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dungeonpuppykai · 14 days

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Description: When the Winter soldier experiments go wrong on your fiance Crown Prince James Barnes and he ends up crippled and unstable, you call the engagement off and your family proposes that the alliance can still be on if his family pairs you up with his twin brother Nick instead. All seems to be fine and dandy until James breaks out of the lab one night and comes straight for you, razing everyone who stands in his way.

Pairing: Dark!Winter Soldier James Bucky Barnes | Morally Gray Princess!You.

Disclaimer: I do not own James Bucky Barnes, Nick Fowler or any of the MCU characters mentioned (sadly). This story contains dark and mature content. Minors do not interact.

Warnings: Dubcon, morally gray!reader, opportunistic reader, smut with plot, dark!Bucky, angst, winter soldier, exhibitionism, choking, hair pulling, slapping, humiliation, degradation, dumbification, manhandling, unprotected p-in-v, biting, missionary and doggy style, breeding kink, creampie, fear kink, power imbalance, Bucky's metal arm (?), pet names (rosey, baby), Daddy kink, sir kink.

Note: I think this sounds a bit unserious and somewhat goofy aah but this was exactly my idea and I don't think I could have done it any different. Please let me know what you think <3

You rolled your eyes with a scoff at something your now fiance and ex brother-in-law to be, Crown Prince Nick Barnes, said. The night was cool and you had ordered for the lights of the garden that your balcony faced to be turned down. Your silk nightgown that was dark blue in color -Nick's royal color- hung from your shoulders in the most comforting way as the skirt bit of the article swayed with the gentle breeze. You heard Nick's chuckle on the other end of the video call and before you retorted with something edgy because that was just the kind of Princess that you were, you shifted against the railing to make yourself more comfortable while still holding the phone in such a way that he could see you.

His demanding nature was not one you particularly fancied but you supposed that was the kind of liberty that came with being an actual heir. Though you couldn't help but be reminded of how although his brother -the older twin- was a much better crown prince than Nick could ever be and yet he had never made you feel inferior in status by imposing his will on you.

It was impossible for you not to muse on the possibility that if your older sister, The actual Crown Princess of your kingdom, had been chosen by his brother instead of you, Nick would still treat her the same way and if she would put up with having to be subservient.

"All things considered, Your Royal Highness, we are still not having a dozen children" the title never failed to sting your tongue due to how you had never had to use it for your original fiance.

But Nick was just one of those people.

His snort made you want to roll your eyes but you knew better than to disrespect him as the two of you shared a rather formal relationship that was quite terse around the edges. Perhaps, his brother had spoiled you too much. "I always find it amusing that you think you have a choice in–" you were busy watching the stars because you could not bear to look at him when he behaved like this. But then he abruptly changed the topic and you didn't care to express concern by glancing at the screen, "I thought you said you excused your ladies, little one" he did not appreciate being lied to; something he shared with his identical brother.

"I did, Your Excellency" when he sighed in disapproval, you had to avert your eyes from the sky to look down at him on the screen with an air of annoyance about you. "I really–"

"Then who is that behind you?" Nick had also been busy reading away on a tablet as he traveled somewhere -probably back to the Palace- in a vehicle but now he narrowed in on his screen.

Your eyebrows remained flat and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "Ha ha, Your Highness, very funny" he had a thing for making silly jokes when he was in an agreeable mood, or at least moving towards one.

"Y/n, I am serious" there was an urgency in his voice as he leaned closer to get a better look. "Turn around right now and tell me who is–"

"You even wear his color now, huh rosey?" Your body took a good few moments to register the voice behind you and you nearly failed to recognize it at first. Though when your brain finally managed to make the association, your heart dropped into your stomach and your blood ran ice cold.

You spun around on your heels so hard they ached, coming face to face with James Barnes; the original Crown Prince and your real fiance. The man who had chosen you over your sister; giving preference to you for once, the brave warrior who had surrendered his body to his country; so they could make the best protector possible out of him, the honorable fool who only wanted to do good; a hero too noble for this wretched world.

Your phone that now blared with Nick's alarmed yells slipped through your numbing fingers but James caught it before it could break against the ground. "What the hell are you doing here?" You harshly whispered as if in a defensive autopilot, overwhelmed by how he had grown three times his size. Your eyes unintentionally traveled to where his arm had gotten mutilated on an expedition and you found a metal one glinting up at you in its stead. Maybe your reaction could be considered foolish in hindsight, but the knowledge that you were utterly at this unstable man's mercy and had nothing to defend yourself with against his monstrous stature terrified you. That in turn caused you to act in the only way you thought was appropriate as you desperately hoped for your facade to affect him in a helpful way.

"Did all those years mean nothing to you, rosey?" His face was covered in stubble and his dark hair was long as it obscured most of his features, deep voice animalistic as his black leather clad form seemed to expand and contract with each heavy breath. Your throat tightened in on itself and your breath hitched. What the hell had they really done to him?

"You shouldn't be here, James" you looked around for your guards– anyone but found the area to be eerily silent. How had you not noticed this ominous shift in your environment before? "That is against the rules as you're endangering the future Queen and many other people" he was all about rules and that was what you had disliked most about him. "Go back" your heart was on the verge of exploding but you pushed on with as much a semblance of composed firmness as you could muster.

Nick's threats and curses melted into the background as James coldly snorted before snatching you by your hair, fingers snaking through a tangle of the strands, the action causing you to wince. It was only when you tried to fight him back and the bustle caused the two of you to inch closer to the lighting of your chambers did his face really come into your view. Your eyes widened in horror as your hand went to clamp over the hold he had on you defensively.

His pale face was covered in blood splatters and his glossy teal eyes seemed to shake, their blown pupils crazed.

"So it was always about the crown then, huh, rosey?" You would never have expected him to sound as hurt and betrayed in this maddened state as he did.

"You know it was" you lied through your teeth to try and get his stance to falter like it always did when you counterattacked to his affectionate advances with hostility; the only thing you had known all your life. "Nothing matters more than the crown" the world functioned on power. So you had always used and abused that you had over him; over his heart.

"I see" except, it didn't seem to budge him much today. Your eyes desperately scanned your dark surroundings again, this time for a weapon albeit still in vain. "In that case, you should be with me, then" your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you whimpered at how his fingers tightened around your neck.

"James!" And then you were getting dragged back into your chambers.

Once he had approached your bed, he placed your phone on the bedside table so a fuming Nick could clearly see whatever was about to unfold.

Your flailing form was yanked back in frame and then held tightly in place by the clasping of his metal hand over the deep neckline of your nightgown. "Because I am all fixed up," your eyes turned to look at him in horror as he chuckled dryly, "and back to take all that's mine" you screamed and hot tears finally rushed down your flushed cheeks when your compressed breasts sprang free in the air upon his tearing a thick valley between the front piece of your gown. James only snickered into the camera while his brother screamed at him to not dare damage what was his amongst other profanities.

But wasn't James simply repossessing what had always belonged to him in the first place?

He had finally corrected himself in the way the world deserved.

Now he would only live for himself like everyone else was.

He was done getting played for a fool by all.

"Please!" Your words fell on deaf ears as the man proceeded to further rip his brother's color off your body furiously until nothing remained in his hold except for your nudity, strong jaw nearly ticking broken due to how it was clenched as he did so.

"Tell me, dear, did you also let him have you?" You were nearly petrified at this point both by shame and fear as he manhandled you onto the bed before crawling over you like a predator and trapping your limbs under his. "And if you dare lie to me then so God help me" his metal hand roughly fondled your breasts as his other hand tightly restrained your limp yet determined wrists above your head.

"S- Stop!" Your back arched and you turned your face away in disgust when he started sniffing you all over like a hungry hound.

"Hm, what about this little pussy of mine down here" a chill ran down your spine at how the crevices of his metal hand felt against your nether lips when he stroked them. "Has she forgotten her Daddy, hm?" He was the stark opposite of the man you had been engaged to and that in addition to how you had last seen him slashing at the lab assistants while speaking a language you did not understand as well as how semi-liquid crimson particles covered his face caused for a wave of pure terror to rush over you. But it was nothing compared to the chilling fact that his body heat and touch -regardless of its fashion- had awakened that one familiar feeling only he could evoke in you.

Nick went silent at James' words and you felt blood rush to your tear stained cheeks.

Contrary to popular belief, you were not the chaste future Queen saving herself for her wedding night and King like the royal protocol demanded.

But in your defense, the then future King, James, himself was the one who had defiled you because you were already his. And you had let him for you could act all high and mighty as you desired in front of him as well as others due to how comfortably open he had always been about his feelings for you hence presenting a very vulnerable perhaps even a subservient part of himself to you on a silver platter, but also because the man knew how to fuck.

You were addicted to how he felt against you and though you had never brought your suspicion to your lips, you had wondered for the entirety of the time your betrothal had changed to Nick whether the younger twin would ever be able to come even close to his brother.

"Would you look at that?" His coo sounded out of place and ominous due to how the pretend softness stood out from the menace of his tone. "It doesn't seem like she has," your fingers instinctively clawed the air to try and take a hold of his hand to deal with the feeling of his bionic digits invading their way between your petals. "She still weeps and blinks up dumbly at me like a stupid slut all the same" horror filled you as you became hyper aware of Nick's eyes on you, and yet your skin began to buzz at the filthy words that still scratched you in that one way regardless of everything. "Rosey…?" It was chilling how he playfully raised an eyebrow like he wasn't covered in blood and flesh of the people that he had torn apart on his way to you, instead giving you a lazy grin as he spread your privates apart with the back of his hand. "Be honest for once and say, you didn't let him touch you, did you?" Your loins sparked to life when the tip of his finger ghosted over your entrance. "I mean, I know how demanding a whore you really are, common ways can't satisfy you and you don't waste your time on lost causes" James bent down to inch his grin closer to peer down at you and you had to turn your eyes away with a clasping shut of your lids. You had been caught. "The crown matters more than anything, huh?" Your eyes further clenched at his taunt and a shiver reverberated through you when his hot tongue darted out to swipe across the tear stains on your cheeks.

He had promised you during your courting period that he would never allow a single tear to fall from your eyes. It seemed so that even in this state, he was determined to keep it. This way or that.

"I- I belong to someone else now." Having always been treated inferior to your sister, you refused to let go of your only chance at power. So jutting your chin out determinedly you refused to look at him and falter in your stead, for you knew it would make you cave as his face was still that of your protector and pursuer.

Because even if a woman had not the slightest preference for her admirer, the mere knowledge that she was fancied earned him a place in her heart still.

"No, you don't" his words were stern and determined. "You were mine and you are mine" his lips trailed their way down to your neck to mark you his while one of his metal fingers penetrated your intimate band of muscles, causing you to bite back a moan as your pussy clenched defensively; hence intensifying the pleasure. "It's not your fault, really. Your little girl brain is too small to remember the difference between me and him for too long since we are identical, huh baby?" You hated how your traitorous hips betrayed you and began to move in sync with his finger. "But you don't have to worry your pretty little head about that, my sweet rosey…" His lips ghosted over your ear, hot breath fanning your alarmed skin. "I'll just claim you again to remind you" his teeth were sharp and unforgiving against your skin that had faded out the marks of his passion. "And I'll put my heir into that little womb of yours so whenever your tiny mind tries to get too silly again, my child will remind you who you belong to" he refused to acknowledge your protests at that and plopped his fingers out of you just long enough to undo his pants. "Besides," his hard cock easily found its way to your entrance, as always, "isn't procreation one of the duties of the King and the Queen?"

It was then you realized that his transformation had been physical in every sense.

Your eyes widened as your body jolted upwards in shock, lazed out hips now sparking up to life to almost try and get away from the cruel impaler that threatened to intrude it in a manner so devastating that the band feared a ripping of the lining.

James snorted when your pussy refused to accept him and clenched in on itself defensively to shut him out, your petals nearly trembling in fear. "Aw, baby. How cute, you did stay faithful to me after all, huh" shaking his head when you only sobbed in response, he grunted as his huge shoulders moved to attempt an invasion yet again only to be denied. "Tsk, tsk, never learns her lesson, does she?"

"Plea–" your words were cut off by a harsh smack resounding against your pussy lips and you jerked up and into his chest.

"Bad pussy" he seemed to be immersed in a world of his own amusement and lust, ears deaf to your pleas while his dark eyes drank up every last drop you had to offer. "Always playing around with her Daddy" the force of his metal hand was cruel against your tender flesh when three short paced slaps came down on it in quick succession. "Thinking she has a choice, tsk" the next hit was hard and heavy. "It seems she needs to be reminded who calls the shots around here" two concluding slaps later, you were being braced for his cock again and surprisingly enough, your tense little pussy was much more compliant with receiving him this time.

That, and the embarrassing amount of slick that had seeped through your petals as a product of the brief disciplining session.

"You feel that, baby?" His eyes finally looked up into yours as he aligned himself along your entrance. "She's all fixed up for her Daddy now" and then he pushed in.

"Oh!" Your back arched before you could respond since he bottomed out rudely at once, biting down on a sensitive patch of your neck the same time as when he intruded your insides.

The thing was, it wasn't that James wasn't an experimental lover, no. The two of you had done things that you felt mortified to even think about for too long. But it had always been with proper care and vigilance because the then crown prince was very soft on you as he referred to you as his heart. So you treated him like a pet dog and trampled all over his feelings and the liberty you had found in his treatment of you; something you had never been allowed before. You were used to pulling at his strings like a puppeteer.

But now, the way he pulled and twisted you in whatever fashion that he desired…

You never expected the rush of hot need that waved its way over you and the thick arousal that gushed out of your womb to slick his cock to be the result of his manhandling you like you were no more than a doll for him to play with.

