sighs. Dreamily, almost. “A man both fighting and loving so fiercely. You reminded me of myself.”

Gently tugging at his hand, she leads him further into darkness. Darkness, because his eyes are no longer there.

“When great warriors die, they come to me. To fight for me. That is why you are here.”

His feet come to a halt.

“How can I fight for you, when I cannot see? I am no longer the great warrior that you have been watching.”

Her melodic, soft laughter echoes around them. “You will always be a great warrior. Do not worry.”

He’s led to what she calls his chambers, where she leaves him at the door, her footsteps slowly floating away. He still can’t use his eyes, uncertain how to find his way, but he can still feel her there, in the back of his head. Leading him, even without seeing.

Inside, he paces, circling just like the thoughts in his head. He had never paid much thought to the afterlife. Had always thought it was a long lifetime away. Had never imagined it like this.

At night, sleep evades him. The screaming echoes in his ears, the images of his last moments are seared into his memory now, finding a permanent home at the forefront of his mind. Everything he was, everything he took pride in, has gone up in flames. He is nothing, now.

When the woman returns, the question of why bursts from his lips.

“Because you are special, my prince. You always have been.” A smile, invisible to him, paints her voice. “I have always liked beautiful things. I have always wanted you. I have been waiting for you your whole life.”

A laugh tumbles from him, unbelieving, humorless.

“There is nothing special about me now. Or beautiful.”

For the first time, there is an edge in her tone.

“Do not question me, Prince Oberyn.”

Time doesn’t pass the way it used to. He’s uncertain if it’s the permanent darkness engulfing him, or just the nature of this place.

He learns how to fight again, learns how to rely on his hearing. It comes to him easily, a whisper of always a great warrior in the back of his head. He might even enjoy the challenge it presents, might enjoy the grim satisfaction it brings him. The realization that some part of him might not be entirely lost. Still, it never drives out the darkness.

When his mind isn’t occupied, it always comes back to haunt him. Ellaria still screams in his head. He still sees his girls, wonders what they are doing. Hates himself for not being there to witness it. He sees Elia. Sees the hope draining from her eyes. He even sees Tyrion, the fate he has condemned him to.

He has failed them, all of them. Sometimes, when the darkness isn’t threatening to drown him, he understands what the woman saw in him, but that man is long gone. The longer he’s here, the more he understands what she means, talking about how he’s just like her. He had been, once. The companion that she must have wished for, but that he cannot be.

She requests his presence often, an honor, he’s certain, but it’s draining him. Everything about her reminds him of who he was, of all the things that are long lost now.

One night he awakes with a start, the images in his head familiar by now, but the terror they leave him in never lessening. There’s nothing but darkness in his mind, nothing but darkness behind his eyes, nothing to chase the devastation away.

He has never been to her chambers before, doesn’t know which path to take, but once again, it’s as if she’s in his head, guiding his way. The door opens before he has the chance to knock, her presence filled with the same heaviness as his own.

She greets him, her voice a sad song in his ears. She already knows, there is no way that she doesn’t. He speaks regardless, has to get the words out.

“Let me go on, I beg you.” His voice cracks. “Let me find my peace.”

She’s quiet for a long time, nothing but her trembling breaths breaking the silence.

“I know. It was selfish of me to keep you.”

Her voice is thick with tears, her touch gentle at his temples, ghosting over where his eyes used to be. Her fingertips are cold against his skin.

There is something else, something shifting under his skin, something smooth like glass, where he got used to nothing.

“Open your eyes, Prince Oberyn.”

It’s a movement, a sensation that he had almost forgotten, but when he does, when he sees, everything is tinted in amber. He lays eyes on the woman for the first time, on the tears in a slightly darker shade that are spilling from her eyes. They are coating her fingers that are still outstretched towards him.

She smiles the most beautiful, saddest smile, one that aches to look at. There’s a final caress of his cheek, a whispered Go on, my prince.

Like a tether has been loosened, he feels himself fading, drifting away into nothingness.

Finally, he is at peace.

...i'll just see myself out (if you liked this, a comment or a reblog would absolutely make my day though <3)

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell angst #pedro pascal #game of thrones fanfiction #janas fics #pedrostories

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reidsexual · 6 months ago

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It was almost ridiculously pathetic how he drank in every detail of her. How every single physical aspect of herself, whether she believed it was a flaw or not, made its way into his head.

He couldn’t help but memorize her very existence. He couldn’t help but worship her in ways he knew she wouldn’t even dream of. Especially from him.

“Stay awake, Dick. Please. I mean it!” Ah, there she is. That voice. So angelic. She could make me do whatever it is she wanted with that voice of hers.

Dick’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his throat tipped back, revealing the trail of cold sweat going down the length of his neck down to his collarbone.

“He’s been poisoned by Cheshire.” Donna deduces, lifting Dick’s sleeves up to see the faintly green liquid going up his veins.

“Whatever you do, keep him awake!” Roy orders frantically, following Donna out the ship to fight the remaining assassins.

“Dick, are you awake?” You ask nervously, hands trembling as you peeled his mask off. “Open your eyes for me, just a little more time. Then we’ll get you back to health, okay?”

Adrenaline coursed through your veins, and more than anything, you wanted to help your teammates outside fight. But Dick needed you right now. And frankly, you were in no shape for hand-to-hand combat.

Dick opens his eyes with great effort, giving you a small smile despite his strain. “Hey, pretty girl.” He says drowsily, his words slurred and almost incomprehensible.

Your background blurred behind you to the point where all Dick could focus on was the features on your face that he had memorized to his core. The dimples that would appear when you smiled, where are they now? Why weren’t you smiling?

“Don’t try to smile. You’ll only tire yourself out.” You say worriedly, fighting back tears. This was no time to be sensitive. Dick is laying on the table, and you will make sure that he will have a more proper deathbed. Even if it is the last thing you do.

Dick groans at the newfound warmth on his chest, shifting his gaze down to the symbol on his suit. You were tracing the bright splash of blue marked on his skin, trying to keep him from slipping into unconsciousness again.

Dick studied every aspect of yourself that he found otherworldly. Down to your hands, even your fingers. You had a burn mark on the tip of your index finger, a slight slash on the palm of your right hand that never quite seemed to fade away, and nails that you bit when you got anxious. He loved everything about them. More so, the touch that came with it. How your affectionate personality translated through your touch…

You use your free hand to push his dark, damp hair away from his forehead, and your breath hitches at how scalding hot he feels.

Come on, come on. Don’t cry now. Where will that get you? Pull yourself together and help your friend for crying out loud. You’re a Titan, get it together.

You pull your hand away from his chest to fetch any sort of medical equipment in sight, but a familiar touch tugs on your hand with full force to keep it in place.

“Don’t go…” Dick pleads, not a thought in his head but you. “You’re the only thing keeping me awake, remember?”

The door to the ship slams shut, and you don’t even notice that the rest of your team have made their way inside before they crowd around Dick, worry etched across their faces.

“Dick, are you okay?”

“Dick, please answer.”

“Don’t fall asleep on us now.”

“You cannot let poison be the thing that kills you.”

“Dick-” “Dick-” “Dick-”

His name keeps being repeated, ringing in your ears. You can’t take it. You can’t possibly bear the thought of him dying like this. In and out. In and out.

“Dick, come on, man! Say something! Please!”

“Where’s angel?” Even from afar, you can hear Dick utter words under his breath. The whole team stops frantically talking over one another, listening intently to Dick’s words.

“Angels have warm hands.” Dick sighs softly, like he’s lulling himself to sleep. “I had no idea.”

#dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson angst #dick grayson fluff #nightwing imagine #nightwing x fem!reader #nightwing angst #nightwing x reader #nightwing fluff #nightwing

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wingzie · 10 months ago

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Jikook and the Importance of Photos

Photographs are special. They map out our lives through precious memories. They leave a footprint in time that can forever be part of our history. These glimpses of our past, make us who we are and show what or who is important to us. They are full of so much love and emotions, even more so when they are shared with those most trusted to us. This goes for every photo shared by the members.

I personally think it’s amazing that we can tell when a photo of Jimin is taken by Jungkook, there’s a certain style to it and it comes across even at a glance. One of my favourite photos of Jimin by Jungkook is this one:

This photo was taken from the behinds of Life Goes On. Each MV was beautifully directed by Jungkook, and it’s hard to miss the references made from within their old dorm. I know Jungkook isn’t keen on photos but, just like during GCFT, Jimin is looking at Jungkook and not the camera here with that smile. With that one look, that we are so familiar with, we can trace every single moment within their history which has that same shining expression. It tells a story over time, but also that one photo itself is so telling in the way that it was captured. One of my favourite photos of Jungkook by Jimin is this one:

There’s something raw and delicate in this photo.You can see it in Jungkook’s eyes. Each item in the photo tells its own little story, from the Birthday cake to the polaroid photos on the table that we never saw. This photo is all we saw from the night of Jungkook’s Birthday in 2019 and sometimes I am reminded that with these glimpses into their lives, there are still so many moments of theirs that we are unaware of. For example, Jungkook had a hickey on his neck during MOTS:Online and none of us had any idea until the DVD Behinds came out.

For every selca or video that Jikook has shared with us, it shows a part of them that we are so lucky to witness. To be able to watch their growth over the years is magical and something I will always cherish. Why am I going on about photos and memories though? Because they give so much of themselves to us and I will never take it for granted, nor expect them to give more to us than they want to. Some of their memories are for them only, but we can still hold dear what we know already…

Some of you know this already, but I have been caring for my Mother lately. Over the last few months, her memory has worsened. In an attempt to help, we play memory games and repeat simple tasks together. However, her memory is something that cannot be simply fixed with such methods. I had the idea to get out family photos, until I realised that we had stopped taking them when my parents divorced. It’s made me more proactive in archiving things that I do each day. Every little thing I see or hear, I note it down or save the song. In a way, it’s also how I associate with BTS or Jikook. When the BTS World soundtrack came out, I was having a really bad day and it gave me a lot of comfort. I smile whenever I hear Pied Piper because it’s one of my friends favourite songs. Any time I hear “Jungkookie” or “Jimin-ssi”, a barrage of memories come to the front of my mind and I grasp onto all of them whilst I still can.

I'm sure it's not just me who does this either, Jimin and Jungkook probably do this themselves. You could see that when Jungkook was watching Jimin’s compilation with us. He was recollecting the same memories as us, but he also has access to an entirely different set of memories that we don’t know of. We also saw that with the way Jimin and Jungkook both explained the Rainy Day Fight. During the Festa video, Jungkook mentioned “rainy day” and expected Jimin to understand what he meant. Later on, Jimin and Jungkook gave their own versions of what happened in their separate lives. They both more or less experienced the same thing, but blamed themselves for their actions and not the other.