And then his touch that you had been deprived of for months was further blocking your intellectual faculties amongst other things.

James' eyes fluttered close as his metal hand reached for your throat to squeeze out the remnants of your refusals. A grunt left him as he let himself reminisce as well as get overwhelmed by the velvet texture of your splotched walls. He brought his face closer to yours and groaned before pressing it into one of your cheeks to press hard, sloppy kisses all over it as his hips moved but only to press harder up your womb.

It was James' custom invented way of getting you completely stretched out for his cock.

… That had grown thrice its size because of his serum procedures.

And the man had already been way bigger than the average.

"J- Jame-s!" You gasped out, struggling to breathe. His stiff tip felt like it was beginning to penetrate something else. "P- Plea-se!"

"What do you want, huh baby?" Your features scrunched together in discomfort as you flexed your fingers again. They needed to be freed so they could hold onto something to cope with the overwhelming penetration.

"Move…" A smirk pulled his lips apart and he opened his dark teal eyes to peer down at you, silently grunting as he pushed deeper at that. "P- Pl-ease–" your tears were starting to become hot and you could feel your nerves bulging against your forehead from the lack of oxygen.

"Will you behave if I do?" Your toes curled as you hissed, the knee that you wanted to bring up as a way to deal with the pain trapped under his heavy thigh.

You timidly nodded because there was not much else left for you to do. It hurt, and you wanted him to move to ease the pain almost as much as you needed him to fuck you.

James clicked his tongue in disapproval and bit down on one of your nipples in a punishing manner, making you jolt upwards in pain. "Use your words, honey." A surge of pure pleasure overwhelmed you and you moaned loudly with satisfied nods, letting him know that you were in the process of complying.

Like you always did when he was buried balls deep in your cunt.

"So you were fucking him when he was courting you, weren't you?!" Nick was furious on the other line, feeling like a lied to fool as you had denied it when he had asked you about it. "I fucking knew it you stupid slut!" The words caused you to clench harder around James' girth as you bit your bottom lip. "I am–" he went to cut the call but a gun entered the frame to press into his temple as his car seemed to come to a halt. You heard a faint 'watch' being told to your fiance.

But for some twisted reason, the way in which Nick's livid eyes now watched you with a quiet rage caused the desire in your hips to only bubble hotter. He didn't have a choice for once and you could go against him all you pleased "I w- will behave… p-lease!" Your eyes had stuck on your fiance so James patted your cheek to redirect your attention to him.

"Eyes on me" the demand was followed by his letting go of your wrists to snake his arms under your waist to hoist you up and in a more convenient position for his cock. You moaned as your fingers found his long hair to hold on to.

"Y- Yes… sir" his leather jacket was coated in blood and human and you did not want yours to add to the mix. So you raked your mind and you raked it hard. "T- Thank you, sir" you rather prided yourself on your opportunistic wit.

James chuckled darkly as he began to reel his hips back, your cavern making a loud decompression sound as a result. You found yourself sighing in relief when his hard skin unglued from yours because for a second it had begun to feel like he was stuck in your channel.

"So fucking clever even with that little brain, aren't we, baby?" Of course you could never truly fool him regardless of how good you were.

"BUCKY! OH!" A vile whine loudly left you when he kissed your chin only to sink down his teeth into it next as his hips snapped against yours to fuck you upwards. He didn't halt this time and pulled out again to back thrust in, his movements slow but visibly desperate to speed up. "FUCK!"

"Ah, there is that girl I raised on this cock and its milk" your chin stung when he finally let go to close his mouth on one of your cheeks now, causing you to shiver from how overwhelmed you felt by the pain in your face and the pleasure that bloomed in your pussy that was inching closer and closer to a proper pounding as result.

"Please fuck your child in me!" It had been far too long. "Please! I need it so bad! Please fuck me full of your children so I can always remember who I belong to!" You liked how Nick watched– had to watch. It almost felt like revenge; a slap you had wanted to hit him stupid with for the longest time for making you feel so low when his brother, who was twice the man he could ever hope to be and your real suitor, never had. James' cock felt just right as he fucked you so good that you began to see neon stars. You didn't care anymore. Or at least, not in the moment. It felt as though your life depended on this release.

Perhaps… it did.

Besides, the silence in your surroundings and gun next to Nick meant James had it covered in some way. Not that it was much of a surprise. His Kingdom had the greatest army to date and those soldiers were loyal and compliant only to him.

"You know what's the best part about this, rosey?" Your mouth was agape as you panted and moaned through it alike, tugging at his silky strands as his ballsack clapped against the beginning of your ass before sliding into your cunt each time, the primal smell of slick, sweat and sex floating in the air around you.

"What is it, my King?" You were shameless with it, as you had always been. "Please tell me" the fake way in which you unclasped your fingers from his hair to scratch one of his cheeks with your nails made him clench his jaw as he squeezed one of your tits, pistoning his cock in and out of you even faster.

"I know you don't mean any of this" you froze momentarily and his crooked smirk morphed into a grin. "But you will before the year's end" you went to speak but his metal hand found your clit just in time and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, nails digging into the stubble of his cheek. "I know you will" him promising you that you'd return his feelings one day wasn't anything new. He had always told you that. However, normally your response would be a roll of your eyes or simply a change of topic. But today, something dangerously final lingered in them and you had no clue why but you found yourself answering;

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! I will, sir!" One of his thick nerves twitched against a particularly sensitive spot in your walls the same time his tip found your special bundle of nerves and brutally collided into them, tearing out incoherent screams from deep within you. "Oh- I am– I am–"

"Don't cum" his hand disappeared from your clit and your eyes that you had subconsciously closed flung open as you begrudgingly tugged at his hair with a needy whine. "You don't deserve it" your body violently jiggled up and down in his arms as you vehemently shook your head.

"NO! PLEASE!" If there was one thing he didn't appreciate, it was you raising your voice at him. But you couldn't help it, your build up was nearing its edge and the fear that it would topple over all wrong after such a long time scared you. Because once an orgasm was ruined, there was no coming back from it. James had taught you that one night after a ball when you had danced with someone a little too frankly.

"No?" He was panting himself as he hugged your waist closer to his, the feeling of his cock's imprint pressing against both of your stomachs only making him slam you down harder and harder. "So you deserve it?"

You quickly shook your head as your boobs flew about, pussy trying to close on itself out of sensitivity when his metal fist closed around your throat again. "N- No! No! I don't, sir!" Your voice altered in a humiliating manner when he squeezed and your dry throat pressed in on itself, making you cough.

"That's right" his hand parted from your neck long enough to slap you. "Think you can just say your pathetic little pretty please and I'll forgive you for forgetting my existence the moment I wasn't good enough for you?" You sobbed out of frustration, willing your hips into squeezing themselves closer together so you could hold on from falling over.

"No!" He slapped you again, the force causing your head to turn sideways this time around. "No, sir!" Desperately reaching for the artificial hand you pressed humiliating kisses all over it. "But it's been so long! Please, my King!" Your back arched from the strength it was taking you to keep yourself from cumming. "I need you so bad! I need it so bad!" In your confusion and oversensitivity you dropped your head against his, your knees trembling. "Only you can make me cum! I tried for months! So many times in so many different ways!" The tears of embarrassment were hotter than those of need that you had been weeping all this time. His movements faltered a little at your confession. "But nothing worked! Only you do! So please! Please let me cum! I don't know what I will do if you don't! Please let me cum and give me your babies!"

"Only I work, huh?" His voice was eerily quiet, a new kind of dark exploding in the air about him. You vigorously nodded, genuine for once in your life.

James' chuckle was the only thing your hazy mind registered before you were moved, twisted, turned and bent faster than you could keep up with.

The next time your consciousness caught up with the present you were facing your phone, on your knees like an animal as your build up slowly subsided. Though your vacant pussy was plunged full soon after, your legs getting pulled apart before being hoisted up in the air by James' hand, your elbows the sole support of the upper half of your body now.

"Tell him how badly you want to be stuffed full of my children and I'll let you have it" blood rushed to your face to bubble under the skin when your eyes locked with those of the stoic male at the same time but before you could hesitate, James cock began to move inside you although torturously slow. "You might want to hurry up, rosey. I don't have all night" the spank that his words accompanied sparked you into motion like someone pressed a button on you.

"Please, Nick!" The thrusts sped up and your claws dug into the mattress. "I want James' children so bad!" There wasn't much emotion on the male you faced but the bright red of his ears and neck even in the dim lighting of the car indicated that he was both furious and humiliated. Perhaps even more so than you. "Please! Please ask him to stuff me full of his babies!" The more slaps rained down on your ass as your pussy expanded to welcome James balls deep inside you with each brutal thrust, the more your mouth ran on the most vile autopilot. "All I want in my life is to be fucked swollen and heavy with his children with my body wrapped up in his color while I nurse the other ones!" James cursed before his hand reached for your front to dip between your legs and you moaned before your arms gave out and you fell face first.

"You heard her, now tell him that" as your cheek rubbed against the mattress everytime you were pounded into it, you heard a man speak to Nick. The Prince tried to protest but something– probably the gun pressing against his head caused him to stop before he gritted out a few seconds after;

"... Fuck your children into her and wrap her swollen body in your colour, James" the man reminded him that it was King James, for whatever reason and Nick sighed before correcting himself. "Please, King James" you couldn't help the whimper that forced itself out of you at his menacing tone.

Your back arched when the frantic circular motions of his fingers became too much for your cunt to handle and you clenched around his girth again, shuddering as you prepared yourself to get in trouble for the orgasm you were about to have.

But then your dependable luck did its thing. "Cum," the vibration of the spank buzzed through your whole body, "cum for me" as your tense muscles relaxed and you closed your eyes to let go, you felt James' hot seed explode within you, the force of his thrusts causing the cum to go flying all about.

Your eyes fluttered shut and the only two things you registered for the next few minutes were shaking profusely while limb paralyzing pleasure exploded through you and the rapid rubbing of your cheek against the soft bed covers which was result of the brutal pounding you were receiving from behind.

When he was done with you, he slowly untucked himself from you and left you trembling on the mattress while he fixed himself up. "Natasha!" Your ears perked up at the name of his second in command and you trembled at his volume. The heavy doors to your chambers opened and closed after the woman in question.

The red head clicked her tongue as she approached the bed, the heels of her boots faintly clicking against the floor as she walked. "Could've done better…" You jumped from how close she sounded when she spoke. "Because she's still awake" the hair on the top of your head was fisted into his metal arm to pull you up and you had to hurriedly scramble to cover your blushing jizz covered ass.

"For what's going to happen next" you whimpered at his words as you were moved onto your trembling knees by the humiliating hold that the man had on your hair and your whole body shook under the stern woman's scrutinizing glare. Peeking up at the red head through your lashes, you went to cover yourself up but James' scold for you to stay put had you planting your wrists in your lap within the next second. "Hands down" you hurriedly lowered your head too to avoid further increasing his ire.

Some shuffling sounded from above you before James approached you again. "Arms up, baby" the endearment must mean that you would be spared… right? You quickly complied with the utmost obedience and James placed a comfortable black gown on you before stepping back to reach for something else.

You almost gasped when you recognized the brilliant glimmer from your peripheral vision.

His mother, The Queen's, crown.

"There you go" you felt him place it on your head and your heart dropped. "Everything you always wanted placed on that silly little airhead of yours, baby" an embarrassing gasp escaped you when he suddenly pulled you closer by your throat. "Are you happy now, my sweet rose?" Your eyes welled up with confusion and how he suddenly slapped you before pressing his lips against yours roughly.

"He asked you a question, brat" you jumped at how Natasha spoke up suddenly, clearly fed up with you blinking up at him dumbly.

"That's no way to speak your Queen, Nat" your heart warmed up at how he clicked his tongue at the woman disapprovingly. "Tsk."

"Y- Yes. Yes" you nodded, still in a daze of post-orgasm sensitivity and general puzzlement at the absurd turn of events from an already shocking situation. "Yes, sir. Thank you so much."

He was smiling now. "Good girl" before he pecked your lips and held his hand back for Natasha to hand him something else. "You can rule all of them" your face burnt when your mind registered the accessory that he wrapped around your throat next. A collar and a leash embedded with sparkling diamonds. "I just want to rule you" his metal hand rotated in the air as he wrapped the leash around his bionic digits. "Let's go" you nearly fell on your face as you were pulled off the bed before being marched straight to the heavy doors.

Natasha opened them to reveal your entire family and staff standing mortified outside on weapon point of James' army. You whimpered and lowered your head in embarrassment until your chin touched the area between your collar bones, fingers tightening around your gown as you suddenly became hyper aware of the faint dig of the edges of the collar against your pampered skin.

"The King has called the alliance off" Steve, your owner's right hand, announced in his firm and curt voice. "The only reason why he has spared you, I must add just this once, is because you are related to the Queen. Any efforts of contact from here on out will lead to unsavory consequences akin to those his own family has met" a chill raised in your spine as your blood dropped in temperature. Holy fucking shit. They really had made a beast out of this once too noble to be true man. "Lastly, not that any of you really care but if the Queen ever wishes to visit, she will be allowed to do so after she has provided His Highness with an heir, accompanied by some of the best that the army can provide."

The walk out to the numerous sleek black SUVs felt like one of shame despite you wearing the crown you had always fantasized about.

And perhaps that's exactly what it was.

A balancing of the scale.

For betraying the one who loved you so dearly that even in his mindless state, he had known not to hurt you.

At least, not in a way that hadn't made your silly little pussy weep for more.

Tag(s) <3: @identity2212 @tilltheendofthelinepal13 @cjand10 @ihavetwoholesforareason @myfavbuckyfics

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sentientcave · 29 days

Text

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Sometimes a Bearimy is many moons, and sometimes it's just a couple days! Do not expect this sort of pace to continue though this chapter was most of the way finished when I posted the first one.

Chapter 2 - Familiar and Forgotten

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Noncon kissing, Alcohol mentions, Smoking mention, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through.

~5.2k words

You don’t say much for the rest of the journey.

It’s not far, really, only an hour or two from the bridge in the woods, and your anxiety seizes you so completely that you can do little more than smile wanly at Kyle’s jokes and Johnny’s attempts to flirt with you. Ghost stays as quiet as you do, a comforting spectre of familiarity walking by your side.

The city is much like you remember it, but there’s life now, where a grim shadow hung over the people before. Windows are thrown open, laundry hangs on lines spanning between houses, brightly coloured clothes flapping in the breeze like flags. Children play in one of the alley’s you pass by, kicking a ball between them, although they stop to watch you pass, eyes growing big, collecting at the edge of the street so they can stare for longer. People begin to gather at the peripheries everywhere, the gentle roar of many hushed voices drowning out all else. It seems that the people here still recognize you, although you’re not sure if it’s by your face or the company that escorts you along.

The castle looms over the city, tall, imposing walls made a little friendlier with blue and silver banners hung from the parapets, the oppressive air lessened, but not entirely erased. You think that nothing could make the castle look truly welcoming— It never has been to you, not even when you did call it home.

Ghost looks at you as you approach the dark stone walls, and puts a big hand on your thigh. “Olright?” he asks quietly.

You nod, swallowing thickly as Nox’s claws scrape over the wooden drawbridge. It feels like the palace means to devour you whole, the shade of the main courtyard matching your somber mood. It’s greener than you remember, a raised garden bed full of flowers and a few small trees sits in the center of things now, directing traffic coming in around in a circle rather than every which way. There are gardens on the flat roofs of some of the outbuildings too, where they can catch more light despite the looming walls.

Nox stops in front of the stairs up to the main door, and Ghost lifts you down easily. When you look up, you notice there are people gathering around the main courtyard too, a gentle susurrus rising up around you like the wind. A stable hand approaches to take Kyle's horse, stumbling over his feet, too busy staring at you to watch where he's going.

"Standin' around with their gobs open," Johnny grumbles. "S'like they've ne'er seen a princess before."

Kyle thanks the stable hand when he passes the reigns to him, and offers his arm to you. "Are you ready, sweetpea?" His smile strains at the corners when you look at him. Your own face must be grim indeed.

"I'll have to be," you say, curling your hand around his arm, gathering your skirts with your other hand. You feel small and plain as you ascend on Kyle's arm, dressed simply in clothes you sewed yourself, glad you were wearing your second best skirt at least. Why that bothers you now you couldn't say-- Its not as though you're concerned with making a good impression.

Kyle leads you into the hall of judgment, where your father used to take petitions and settle disputes. It's different here too-- There are benches for supplicants to sit while they wait, and a few desks set to one side of the ante chamber, where clerks speak to citizens in hushed voices, helping speed along the process. There aren't very many people there really, it's not the tired crush of hollow eyed people clamoring for attention from a disinterested king now. Its organized, efficient, fair-minded. You can't help but approve.

John Price sits on the dais, listening to the man in front of him, but his stone-faced attention breaks when he looks up and sees you. He stands and hops down the steps, touching the man's arm. "I will send a hunting party to deal with your manticore problem," he promises. "But if you'll excuse me…" his blue eyes lock onto you, sweeping down and back up to your face.

You feel pinned in place by the intensity of those eyes, Kyle's presence by your side not enough to melt the cracking ice that settles around you.

"Princess!" John greets you enthusiastically, arms wide as he strides across the hall, meeting you in the middle. "Welcome home. I trust your journey was a pleasant one? It's a nice day for a ride through the countryside." He looks good, although there's silver in his beard and glittering by his temples that was never there before, and a plain silver circlet on his brow. He dresses the same as you remember, for comfort and practicality rather than for fashion, and he still fills out his clothes in much the same way, his broad, powerful body unchanged despite his new vocation.

"A better day for tending to the garden," you say. "But Sir Garrick rather insisted on the ride."

John smiles at you warmly, and Kyle wordlessly pulls away from you, leaving you standing before John alone. You're pulled into an embrace before you know what's happening, oak-solid arms crushing you to his chest. He pulls back enough to look at you, but he doesn't let you go. The pleasant tobacco and warm spice scent of him engulfs you, caged in his arms while he studies your upturned face. "You're more beautiful than I remember," he says. "It's good to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but he seizes the opportunity to kiss you. Not a chaste press of lips to your cheeks, which would have been an appropriate greeting between two people of your status, but a kiss, a real one, his mouth slotting over yours like you were reuniting lovers rather than near-perfect strangers.

He kisses you for a long moment, lips moving against yours possessively, long enough for the room to grow unbearably silent around you, shame twisting with a childish flame rekindled the instant he put his hands on you. You push against his chest, and he finally comes to his senses, not releasing you or giving you more space, but at least ending the kiss, letting you breathe and sort out your conflicted feelings.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, voice low and breathless, even if you would prefer to shout it, or perhaps punctuate the question with a slap.

“Because I wanted to,” he says pleasantly, smiling in that infuriating, cheeky way he used to when he caught you watching the knights practising from the palace windows. “I think it was long overdue, don’t you?”

“No!” You don’t want to admit, considering your age, that he’s stolen your first kiss, like it was something owed to him instead of yours to give when you chose to, and you certainly don’t want to admit that you liked it. You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the people still watching either, which is undoubtedly why he chose this as the place for your first meeting, where you would be cuffed by propriety, giving him advantage over you. Kings didn’t have to worry about propriety— Who was there to scold them for bad behaviour?

Had John ever worried about that sort of thing? Perhaps that was why your father had so militantly kept him away from you, not because of the threat to the crown, but the threat to your virtue. A man that would so casually waltz past all social convention would find no resistance from a sheltered, shy princess. Perhaps if you had been more bold— Perhaps if you were more bold now you would be able to tell him off.

“I don’t appreciate being plucked from my home and manhandled by you and your knights,” you hiss, plucking courage from thin air. You push against his chest again, and this time he lets you go, but it only makes you angrier, because you both know he only did so because he chose to. “What do you want, John? Let’s attend to business so I can leave as soon as possible.”

He glances behind you, at his knights, an eyebrow raised. “Well, you certainly aren’t going anywhere tonight, are you? We can chat properly over the evening meal.” He sweeps you along, a hand between your shoulders, where his thumb touches bare skin, toying with the edge of your shirt. “I’ll show you to your room, hm? You can wash up and change, if you’d like. Although I must say, this country mouse attire looks rather sweet on you.”

“I don’t think any of my old clothes will fit anymore,” you say tartly. You’re certainly not the weak, spindly thing you used to be, the sapling struggling to grow in your father’s shadow. Your time with Kate has done you good, made you stronger and filled out soft curves. Joy is expansive, and it takes up space that you never would have dared to occupy before.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’ve had new things made for you. Gaz’s sister reached out to Kate for your measurements.”

“Why would she— You had no right to ask for such a thing!” you say hotly. Now that you’re alone in the hallways, you feel more at ease speaking your mind.

He’s unperturbed by your anger, still smiling. “Perhaps not. But I thought it important to stand ready, should you ever decide to come home.”

“This is not my home any longer.”

John hums, his hand sliding down to your hip, tugging you closer to his side. “This will always be your home, princess,” he says matter-of-factly, like there’s no room for argument, the way he sees it.

He tries to follow you into your room, but you quickly shut the door in his face, nearly hitting him. He manages to jump clear, and you can hear his laughter on the other side. You’re getting a bit tired of these men thinking that it’s funny when you hold your ground against them, but you’re not yet sure how to get them to listen when they (and especially John) are so used to getting exactly what they want. It strikes you that you’ll probably have plenty of time to figure it out, since you don’t think you’ll be going home as soon as you'd like.

Kyle and Johnny seem like your most likely allies. And perhaps Ghost, since he told you more than he was supposed to already. Anyone else would be too worried about drawing the king’s ire and getting in trouble or losing their jobs, but those three aren’t just his knights. They’re his friends too.

And as far as you’re concerned, friends don’t let friends keep women imprisoned for indeterminate amounts of time.

You wash up, and parse through the closet for something to wear, frowning slightly at your options. There’s nothing wrong with any of the dresses you find— Everything is beautiful, elegant, well-made, in colours that suit your complexion, made of gorgeous, rustling silk. But they also all have closures at the back, long rows of delicate buttons that will be a nightmare to do up yourself. After so many years living independently, you resent the idea of someone having to help dress you. Perhaps that was why John tried to follow you, so he could be there to offer a hand.

How altruistic of him.

You fantasize about kicking him hard in the shins with the work boots that you sadly left at home, and choose a dress in a deep plum colour, getting as dressed as you can. You consider waiting to ask whoever comes to collect you for dinner, but you suspect that that might be John. You’re just about to wander out into the hallway to see if you can find a member of the castle staff to aid you, when you hear a shout outside, and laughter.

You press one hand to you chest to keep the dress from falling away from your skin inappropriately, and peer over the edge of the balcony. Johnny, Kyle and Ghost are in the courtyard below, Ghost and Kyle sitting on the fountain edge, and Johnny doing a dance that seems to be entirely hopping and kicking, while balancing a knife’s point on the tip of his finger.

“Excuse me,” you call down, smiling as prettily as you can muster. Johnny stops dancing and drops his knife entirely, but blessedly doesn’t try to catch it. “Could one of you give me a quick hand? This dress has so many buttons.”

They look at each other for a moment, and volunteer as one, Kyle and Ghost immediately falling into bickering over who should help you. Johnny looks at the ground and up to you a few times rather than fight with the others, and takes a running leap, fingers catching on the balcony floor. He swings a few times before popping up, catching the railing and clambering over with surprising grace. “I would be happy to help ye, sweetpea. An’ Ah’m sorry abou’, er, lickin’ yer wrist earlier. Was a wolf awl mornin’, cannae always shake the compulsion straight after a shift.”

“Apology accepted,” you say, reaching up with both hands and scratching the stubble under his chin gently. He leans into your palms with a groan, letting you guide him down to your level so you can kiss the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a good boy, Johnny. You were just excited.”

“I was,” he admits, cheeks turning a little pink. “They awl met ye before, and they talk about ye sometimes, ye ken? An’ yer even nicer an’ bonnier up close. Ah’m glad I didna try to lick yer face. Ye didnae look very happy with Price doin’ it.”

“He was very forward. It’s not the sort of thing I appreciate. I don’t intend to let him walk all over me just because he’s the king now.” You release Johnny’s jaw and turn so he can get to work on the buttons, pulling your braids out of the way over your shoulder. “It seems like he’s a little too used to getting his way.”

“Ah, weel, he’s stubborn as awl hell, sweetpea. No’ really his fault, he’s just righ’ more of’en than no’, ye ken? An’ when yer never wrong, ye never learn ta compromise.”

“Surely he’s not always right,” you say. “No one’s infallible.”

He laughs, fingers stalling against your back. “Yer righ’ of course. But Ah’m never the one to catch the old man bein’ wrong. So I dinnae ken if he admits it. I would be surprised.”

“Do you know what he wants from me?” you ask. “It seems odd that he let me live in peace all these years, only to drag me back now.”

“I dinnae ken awl the details, princess. Figure it’s sommat ta do with yer cousin raisin’ an army over across the western border, aye? Probably wants ye to scold the wee rascal for him.” He continues buttoning, and then stalls again. “Aw shite. Missed one.” You feel him begin to undo the buttons he was just working on.

You press your fingers to your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Shouldn’t be asking so many questions.”

“Aw no, I dinnae mind none. S’nice ta talk ta ye. Always thought princesses’d be all stuck up and snooty. But yer no’ at awl. Ahve been ta yer story hour at the market once or twice too. Think it’s nice ye take pity on us buggers that cannae read well. An ye choose good stories.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” you say.

“Usually go in on four legs. No one minds another mangy dog, so long as I don’t get too close or growl at the bairns. Can hear better tha’ way too, aye? Blacksmith always let me lay down beside his shop.” He marches two fingers across your shoulder playfully. “Awl done.”

“Thank you, Johnny.” You turn to look at him again, regarding him thoughtfully. It doesn’t take much to turn him from a large, dangerous man to an eager to please puppy. Something to tuck into your pocket for later.

“Ye can call me Soap, if ye like. The lads do, most of the time. An’ the boss man. But Johnny is good too. Like hearin’ it from ye.” He looks a bit bashful, twisting his fingers together absently now that he has nothing else to fuss with, bright blue eyes cast down and half hidden by his long, dark lashes. “Ah ken it’s no’ what yer hopin’ for, but I hope ye stay a while. S’nice. Feels like there’s an empty space around here, and ye’d fill it an’ then some.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say. “I’m sure it mostly depends on how angry your, um, boss man makes me.”

“He’s no’ a bad sort.” Johnny instantly leaps to John’s defense, a touch of anxiety colouring his voice. He wears every emotion on his sleeve, another useful something to know. “Been good ta me, when lot’s of folk think I’m no’ much more’n a monster.”

“I’ve never heard of a werewolf that can shift at will like you do,” you muse. “You must have remarkable self control.”

Something dark flits across his face, but he does his best to hide it behind his crooked grin. “Naw, no’ really. S’a story, but no’ one I want ta tell righ’ now.”