They love adding to their own collections of memories. Every single time that Jimin watched Jungkook rehearse and the other way around, enough so that they could probably be a backup dancer. All the clips they have but haven’t shared. The moments we don’t find out until later, the inside jokes they have without context. We don’t understand, but that doesn’t matter. Only they have to and we just watch and smile. Their memories are a huge part of them, it’s what makes their bond so special.

#jikook #wingzie #jikookmemories #jikookphotos

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flippinpancakes64 · 5 months ago

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A few days ago I had a dream, and from that dream I got an idea! The Cullens in their mortal life had a daughter, whom they left when she was about 8 years old due to her transformation, they took care of her and watched her grow from afar, but a few years later she disappears without a trace and although they looked for her they didn't find her, until the Cullen vs Volturi battle happened, they saw her again after many years after giving her up for dead, but on the enemy side. This dream was actually the other way around, Aro had a daughter who disappeared and when he found her it turned out that she had run away with Carlisle 😅 but I know you don't write about the Volturi, so I did it the other way around!!!

The Cullens with their Daughter! Reader

Thank you so much for changing this from the Volturi lol. I’m still in the middle of my Twilight rewatch, but it’s gotten sidetracked with me watching every movie that Hugh Jackman’s ever been in so

And I love this idea it’s so cute!

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

Honestly I cannot imagine a scenario where this prude of a man has a kid

Especially from so long ago when he was still human

So we’re just gonna use our imaginations for this one

Just insert whatever backstory makes sense to you here cause I got nothing

With that out of the way

It’s the day of the fight for Renesmee

He’s standing next to his daughter and Bella, rigid as he waits for the fight to start

Carlisle’s in the middle of the field talking to Aro

Across the field, his eyes lock onto yours

Bright red, but familiar, somehow

Not to mention the reddish hair, the sharp jaw, the nose shape, everything

You have to be related somehow

After the fight diffuses and tension’s resolved, he goes up to you

This close now, he can smell the similarities too

And your mind is instantly filled with memories of him

You remember him too

You decide to go with Edward and the Cullens

You and Renesmee quickly become besties

And Edward does his best to help you acclimate

Alice:

Her past is very fuzzy

She can’t see anything from back then, so it’s very possible that she had a daughter that she just doesn’t remember having

Over the years, she’s caught glimpses of you, but never understood why

They’ve always been quick flashes, never enough to actually give her an idea of who you are

So when she sees you next to the Volturi on that fated day, she recognizes you instantly

And all of the pieces click together

She cheerfully goes up to you after the tension dissolves, chatting like you two aren’t supposed to be enemies

Despite not remembering her, something in your mind clicks with Alice too

You trust her immediately

She takes you home with the Cullens, not caring that the Volturi aren’t too keen on letting you go

She’s so upset that she can’t remember you, that she never tried to find you earlier

But then you tell her that you can’t remember your past either

Your memories start with the Volturi

You got turned because of your relation to Alice, Aro had been hoping that you would manifest the same power that she had

And you did

You both bond over your hazy pasts and love for fashion

And the fact that the Volturi would do anything to get their hands on either of you again

Like mother like daughter I suppose

Jasper:

Unlike some of the others, he knew he had a daughter

Only, he never got to meet her

During his days wandering the south as a soldier, he came across a young woman who he had a one night stand with

He was in town just long enough for her to tell him that she was pregnant

He promised that as soon as the war was over, he would come back to her and help her raise the baby

Only he never got to see the end of the war as a human

Maria got to him first

So he had to watch his daughter grow up from afar

He always felt bad about not being there for her, but he felt worse when he would go for stretches of time without seeing her

One day, you went missing and he never saw you again

Just like that, the last piece of happiness that he had was gone

So imagine his surprise when he pulls up to the scene with Alice, ready to plead Renesmee’s innocence, and he sees you

You look just like how he remembered, only paler and with red eyes

At once, he felt every emotion

Anger at you being turned, happiness at seeing you again, and sadness at seeing you hidden under a Volturi cloak

After the fight, he approaches you and introduces himself

To his surprise, you grab him in the tightest hug he’s ever felt

You go with him willingly

He’s so happy to finally get to know you

Rosalie:

Half of her unhappiness would be gone if she had a kid

Only, she did at one point

She had gotten pregnant when she was 16, and her parents were not happy

They made her hide it, and eventually give it up for adoption

She was devastated

She was young, yes, but she wanted her daughter more than anything

Now, years have gone by, and she still has no clue what happened to her baby girl

She doesn’t know who her parents gave her to, where she ended up moving, or what her name was

She thinks about her all the time and mourns the loss of her baby

But then, she sees her again

A vampire with the Volturi

Blonde hair, red eyes, beauty mark, rbf

It can’t be, but it is

Her beautiful baby girl, subjected to the same torture Rosalie herself lives every day

At this revelation, Rosalie could rip off every single Volturi head in that field, but she holds herself back

When the fight is over and everyone begins to leave, she stops you before you can

And from the look on your face, you can feel the resemblance too

She’s so happy she could start crying

No ifs, ands, or buts, you’re coming home with her

She can’t leave you now that she’s just found you again

Very happy reunion

Emmett:

Pretty simple one here

He got a girl pregnant when he was in high school

He was unsure, but the girl wanted to keep the baby, so he prepared himself to become a father

And then he got mauled by a bear

For the first couple of years, he was so delirious with bloodlust, that he couldn’t even think about the daughter he was leaving behind

It was only when talking with Rosalie one day years down the line that he remembered you

Rosalie was so excited, she immediately started trying to hunt you down

But she couldn’t find you

There were records of you being born, of you attending a local high school, of you beating Emmett’s previous records, but then after you graduated, there was nothing

He felt defeated

And Rosalie was so upset and disappointed

He kept a picture of you that he clipped from an old newspaper article in his wallet

Just in case he started to forget you, he could refresh his mind

So when he sees you across the field, he almost can’t believe it

He talks to you after it’s all over

He doesn’t want to scare you or be overbearing

But you are so excited to meet him after all these years

And especially since you know the truth now about what happened

You two instantly become best friends

Two peas in a pod

Esme:

I also can’t see a world where she has a baby

She did have a baby, but we know that it died, and I’m not sure how else it would fit in story-wise

So we’ll make up something and say that her baby lived and it was actually a girl 🤗

I love changing the canon

When she got turned, she had to leave you behind

She didn’t want to turn you as well, and she was afraid she would hurt you

So Carlisle helped Esme find a nice family to place you with

She kept tabs on you pretty regularly, even coming around to visit you every once in a while

Until one day you just vanished

She went crazy looking for you, but she never found you

She fell into a depression after that

It was like losing you all over again

So when she sees you with the Volturi, she’s so excited she almost forgets the fire situation that they’re in

When all’s over and resolved, she comes up to you immediately

You recognize her too as your mom’s friend that would come over once in a while

And you don’t hesitate to come home with her

You never liked the Volturi anyway

Too strict

Carlisle:

I’m a firm believer in the Carlisle hoe era

He might not have been drinking human blood but he might have been having human relations if you catch my drift

Only he never stuck around for long enough to see the effects of it

He only ever got one girl pregnant, because even when he was doing the do he still wrapped it cause he’s a doctor

But he never thought it was possible to get a human pregnant, so he never worried about it

But he starts thinking about his past when Renesmee comes to be, wondering if there’s a chance he did that at one point

His questions are answered when he sees you across the field

He can hear your heart beating

And why the Volturi still doubt Renesmee despite you being right there is a mystery to him

But the conflict gets resolved quickly, and he instantly goes to you

He’s so curious about how you came to be, who your mother was, if you have any abilities, all of that

He asks if you want to go with him, and of course you say yes

He never felt a strong desire to be the biological father of someone, but you might have just changed his mind

He’s always felt a paternal instinct over the Cullen kids, but with you it’s especially strong

Carlisle Dad Supremacy

Vampire! Bella:

Again

I cannot think of a scenario where this could be possible

I mean, we follow her for her whole human life, she does not have a kid

So I’m just gonna go with a niece for her ❤️

She was never too close with the rest of her family, but her little baby niece who had been born just a few years before she moved to Forks always captured her attention

She was always super sad that she never got to be around her a lot

Bella kept in touch with her aunt and uncle through Facebook, following along with their posts

But one day, they posted a missing poster, asking for help finding their daughter

Her niece

Bella was in hysterics, frantically asking Edward and Alice and anyone to help her find you

But it was a lot cause

And besides, they had bigger things to worry about

Namely, the Volturi

She tried her best to push you to the back of her mind

Only to see you standing across the field with bright red eyes

She was so angry she could have snapped Aro’s neck

After everything dissipated, she ran up to you and tackled you with a hug

It took you a moment to realize who she was, but once you did you reciprocated, wrapping your arms around her

Bella did not take no for an answer after that, you were coming with her no matter what

Family reunion am I right

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woozisguitar · 5 months ago

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GLITCH - petnames

prev | 6.0 | next masterlist Recommended Song: Begin Again by Taylor Swift Warnings: bad flirt jihoon, implied anxiety but no mentions of it! A/N: this part is written (1.6k words, no beta we die like men) + glitchy facts has smau!

the next day, you and iseul made your way to the headquarters with mr. ahn. ash and ella were sleeping and had plans to go sightseeing later, with you and iseul joining them there. iseul kept reading over the contract clauses and explaining certain things, but all her words were a blur. you kept contemplating if this was a good idea. were you really that desperate for money? well, yes, the debts were a lot to pay, and with your field of research, you'd have to spend the rest of your life paying those off. but you still felt a small sense of guilt about doing this with jihoon. sure, as ms. lee said, it’s beneficial to both parties and all, but the feeling still prevailed. there's a part of you that still wished you didn’t have to meet him this way and that there was another way to fix this. alas, life is truly a bitch, and the one thing it taught you was that it's best to grab any opportunity given to you for a shot at having a comfortable life, even if it means sometimes compromising your morals.

you were pulled out of your thoughts when mr. ahn announced that you were at the headquarters. as you walked up the elevator, you pulled iseul by her elbow and murmured in a low voice, “did you add the clause i told you? the one where we can back out whenever? both me and jihoon.”

“yeah, did you not listen when i was explaining it to you?”

you gave her an apologetic smile, and she nodded in understanding.

mr. ahn asked you to wait in a conference room as woozi and ms. lee were on their way. with iseul going through the contract again, the silence in the conference room was deafening. you tried to busy yourself by tracing patterns on the table, but the anxiety was still there. were these feelings because of this whole legal thing you got yourself involved in, or was it the coffee thing with jihoon? you weren’t sure.

the sound of the door opening pulled you out of your thoughts as you saw ms. lee enter the room with jihoon and two other men dressed in suits trailing behind them.

“good morning,” ms. lee smiled at you, a tad too cheerfully. you nodded, and she busied herself with the other two men. jihoon sat opposite you and gave you a small smile, one that you returned easily.