“That’s alright,” you tell him gently, placing your hand on top of his. His knuckles are rough, scarred from a lifetime of hitting things hard. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’ll listen, if you do want to talk.”

“Yer goan ta turn me intae a big softie at this rate,” he says, waving off your words with a laugh. “Come oan, Sweetpea. I’ll walk ye ta dinner. Figure ye know the way, but Ah’m told it’s polite to escort a lady.”

“Very polite,” you assure him, placing your hand on his offered arm. “Thank you, Johnny.”

His grin is infectious, and he puffs up his chest slightly, pleased as punch to receive your approval. You descend the stairs, picking up your skirts with your other hand so they don’t drag, and John appears at the bottom of the steps, his expression turning carefully, diplomatically blank when he sees you on Johnny’s arm.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “I was just about to come get you. Thank you, Soap, I can take her from here.”

“How very kind!” you return, gripping a little tighter to Johnny’s arm so he doesn’t run off just yet. “Johnny was nice enough to help me with my dress. All these buttons— I had no idea that button closures were the style these days.”

John’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit, like he’s not sure if you’re being earnest or not. “Nor did I,” he says evenly. Liar.

“It can be so hard to keep track of these things.” You send Johnny another bright smile. “Will you be joining us?” you ask sweetly.

Johnny looks at John uneasily. “Oh, n-no, I dinnae think—”

You curl into him slightly, placing your hand on his chest, drawing his attention back to you and away from the disapproving frown that’s beginning to form on John’s face. “Oh, nonsense. In fact, would you mind fetching Kyle and Ghost as well? We all had such a pleasant afternoon, and I feel like we’ve only just begun catching up.”

Johnny’s fingers catch on the lace hemming your trailing sleeve, his cheeks pink and eyes focused on your face. “Oh, aye, anything ye like, princess.”

“Thank you so much Johnny. You have been so helpful today. I really appreciate it.” You release him, and he dashes off without a second thought or glance to John for approval. “What a sweet boy he is,” you say to John as you flit to his side, all innocence, well aware that Johnny can still hear you. “Shall we?”

John gives you a searching look, still not certain if you’ve disrupted his plans on purpose or just by being far too sweet. “I had intended for dinner to be just the two of us.”

“Now John, that would hardly be appropriate,” you lightly scold. “The two of us, alone without a chaperone? What would people say? If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to put me in a compromising position.”

His lips twitch under his moustache, the ghost of a smile appearing in his eyes. “Perish the thought. Didn’t think of the implication, is all.” He opens the door to what had once been your father’s private dining room, but hesitates in the doorway. “Perhaps we should wait for the lads,” he says thoughtfully. “Since you’re concerned with the optics of being alone with me.”

You raise your eyebrows. “They’ll be along in a moment, no? I’m not sure what you think could happen in a few minutes, but I’m sure you’re capable of behaving yourself for that long.” You sweep past him, unconcerned, and he follows, letting the door fall shut behind him, the latch clicking shut loudly in the otherwise silent room. You cast about for a conversation that you can fling up between the two of you like a flimsy shield, your tongue suddenly heavy again. John has a way of sucking up all the air in a room, and he feels nearly as large and imposing as Ghost in a confined space like this. You don’t feel safe like you would with Ghost. You feel like a wobbly-legged fawn caged in with a blue-eyed wolf.

And you would feel less like that if you were in here with the man who really is a blue-eyed wolf. You don’t think the man standing before you will melt with a few kind words or a soft touch. He’ll only take it as permission to push you further.

“Your inexperience is showing,” John says conversationally, taking a step toward you.

You take a hasty step back. “How so?”

He takes another step forward. You take another back. The pattern repeats until he has you backed up against the mantle. “A lot can happen in just a few minutes, sweetpea.” His thick fingers curl around your jaw, forcing you to face him when all you want to do is sink into the floor or vanish entirely. “Could do anything I liked to you, alone like this. You’re right to be cautious.” His hand slides lower, callouses brushing your skin, raising goosebumps along the back of your neck and prickling all the way down your spine. His palm rests on your throat, so he can measure the nervous flutter of your pulse. You swallow nervously, and you know he can feel it.

Still, he doesn’t squeeze, and there’s no threat in his eyes. Worse, there’s a promise, and heat that could spark into a blaze with the slightest provocation.

“It’s a good thing you’re a man of honour, then.” You mean it as a challenge, a reminder of the rules of engagement. You came prepared for a game of chess, and he’s knocked all the pieces onto the floor and lunged at you across the board. Your words come out whisper soft, plaintive instead of confident.

“A good thing indeed.” He takes a step back, and then another, his hand falling away, leaving you standing by the mantle, clinging to it for support.

It was a good thing the fireplace is cold, this time of year, or you might be tempted to throw yourself in just to save yourself the embarrassment of being so completely set off balance.

“Here.” John returns to your side, this time leaving enough space for you to breathe, and offers you a glass of wine. White wine, like he remembers your preferences somehow. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, and you try not to shake from the force of whatever it is that he stirs up in you.

It’s too vast to identify, and threatens to engulf you, swallow you whole. It’s an ocean, as deep and blue as his eyes, and you’re already struggling to stay afloat. You feel like the only things keeping you from drowning are your righteous anger and sense of self-preservation. But recognizing the danger he poses to you, to your freedom, if not your life, doesn’t pluck you from the water or save you from the circling shark. You don’t know how to do that. You’re not sure if you want to.

“I should apologize,” he says gently. “For greeting you the way I did earlier. I’d dreamt of our reunion so many times that it felt like the most natural thing in the world, kissing you like that. I should have better kept myself in check.”

You sip your wine. It’s sharp and not too sweet, just the sort of thing you used to like, and many times better than what you’ve had for years now. But the taste only reminds you of things best left forgotten, sour remnants of a life you wished to leave behind. Even this room, redecorated to another man’s preferences, feels as oppressive as your father’s presence in life.

Maybe it’s the weight of the crown, that bends and twists even the most upright men, because you already see the makings of a tyrant in John. So used to getting his way already, he expects you to fall into line, do as your told, take your rightful place at his side, on his arm.

In his bed.

“Are you going to?” you ask.

He’s confused by that, a frown settling between his brows. “Going to what, sweetpea?”

“Apologize. Saying you should apologize is not the same as actually being sorry.”

He’s entirely taken aback by that, rendered speechless. It’s probably been years since anyone checked him like that, and it sends a bit of a thrill through you to be the one to do so. He has the advantage in this battle you’ve waged against him— He’s larger and stronger, he claims authority that you’ve rejected, he has allies where you have none— but you’ve still managed to strike a blow, with honesty as your only weapon.

The other three men finally join you, snapping the tension in the room, clearing it away like cobwebs.

Well, most of the tension, anyway. You sit between John and Ghost, rather than take the chair opposite John. You have no desire to be forced to bear that heavy stare for the entire meal. Kyle and Johnny sit opposite you, and you maintain light conversation with the two of them. Ghost sits to your right, his mask tipped up enough for him to eat, his scarred mouth and jaw visible to you for the first time. His gloves are off too, revealing broad, powerful hands littered with fine scars, and a few deep ones too. Most of them are obviously blade wounds, but there’s a particularly deep one, a chunk of missing flesh between his thumb and forefinger on his left hand that keeps drawing your eyes back.

“Me’n Nox ‘ad a misunderstandin’ when we first met,” he says, unprompted, noticing your glances. “She took a chunk outta me. Was a good thing she was still small, or I’d’ve lost my whole ‘and.”

“Small!” Johnny says with a snort. “The wee beastie was bigger than me!”

“You were a runt,” Ghost chuckles, “but I s’pose she was still plenty big. Got ‘er talons sunk pretty deep in my thigh too. Got ‘er to listen to reason in the end though. She din’t know I was tryin’ to ‘elp.”

You see that same darkness in Johnny’s eyes as earlier, so you change the subject, asking about a burn on Ghost’s wrist. He starts in on a tale of hunting an outlaw mage, with plenty of interjections from Kyle, and then Johnny as well, until he gives up trying to tell it, and lets the younger men take over.

You feel his attention on you for a while after that, like he knew what you did and why.

John is pensive, still ruminating on what you said, quiet over the meal. It must not be that great a change from usual, because it doesn’t seem to bother the other three in the least. He insists on walking you to your room once the hour grows later, however, and leans against your door frame.

“You’re right,” he says, catching your hand so you can’t go inside and shut the door in his face for a second time that day. “I didn’t apologize. And I’m not sorry. I know I should be, and I won’t do it again, but I can’t say I feel all that badly about it.”

It’s something, at least. A concession, if not an apology. “Thank you, John.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, and his thumb is rubbing distracting circles over your knuckles. “Is there something else?”

“We never talked business.”

“No. But I know what you want, John, and the answer is no. I want to go home, I have a life to return to, and I don’t belong here any longer.” The disappointment is clear on his face, but he only nods. You continue, encouraged by his silence. “I will, however, make a public statement of support, in whatever way you need. I imagine my cousin will wish to send a witness, to ensure I’m not being coerced. I will stay until then, and then you will allow me to go home. Is that sufficient?”

He thinks about it for a moment, his thumb tapping against your hand now. “I suppose it will have to be.”

“Then it’s settled. Goodnight, John.” You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip just enough to keep you anchored to him.

“Wait.” He tugs you a step closer. “May I kiss you?”

You roll his request around in your mind for a moment. He’s willing to accept that you won’t marry him, without so much as a fight. You can’t deny that you want to say yes either, and you have just enough wine in you to make you bold, but not reckless. “One kiss,” you reply. “No more than that. And then I am going to bed.”

He cups your face and stoops to meet you, pressing his lips to yours tenderly, without any of the brash possessiveness of earlier. Just sweet and slow, coaxing you to open up for him. You relax into his touch, parting your lips, a soft little whine escaping your throat, pulling an answering groan from him as he licks into your mouth. You have to grip his wrists just to stay upright, the sound turns your knees and resolve to jelly, the taste of good whiskey and smoke from his after dinner cigar lingering on your tongue as he pulls away.

His eyes are fever-bright, and his breathing ragged as you release each other. “Goodnight, sweetpea,” he says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You slip into your room and lean against the door, knees still weak, desire simmering inside you. The kiss had been a bad idea, because all you can think of now is asking for another, and another, and another.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem reader #141 x reader #heavy weighs the crown #Uh oh sweetpea

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andypantsx3 · 1 year

Text

Deceiving the Duke | 9 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 4.1k of 30k words | 9th of 9 chapters

summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

You couldn’t think of a thing to say during the carriage ride, pretending to look out over streets glowing in the newly-risen sun. But you kept sneaking glances back at Lord Shouto, only to find him watching you contemplatively, his handsome face unreadable to you.

You wondered what he truly thought of you. If he had known this entire time you were only pretending to be Camie–why had he let you go through with it? Why had he kissed you last night, even?

You could almost think he had been trying to entrap you in turn, except that you knew him to be too good for that.

So why had he let you go on?

You stiffened as the palace came into view, a huge, imposing structure with immaculately whitewashed walls, rising several stories above the ground. An enormous wrought iron gate let into the grounds, down a short drive fringed pink-blossomed trees, which finally led onto a cobblestoned concourse which looked like it had never seen a speck of dirt.

Guards in the Yaoyorozu livery were stationed all along the palace’s face, their sabers resting conspicuously at their sides.

You felt your fingers tighten in the fabric of your dress.

Lord Shouto jumped down from the carriage as soon as it stopped, and reached out a hand for you again. You considered whether you should avoid it–you were not a lady, and you were now in the presence of hundreds of people who would see him do so. Before you could brace yourself to jump down on your own, however, Lord Shouto’s hands found your waist. Your stomach swooped as he lifted you out of the carriage entirely, placing you on the ground as though you were no heavier than a child.

Your knees felt suddenly weak, and you focused on getting your feet properly back under you. You did not dare grip his sleeve for support.

“Come with me,” Lord Shouto said, his low voice gentle in the morning air.

He offered his arm—as though you were a lady again!–and looked at you expectantly.

“My lord, I do not think you should treat me as such,” you said quietly, as a footman scurried out the entrance of the palace towards you.

Lord Shouto’s eyes picked over you, his head tilting. “There should be no object. You’ve already embroiled me in scandal enough, do you not think?” he said.

Your stomach turned over, but the tiniest quirk at the corner of his mouth told you he meant it in jest. Still–

“Your Grace, the princess will receive you in her sitting room,” the footman said, puffing as he approached.

“Thank you,” Lord Shouto said. Then he reached out and quite determinedly took your hand, pulling your arm carefully through his. He ignored the footman’s wide-eyed look, and gently tugged you along after him.

You were too stunned to say anything, your tongue feeling as though it had tied itself in a knot. The feeling only worsened as you were led deeper into the palace, down a long hall and through a series of intricately brocaded and muraled rooms with echoing marble floors. Eventually you emerged into a room painted a cheery yellow, with sunny rows of windows and several ornately patterned sitting benches.

Your heart stopped.

On the nearest sofa sat a gorgeous woman, with fair skin and raven-black hair, upon which rested a small silvery tiara. The Princess Momo Yaoyorozu herself.

Quickly abandoning Shouto, you dropped into the lowest curtsy you could manage, feeling your knees wobble underneath you. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Shouto swept the most absolutely cursory bow you’d ever seen in your life. You started, appalled by the slight.

What was he doing?

But the princess looked deeply unruffled, smiling as she rose from the sofa.

“Shouto,” she said, happily.

And then she rounded the table and embraced him.

“Momo,” Lord Shouto said in return. “It is good to see you in good health.”