“so! ms. y/n, i suppose you and ms. iseul have read through the contract. i, along with the company, am so glad you agreed to this,” she pointed towards the two men who came with them. “this is the group’s legal team. please feel free to discuss any amendments right now.” iseul looked at you for confirmation, and you nodded, your eyes sliding over to jihoon to find him staring at his folded hands. he looked at you through his lashes when he felt your eyes on him and slowly nodded to let you know he’s fine.

“alright then,” iseul started, “i’m iseul, y/n’s lawyer. while we agree to most things, there is one clause my party would like to add. to quote: ‘clause 8: if at any point, either party wishes to terminate the contract, they may do so. the other party agrees not to sue for any damages, and this contract will become null and void. additionally, any and all amounts that ms. y/n rightfully earned over the period of the agreement must be paid in full.’ other than that, we agree to all other conditions.”

“oh, we can't do that. while i understand ms. y/n would like to have a choice to back out, we cannot agree to the same for mr. woozi. his prior contract with us essentially means he can’t really back out of any contracts he doesn't like that he previously signed,” one of the men said.

“well, it’s this or nothing. y/n refuses to sign the contract if this isn't added,” iseul said, folding her hands and leaning back. “but—” ms. lee, who had been silent until now, held her hand up. “very well then. if this is the clause y/n wants to add, we will. after all, we are a company that respects our artists' wishes.” she smiled sweetly at the two men, who then nodded in agreement and added the clause. you looked at jihoon again to find him drawing small patterns on the table. the guilt of this whole thing started to gnaw at your ribs again, but you tried to push it off.

“here, please sign this then,” the other man handed iseul the tablet, and she read through it once again and told you where to sign, followed by woozi, who did the same.

“very well then! the two of you are ‘dating’ starting today,” ms. lee air quoted. “ms. y/n, please be here tomorrow by 10 a.m. we'd like to start your public training with mr. woozi.”

you nodded, and on that note, ms. lee, along with her legal team, bid farewell and left. iseul nudged your shoulder as she stood up to leave, giving you a wink, “see you later, sweetheart.”

you looked at jihoon only to find him already looking at you with his small, stingray smile. “shall we go get some coffee then?”

the walk from the conference room to the building café was… intense, to say the least. jihoon decided it was best to ditch the managers in order to get to know each other better. while you did agree it was a good idea, the stares of everyone you crossed paths with still felt unnerving. you stuck close to jihoon, keeping your head low and following him until you reached the café on the top floor. you saw a few idols you’d seen the members do dance challenges with, along with some other staff members.

“you okay?” jihoon asked, tilting his head. you nodded, feeling a rush of heat creep up your neck. “well, i hope you like americano. kwan keeps raving about how good their americanos are, so i thought it’d be a good idea to try some of that,” jihoon ended, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. you giggled and nodded, suddenly feeling shy. jihoon placed the order for the two of you and guided you to a table at the back of the café. you could still feel the stares of some people in there, but you decided to push that to the back for the time being.

“so… how do we do this?” you started, tucking your hands below your thighs.

“hmmm…. i don’t know,” jihoon said, thinking hard. “oh! we can do it like they do in all those movies!” he said, snapping his fingers.

“how exactly?” you asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously, already guessing what the answer might be.

“twenty questions!” he said, smirking teasingly, “but you know, don’t go falling in love with me.”

“that’s so cheesy, ji,” you whined, laughing at his unsuccessful attempt at flirting.

“ji?”

“-hoon. i meant jihoon.”

“no, it’s fine. you can call me ji. it’s cute,” he said, smiling softly. “plus, it’s better that we have petnames. makes us look more like a couple.” you nodded, still a little embarrassed at your slip-up.

“so what will my petname be?” you asked, suddenly curious.

“well, that’s a secret that you’ll know when the time comes,” he said, smiling cheekily.

“you just don’t have one, do you?” you narrowed your eyes.

“nope, not answering that,” he said as the coffees arrived.

“okay, so let me get this: you like taylor swift? like a lot. you work and you fangirl over me? that’s it?” you nodded at his list again, as you had for almost the past hour, your americanos long gone. “yeah, pretty much. between work and trying to live, it’s hard to have any hobbies. whoever said getting a phd is fun was lying because it’s just a pyramid scheme,” you said, rolling your eyes. jihoon, still surprised at your surprisingly mundane life, laughed a little. “no wonder you’re so obsessed with me; we’re the same after all,” he decided to ask his last question, as you decided it was best to ask five each, alternating, and he was already down to four.

“okay, this is my last one for this round. what is love to you?” you were surprised at his sudden serious question, as the past four had been about your favorite musician, what you wanted to be growing up, your job, and how you met your friends.

“going deep, are we jihoon?”

“i’m just trying to figure you out,” he shrugged lightly.

“what is love to me… hmm,” you thought hard until something finally clicked, “okay, love to me is… home. it’s my friends when i come home from a bad day or when they cheer for me for the smallest achievements, it’s taylor’s music when i'm sad, it’s your group when i feel lonely. it’s anything and everything that feels like home to me,” you looked up to see jihoon smiling softly and shaking his head. “okay, did not expect that, but now i know what my next question will be.”

“nuh-uh, mister. not so soon, it’s my turn, remember?” jihoon opened his mouth to answer but was suddenly cut off by his phone ringing. he excused himself and spoke to the person on the other line in a rather hurried manner. you almost forgot that you were surrounded by people you didn’t know and took notice of how you still had some lingering eyes on you.

“hey, i'm so sorry, but something came up,” jihoon said, running his fingers through his hair.

“it’s alright, but since you’re taking off before my turn, you better make it up to me,” you said, pouting teasingly.

“don’t worry, i’ll be sure to make it up, darling,” he winked cheekily to your surprise, “come on, i’ll ask mr. ahn to drop you home. text me when you reach.”

glitchy facts!: petnames :)

taglist: @toplinehyunjin @neomoa @khhminimalist @theidontknowmehn @moose-1555 @kittyhui @hamji-hae @miriamxsworld @khaos-sodivine @intoanothermind @ins4nebish @intoanothermind @too-many-kpop-hubands @tinyelfperson @hiphopgirl16 @sarabencze @bmo-bri

A/N: im a MONTH (or maybe more idk) late im sorry </3 I'll try to be more consistent! remember reblogs are always appreciated!!

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mokulule · 2 years ago

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 7

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

I had wanted to do some tag appreciation for the previous part before uploading this but well stuff happened and I need to leave for work soon, so priorities and all that, and I bet ya'll rather want the update than my chatter XD But know that I really appreciate the comments and tags you guys leave me <3

Damian sat in a corner of the library, knees drawn up to his chest. The crumbled up piece of paper burned in his left hand. It shouldn’t. He’d had a hunch and he’d followed it. He’d been right! This was pertinent information. He should have informed Father immediately and yet… He breathed slowly out his nose. He turned his hand around palm up so he could glare at the offending ball of paper resting there.

He was right, but then why was he so uncertain? Why was he hesitating? He was Damian Wayne! Son of the Batman! He should not dawdle, that is not how he was trained!

No matter how much his so called siblings would tease him for his height, there were advantages. Like how when Todd had pulled the dazed Ghost to his feet, the short man had never really looked up which meant that Damian who was shorter had seen the way his eyes glowed green, unlike his father. Because a short while later, when he pushed away from Todd his eyes had been blue. Father would assume the ghost’s eyes were blue, because he hadn’t seen the green. Father would have no idea to look into what Damian had, because he’d missed a vital clue. A clue Damian had been withholding. Damian let his head fall down onto the arm holding the paper and sighed. He was withholding far worse than a clue now:

There were traces of Lazarus Water in the blood sample. Damian felt the childish urge to scream, but he would not give in, he hadn’t fallen that far. It always came back to this, always; like a curse on Damian’s family, one thing after another and it always ended up back there - by the sickly green glow of the pits.

Father wasn’t always exactly rational when it came to the Lazarus Pits or the League of Assassins or Todd.

And maybe Damian had gotten a little bit used to Father looking at him like his son. Maybe he just wasn’t all that excited for Father to look at him like Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson again…

Alfred, the cat, slinked around the door left open a crack, instantly drawing Damian’s eyes. The tuxedo cat padded silently over to him and stopped. He looked expectantly at Damian with the same unimpressed gaze of his namesake. Damian cracked a fragile smile, and uncurled into a crosslegged position.Satisfied Alfred jumped into his lap. He started batting at the paper ball and Damian quickly stuffed it into a pocket and acquiesced to the demand for pets. It was barely a moment before Damian’s effort was rewarded and the purring started. Slowly, Damian relaxed back against the wall and his shoulders gradually came down from their tensed position. Animals were so much easier to understand than people.

The Ghost had purred…

The sound had been just at the edge of his hearing, but it definitely had sounded like purring. Father hadn’t heard it. Damian had asked him if he’d heard the cat, but he’d dismissed him as if he thought Damian had heard a real cat. There was no way he would have done that if he’d actually heard. The sound… it had been something else; there had been this inherent happiness to it.

Damian would admit he’d been startled. He’d never heard a human purr before. Not even Catwoman, his father’s illicit paramour, actually purred, not really. She did something with her voice at times, probably the closest a human could come to a purr, but not like the almost continuous sound of a real cat. Humans just weren’t built for it.

Which pondered the question, what exactly was the Ghost? He had reacted very oddly to Todd (Damian would admit in the privacy of his mind that he’d been alarmed to see the man nuzzle into Todd’s chest as if he was actually an overgrown cat in disguise). There was Lazarus in his blood, so maybe the reaction to Todd wasn’t so strange. He hadn’t reacted in any way special to Damian, but that wasn’t so odd either. Damian knew Todd was different. There was a reason Grandfather feared him. The Pits hadn’t revived him, they may have brought his mind back online and brought some lasting effects, but Todd had crawled out of his grave months before that; Todd was something else.

Maybe Todd and the Ghost were something similar?

Todd had definitely heard the purring. He had been completely unlike himself, there had been a complete lack of the usual hostility from him afterwards. Todd must have also seen the eyes, he had to have made the Lazarus connection. He hadn’t reported anything about it either. But again this was Todd, he wouldn’t share information with Father unless he thought someone’s life depended on it.

Whatever DNA had been in the blood sample was useless for analysis, it had been too damaged, so that didn’t bring them any closer to figuring out what he was.

Then there were the powers, Todd didn’t have those. Invisibility and intangibility… No, the Ghost couldn’t actually be a ghost, could he?

Alfred nudged the hand that had stopped the petting and Damian dutifully started back up again.

Richard often acted like he didn’t have two brain cells to rub together, something that fooled even Damian in the beginning, but he was surprisingly astute if he let you see if. Damian had presumed the Ghost codename had been merely a ploy to annoy Drake and Gordon, but Richard was not beneath hiding a theory as a joke. If he was correct, he would have all the power, if it wasn’t it was after all just a joke - it was a good strategy.