You stared, aware that your mouth had dropped open, but completely unable to close it. So they–were a couple? But then you noticed the slight woman at the princess’s shoulder, who also reached out and embraced Lord Shouto.

“Jirou,” he said.

Jirou colored pink and cuffed the back of his head lightly. “Next time I’d ask you to consider causing a scene like this later in the day.”

Lord Shouto’s face went carefully blank, the very picture of innocence. “I know not what you mean.”

Jirou looked unfazed. “I’m sure.”

Just then, the princess’s gaze wandered to you, her eyes dark and fathomless and intimidatingly pretty. You froze under her sudden attention. “This must be your Miss Not-Quite-Utsushimi,” she said.

Your stomach lurched. She knew. The princess already knew what you had done.

Was this it, then? The moment of reckoning? What Shouto had brought you here for, to see that royal justice was done unto you?

But the princess just smiled, and gestured to a bench opposite the sofa. “Please, sit.”

You almost sat down reflexively right on the floor. Thankfully, Lord Shouto took your elbow and gently guided you to the chair, taking the place next to you. You tried very hard not to notice the way his strong thigh pressed against your skirts.

“Now then, Shouto tells me you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble. I’d like to hear it from you, if you don’t mind,” Princess Momo said as she settled back into her seat.

You could barely think straight. It was like every thought you’d ever had suddenly gathered in your mouth, all clamoring to burst forth. You tripped over your own words, barely managing coherence.

“Your Highness–it’s not. I mean, it’s not my trouble, it’s Lord Shouto’s. I’ve gone and involved him in a way I did not mean, and he desperately needs to call off the marriage. It’s entrapment! He was caught with me, and I’m not Camie–his reputation—my fault, I mean–”

Lord Shouto’s gloved hand found your thigh, and you jumped.

His mouth drew close to your ear. “Breathe, Y/N.”

It was the first time you’d ever heard him use your name, and the sound went through you like a lance. You only just managed to clamp down on what might have been a horrible little whimper, your fingers clenching in your skirts for something to ground you.

“It’s as I described in my letters, Momo,” Lord Shouto said, turning back to the princess.

She ignored him, her gaze picking over you. “You mean you meant to entrap His Grace?” she asked.

“No!” you yelped, leaning forwards desperately. “No, please. You must ask him to call it off!”

She tilted her head and waited, as if for more of an explanation.

You blew out a nervous breath, trying to find the words to explain. “I am a–I was a maid, Your Highness. I have worked for the Utsushimi family for years. Just days before the season, Camie Utsushimi eloped with Lord Inasa Yoarashi, leaving her elder sister Caroline the consequences of the scandal. Mrs. Utsushimi–that is, it was decided that I should pretend to be Camie long enough for Miss Caroline to make a match.”

The princess’s eyebrows raised.

“I did not expect that I should–-that I should find someone as good and kind as Lord Shouto. I have no excuses for participating in and continuing the charade.”

You did not know how to continue. You let the words sit there in heavy silence.

“And what would you want now?” The princess finally asked. “Now that you’re to be revealed as a servant?”

You ducked your head. “I want only that Lord Shouto distance himself quickly.”

“And you?” Princess Momo asked.

You did not dare ask that she let you flee into the countryside as you so desperately hoped. It was the height of folly to think that you would be let off with no punishment. God, however had you thought you could have pulled this scheme off? What absolute madness had possessed you to go along with it?

“Whatever Your Highness thinks is suitable penalty,” you said, unable to look into her face.

“Why did you do it?” The princess asked, as Lord Shouto had.

You answered as you had then. “For money, Your Highness.”

Lord Shouto leaned forward. “For her family, Momo. She sends a wage.”

Your skin prickled, hoping that this admission would not make targets out of your parents too.

“And your parents know of this scheme?” she asked.

You panicked, getting to your feet. “No! Your Highness, please, I have not told them–”

“Momo, I’ll thank you not to scare my intended,” Lord Shouto intoned from your side. You realized he’d also risen. He took your arm, tugging you gently back down. “Nothing will happen to your family, Y/N,” he said.

Your pulse pounded under his grip. You tried to focus on how gentle and warm his touch was, as little as you deserved it.

Fuck. Fuck, just what had you gotten yourself into?

“You are lucky,” Princess Momo said finally, “That Shouto thinks this is all very funny.”

You froze, glancing up at her. He–he thought this was–what?

“He’s been writing me these past months, telling me of you. I did not like the idea of it, but Shouto tells me you are…good. That you did not mean to draw anyone’s notice, and that you have very consistently resisted his advances,” the princess said.

Your memory flashed to the feeling of his mouth on you last night. You had not really resisted his advances consistently enough. If only she knew how inappropriately you had reveled in them.

“I see that you are much like what he says,” the princess said, and you heard a kind of unexpected softening of her tone.

You did not know what to say.

“I brought you here to see for myself. And I am…satisfied,” she said. “Though, I will always watch out for him as he has watched out for me since the War for All.”

The knot of tension in your chest uncoiled a little. But surely, she could not mean that she meant to let an infringement of this nature go unpunished?

“Your Highness, I am afraid I do not understand,” you said.

Lord Shouto’s hand found the side of your thigh again, and he pressed those long fingers against you. “She means that she will insist on keeping an eye on you, once we are married,” he said.

Your head snapped towards him, and you gaped. He watched you back, those mismatched eyes glittering in a way that you found so very horribly familiar.

“Married?” you echoed incredulously. “My lord–I am not–you cannot–what?”

Shouto ducked his head to look into your face more closely. “Then you will not have me?”

You sputtered. “Have you? Me, have you? My lord, really, are you unwell? We’ve just established, I am not Camie Utsushimi!”

“I’m well aware…Y/N.” Lord Shouto said, his tone dropping terribly low. A little shiver went up your spine.

“And as you are now well aware, I have known for some time,” he continued. “I knew from the beginning. And I certainly knew when I kissed you last night.”

The shiver became a full body shudder. “Lord Shouto–it doesn’t make sense…”

“He never does,” Jirou piped up helpfully from the princess’s side. “He’s been strange since birth, according to Momo.”

Shouto’s features went intentionally deadpan again, as though he could not countenance such a claim. You couldn’t help the grin that pulled at your mouth.

“He liked when you threw the apricot cake at him,” the princess supplied. “Wrote about it in great detail in his first letter about you. He also waxed poetic about your inability to speak any Greek, as though that were a great accomplishment of yours.”

Your ears went hot. “You did not,” you said.

Shouto had the grace to look the tiniest bit abashed. “Thank you, Momo,” he said, with absolutely no inflection to his tone whatsoever.

You were overcome by a wave of helpless affection for him. “Lord Shouto, I’m still afraid it isn’t done…much as I should–much as your affections are more than reciprocated. I–I’m afraid the scandal–”

“Will not bother me,” Shouto said.

You waved your arm helplessly. “My lord–”

“If it helps,” Princess Momo said. “At Shouto’s behest, I’ve found a little barren plot of land and a just-barely noble title that might be granted to you, in order to facilitate a proper marriage. I…owed him a favor, for services rendered in the War for All. That is, if you will agree to have him.”

Shouto looked back at you, looking a little bit smug for managing to have pulled all this together.

“I’ve procured a special license weeks ago. And I have also written Lord Inasa, and your Camie,” he said. “As it happens, I know Lord Inasa well enough. They will attest to having known of your status, and to having attended the wedding. Your friends Miss Uraraka and Lady Asui have also agreed, provided that you apologize to them in person.”

“As will Jirou and I,” Princess Momo said. “Which should be enough to get half the ton pretending that they were there.”

“Miss Caroline and Mr. Awase, should they care to continue their engagement, should also be told. There should be no impropriety in the match, then,” Shouto said. “Although there will still be talk of your impersonating Camie.”

You could not believe it.

It all sounded so unreal–that you, simply by agreeing now, could become Shouto’s wife.

Horrible, hot little tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Shouto pointed out, though his tone was gentle. “Let those be the last secrets we keep from one another.”

A wave of emotion crashed over you, and it was only the princess’s presence that kept you from throwing yourself at Shouto.

It was real. He was really real, and he truly wanted you.

“Yes,” you said, watching him closely. “If you will really have me, then yes. It would be improper of me, I think, to admit how much I…how much I love you. But I have been driven mad with it, Shouto. I love you.”

A blindingly handsome smile lit up Shouto’s face, and he’d pulled you to him before you realized he’d even moved. He had you up and out of the seat in the blink of an eye, and he swept another barely-courteous bow in Princess Momo’s direction–one that you realized was born of years of friendship, rather than any disrespect.

“You understand we must take our leave of you,” Shouto said.

Princess Momo bit her pretty lip as though fighting down a laugh. “Indeed. Though I will expect you both back for tea the week after next. I still have questions.”

“I'm afraid I have a honeymoon planned,” Shouto said. He leaned down to you and said in conspiratorial tones. “I think perhaps some Greek ruins might be in order.”

You groaned out a laugh. “Shouto…”

Princess Momo waved you off, disinterested. “Then write, please. I am pleased to see you finally happy, Shouto.”

“I am,” Shouto said seriously. He pulled you towards the door in a bout of sudden impatience. “Thank you, Momo.”

She waved again, and then you were through the door, a footman collecting you and leading you back out of the palace.

Your head was spinning with a rush of emotion, and your heart beat a staccato of disbelief in your chest. Shouto helped you back into the carriage, a fond little grin on the corner of his mouth.

“You really mean it, Y/N?” he asked as he followed you in, taking up the seat next to you rather than opposite. You soaked in the delicious warmth of him alongside you, something you had been sure just fifteen minutes ago that you might never feel again. “Be honest with me.”

You nodded, looking up into his handsome face. “I promise to always be honest with you from this point on.”

Another smile twitched at the corner of Shouto’s mouth, a wry, mischievous little thing. “Good,” he said, his voice dropping low. “As I plan to make an honest wife out of you now, love.”

You shivered again, and Shouto drank it in with far too much satisfaction.

But then he leaned in, smiling, and kissed you.

Over the carriage ride, you spoke very little–far too occupied with one another to manage much conversation–but Shouto did convey that your wedding would be a secret affair, first thing in the morning, under the eye of the Archbishop who was closely aligned with the Yaoyorozu family, and excellent at keeping secrets.

Which left you with the entire afternoon—an afternoon you planned to spend wisely.

When you arrived back at his lodgings, an attempt was made to feed you and offer you a room of your own–so that things might be proper. But you hadn’t done any of this properly in the slightest, and you didn’t plan to start now.

In only a matter of minutes, you had both stumbled into Shouto’s bedroom, an elegantly-appointed suite that you would have to inspect more closely later, when you weren’t so preoccupied with what his mouth was doing just above the neckline of your dress.

“Shouto, you’ll tear it,” you said, as he tugged at the higher, more conservative collar of your servant’s garb.

“Good,” Shouto intoned in his low voice, his mouth still pressed to the line of your neck in a way that reminded you of the masquerade last night. “You’ll never need it again.”

His fingers tugged harder, and he murmured quietly, “Once I have this off you, you’ll never dress as a maid again.”

The thought made you dizzy, and you grasped his shoulder for stability, which only gave him better purchase to tug your dress down the other arm. Soon he’d gotten you down to your stays and stockings, and the appreciative groan he made as he looked you over sent little shivers over your skin.

He walked you back to his bed, layering kisses everywhere–over your face, your chest, your arms, any part of you he could reach.

“You’ll stop me, if you want to?” he asked, mismatched eyes flicking up to yours.

“I don’t want to,” you told him, reaching out to grasp his coat, pulling him down to the bed with you. His warm, hard body against you dredged up the memory of last night–all those straining feet of him pressing you against the wall, that feeling that had built up within you as he touched you through your skirts. “I could have screamed when they found us last night.”

Shouto’s face dropped into the crook of your neck, and he left a stinging bite on your shoulder. “I almost challenged Mr. Awase to a duel there and then. All good sense had left me.”

You knew the feeling–all good sense had left you quite presently, replaced with the burning desire to have him over you, pressing all along you, weighing you down into the mattress and finishing what you’d started on the assembly room balcony.

“Shouto, please. I want–I need–”

Shouto didn’t let you finish, sealing his mouth over yours. His fingers busied themselves with the laces of your stays, and it was only a matter of minutes until he had you bare to him entirely.

“Perfect,” he said, in a tone so low you could feel it in your bones. His fingers pressed between your thighs, and your gasp echoed in the early morning quiet. “You are perfect.”

You rather thought he was perfect, as you finally managed to push his coat off of him and tore at the buttons of his shirt. Underneath he was all hard muscle and smooth skin, and you found yourself struck dumb by the way his abs flexed, the way his waist tapered into the line of his breeches.

He was even more perfectly carved than those blasted Greek sculptures, and you surged up to kiss him again. His fingers found their way back between your thighs, and you threw your arms over his shoulders, clinging to him as he worked you up to the peak he’d brought you to last night.

It felt like you had no control over yourself as you writhed against his hand, your mouth desperately seeking his to quiet the noises you wanted to make.

Shouto’s touch was maddening, every twist of his fingers smooth and deft, and his thumb worked your clit so gently you wanted to scream. It was too much, and yet not enough, and yet everything you’d ever wanted—

“Please, Shouto,” you begged. “Please, please.”

“Please what, love?” he asked, smiling down at you. But you could tell he knew what you wanted, and that he wanted it too, if the hard press of him against your thigh was any measure.

“Shouto, if you don't take me in the next few moments, I swear there will be an entire hailstorm of apricot cakes with your name on them–!” you threatened, but Shouto was laughing and pressing into you before you could finish, and you cut off on another gasp, clutching him for dear life.

The stretch of him inside you was sharp, and unfamiliar, and a little uncomfortable at first. But he seemed to know what he was doing, teasing your clit and layering hot, biting kisses all over you, until you didn’t know what to focus on–until he was fully inside you.

He kissed you utterly stupid while he let you adjust, his hands everywhere, distracting you. He murmured sweet things, how beautiful you were, how lovely, how perfect for him. By the time he finally moved you were a shivery puddle of praise and feeling, and the slide of him was so suddenly good you couldn’t even think straight.

“I knew you were my match the minute you first spoke to me,” he bit at out as his hips worked against you. “I knew I would love you.”

You bit back an embarrassing noise as Shouto’s pace grew faster and unmeasured. “I–Shouto–love you–” you managed. Shouto’s hips jerked in response, and he grasped your thighs, pulling you even harder into him. You couldn’t hold back a moan as he hit deeper within you and the new angle had you shuddering uncontrollably. He huffed a harsh breath against your throat, similarly affected, his fingers digging into you thigh.

After that, it was only a matter of minutes. Everything about him seemed calculated to drive you over the edge–the feeling of him hot and hard inside you, the sight of his abs tightening and flexing between your thighs, his fingers and his mouth all over you. The flush of effort on his cheekbones looked so good on him that you could barely believe he was real.

Everything–absolutely everything about him drove you right to the edge of madness, and then another hard thrust from him sent you right over it.

You cried out his name, trapped underneath him as you rode out your pleasure. And it seemed to hit Shouto too–his eyes widened as he watched you, and he bit out a curse you’d never heard from him before. His hips stuttered, frantically bucking into you as if he had no control, and a warmth flooded inside you.

Shouto breathed out a shaky breath and relaxed over you, the sticky, hot weight of him pinning you underneath him.

“I love you,” was all you could think to tell him, your mind still fuzzy with pleasure. “I love you.”

Shouto’s mouth curved into another wry little grin, and he smiled down at you, those mismatched eyes glinting.

“I see I did make an honest woman of you, then,” he said, sounding a little too pleased with himself.

You kissed him to shut him up, and pulled him closer–unable to deny that he had. You couldn’t think of anything you wanted than to give him your whole heart, bare and honest and real, for the rest of your lifetime together.

There would be no deceiving the duke–-not anymore.

Especially if, after you’d caught your breath, you could convince him to make an honest woman of you yet again.

And hopefully, again and again and again.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x you #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #IT'S DONE!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉#Thank you guys for reading I literally have had sooo much fun!!#love u!!!!!!!!

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chococolte · 2 years

Note

god reader who like breaking genshin boys hearts ✧ ೃ ͜ ⑅

word count. 2.7k

characters included. zhongli, childe, al-haitham, xiao

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, power dynamics, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au, kind of sad??idfk, in zhongli's its implied u were in bed with another iykwim, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i hope you don't mind the characters i chose!!

They’re far too easy to mess with, you think.

A brush of your fingers, the faint heat of your breath on their ear. A soft, decadent hand on their shoulder, the feeling of your warmth in the crook of their neck— small, barely tangible things. Barely meaningful things, yet they still coo for you all the same; still cling to you and beg for your attention.

Still hunger for your touch, ravenous for what little scraps you'll give them. A glance has them wrapped around your finger, and a word barely considered praise has them at their knees.

It shouldn't be this easy. You shouldn't find it this fun. But you do, anyway.

The look on their faces. The look of shock, and intertwined sorrow. The worship still swirling inside their eyes.

You should feel bad. And you do, in a way— but not nearly enough.

zhongli

Zhongli is aware he has no reason to be hurt. Not really.

You have no obligation to him. Not in the way he does you. You don't have to like him, if you find his worship of you too flimsy, too little. You don't have to love him. You don't have to share even an inkling of the same breadth of emotions he holds for you. You don't have to look at him, breathe in his vicinity, if you thought he was too foul to be around.

He shouldn't expect himself to be special to you.

He shouldn't have, to be precise. It was foolish, to begin with.

What is he that you have not already seen? What is he that you have not already toyed with before? What unique experience does he give you?

The answer is none. Zhongli serves no purpose other than to worship you.

That is all that he's good for. Zhongli should not have expected to be yours, he should not have allowed himself to dream of the possibility. He poisoned himself with thoughtful daydreams of what it would mean to be yours, beautifully and entirely. To be your consort. To be your spouse.

Such a wonderful dream. One his heart ached for; longed for with such a yearning that it hurt.

He should've been embarrassed. And he was— he kept it his shameful secret, one hidden behind closed doors and locked gates in the palace of his mind. But he wasn't embarrassed enough, wasn't ashamed enough to keep himself from getting lost in them.

Zhongli should've let the shame sear him until it was enough to keep you out.

It's a cruel thought. One he despises himself for thinking— to deny you? To even think of depriving you of anything at all? Sacrilege. But he thinks it anyway.

Zhongli never should've thought that maybe he could be the singular person by your side. The only one worthy of standing there, tall and proud. Imposing, and as he realizes now, a thought as arrogant as the god of war he used to be.

Even in the brief moment where the two of you were two embers dancing together on a single flame, he knew the moment would have to end eventually. You had many suitors, and he was merely one among many. Though he believed himself to be the most suitable, it was ultimately your choice; and he knew how likely it was for others to be among your favorites.

Though he knew, and though he had tried to prepare himself for the inevitability of being second in your heart— it still stung. His heart still broke in his chest, still shattered when he saw your legs tangled with another’s.

You looked up at him, and Zhongli could see it on your face. You didn't truly care whether he saw or not— and why should you? You were God. He was nothing, merely a tool to be used and discarded. You didn't try to fake remorse or guilt, only merely made note of his presence.

Then you continued, as if he wasn't there in the first place. As if it was normal. As if the two of you had not spent time together, as if he had not bent at his knees and declared his eternal devotion to you. As if he was truly just a follower to you; nothing more, nothing less.

It was to be expected. It was, and it still hurt. He knew it would happen, and he still felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest and crushed. He had prepared for it, regulating himself so as to when it happened it would hurt less— and it still hurt.

It hurt more than he thought it would.

He was hoping you'd prove him wrong.

childe

Childe knew he alone wouldn't be enough for you.

You burn like the brightest star. Your love is the heat of a hearth; Childe sinks in when snow frosts his fingers and lets your warmth melt him. Your wrath is like a tempestuous storm, like the rage of the sun. He fears when you will eventually turn on him, but for now, he basks in your light.

Your favorite, you called him. You touched him with fondness, curling your fingers in his hair. When Childe was with you, he was in heaven. His heart threatened to burst with so much adoration and reverence he felt almost dazed. When without you, he mourned the loss of your presence; tears cascaded down his cheeks like a quiet elegy, lamenting every moment not near you.

You don't come to him as often, now. Others have sparked your interest. Childe can't blame you. No, he could never blame you— you are perfection incarnate. You can do no wrong, no matter how hard his heart twists and churns in his chest. No matter how hard it is to breathe when he sees you show affection to another.

Sometimes, he thinks you do it on purpose. He always hates the thought when it visits, denying its existence. He feels sick at the mere implication.

You are kind. You are benevolent. You kept him company in the abyss, let him take comfort in your presence. You wouldn't do this to him. He knows you wouldn't.

Yet the thought takes credence. Every morning that goes by without you glancing at him is hell. You pretend like he does not exist.

“Why?” He manages to croak out. His voice is weak, throat raw from his cries. “Why don't you want me anymore?”

“You're not interesting now,” you say. Your expression does not change, not even the slightest tremor of your brows. You look at him, and Childe realizes he never really mattered to you, not in the same way he cared for you.

It breaks him. Your words haunt him. He should hate you, he knows— he should detest you. He should heave until he is free of you. Yet despite what he should feel, Childe’s heart still hungers. It still whispers for you, begging and pleading; it still thrums in his chest for your presence, for the echo of your voice.

Years of worship do not disappear within a moment. They do not disappear upon your rejection, upon your refusal of him; they burst at the seams and demand retribution. They burst at the seams and think that there is no way for this to be you.

Childe has failed you. He must've, in some way or another— he did something you didn't like, and now this is his punishment. This is his trial by fire. He hopes that by the end of it, when he is scorched by flame and smoldering, that he is finally worthy of you.

Cries erupt from his throat, and sobs shake his entire body. It hurts to breathe, hurts to exist when he knows he has angered you. As though everything he has ever known and loved is crashing down on him.

There's a sick feeling pulsing in his chest, like a separate heartbeat. It only beats to make him suffer. He chokes on it with every hum of its rhythm.

Childe doesn't mind that you have others. Have as many as you like, but let him be one. Even if he is nothing, even if he is disgusting to you, barely worth your effort, barely worthy enough to worship you— let him exist near you, let him breathe and know that the same air has tasted you.

No matter how hard it is to stop himself from harming whoever’s gained your attention, he will suffer through it. No matter how hard it is to keep himself composed, to stop himself from grabbing onto your legs and begging you to please let him be your favorite again, he will suffer through it.

He should be happy with this much.

al-haitham

He was a fool.

Al-Haitham thought it only rational that you chose him. He was intelligent, an erudite scholar; he had knowledge of many things, ready for you to inspect whenever you wished. He had kept himself well-read before, and his desire to please you only exacerbated it.

He had his insecurities, but Al-Haitham thought of them as nothing but intrusive. Nonsense. There was no one more suitable for you than him. There was no way you'd choose another over him— you had told him as much. You had whispered softly in his ear and told him that he was all that you wanted.

Why would you lie? And though he had thought of what it would be like to be just another of your lovers, just a singular out of a whole, he never let himself linger. His heart beats in his chest erratically every time, and if you knew how quickly his composure broke just thinking of being nothing but second in your heart— the shame would eat at him.

He realizes now that to ever assume just one would be enough for your appetite was foolish. It is shameful, humiliating to think of how long it took for him to realize; to satiate your hunger he would have to be perfect, not just a jewel that shines a bit brighter than the rest. He would never be enough by himself. You were a god, above all others, and he was merely a mortal, beside himself with pride.

And it hurt more to know that he could not unlove you. It was part of him now, stitched into the make of his soul— he could not erase you, could not scrub himself free of you. To rip you out would be an agonizing existence. One that he did not wish to live, despite how it churned his blood and burned his throat.

You are bright. What lured him to you was the comfort you brought, the peace of mind you elicited.

There is no more peace, now. Only quiet anxiety and sickening thoughts, a lump in his throat and pain in his heart. There is no more comfort, no serenity— only the constant, festering parasite of a thought that he failed you in some way. He wasn’t enough, and though Al-Haitham has enough self-awareness to know that the idea is illogical, he still clings onto it; he failed you, but perhaps he could prove himself again.

It is a thought without credence. It is an idea without reason. Al-Haitham resolves himself to do whatever he has to do, though he knows it is ultimately meaningless. It is a fight without adrenaline, life or death without the urgency; it does not matter, not to you.

You do not serve him the same attention. You do not smile at his little mannerisms, do not inquire about his well-being. He doesn’t matter to you, not anymore.

He should accept it. Better to do it now. Better to internalize it, better to let himself revel in it— better to let him forget the moments he had, better to let him forget how he was once special to you.

You are a god. He is not. He wonders if that is the reason why. If it was not a failure of his own, but an aspect of himself that he cannot change that made you turn him away. If it was some unchangeable, immovable part of him that he could never hope to dissect. Never hope to get rid of, never hope to alter— if it was just him that you were unhappy with.

It is a startling thought. And it hurts him in every way, as all the hours he spent to improve himself, to cater his very being to your likes, were all for naught.

Nothing he could do could make you choose him again.

xiao

Xiao thought he had finally received the peace he had longed an eternity for when you chose him.

When with you, he did not ache. He did not feel listless, like he was merely dragging his feet behind him— he felt alive; the way mortals feel, the way he had not felt for a millennium. Your touch sent gales of ecstasy down his spine, a certain serenity he had not found anywhere else. Your voice felt like a dreamer's happiness; soft and soothing, clouds dancing at your fingertips.

Safety embraced him when in your presence. You were love itself, blinding and scintillating. Xiao would lay down his life for you, his god— the only one who matters.

He had never felt so loved before. And Xiao knew he never would again, so he clung. He clung like if he let go you would disappear, disperse into the stars that hung in the sky. He clung like if he let go he would die.

Maybe that is why you threw him away.

Xiao knows he isn't your ideal. He is silent, aloof, and forbidding. He is never inviting, never warm and kind; though he melts when with you, it is never enough. He should be more. You deserve as much.

He is always fearful. Always straining his ears when you're with another, eyes piercing. Self-hatred curls in his chest and twists around his heart, but he doesn't stop himself— you are everything, and he is nothing more than a Yaksha; replaceable, easy to discard— the dread is endless, an incessant drive to be assured of where he stands inside your heart.

You are everything, and he is nothing.

When Xiao catches a glimpse of you with another, he tries not to let it get to him. He swallows down his bitterness, the choking feeling of betrayal. What is he that you could not find in another? He should've long expected it. He was foolish not to have seen it sooner.

But he can’t stop thinking of his time by your side. Those brief moments of absolute peace, where he felt nothing but love. Where he could only feel you, utterly and wholly, and how much he adored every second of it. How much he loathed every moment away from you. He thinks of your hands running through his dark hair, of your nails against his scalp— and how he will never experience it again.

Xiao is used to loss. He has had centuries of time to grow accustomed to loneliness. He has lost those close to him, suffered blow after blow. He is supposed to be used to disappointment. He is supposed to be accustomed to an aching heart, to no longer clench his jaw out of pain; he is supposed to be able to move on with ease, without thinking of what used to be.