As if summoned, Richard stuck his head into the library and glanced around. He seemed just about leave when he caught sight of Damian’s nook.“There you are Dames-“ he strolled inside, “I wanted to say bye before heading home, so I’m glad I found you.” He crouched down next to him and smiled widely eyes crinkling with it. It was so effortless for him.

Damian frowned.

“Hey, you okay?”

Damian glanced up briefly. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, but maybe Richard could answer something else.

“Do you think the Ghost could actually be a ghost?”

And there was that sharpness behind the kindness, that moment of calculation of what might have brought this on, whether Damian knew something, before it was hidden behind a smile again.

“Dami-“ he started and lovingly ruffled Damian’s hair. Damian quickly batted his hands away, before he got the misconception that he liked it; because he didn’t! Blue eyes crinkled further and then he continued, “we’ve seen stranger, haven’t we?”

And that brought Damian to a stop, hands still raised protectively over his head. Alfred looked between the two of them and gave an affronted mrauwp.

“So sorry Alfred, old boy, didn’t mean to disturb you.”

While Richard appeased Alfred, Damian slowly lowered his arms. Richard was right of course, but there was something else too, the assurance in the flippancy. Whatever the Ghost was, it didn’t really matter, they would deal with it, like they did everything; everything had some sort of weakness. And the Ghost hadn’t actually been hostile.

The core of the issue was the Lazarus Water. Lazarus Water didn’t enter people’s blood on their own and Grandfather kept a sharp watch on all the pools. There was a very big risk the Ghost was affiliated with the League. Coerced? Created? Murdered?

Damian narrowed his eyes, it was useless to ponder without more information, but the League at least was something Damian could look into discreetly. If there was increased activity in Gotham he would find it. He didn’t have to tell anyone yet.

“You work out what was bothering you?”“Tt.” He quickly looked away from Richard’s knowing eyes. Unfortunately that left him open for another hair ruffle. Richard laughed and jumped away and back to a standing position in one smooth motion, before Damian could retaliate somehow. Damian glared and only got a soft smile and wave in return.

“See you in some days, baby bat.”

Damian pressed his lips together and waved dismissively. “Go, before I decide revenge is worth removing Alfred.”

Richard’s laughter followed him out the door and down the hall. Damian finally allowed the small smile to form. Whatever happened, whatever Father may think of him keeping secrets, he could at least count on his big brother to stay the same. Oo o oO

Tim had been reviewing the new proposals from R&D when Bruce had stopped by.

The spectral calibrator team had obviously been disappointed to learn they would be reassigned and that the larger project to tune into electromagnetic signals from other dimensions had been put on indefinite hold without the calibrator, but they were a professional bunch and they had quickly come up with some fresh ideas.

Tim really didn’t want to consider what use the thief would have had with the calibrator, but it was kinda his job. It was meant to help hone into the (for lack of better term) frequency of a given dimension and remove the noise from the various other planes of reality - he just really hoped they weren’t dealing with a science portal to Hell scenario. Magical portals were at least usually temporary in nature but most importantly they were the JLD’s problem, not Tim’s.

Maybe the thief just really wanted to listen to some alternate universe rock?

Yeah, fat chance.

Tim had not found signs of the stolen items being resold, which pointed towards the thief having specific buyers or he was building something himself. At least the spectral calibrator was safe in the Cave.

A small beep notified Tim that the decryption program had a match on the passcode for the phone Bruce had dropped off, and he rolled over to have a look. The phone was not a brand Tim recognized, it was from the pre-smartphone era and didn’t even have a camera. It had been easier for Tim to just take it apart and hook it to power to get it up and running - it was then he noticed that someone had modded the receiver and transmitter, it also didn’t have a sim card.

Despite the lack of sim-card, when Tim looked at the now open phone it claimed to have a full signal from the most prominent telecompany in the larger bay area. Tim raised an eyebrow - curious. The text messages were empty, and a root around in the settings found that read messages were automatically deleted after 24 hours - the thief were really keen on keeping his secrets.

In the “phone book” which was a rather quaint old school term for the contact list, Tim finally found something that alluded to a normal life. Something that could maybe give them some information: Dad, Jazz, Mom, Sam, Tuck, Val - pretty sparse contact list. All the numbers had the same area code, which put them somewhere in the Midwest, if Tim was remembering correctly.

Tim considered for a moment then pressed the up button until he reached “Mom” again and pressed enter. Butt calls had been a real problem with this phone type if people forgot to lock them, it wouldn’t be so strange if Tim didn’t say anything. With any luck they’d get confirmation on the name Danny.

There was a single dial tone then a feminine voice announced:

“The number you have called cannot be reached.”

Woohooo yay, I think we're done with "the detectives detective-ing" for now which was the extend of my notes before writing the last two parts (parts 6 and 7 are going to be a single chapter once they go on Ao3). Hope you enjoyed, I got a serious case of Damian feels while rewriting chapter 1 for Ao3 (here's a link if you missed it), so that's the explanation for why Damian decided we needed his pov Next

Masterpost for subscription

#dp x dc #dead on main #Yeah sorry no Jason here this time either #Damian decided he wanted a turn #and well poor Jason isn't doing anything interesting right now #he's just panicking over the gaps in his memory #and not daring to leave his apartment before he has the pits more under control #he's afraid he might kill someone if he's Red Hood right now #maybe I do need to write a small bit of his pov #oh well #detectives doing detective-ing #Jason is catnip to Danny #Missed Connections

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familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

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october eighth

day eight: remus lupin you and remus fool around on a spooky path at night | 18+, minors dni, fem!reader, semi-public sex, unprotected sex | 1.9k detailed content warnings: fem!reader, semi-public sex (risk of being discovered, doesn't happen), unprotected p in v sex, fingering, little bit of dirty talk, little bit of praising, remus is a tiny tiny tiny bit mean, creampie

“Are you trying to torture me?” you ask. A cold gust blows down the forest path and you shiver, pressing harder into Remus’s side.

“Me?” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Never.” His arm is warm and heavy around your shoulders. You’d walk faster if you were less glued to him but you’re not about to pull away. The path is scary.

“Why are we doing this, again?” You look over at him. Remus looks lovely every second of every damn day but in tonight’s light from the full moon he’s practically glowing. The scars on his face stand out and you want to trace them.

“Because I have something to show you.” The harvest festival you’ve left behind is a dull road back down the path. You haven’t seen another person in almost ten minutes, even though you’re still technically on the fair grounds.

“You better not have something scary planned.”

Remus smirks at you and presses his lips to your temple. “Have faith, love,” he says. “I’m not going to terrorize you.”

You roll your eyes. The path is well traveled though deserted. The trees around you are tall, the color of their leaves still visible in the moonlight. It’s not quite a proper fall night but it’s pretty close.

“Why isn’t anyone out here? Whatever you want to show me can’t be that great if no one else wants to see it.” You’re teasing and Remus can tell. He tugs on your earlobe.

“We used to come out here in the summer, actually,” he says. “Not so much this time of year. Bit nippy.”

“Yeah, and creepy.” You’re speaking in a hush for no reason.

“Well, we came to see who would be brave enough to sneak into that.” He points in front of you and as you see a massive house rising out of the shadows at the end of the woods.

“Remus!” you gasp. “Fuck, that is scary!”

He laughs. He laughs at you. Unbelievable. He tugs you close, arms around you.

“Rumor says it’s haunted.” You believe it. The house itself looms in a way that cannot be natural. The siding is chipped and rotting, the windows nothing but broken glass with torn curtains flapping in the wind. It looks like the perfect place to get murdered.

“We are not going in there.”

“No,” he agrees, “we are not.” His hand rubs up and down your spine, warming you through your coat.

“Did you ever go in?”

“A few times, with James and Sirius,” he says. “Most everyone else who came down here was only interested in the house.”

You frown. “Is there something else more terrifying and more interesting that you idiots hung around for?”

Remus smirks and you know he’s up to something. Your buttoned up, calm, collected boyfriend has a devious side that still manages to surprise you.

He leans down and presses his lips to your ear. “This is where we’d come to snog girls,” he whispers.

Your breath stutters in your chest and you swallow and embarrassing noise at his closeness. “Oh?”

“Among other things,” he adds. He turns you in his hold and walks you backwards until you’re back in the trees, off the path a little bit. Your back hits the bark of a trunk.

“Other things?” you swallow. You see where this is going but you’re not sure how far he’ll take it. Already you feel hot under your layers.

He steps back into your space, pressing you against the tree, and drags his nose down your throat, nipping at your skin as he goes. “Would you let me do other things to you, darling?”

“Remus,” you gasp. “Remus, really? In the woods? Here?” Anyone could walk by. And yet…your legs clench at the idea.

“No one will see us,” he says, pulling away to look at you full on. “We’re off the path enough, I swear.” He rubs the skin under your eye with his thumb. “If you don’t want to I will happily take you home and fuck you in bed instead —”

“I want to,” you rush out. It’s the truth. Your sex life is healthy and fun and you like trying new things with him, but this is…something different. This is hot in a way you didn’t think fooling around outside would be. You like it.

“I thought I was the only one who went a bit wild under the full moon,” he teases. Smug bastard. You slide your hand down his chest and palm him through his pants. He’s half hard already.

“Nope,” you say, popping the p. He grins wolfishly.

“Going to be quiet?” he says, whispering. The woods aren’t silent, but all you can hear is your own heartbeat and Remus’s breaths. You nod. “Good girl.”

You surge forward to kiss him. It’s teeth and tongues, sloppy but hot. Remus manages to undo his belt before leaving the button and zipper to you as he goes for your own pants, mouth never leaving yours until you pull away to spit in you palm.

He hisses when you get under his briefs to grasp his cock. It’s warm in your cold hand and you jerk him as best you can with his pants still on. “Fuck,” he gasps.

“What was that about being quiet?” you mutter. He kisses you again, tonguing into your mouth as he pops the button on your jeans. His long fingers find their way underneath your underwear and into your cunt and you moan against his mouth.

“Hush,” Remus chides. You pant into his neck, your grip on his cock haphazard as he circles your clit. “You’re soaked, darling,” he says. “You like this? Being out in the open like this? Where anyone could see how wet you are?”

You grasp his bicep with the hand not in his pants so you don’t fall over. “Oh my god,” you gasp. Who knew you were so into this?

“Not quite,” he teases. He slips two fingers into you and you bite down on his collar. “I’m going to fuck you right here against this tree,” he says, voice deeper than usual in your ear. “And then we’re going to go home and you’re going to ride me after I lap at your cunt until you scream.”

“Busy — ah — night.” Remus sucks on your pulse point and you clench around his fingers. He thrusts into your hand and then his touch is gone and you whine.

“Can’t have you wrecking my plan with those hands,” he says. “Step out of your jeans?”

You look around and see no one in the darkness. Remus pulls his boxers down a little further so he can free his entire cock and his balls. If you weren’t so desperate for him to fuck you right now you’d get on your knees, but instead you shimmy your pants down and step out of one leg. It’s not like you’ll be able to pull them up if someone comes by but not being totally bare makes you feel better.

“Now what?” The cool air makes your cunt clench and you can see that Remus’s pupils are totally blown. He crowds you against the tree so your back is against it once more and hooks one hand around your thigh to lift your leg. The mechanics of fucking like this worry you a little but you’re perfectly content to let Remus arrange you how he likes.

“Now I fuck you,” he says. He strokes himself a few times then lines up near your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing your clit for a few breaths.

You moan low in your throat. “C’mon,” you whine. Remus doesn’t wait any longer. He slide inside you in one movement, stealing the air from your lungs. He wraps one leg around his hip and taps the other. Between his firm hold and the tree, you’re fairly secure with both legs around his waist.

“So tight,” he says in your ear. “I’ve been inside you hundreds of times and you’re still so tight.”

You’re about to retort when some twigs snap in the darkness. You freeze and Remus stays where he is, face in your neck and arms steady, palms on your bare ass.

The trail is almost certainly out of sight but not far enough that you can’t hear a group of guys walking down it. “It’s not that scary, dude,” one of them says.

“Be quiet,” Remus reminds you and then he starts moving his hips. You swallow your moans as he drags his cock out and then in again, torturously slow.

“People used to fuck in these woods when we were younger,” another guy says. Their voices are already fading but it feels like they’re right next to you.

“If only they knew,” Remus continues. His lips are pressed to your ear, tongue darting out between every sentence. “I can’t believe they aren’t hearing how wet you are.”

You might explode. You might bite through your tongue. The group keeps talking but you can’t be bothered to listen anymore. There is laughter and under the cover of the sound Remus snaps his hips hard and you swallow a scream.

“Good girl,” he tells you. You clench around him. “They’re gone.” You can’t hear anything anymore except your blood pounding in your ears. Remus finally picks up the pace. The sounds must be obvious — your slick, his balls smacking into your ass, your panting. But you don’t care. The angle he’s getting is so good and it’s so hot that anyone could walk by and see you taking him and —

“How close are you?” Remus grinds out.

“Close,” you manage. “Close, Remus, keep going —”

“Me too,” he says after he licks a stripe up your neck. “Dirty girl, letting me fuck you against a tree, I’m not going to last long —

“Inside,” you blurt out. “Please, inside me, Remus.”

Your eyes are closed but he shifts his hold on you and uses one hand to grab your jaw so you’ll look at him. His pupils are totally blown and his eyes are wide.

“You want to — fuck — walk out of here with my cum inside you?”

You nod frantically and he grabs your ass again, picking up his pace.

“Anything, Remus,” you moan. “Anything, just — ah — don’t stop, I’m —”

His cock hits that spot inside you once, twice, three times, and you’re gone. Over the edge, head thrown back far enough that you thump it against the tree as you clench around him. He says your name like a prayer and his hips still as he spurts inside you.

“Fuck,” he hisses. You’re both panting and he gently guides your legs back to the ground even though you’re weak in the knees. Your jeans have almost come off the remaining leg entirely but you don’t care. Remus pulls out of you and without tucking himself back into his briefs he leans down to pull your panties back up your legs and around your hips, your jeans following. “Can’t lose any,” he says.

You laugh. “That’s filthy,” you say, breath still returning to normal. You can’t believe you just fucked in the woods.

He shrugs and puts his cock, shiny with you, away and fastens his belt.

“C’mere, Remus.” He obeys and cups your face with one hand. You kiss him gently, chastely compared to what you were doing before. “Let’s go home,” you say. “So I can blow you because I’m not kneeling on this nasty forest floor.”

He laughs loudly, so loudly you know that anyone walking by will hear. Good thing you’re not fucking anymore.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

#fvspromptober23 #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders fanfiction

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 1 year ago

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Mosaic

kaeya/gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, teensy angst, fluff

warning(s)!!!: hydro-vision/polearm-user reader (bc i said so), kaeya word vomits all over the place, kaeya also becomes self-aware of feelings and Dislikes that, kaeya also makes some poor choices in leu of those feelings, all is well in the end tho! he learns (and cries) (tayls is pushing the pathetic crybaby kaeya agenda and cannot be stopped)

w.count: 8.7k

synopsis: kaeya is none the wiser to the people around him and what it is they think about him- he didn't get his title of 'top candidate for grandson in law' for nothing. however, he never thought he'd get so swept up in his own feelings that when he does, he decides he has to put a stop to them no matter the cost. but can he really follow through with that?

a/n: i love when tumblr nerfs my banner quality but it's whatever. have some kaeya nonsense (fr take this away from me)

“A mosaic.”

That was your answer to a question Paimon and the Traveler asks while you were meandering around the Favonius Library looking for a book you needed for some personal research. They had run into you there and a conversation about what some citizens of the City of Freedom embody had sprung up somehow. For example, Paimon was very set on saying that Master Diluc was a rock- set in his ways and tough to budge- and so on from there. The ideas and objects tossed around were anywhere between insightful and downright silly.

So, it was inevitable that eventually the trio would cycle around to the Knights. Jean was dubbed a Dandelion according to the Traveler and Lisa was crowned as an elegant bookmark that was so sharp it would cause terrible papercuts. Of course, Lisa’s object was picked ever so gracefully by Paimon even if it didn’t make much sense she was set on her answer, and nothing would change her mind. Then, when the personification of one Kaeya Alberich came around, admittingly the two Outlanders were stumped.

Kaeya would always peruse around with such an air of mystery. Keeping important aspects of himself tucked so far away that very few people knew of his secrets- and they were tight lipped for their own reasons. His smooth tongue aided him greatly whenever someone would ask about himself personally- spinning tales and weaving verses that got him out of any sort of personal interrogation.

The trio knew if they asked Diluc, he’d give a short and possibly crude answer. Jean would probably give him some illusion of not being sorted into such games and Lisa would just think you three were adorable and not give her two cents at all. You, however, thought on it for a bit longer and finally had an answer.

“A mosaic?” Paimon mimicked, making sure her voice was kept down in the sanctuary of books. “Like the artwork?”

“He is good looking,” Traveler pitched and it was true. Even people with aged or poor working eyes could see Kaeya was far from being an ugly man.

“I don't see how him being a little ‘good looking’ is deserving of the title of being a piece art!” You chuckle at Paimon’s small fit of confusion.

“Well, ignoring his looks, a mosaic is a piece of work that is made of small pieces right? It isn’t whole until it’s all put together. Just like a puzzle.”

“So, he’s a glorified puzzle?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” you shake your head in a small chuckle. You take a small trip to another corner of the library and run your fingers along the spines of different books before you grab one and easily slide it out of its spot on the shelf.

It’s a book on different types of art. Flipping the pages you find a page with a drawn on copy of a mosaic from another country. You lay it down on a nearby table and tap the drawing with your fingertip.

“What I meant was the process of becoming a mosaic- how it’s created.” you trace the empty spaces of white on the page where the piece of the drawn on piece were supposed to connect to create a bigger piece. “Various pieces of work all put together to make one big picture. A series of events leading to a grand conclusion of hardwork and patience. Maybe it took a lot of time and work. Sometimes creating such a piece was so frustrating at times you wanted to give up, or maybe sometimes nothing looked right. But, by the end of it all- it couldn’t be anything but a wonderful representation of all those struggles.”

Paimon floated in awe at your explanation and the Travelers playfully placed their hands on their hips as they looked at you.

“You sure think highly of Kaeya, don’t you?”

“It’s that noticeable, huh?” You chuckle a tad embarrassed. Your long-standing puppy-crush on Kaeya you’ve had since you met him wasn’t always the best hidden secret. In fact, you were almost positive that the Cavalry Captain himself knew you had a thing for him, but you were happy he never cornered you about it.

“You’re a love-struck citizen alright,” Paimon rushed to the Traveler’s side in making slight jests at you. You shut the book you had used to try and explain your choice of object and rubbed the back of your neck as you ignore the warmth in your face.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” You turn on your heel and walk back to the shelf to replace the book. Paimon had cupped a small hand around her chin before she was floating over to your side and asking you another question.

“So, if Kaeya is a mosaic, then who’s his artist?” You look at her and blink a few times, processing what she was asking. You didn’t expect a question like that. You cup your own chin in thought and after a moment, you laugh at being caught off guard.

“I hadn’t thought of that. I guess maybe Mondstadt itself? It is where all his friends and family are after all. Oh, and his job of course.”

“That makes sense,” Paimon muses, seemingly satisfied with your answer. The conversation had moved from the shelves to the open space of the library and soon out the doors. As the three of you left, the topic of objects to people shifted to one of getting some food into Paimon’s ever empty stomach.

The book you had previously replaced back on the shelf was easily slid back out by a hand adorning open finger gloves. Taking a relaxed seat at a nearby table, he flipped to the very page you had been on before and looked at the image himself with a small huff that twisted into a quirk of his lips.

“How interesting,” he muses before reading the whole installment about that specific piece of art. After all, how could he not?

The next morning was quick to roll around. After a hearty meal at the Good Hunter and pleasant good nights exchanged with the Traveler and Paimon, you were more than ready to head back home to rest. After a swift debrief on the commissions set aside for you today, you move out of the way and off to the side so you could flip through the four pages of individual commission information.

A typical site clearing of hilicurls, a balloon transport, and two other sites said to be infested with abyss mages and mitacurls. Taking a deep breath and letting it out in the form of a heavy sigh, you roll your neck and shoulders. It looked to be a very physical day, considering the commissions alone were already enough, they were hardly close in range to each other.

“My, what does this sunny morning lack that is making your shoulder’s slack so much,” the familiar voice of the ever lingering person on your mind spoke. Lowering your commissions and offering him a greeting smile, you watch as Kaeya marches his way down the stone steps of Mondstadt to you.

“The weather has nothing to do with it, I'll have you know.” When he finally gets to your sides, he silently offers his hand out for your daily commission sheets. You hand them over and resume your small effort of stretching. His eyes quickly scan sheet after sheet before he’s clicking his teeth and shaking his head.

“Having your run all the way to Stormbearer, to Windrise, down to Springvale and then back up to Wolvendom is just cruel.” The way his voice has that familiar lithe to it, you knew he only half meant what he said.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and run into the Traveler who can do me a favor by hitching me a ride on a Waypoint.” You quickly take your commissions back and fold them down twice before storing them away in your pack. Watching the sun’s orange morning hue fade into its daylight yellow was tell enough that you had to get moving or else you’d be rushing to get your work done. Kaeya walked you to the city gate and even across the bridge before you were ready to set off.

This is practically routine. You weren’t sure when it started, but at some point, Kaeya had started meeting you at the Adventurer’s Guild after receiving your daily commissions and would insist on escorting you out of the city. He claimed it was on the way of his morning walk to stretch his legs, but you weren’t sure how much you believed him. You allowed him to do it anyway since it always set up a good start to your day.