But he can’t bring himself to do that, this time. His mind lingers. The ghost of your smile still hangs in the air, still suffocates him every time he tries to rest his mind. He still sees you whenever he closes his eyes, your face shining like stars in the dark. He still hears your voice, still feels the weight of your touch— and he still wants you, despite how much he should hate you for taking his heart in your hands and crushing it.

Xiao still wants to be the one you love. He still wants to love you, to kiss your hands and feet. He wants to worship you, to pray to you at the bottom of your throne. But you’ve thrown him away. You don’t want him anymore. You have others who you like more, who don’t tremble at the slightest of your touch. Who are more deserving of standing beside you.

He has lost again, though he still clings onto you.

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cuubism · 10 months

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No worries if the prompt doesn't inspire. I just want it out of my brain:

When Dream is captured, his ruby automatically goes to Hob, who is suddenly in charge of the Dreaming. He has to figure out what he's doing, realize his Stranger is missing/rescue him, and try to get answers on why the Dreaming chose him.

this could absolutely be a 100k epic, which... i just don't have the energy for right now, but here's a potential scene:

Hob's been to more than a few castles in his long life. Hob's as old as more than a few castles. He's seen them from afar, and in more prosperous times he's been in them, majestic old forts and comparatively modern palaces bursting with color and finery and legions of staff.

And the thing about castles is they're busy. It takes a lot of staff to run a castle. The only castles Hob's seen that were empty were the ruined ones, fortresses that predated even Hob, were nothing but crumbling remnants by the time he ever set foot inside.

More like tombs, those castles. Relics. Memorials.

The palace he's in now feels more like that.

It hasn't crumbled, still has all its glass intact, its draperies and rugs not yet moth-eaten, the strong pillars of the throne room still reaching up to an infinite sky. It's beautiful, fine stone and intricate carvings, stained glass murals and impossible bridges--but desolate. And quiet. Quiet enough his soft, bare footsteps echo loudly on the flagstones as he walks towards the empty throne at the end of the long room.

It's so empty. He hasn't seen a soul yet. Twilight falls through the stained glass, casting patterns of red and orange at his feet. Winding stairs meander up to the throne, nearly lost in the gloom. Melancholy blooms in his heart, like he knows, through some instinct, that this place should be different. The feeling of standing in ruins of stone and thinking, this was grand, once.

The ruby glows in his palm, pulsing steadily.

Hob slowly ascends the stairs, unsure exactly what he's looking for. Answers? A way to revive this place from its steadily deepening torpor? He just climbs, and he reaches the throne, and runs his hand over the hard cut stone. Imposing, unforgiving, and no trace of its master. The king's gone.

For all his many careers, Hob's never been any sort of king. It's not something one just becomes.

He wanders behind the throne, just below the high stained glass windows. The ruby warm in his palm. When he steps into the shadows, they change, and a new room appears around him. A softer, more enclosed room, for private musings rather than public audiences. A bedroom. The king's bedroom.

Morpheus's bedroom.

Hob startles, grip closing around the ruby. He doesn't know how the name comes to him. Only he holds the ruby, and he feels it.

The room is simpler than he might have expected of a king, almost sparse, as if little time is spent there. The draperies are dark, the bare stone floor cold underfoot, and the massive window looks out over twilit fields and mountains, an entire kingdom below.

Hob almost walks over to it, but his attention is diverted by the robe that lays strewn across the bed, disrupting the otherwise untouched lines of the linens. He picks up the hem of the long, black cloak. The fabric flows like mercury between his fingers for all that it's heavy and thick like a shield. Like a shroud.

Hob gathers it up in his arms, a quiet gasp escaping him. He knows such black clothing. He knows this ruby. Only he hadn't seen it before. Hadn't seen that he was dreaming.

Morpheus. His stranger. A king and he'd never said.

He'd always had that bearing, though, Hob thinks as he twists his hands in the impossibly soft fabric of the coat. He'd never have let Hob in here, especially not after how they'd left things. He'd never have given Hob his ruby, which Hob can now feel isn't just an expensive trinket but actually some sort of powerful object. If they'd even reunited, if his stranger had returned, Hob had expected at best concessionary forgiveness for his bluntness, and possible just sullen silence. Not an invite to his inner sanctum.

A space which his stranger is conspicuously absent from.

Hob doesn't like the feeling of what it adds up to.

He takes the cloak, and the ruby. Lays a hand indulgently on the bedspread, imagining his-- his friend, he'll be determined about it, sleeping there. Not he seems to sleep much, from the look of things.

Then he leaves Morpheus's bedroom be, and goes to see if there's anyone left in this abandoned kingdom who can tell him what's happened to his friend.

#dreamling #hob gadling #my writing #ask #silverdrip

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engie-ivy · 8 months

Text

(I'm on holiday visiting ancient Roman sites, so about time to post a fic for @wolfstarmicrofic 's Greek & Roman Mythology theme! Unfortunately, that I would be able to keep it short is also a myth...)

4th: Conquest

2263 words

For a simple farm-boy like Remus to end up with the legendarily handsome Prince Sirius of the House of Black of the city of Grimmauld, nothing less than devine intervention would be needed. Luckily for Remus, the gods like nothing more than to meddle in the affairs of mortals...

The Myth of Remus and Sirius

‘Please goddess, answer my call, please goddess, hear my plea.’ Remus repeats the words in his head over and over again, while sitting on his knees on the cold marble of the temple.

Suddenly, he hears a rustling of fabric, and the soft sound of gentle footsteps on the floor. He opens his eyes and lift his head, and despite expecting it, he’s still taken aback by the imposing sight in front of him.

A tall woman, taller than any other woman, taller than any man, taller than any mortal. Flowing silk fabrics draped across her body, but still revealing enough of her ivory skin and soft curves. Hair falling to her waist like woven threads of gold, framing a face with eyes the colour of the ocean and full, pink lips. The most beautiful woman in the world.

Aphrodite, the goddess of love.

“You called upon me?” She asks in a sweet voice as she strides across the marble stones of her own temple to stop in front of Remus.

Remus bows his head again, his forehead almost pressed against the marble. “Yes, my goddess. You must- I mean, I humbly ask you to, no, beg you to please undo the gift you have given me.”

When he dares to look up, Aphrodite has pressed her lips into a thin line. “You were given a gift by an Olympian, and you reject it?”

Remus hands tremble. Insulting one of the gods has never ended well for any mortal, and this might very well mean his death. Or worse.

A week ago, an old woman showed up at the house where Remus and his parents live as simple farmers. She had eyes sunken into her wrinkled face, warts in her neck and on her hands, dirty fingernails and hair like cobwebs. Remus had made her a hot bath, cooked her a meal, and let her sleep in his own bed. The next morning, she revealed herself to be the goddess Aphrodite in disguise, wandering through the mortal world to test the people’s xenia, their hospitality. And for Remus’ great show of hospitality, she had promised to reward him with a gift.

“It’s not that I am ungrateful, my goddess. It was a great honour to receive an Olympian on my doorstep,” Remus carries on, knowing that he can’t back down now. “You were great and good to bestow such a gift upon me,-”

“I know it is what you desired!” Aphrodite interrupts. “I could hear it in your thoughts and see it own your face.” She lifts her chin and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Do you think I do not know my own field of expertise?”

Remus vehemently shakes his head. “No, no, no. You were right. It is what I desired. Just... not like this.”

Remus comes from a family of simple farmers, but they are not without a claim to fame. With the bee hives and flower fields behind their simple farm house, the Lupins known across the land to produce the highest quality of honey. So much so, that generations ago, King Phineas Black made them the personal supplier of the royal family of the city of Grimmauld. Befriended kings and queens, rich noblemen, travelling heroes, all are hoping to be gifted a jar of Grimmauld’s famous honey when visiting the city.

Each week, Remus’ father would ride his carriage to Grimmauld to personally offer their finest selection to King Orion and Queen Walburga. And when Lyall got to old to make the weekly trip, Remus took over from his father.

His first time in the palace, Remus kneeled in front of the throne with his tray filled with jars of honey, when soft footsteps approached. Someone reached out and took a jar from the tray. “So, for honey to be the best it must have the exact same shade of gold as your eyes,” a rich voice spoke.

When Remus looked up, his breath caught. A young man wearing a perfectly fitted, silk toga was holding one of the honey jars and smiling down at Remus with a soft, warm smile. He was slender, with a narrow waist and a face that seemed to be carved out of marble, with delicate features from an uncanny perfection, but the bright liveliness in his silver-grey eyes showed that he was very much not a statue. His ivory skin and light eyes contrasted beautifully with his long, raven black hair, which was now held back by silver pins embroidered with small, delicate diamonds that perfectly matched the colour of his eyes.

Remus immediately knew he was gone for. He also knew he was far from the first man, nor would he be the last, to be captivated by Prince Sirius of the House of Black.

Prince Sirius is widely known to be the most beautiful man in the world. Stories are told about his beauty far and wide, and none of those stories have been exaggerated. Besides kings, queens, princes and princesses pursuing him, even the gods desire him. Apollo has come down from mount Olympus several times to watch the man or even strike up a brief conversation with him, and it is said that even the highest god Zeus has let his eye fall on Sirius, and everyone knows that when the gods want something, they do not patiently wait for it, or bother with permission for that matter. Therefore, it is assumed that Prince Sirius will very soon be the next conquest of one of the gods.

His parents are practically salivating at the thought. After all, when young Ganymede was abducted by Zeus, his parents received divine compensation, the prized horses gifted to King Tros by the highest god himself being admired and envied all over the world, and Sirius is surely as beautiful as Ganymede, maybe even more so. And even if the gods will eventually lose interest in their son, there are still incredibly rich kings who will gladly offer a large portion of their wealth to have Prince Sirius with his legendary beauty at their side. Besides, King Orion and Queen Walburga have a second son for their succession, so that they’re free to exploit Sirius for his beauty.

Every time Remus visited the city, Sirius made time to talk to him, and when Remus found out he was not only beautiful, but also clever and witty and good-hearted, he had completely fallen for the young prince. Completely fallen, while knowing it was completely hopeless.

Until just days after meeting the goddess Aphrodite, Remus heard a frantic knocking. He opened the door and did a double take. The young man’s hair was not neatly styled as usual, instead pulled up in a messy bun with strands falling over his eyes, and his fine clothes looked slightly dishevelled, but unmistakably, Prince Sirius was standing before him.

Before Remus could do more than gasp, Sirius spoke. “Remus, please forgive me my intrusion, but I cannot bear to deny my feelings any longer. I long to be with you! I do not want riches, or titles, or crowns, or even a life among the gods. I just want you! My heart has chosen you, and I refuse to listen to my fears instead of my heart any longer.”

Sirius let himself fall into Remus’ arms, and for a moment, Remus’ heart leapt with joy, but then it was like an ice-cold hand had closed its grip around it as Remus realised what had happened.

Aphrodite’s ‘gift’.

She had given Remus what he desired, but she had not realised Remus did not want to have what he desired if it had to be like this.

Remus told Sirius he was tired and needed to rest. He convinced him to get some sleep, and promised they’d have a conversation in the morning when his mind would be clear.

As soon as Sirius was asleep in Remus’ bed, Remus had rushed to the temple of Aphrodite.

Aphrodite purses her lips and crosses her arms beneath her breasts. “How do you mean ‘not like this’?”

“Not if he didn’t get to choose,” Remus explains pleadingly. “Not if he was used as a tool to do me a favour.”

Aphrodite elegantly arches an eyebrow. “I present you with the most handsome man in the world, a rich, young prince, yours for the taking, and you would refuse?”

Remus only nods.

“Why?”

“Because I love him,” Remus simply states. “I would never want to strip him of his free will, or place my happiness above his.”

Aphrodite stares at him for a moment, and Remus wonders if he has insulted her, if these are his last moments before she changes him into a tree or an insect, or simply burns him to ashes.

But then a small smile appears on the goddess’ face. “For so long, I’ve dealt with people confusing attraction, desire or advantages with love, and it’s a balm to my soul to see pure love, like their is between you and Sirius.”

“I... I don’t understand.”

“You have misunderstood the nature of my gift, my sweet Remus. Allow me to explain.” Aphrodite is smiling indulgently at him now. “You must know that King Orion and Queen Walburga were hoping their son’s beauty would bring them opportunity, and that him having eyes for a simple farm-boy was unacceptable to them. They had threatened that an ill fate would befall you if Sirius were to seek your affections. I have made it clear to them that an even more ill fate would befall them if you or your family would suffer any harm, and you know you must never underestimate just how... inventive us Olympians can be when we really want to punish mortals.”

Remus had not thought such a beautiful face could wear such a dark look, and he shudders, images of Prometheus chained while waiting for the eagles to come eat his liver, Tantalus desperately reaching for the fruits and the water just outside his reach, Sisyphus fruitlessly rolling his stone up to hill coming to mind.

“Also,” Aphrodite continues, her face back to its normal expression. “I made it clear to both Zeus and Apollo to let the boy be. They will listen, because they know better than to cross me.” A pleased little smile. “Those two won’t risk having to live the rest of their immortal lives without ever experiencing a mortal’s love.”

“That’s... wonderful,” Remus says, struggling to find words. “And I am much obliged to you for your kindness. But I still don’t understand. How come Sirius...”

“Regarding Prince Sirius,” Aphrodite says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “My work there consisted of telling him he had nothing to fear from his family or scorned gods anymore. And that’s it.”

“But... But...”

Aphrodite now laughs out loud. “He loved you already, Remus. He was afraid that his parents with their greed or gods unable to handle rejection would harm you if he were to act on those feelings. The moment I made clear he needn’t worry about them anymore, he came to you.”