Getting a small amount of Kaeya’s time was something you would relish since you never wanted to impede on his busy schedule with the Knights. It was the small selfish part of you that wanted to capitalize on this so-called ‘alone’ time that lasted only a small piece of the day.

“Be careful,” Kaeya always tell you and you always nod back to him a simple ‘I will’ before he would watch you disappear down the worn, dirt paths. Your first destination would be Stormbearer Mountain it appears.

Most of Kaeya’s morning consisted of going over documents shoved on him courtesy of his position as one of the ten Captains within the knight’s ranks. With sighs echoing in his private workspace every few minutes and multiple tempting ideas of sneaking out without even processing the paperwork, he finally finished and approved the last document before placing it in a file on his desk that Jean would surely come and snag from him later.

Leaning back in his chair that would soon need the cushions replaced, he craned his neck to gaze out the tall window in his office. The sun was much higher in the sky than it was when he had arrived earlier that morning. His thoughts easily drifted to you and a frown found its way onto his lips.

“Are you doing alright?” Kaeya delicately asked to the air of solitude around him. You were more than capable to handle yourself. In truth, if you weren’t already associated with the Guild and kept so busy by them, Jean probably would’ve scouted you for the Knights instead. ‘Your skills are impressive, and the others could learn a lot from you’, that’s probably what Jean’s pitch would be. All true of course, sometimes the job of trying to train the lower ranking knights was more of a chore than a duty, once Kaeya would often get stuck with.

He'd be more than happy to spar with you instead any day.

Steering his gaze away from the window and moving it towards the ceiling, he traced the wooden beams above him with his single visible eye. He sighed again- this time not because of his now finished paperwork.

“Surely, they’d be in Windrise by now… right?” His fingers drummed against the arm of his chair before he was bringing his chin back down to lock onto his office door. His paperwork was done, so maybe…

Two knocks rapped against the thick door and Kaeya’s posture straightened out of habit. A muffled ‘Captain?’ heard behind it. He let his head sink as a small, defeated breath left his open mouth before correcting himself again.

“You can come in,” he answered. Guess his plans to sneak away were once again foiled.

By the time Kaeya made it out of HQ it was already late into the afternoon. Stretching after stepping foot out of the large entrance, he stepped down the short set of stone steps before making his way towards the front of the city. You must be back now, or close to the city at the very least. It had been almost the whole day, if you weren’t back yet he’d simply go on an unprompted adventure to ‘bump into you’. Luckily, there you were; standing in front of the Guild and talking to Katheryne once again. Although, the look of you was less than encouraging.

While you yourself seemed more or less fine, just from the distance between the top set of steps by Good Hunter to you at the Adventurer's Guild Reception, he could tell your commissions had worn you out today. It was no wonder considering the distance between them. Your clothes had clearly been fixed prior to you reentering the city since the dirt and stains on them were a clear indicator that you had your fair share of roughing up.

Kaeya can, and did mostly, dismiss this all, however. It was the serious look on Katheryne’s face and the way yours didn't show relief after a hard day's work like it normally would be. He started making his way towards you and started catching bits of the conversion you both were having.

“I deeply apologize, y/n, but it’s an Emergency Commission we just received.” The way Katheryne’s voice was coated in tension made Kaeya’s pace harden. When he had arrived at your side, his hand came up to rest on your back without his notice as he looked at the way you held your head in your hand like you were preventing an oncoming headache.

“What’s the problem?” Kaeya made it a point to look at you- directing the question at you and not Katheryne. Your hand dropped and you sighed with a shake of your head before looking at him.

“It’s nothing, just a last-minute Commission.”

“What? You just got back from your commissions, didn’t you?”

“It’s an Emergency. I can’t just brush it off.”

“Make someone else take it then.”

“No one else is available.”

“y/n.”

“Kaeya.”

The small verbal battle you both engaged in was empty and Kaeya knew he was playing a losing game. He let out a sigh before he finally turned to look at Katheryne who must have all the patience in the world for standing by and letting you both bicker until she was needed for something.

“What is the commission exactly?”

“Apparently, a Ruin Guard has been spotted near Springvale after a passing Adventurer accidentally triggered its detection sensors. The nearby residents are frightened it could march into someone’s territory and wreak havoc there.”

Kaeya pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand- the other still mindlessly resting on your back- as he sighed. This is indeed something that couldn’t be pushed off for someone else to take. When it comes to those old machines, who knows what could happen if they aren’t swiftly deactivated. The Captain was at an impasse; letting you go after already being exhausted from running around all day or tying you to one of the Guild’s posts and keeping you there until someone else passed by that Katheryne could snag instead.

“Fine,” Kaeya relented. His hand finally dropped from your back and crossed with his other arm over his chest. “I shall accompany you then.” He saw you open your mouth- probably to protest- but he didn’t let you. “Ah-ah,” he tutted at you, “no arguments. Let’s get moving.” He uncrosses his arms to grab your shoulders, spin you around and lightly push you to get your legs moving.

Luckily, Kaeya’s vision was extra compatible with your own. While your fight styles were different, the fact you had a hydro vision was very much a blessing. It was quiet easy work taking down a Ruin Guard that had been drenched in water then subsequently frozen. After picking up a few dropped items from the timeless machine, Kaeya had stood up and placed his hands on his hips as if proud of himself.

“Aren’t you happy I decided to tag along now? We made quick work of that Ruin Guard.”

You can only roll your eyes at the smoothtalker. Still, you quietly laugh at his antics all the same. Finally calling it a day in the middle of the field you had previously battled in with him, you lay down on the grass. You were already covered in sweat, dirt and other stains from your earlier commissions, so getting a little more on your clothes wasn’t a concern. You shut your eyes and took in the breeze you silently thanked Lord Barbatos for as you took in a deep breath, letting yourself decompress.

Kaeya stood over you, moving so his boots were on either side of your head and he was looking down at your relaxing face. With your eyes closed, you didn’t get to see the smile that was only ever present when you weren’t looking. The moment your eyes would open, you would only see his normal everyday grin. And open your eye did and oh how lovely they were. The evening glow did wonders for their color.

Evening. Yes, it is getting rather late now.

“Are you ready to head back now?” He asked and you nod. Sitting up, Kaeya offers to carry you back to the city on his back- which you decline. That didn’t stop the fact that you reentered Mondstadt securely resting on Kaeya’s back as he held you up with a slight bend to his posture and firm grip on your legs.

This routine would continue for as long as Kaeya’s luck would allow. He’d be the first to see you in the mornings before being the one to walk you out of the city and if he was lucky, he’d be the first to greet you back (not including Katheryn).

If Kaeya was lucky he would greet you back into the city and spend more time at your side. Reporting in with you to the Guild. Running a few errands like stopping by to purchase things from Blanche or getting your polearm enhanced or repaired at the smith.

If Kaeya was lucky, he would persuade you into getting dinner with him or dropping by the Cat’s Tail for some casual TCG matches when he was off duty.

If Kaeya was lucky, the conversation between you both would be flowing well enough that even if there was nothing left to do, he’d be privileged enough to walk you home or come inside to continue occupying your time until you fall asleep or push him out the door saying that he had to get up for work in the morning.

Today was not Kaeya’s lucky day. When he got up this morning, his routine to finding you was practically ingrained in his muscles and when he didn’t see you at the stone steps, city gates or the Guild’s reception, confusion crossed his brows. He casually took a seat on one of the nearby outside stools by the Cat’s Tail and waited until the time to clock in at HQ was growing closer. With hesitation, he got up and looked around for you once more just to see if maybe he could at least catch a glimpse of you rushing around to get a (rather late) start to the day.

He was antsy all day and he was astonished to find out that throwing a wrench in his morning threw off his day so much. Kaeya knew that seeing you first thing in the morning was quite a lovely way to start his day, but he didn’t know the extent in which it could affect the rest of it. Not exchanging a good morning with you or even saying his usual ‘be safe’ message at the edge of Mondstadt nagged at him.

Currently, he was sitting in a remote corner of the Favonious library, legs crossed as his rear was sat towards the front of the seat to make up for the fact his back was bent over the back of it. He rests a flimsy, paperback book over his face, the pages scent of old paper and ink invaded his nose and the feeling of them rubbed against his cheeks. One of his hands held it open with his thumb and pinky and the other arm was hanging uselessly at his side, his wrist bouncing against his vision from time to time just for something to interact with.

Underneath the book, his eye was closed. He had tried reading the passages in this particular book at least four times now, but the words just weren’t registering in his mind, so he had given up. He was left listless; certain he could easily fall asleep in this very position at any given time. Of course, it wasn’t often that Captain Kaeya would get much quiet time to himself anyways.

“Uh, what are you doing?” The voice of Paimon made Kaeya’s eye open under the book before he was pulling it down his face enough to only reveal that one eye. Seeing Paimon floating at the Traveler’s side made him slip the book off his face completely and shut it before setting it on the table in front of him. His posture was corrected as he sat up straighter and rolled his neck.

“Couldn't you tell? I was reading.”

“Paimon think’s you were slacking off.”

“Is that what it looked like?” He jokes as he pushes his chair back and stands up properly before placing one of his hands on his hips. “I would never be caught slacking off, you wound me.”

“We’ve heard that before,” Paimon sighs with a shake of her head. In the moment, Kaeya is reminded of the conversation he overheard before between you and the other two. The same time of day, the same location, the same two participants of that conversation.

“Say,” he says to gain both of their attention, “what do you think it is?” Kaeya’s exceptionally broad and unprecedented question left the two Outlanders confused. The way the Captain could almost see materialized question marks float around their heads was comical before he elaborated. “I’m asking about my artist, of course. Surely you must have your own idea, no?”

Both Traveler and Paimon’s mouth opened in shock.

“You were listening?!” Paimon shrieks before she is shushed by other people in the library for her volume.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, Kaeya,” Traveler tells him as they cross their arms over their chest. Kaeya fakes a gasp before shaking his head and shrugging with his arms up.

“Eavesdropping? Why, I’d never.” He dropped his arms back to his sides. “I was simply in the area and didn’t want to interrupt such a compelling conversation topic. That would’ve been quite rude of me, wouldn’t you agree?” The looks he received were easily brushed off. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Well,” Paimon started, “didn’t y/n say it would be Mondstadt?”

“And? Do you agree with them?”

“Paimon doesn’t see a reason why not,” she shrugs in the air.

“I see,” Kaeya’s arm crosses over his chest before he’s resting his opposite elbow on it to cup his chin. His gaze shifts downward before he's blinking slowly, meaningfully. “I suppose I could give you half marks.”

“Half marks?!” Paimon whispers.

“What about ‘the people of Mondstadt?’” The Traveler interjects. Kaeya’s eye shoots back to them and his hand drops from his chin to resume a casual stance.

“That assumption is largely correct as well.” The smile he gives the two gives nothing away. It wasn’t clear if he was sincere about what he said or if he was just saying it to hear himself talk. “A mosaic is usually a large piece, yes? It would make sense for there to be multiple people taking part in such a project at some point I suppose.”

“You suppose? You’re just running us in circles here!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kaeya deflects with a lighthearted tone and short laugh.

“Fine! We get it!” Paimon huffs before the conversation devolves into little to nothing until he is parting ways with the two, leaving the library and ready to end the day that seemed to have lasted longer than usual. Despite having a rather lax day, he felt lethargic.

Yet, despite his lethargy, when he finally made it out of his day clothes and into his bed, all he could do was lay on top of his covers and stare at the ceiling. His eyepatch had been removed- just as always when he was in the confines of his home- and his long bangs covered the eye that was always so accustomed to the darkness. One of his legs was propped up on the mattress with the other stretched out and his arms were folded behind his head.

His mind was curious about a number of things all the time- so his racing thoughts weren’t unknown to him. Still, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind didn’t let up. Was not seeing you at all really that much of a clog in his daily life? It made him feel so off-set and that alone was enough to plant a seed of anxiety in his chest.

Kaeya sighs to himself and his ceiling before rolling to his side and letting his bangs slip across his face and reveal his always concealed eye between the blue strands. He closes his eyes and wills his mind to stop dwelling on menial things.

Heart and mind are difficult things to cooperate with one another though.

Kaeya Alberich couldn’t risk getting mixed up in too many personal things- it made his future even more murky and daunting than it already was.

After that one day of missing seeing you out before your commission, Kaeya tried to do it less on purpose. Maybe that was a message from the gods themselves that he needed to take a step back. If your very presence could affect his day to day life like it had, he needed to back off for his sake and yours. And while he didn’t see you off, he still would welcome you back any chance he saw you return to the city with a raised hand he would immediately tuck away again.

“I didn’t do anything to make you upset, did I?” Of course, you had noticed his sudden shift in nature.

“Of course not,” he tells you as sincerely as he could. His smile was strained on his lips and his nose felt like twitching from the sheer effort it took just to pull them up. From the unamused look you gave him at his answer, he knew you knew he wasn’t being completely truthful. Still, you just looked away from him and sighed. Kaeya was grateful you didn’t push the issue because a part of him was sure if you had, he would’ve spilled his guts about things he wasn’t sure of himself just yet.

The process of slowly taking steps away from you wasn’t pleasant for either party. Kaeya’s days had devolved into nothing but more boring paperwork and patrols he could do with his eye closed, and that would mean seeing nothing at all. The dull lag of the daytime was boring to him with nothing to do between his job and downtime he suddenly had. The Angels Share's atmosphere was a welcome comfort to his new, unpleasant routine- though, he could do without the looks from Diluc.

Meanwhile, you had felt the sting of dejection in your chest. You had come to the assumption that maybe Kaeya had finally taken action on your unspoken feelings for him and was politely telling you to take a hike. It was logical to you; a common everyday Adventurer probably couldn’t make it work out with one of the Knights’ Captains. His previous time spent with you was probably just a hindrance, a distraction from his real work, so this was good. He could focus on what was important, protecting Mondstadt.

Though, that mental pep talk didn’t make it hurt any less.

Just like Kaeya, you decided to bury yourself in your work. Taking commissions on top of any other field requests. Clearing hilicurl camps wasn’t something difficult and while the occasional Abyss Mage was a pain, it was all manageable. So, when your back to back jobs kept you out of the city for days at a time, that slowly became the norm for the citizens of Mondstadt.

It was only natural for no one to notice.

“Has it really been that long?!” Kaeya had been passing through the central square of Mondstadt when he heard the familiar shrill of Paimon. His interest took little to be piqued and he easily strut his way over. “And no one has tried looking for them yet?” Paimon and the Traveler were stuck in a conversation with Katheryne as is the norm for them nowadays when their travels bring them back to the City of Freedom. “Oohhh,” Paimon worries, “Paimon’s worried.”

“What’s the problem,” Kaeya interjects into the conversation. All eyes shift to him, his easy strides coming to a stop when he fully joins the group with his arms crossing over his chest. “My, what’s with all the long faces?”

“Kaeya!” Paimon screeches. “Oh, maybe you’ll know! Have you seen y/n around?” Kaeya’s chest tightens.

“Y/n? I’m afraid we’ve both been too wrapped up in our own duties recently. Sorry to disappoint.” The slight light of hope Paimon dawned dimmed and worry once again took over her features. The tension in his chest felt tighter, like a white-hot coil was entangling itself around his insides and replacing his ribcage. “Has something happened?” He asks slowly, making quite sure his voice doesn’t crack or waver. All his hard work to distance himself from you can’t unravel now; not when you aren’t even here.

“We aren’t sure,” Katheryne fills in. All eyes look to her as she repeats what she had just told the duo before Kaeya arrived. “Y/n had taken a rather dangerous commission the other day. It was a job that required them to explore and investigate some ruins that had been discovered behind a wall of rocks on Stormbearer. The commission should’ve well run its course by now, but we haven’t heard back from either the client or y/n, so some of us are beginning to worry.”

Kaeya’s fists clenched, but no one took notice of them under his cross-armed stance. He made sure to keep his face from giving himself away.

“Have you made the issue known to the Acting Grand Master?” He questions. Katheryne shakes her head.

“No, we haven’t. We had had planned on bringing it to her attention if y/n still doesn’t get in touch with us by this evening.”

“We should let Jean know right now!” Paimon insists and the Traveler easily nods in agreement. “What if they’re stuck in the ruins. Or- or hurt or something!” Paimon’s worry bleeds easily into her words like a fresh wound into water.

“The last thing we should do is panic,” Kaeya said hypocritically. His gut felt like a boiling cauldron with panic as the main ingredient. Still, his many years of being persuasive and aloof didn’t let any of that show.

Though, the off hand look the Traveler shot him made him doubt himself; they’ve been awfully diligent when it comes to reading him ever since his wild goose chase he sent them on not long after they arrived in Mondstadt. Or maybe it was just because they had more experience than he initially thought. Still, it almost made him squirm.

“Well, we’re going to go tell Jean!” Paimon declared, her small hands on her hips as she bobbed up and down in the air. Kaeya just shrugs indifferently, surely not making any moves to oppose them. With a small huff, Paimon and the Traveler take off towards the Knights Headquarters. When they were well out of earshot and sight, Kaeya’s cross arms drop and his gaze moves to the ever-open gate that showed the wilds outside of Mondstadt.

“Katheryne,” he almost whispers. “You said Stormbearer?”

Your vision was blurred when you opened your eyes from your, albeit useless, slumber. You had long since tucked yourself between a small alcove of debris and rock in the ruins you had agreed to investigate. Had you known the person who had commissioned this job was some ruin machine-obsessed loon, you wouldn’t had agreed so easily. A couple ruin guards aren’t a big deal, but adding their mechanical brethren- so to speak- on top of a nut job maintaining them the moment you have to step away to recoup, that's when things get tricky.

Your body had long since grown exhausted from using your Vision by excessively trying not to get killed. Luckily, the mad man only had his madness going for him, so hiding from his view was easy. Staying hidden from the machine’s censors was what worried you, but you had succeeded so far. Because of that very fact, however; you were reluctant to move. Beyond your weary body, hunger and thirst were starting to eat away at you too.

Having been in hiding with no ample moment to even try fleeing back to the city for additional aid, you had run through what little rations you had. Your gut ached with hunger pains and your throat had never felt dryer, still you weren’t backed up against the preverbal wall so much you threw all caution to the wind.

Your polearm had remained materialized as you kept it rested against your shoulder for ease of quick use should you require it. Your vision had never felt heavier from its placement on your person and your hands cramped from how tightly you had gripped your weapon’s staff. You let your head fall back into the rock behind you and let out a silent sigh.

In truth, you felt more foolish than injured or exhausted. You knew this commission sounded… odd, but you took it anyway. Anything to help distract your mind from the ever cloudy presence of Kaeya- or lack thereof.

Your small sliver of respite you found in your cove of rock and debris was beginning to quake and crumble… literally. Your eyes you hadn’t realized had dropped back down shoot open and between the crumbling dust that threatened to get into them, you could hear the engines of machines whirring above you. You scramble to get out into the open before your previously, temporary safety could crush you. Though, coming out meant that you would be more vulnerable than you’d prefer.

The moment your gaze lands on that familiar warm glow of the back of a Ruin Guard, you throw your polearm into its core, coating the blade with water from your Vision without much thought. The guard crackled with electricity as it malfunctioned and was brought to its metallic knees. Sprinting to its back to quickly retrieve your polearm, you made sure to use your Vision to drench its legs and feet just in case it got back up again. Perhaps the moisture would cause it to comically slip and buy you just a bit more time and maybe a chuckle or two.

It was odd though, aside from the now jagged whirring of the jittering machine in front of you- there was nothing else. No crazed man trying to jump you or sick another random machine of his on you for whatever cause. It was in fact quiet, and that quiet put you on edge. Your brain knew you needed to stay on guard, but the silence was starting to lull your body into a false sense of security you couldn’t trust.

Still, your mind that had been in fight mode for what should have been days now, had no chance against your weary body. Your grip on your polearm slips and the weapon clatters to the ground just before your knees did and your body slumped rather pathetically afterwards.

‘If you fall unconscious, you’ll die’, you mentally scold yourself. Trying to bully yourself into getting back up, keeping your eyes open, keeping your guard up. Still, your mind was beginning to feel as weak as your body. Thoughts swirled together into a mess of intangible words stuck in your mind and your sight was no better. Perhaps it was your delirium and exhaustion, but your body suddenly grew cold and you vaguely felt goosebumps raise on your skin like winter itself had bloomed in these ruins with you. Among the changes you felt externally, you swore you heard a muffled voice too.

Perhaps it was the mad man, the one who got you suckered into this stupid job. If it was, he could make quick work of you now since the last of your fight had disappeared taking out that Ruin Ruard core. The warmth you felt on your neck and cheek was the final thing you could mentally register before your body succumbed to its burdens.

‘Odd’, was the first thing that crossed your mind when you found yourself staring blankly up at a well maintained ceiling. You were sure that if you woke up again, and not gotten yourself killed or crushed, you’d be waking up to jagged rocks and mossy walls. So, the well furnished room you now occupied threw you for a loop- which your pounding head didn’t exactly take well.

The room you were in was familiar, and you were sure you’ve been here before, but your foggy mind couldn’t process where you were. The bed you were tucked into was soft and comforting, and with a wince the mattress gave when you push yourself to sit up. You were alone in the room and without much thought, you shuffle your legs out from under the blankets thrown over you to place your feet onto the floor and wobble up to your legs with the help of the bedside table acting as a- albeit less than desirable- crutch.

The door creaking open was almost mistaken by you for the sound of your sore joints straightening out, as humorous as that was to you since you let a brief, lighthearted laugh escape you in a huff. Then, with your sights on the ground, you noticed a shadow casted by light you don't remember being in the room with you before.

You follow the shadow along the hard floor covered with a single, purple rug until your eyes found a pair of all too familiar boots. Your aching body starts to feel anxious- a small wave of gooseflesh running across your exposed skin at the idea of Kaeya being in your proximity for the first time in a while. Still, regardless of how you hadn’t been able to squash your silly crush on him or properly prepare yourself for a possible rejection without even confessing- you were no coward.

With both hands tense on the bedside table, you raise your head to look at the blue haired man who had removed the fur, half-cape from his shoulder. It was strange seeing how empty his shoulder was without the extra fluff the fur provided. Still, it was nice to see him in his entirety again since it had been a while. The blacklight of the space behind him made it difficult to see his expression since the lights in the room you had woken up in had been turned off presumably for your ease of comfort.

“It’s been a while,” was the lamest thing that’s come out of your mouth in a while.

Of course it had been, you were both actively avoiding each other and practically the whole of Mondstadt picked up on it. Looking behind his shoulder you could only barely see corners of art pieces on the walls behind him and another rug that ran down the hall behind his heels. “Kaeya, am I at your house?” You ask, finally realizing where you recognized your surroundings from.

You’d been in his living room plenty of times visiting, but you had hardly been back in his room unless you were the one tasked with dragging him home from Angels Share and were generous enough to lug his body weight back to his bed. It was a rare occurrence since you were normally one to just dump him on the couch with a blanket and glass of water for his possible next morning hangover.

Kaeya never graced you with an answer before he was marching into the room. His bootsteps seem louder than usual on his hardwood floors of his enclosed room, but maybe that was just the headache. His hands shoot out to grab your shoulders and turn you towards him, your hands that had been on the wooden night table were effectively removed from its surface and now Kaeya’s grip was the only crutch you had for balance before your brain could full calibrate standing without swaying again.

“What on Teyvat were you thinking?!” He raised his voice and even in the dimly lit room with only light from the hall flooding in, you could easily see his expressions now. His brow was turned in a frown and his eye clouded with something you couldn’t pinpoint. It was a far cry from his normally suave and dismissive behavior. “Taking an obviously suspicious commission in ruins that hadn’t been officially investigated by the Knights? Seriously, you thought that was smart?!”

His temper only made your headache worse and in turn soured your already not-so-great mood. Reaching up to grab his arms like a hook for support, you verbally push back.

“I think I'm capable of handling things myself, you know? The Guild doesn’t need the Knights’ to babysit them for every little thing, and as a member of the Guild that applies to me too!”

“Oh yes, so capable you spontaneously disappear for days? Does that sound capable to you?”

“It does actually because I was handling things just fine by myself, not that it makes a difference to you.”

“You collapsed next to a Ruin Guard, y/n! What would you have done if it had restarted or if something else would have happened? Magically wake up and jump into battle again, because I have my doubts about that!”

“What is your problem, Kayea?!”

“You! You are my problem!”

Astonished, you scoff before rolling your eyes. It had been so long since you hashed it out like this with anyone, let alone Kaeya. It didn’t feel good, it made you feel sick to your stomach. Not hearing any retaliations from you, Kaeya guides you by the shoulders back against the edge of the mattress and pushes you to sit down again. You didn’t let yourself release the sigh of relief that you felt now that the weight of your own limbs was lifted- you wouldn’t give the Captain that satisfaction.

You expected him to let go of you, release your shoulders and march out of the room and maybe slam the door for good measure. Or maybe pace around the room before ordering you good enough to argue, so you would be good enough to get out of his hair. Out of the possibilities, the only thing that you predicted right was him releasing your shoulders.

Kaeya's hands left your shoulders before sliding down your arms and dropping to the mattress edge on either side of you. You were stunned when he dropped to his knees in front of you and the pressure of his forehead resting on your knee felt heavier than anything. Caging you with his arms and using his head as an anchor on your legs he had effectively trapped you. You kept your hands tucked into each other by your stomach, making sure your knuckles wouldn’t brush even a strand of his hair and you could feel the thin strap of his eyepatch leaving an intent on your skin.

“Kaeya,” you sighed heavily, his name leaving your lips like a weight.

“I tried,” his muffled voice sounds weak that your gaze softens at the abrupt tone change. “I did. I tried to fix it, but my problem is still you and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I have no idea what you’re-”

“Tell me what to do.” His words that interrupt yours cause you to furrow in confusion.

“What?”

“Tell me what to do,” he repeats with a strained voice. “I have so many things I need to do, choices but I- I don't want to. So, do it for me.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. What does all that even mean?”

“Make me choose you,” he sighs heavily before the hands of his that were placed on the mattress beside you move to lightly grab at your shirt like he was scared to touch you further. As if you’d push him away, scorn him for his actions and inactions alike. “Because I will. I just- I need someone- you, you need to-” His sentences never finish as his breaths become uneven. The hands that grip your shirt tighten to ball the fabric in his fists now. “I’m sorry.”

Never had you seen Kaeya, the ever debonair Calvary Captain who kept all his secrets stored into his chest, kneel and subsequently crumble like this to anyone- much less to you. Perhaps in the past he never talks about, Diluc had seen him so weak, but that would be where the witness list ends. You lift your hands from your lap and hover them over his hunched body that clung to you like a child; you were unsure if touching him would set him off or if he would recoil from you. Your silence only made his hands that ensnared your shirt tug on the fabric like an anchor keeping a ship from sailing away.

One of your hands reach to his head and your fingertips breach the blue tresses of his hair. His shoulders tensed and you almost snatched your hand away.

“Don’t,” he mumbled into your leg. You weren’t sure if he was saying not to touch him or not to pull away. So, you kept your hand half in his hair and unmoving.

You yelp when the tugging on your shirt flew into a harsh yank. The back of your knees that had previously been resting snug against the edge of the mattress were now well away with the back of your thighs replacing their spot. Closer to sliding right off the bed than comfortably sitting on it, Kaeya’s arms moved to wind around your waist and his face found a new home in your stomach as your arms hovered in the arm like a puppet's dangling from unused strings.

You could feel the weight of his words fall onto your legs by way of the tears leaving his eyes. You could feel it in the way his shoulders shake and the uneven breaths that warms your lap through his mouth.

“Kaeya,” you softly start, “what has gotten into you? I've never seen you act like this before.” You slowly lower your arms and place your palms on his shoulders gently so as to not startle him; you weren’t going to keep them in the air forever, they’re sore.

“I’m from Khaenri’ah, you know?” His voice strains as he lets out a pathetic laugh that’s damp with a web forming in his throat. He feels your hands on his shoulders twitch and his grip around you tightens so you have no chance of running from him.

“Kaeya, what-”

“My father abandoned me here with the intention of using me as a spy. I’ve only ever told Diluc, but when I did a lot happened and he left, abandoning me too. I don’t care about Khaenri’ah- not anymore- Mondstadt is my home. It’s where my friends are, my brother- even if he will never accept that role again. I can’t leave Mondstadt behind.”

“I’m sure Diluc doesn’t hate you, not like you think. He just- he’s set in his stubborn ways and isn’t good at communicating.” You decide to speak only on his mention of Diluc, since the new information of the land in which he supposedly hails was still processing in your mind.

Your previous comparison of Diluc to a rock briefly comes to mind at the mention of his stubbornnes. You nearly laugh at the thought, but now is definitely not the time.

“Please, please, make me choose you. Tell me to, order it of me, I don’t care. Just- don’t make me live without my artist. I can’t risk that again; I can’t take being abandoned again.”

“Artist? Kaeya, what are you talking about?” You felt like you didn’t understand the words coming out of his mouth.

There was a bout of silence after your question and the air felt heavy. You know Kaeya heard you, but he was reluctant to answer. Odd, considering the word vomit he had already coughed up in the last several minutes since he came into the room. Your hands start to move and lightly rub his shoulders over onto his neck, silently trying to coax him into talking more.

“I heard what you said to the Traveler.” You almost roll your eyes because that could be literally anything. Does he know how often you get the chance to actually run into them and Paimon? He is just trying to dodge the question and by habit you lightly swat at his head. A silent, ‘okay smartass’ to keep him going in the right direction. He almost scoffs into your lap for that one. “You called me a mosaic.” Oh. “You told the Traveler that ‘Mondstadt’ is my artist; they said the ‘People of Mondstadt’, but only I know who my artist truly is.” His arms around you twitch and you could almost feel a stitch of pain in your side from how long he's been effectively squeezing you. “My artist is you. It’s just you.”

The room is engulfed in a silence that feels heavy, yet... somehow also relieving. So much time recently had been the both of you dancing around the issues neither of you wanted to confront and all it took was you getting yourself into potentially mortal danger for days on end for the truth to come out. Kaeya knew you were someone important, but he didn’t realize just how heavy your permanent absence would be to him. Just the thought of possibly finding you in those ruins dead made his throat burn and ache like swallowing a ball of thorns.

“Kaeya.”

“I’m not lying,” his voice was strained, filled with fear of being labeled someone worthy of nothing.

“I wasn’t going to say you are,” the hand that had previously tapped his head now rested on his nest of blue hair. The gentle strokes of your palm against his scalp were soothing as he felt your breath move your stomach against his head. “I don't see why you would lie to me right now.” There was no doubt in your mind that everything that came out of his mouth was the unadulterated truth. You’ve never seen the suave captain bleed such vulnerability before.

You didn’t say anything else to him after that. You move your hands to his arms, unwinding yourself from them before pulling him pathetically up onto his own bed. Not even bothering to fix your position, you fall back onto the mattress with your feet hanging off the edge and he easily follows you. From the lighting provided from the hall, you notice his eyepatch string had loosened from all his face hiding and you take it upon yourself to tighten it- securing it back where it belongs. Your fingertips linger around its material for but a moment before sliding down to his cheek.

His eye is brimmed with tears that had stained his skin with tracks and swelling. He also wouldn’t make eye contact with you, and you roll your eyes endearingly at his childish whims. With you both laying sideways on the bed, feet and legs hanging and not even a blanket to cover up with, your thumb run over his skin. Kaeya is quick to reach for and latch his grip delicately onto your wrist to keep it there.

“‘M sorry,” he mutters again, sounding much more shy than he did before now that his face was in view of your gaze. You smile at him, knowing there was a long and meaningful talk in the near future.

“I know. Go to sleep.”

“But I-”

“Artists' orders,'' you chortle. He just scoffs and offers his own eye roll, but his cheek warms under your palm. His eye closes and he let out a deep breath before taking one back in and repeating.

“Stay until I open my eyes again.”

“I will.”

And you did.

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