Remus lets out a breath. “I.. I can hardly believe it.” He laughs shakily, happiness starting to blossom in his chest. “Did you know from the start my feelings were reciprocated?”

“Is there anything concerning love that I do not know?” Then the goddess shrugs. “It may not have entirely been a coincidence I showed up in disguise on your doorstep. Perhaps I had seen the way you and Prince Sirius looked at each other, and I was looking for an excuse to meddle.”

“Thank you,” Remus manages to say. “Thank you, great goddess. I can never repay you for such a gift.”

Aphrodite looks at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “Just continue to prove to me pure love exists, so I can look upon you whenever I need that belief reinforced.”

When Remus returns home, Sirius is sitting on his doorstep with his knees tucked against his chest, worrying his lips between his teeth. The moment he sees Remus approach, he pushes up to his feet and brushes the dirt from his tunic. “I have completely misread the situation, haven’t I?”

“No, Sirius,” Remus says. “No, you haven’t.”

Sirius shakes his head. “I poured my heart out to you. You told me to go to sleep and disappeared.”

“By Zeus, Sirius, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sirius gives him a sad smile. “It’s okay. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have assumed. I just thought... When you looked at me I thought I saw...”

“What you saw was there!” Remus exclaims. “Sirius, I will explain. Only some days ago, I somehow gained the favour of the goddess Aphrodite, and she promised me a reward of some sort. So when you showed up here, I thought she had looked into my heart and seen only you, and that the feelings of which you spoke weren’t your own, but a spell she had cast on you in order to please me. That you weren’t here of your own choosing.”

Sirius blinks at him, and then shakes his head, stepping forward and placing his hand gently on Remus’ cheek. Remus briefly wonders if he’s dreaming, but Sirius looks so beautiful, Remus wouldn’t have been able to dream up such a vision.

“Remus,” Sirius speaks. “Let me reassure you. I have loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar microfic #greek mythology #prince sirius #beautiful sirius #smitten remus lupin #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius

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brabblesblog · 4 months

Text

Ch 13: Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Astarion makes plans to rescue Ban.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

“A bard!” Astarion thundered as he burst through the doors to the ballroom. The servant cleaning nearby jerked in surprise at the sight of his master; Astarion snapped his fingers irritably.

“They took her. Get me a bard. Now!”

He marched towards his throne, refusing to take a moment to breathe. He could not pause, could not panic. He could only act.

The ornate throne greeted him, as large and imposing and worthless as ever. He collapsed onto the cushioned seat, glowering at the ballroom as he waited, his composure hanging by a thread.

Don’t think about what they’re doing to her. Don’t worry. Just do.

He was unable to feel her mind, silence was all that met him whenever he attempted to reach her. But she was alive, he surmised, hoped, prayed - something he knew to be futile, given how much futile praying he had done when he was Cazador’s.

But he couldn’t help it.

Fingertips rapidly tapping on the armrest, the Ascendant’s head snapped towards the doors as a servant walked in with a jovial, rotund man.

“My good saer,” the man began, bowing to Astarion in a respectful, if overstated, manner. “Would you like to hear some-“

“Can you cast a Sending spell?”

Astarion’s eyes bored into the man. The bard noted the demeanor of the man, the way his hands gripped the armrest, the way he leaned forward, as if he was his only chance of salvation. The smile was wiped from the bard’s face.

“Yes, saer. I am able to,” he replied, standing a little straighter.

“Ever heard of a wizard named Gale of Waterdeep?”

The bard considered for a moment, then nodded in assent, “Yes, saer, he was one of the heroes-”

“Good.” With the bard familiar with Gale, the Sending spell would succeed. “Send this to him,” he snapped, not caring to let the man finish his sentence. The bard hurried to take out his journal and quill.

“Gale. This is from Astarion. Ban has been taken by the covens in Waterdeep. She needs your help.”

He paused to think. Eighteen words. What else should I include?

Pushing past his pride, he continued.

“I need your help. Please. For her.” Twenty-five.

Astarion watched, jaw clenching as the bard cast the Sending spell; his hands gripped the armrests of his throne tightly.

The reply came quickly.

“Hello. This is Gale of Waterdeep. If this is indeed you, Astarion, you will have to prove it-” the bard reported.

“It’s me!” He growled, the rising irritation in his voice unmistakable, “Tell Gale - tell that ass I sent it. Astarion sent it. Tell him- for gods’ sakes, tell him I know he tried to fuck my wife, how about that? He’ll know it’s me!”

“Saer-” The man hesitated. He counted on his fingers, carefully. “That’s… okay.” He cast the spell and transmitted the message in his mind, too afraid to alter the Ascendant’s words.

Astarion sent it. Tell him- for gods’ sakes, tell him I know he tried to fuck my wife, how about that? He’ll know it’s me!

That seemed to successfully capture Gale’s attention. The bard swallowed as the response came back. Gale wanted to know where Astarion was.

“He’s asking where you are, saer.”

Astarion wanted to snap both the bard’s and Gale’s necks.

“In my godsforsaken home, obviously!”

“Saer,” the bard gulped, “Gale says he will be here shortly.”

Astarion waved a hand; his chamberlain moved forward. “Pay him.” He dismissed the bard with another flick of his wrist, his mind already on far more important matters.

He would have to retrieve Woe. Rhapsody as well, he thought. Cazador’s old weapons, turned on him at the rite; Astarion had them stored in chests in one of the spare rooms. During the worst nights after the reunion with their former companions, when seeing Ban had been an impossibility, he would go to that room and look at both weapons. Cradle Rhapsody, the dagger he’d used to carve into Cazador’s back.

A reminder of what it had taken to acquire his current position. A reminder of the price he’d paid: seven thousand souls, those of his siblings included, along with what little had been left of his admittedly very limited integrity.

He knew he’d need them for the fight to come. They had worked in ending his master, in creating wounds that had stayed open and had not healed as was normal for his kind. They would suffice.

Astarion headed for the spare room where the weapons were kept while he waited for Gale’s arrival.

Woe, the staff, sat where he had left it, but Rhapsody was missing from its container.

He felt bile rise in his throat, a mixture of fear and outrage filling him. Who had taken it? Only he entered this room - even Ban had refrained from doing so, knowing exactly what was - had been - here. He picked up Woe with trembling fingers, absently testing its heft.

His thoughts swirled around this new problem, trying to discern who the culprit could be.

None of their guests could have done it. They had always been restricted to certain areas of the palace - namely, the ballroom and its surrounding rooms. This room was out of the way, kept from prying eyes by an illusory wall-

Undead. They were much less susceptible to illusion magic.

Astarion let out a low, frustrated groan. Vel. At the party.

After he had saved Ban from the vampire’s lecherous grasp, they had been so wrapped up in each other that they had failed to keep track of the other vampires. They had snuck out to make love and his summons had been released when he’d been consumed by his passion. It would have been painfully easy to slip into this area and…

Enraged, he stormed out, Woe in hand.

Astarion turned the corner, walking briskly, berating himself for never checking on his weapons after the party, and almost collided with his chamberlain. The man bowed, beginning to stutter an apology.

“My lord, I apologize, but-”

“What?”

“Saer.” The chamberlain cleared his throat. “Gale of Waterdeep is here.”

Gale sat in the dining room, his hands clasped around Markoheshkir. He fidgeted, a little nervous to be back here after all this time. Especially after what Astarion had said in the Sending spell. He hadn’t been all that surprised when Ban had written to him about reuniting with Astarion, but meeting the Vampire Ascendant again was definitely not something he had wanted, nor expected, to ever do.

He looked up as the doors flew open and Astarion marched in gripping Woe so tightly his knuckles were noticeably white. Gale had never seen fit to be afraid of Astarion before, but in that moment the Ascendant looked terrifying. Gale stiffened, defensively tightening his grasp on Markoheshkir.

“Astarion,” he said carefully, watching his former companion take a seat across from him, Woe placed on the table in front of him. “Before we discuss Ban’s plight, I would like to shed light on-”

The Ascendant scoffed, a short, pained sound.

“On your pathetic attempts to convince my wife to leave me and then seduce her?” He took a deep breath. There were so many things he would like to say. He felt betrayed by the wizard, felt betrayed by all of his companions. They’d abandoned him after the ascension, hadn’t even tried to help him. They’d helped Ban leave him; he knew she had wanted it and that it had all worked out in the end, he couldn’t help feeling resentful.

“You were my friend. You all were,” he spat out, then forced himself to stop there. He needed Gale’s help, even though he deplored the thought.

“She deserved better, Astarion,” Gale countered “She always has. You and I both know that.” His hold on Markoheshkir tightened even further; he braced himself for a possible attack.

Astarion sucked in a breath, gearing up for a tirade about wretched, two-faced so-called friends, but the words died in his throat.

Do you want his help or not? The voice in his head laughed a little. Besides. He’s right.

“Fine.” The statement was meant more for himself than for Gale. “Let’s let bygones be… bygones, I suppose.” He clicked his tongue, more to express his pique than anything else, then exhaled.

“To ease your concerns,” he finally said, “Ban and I have reconciled.” That was all he thought his former companion deserved to know - that she had chosen him again. That they were together, and no one would ever come between them again.

It was a far cry from the insecure, distraught person he had been just a few hours ago. He sat tall, hoping Gale saw him as the epitome of quiet, proud confidence.

But Gale perceived a man with frayed nerves, barely clinging on to his facade as his heart worried for his spouse. The clasped fingers shook a little, his eyes were frantic, his breathing too fast, brows pinched with stress. Gale felt a wave of empathy towards the Ascendant.

Gale sighed. “All I really desire is her happiness. If that is with you, then I am glad.” He thought for a moment, contemplating whether he should continue.

“Just don’t hurt her again, that's all.”

The Ascendant’s eyes flashed with fury, but only for the briefest moment. The second look that passed across his face was quickly concealed, but Gale caught a glimpse of it: guilt.

Astarion cleared his throat. He hadn’t summoned Gale here to be lectured on his relationship, but he knew that Gale and the rest of their former companions only mean Ban well. They weren’t entirely wrong for holding poor opinions of him. At his core, he wholeheartedly agreed with them.

“Acknowledged,” he replied tersely. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and considered the man sitting before him.

“I… invited you here-” not summoned, yes, good, “-because Ban needs help.”

Of course Astarion needed his help too, but saying that was too much for his ego to manage.

Gale nodded sagely. “The Stedez coven, I presume? They’re an open secret in Waterdeep. Nine vampires, a few loyal mortals and various other lackeys. May I inquire as to why they have taken an interest in Ban?”

We don’t have time for this, you idiot!

Astarion’s hands left his chin to rest atop the table. As close as he was to losing his temper, he knew he needed Gale’s help.

“Ban went to Waterdeep, to your tower, in your company, and they noticed.” He wanted to blame Gale for being careless with Ban, for unintentionally allowing the Waterdhavian vampires to see her out and about in daylight. But if Astarion hadn’t been so cruel to her, she would never have left in the first place.

“They saw my gifts, heard about my ill-fated attempt to retrieve her, and realized she… that there were issues in our marriage.” He fixed his gaze on a point past Gale, and continued.

“I invited them here for a party, to establish the fact that she is mine and under my control.” Astarion was aware of how that sounded, and he winced internally. “Vel took a liking to her, and things may have escalated.”

He wasn’t sure if Vel had abducted Ban in an effort to actually acquire her for himself, or to lure Astarion out. Lust was a strong motivating factor, but wounding a vampire’s pride? That was unpardonable. And Astarion had grievously wounded Vel’s.

Gale watched Astarion intently, divining what the Ascendant refused to say. He protected her, he realized. Of course Astarion would hide under his guise of practiced indifference; he always had, since they’d first met. Gale was all too content to let him keep up the pretense, though, nodding at his words.

“I understand. And now Vel has abducted her, and likely taken her to his mansion in Waterdeep.”

A sharp nod from the Ascendant was the only reply, his eyes still firmly avoiding looking at Gale.

Gale let out a small chortle and Astarion’s head whipped around to glare at him.

“To think they kidnapped the hero of Baldur’s Gate out from under her husband, the Vampire Ascendant, and her best friend, the wizard of Waterdeep. Foolish, at best.” Gale smiled and Astarion scoffed in agreement, his face softening marginally.

“I’ll help you, Astarion. Not for you though, mind.” He added, wagging a finger at him playfully.

Astarion scowled at the gesture, irritated, and for a moment Gale was reminded of their adventuring days, bickering and competing for Ban’s affections.

“I know.” Astarion picked up Woe as he stood. “He also stole Rhapsody, the utter prick. They could kill her with that weapon.” Rage and fear warred in Astarion’s trembling voice.

Gale offered the only kindness the Ascendant was likely to accept from him. “But they will not. We will see to that.”

The two men stood as they were teleported into Gale’s tower and Astarion grimaced at the memory of the last time he had been here. They walked out of the teleportation circle; Gale clapped his hands awkwardly.

“Welcome to my most humble abode,” he said with a small bow, “Feel free to wander about and make yourself at home.” He pointed to the guest room, the same one Ban stayed in. “That room is yours until we head out.”

Astarion gave a nod and wordlessly headed into the offered room. He and Gale had taken the carriage to Sorcerous Sundries, where Rolan had allowed them to use his teleportation circle. The two wizards had spent almost half an hour catching up; half an hour that to the Ascendant had felt like a century.

He leaned Woe against the door and sat in the chair by the window. He knew this room, had seen it in Ban’s mind the night the two of them had…

Gods. I can’t think about that right now.

Astarion fought back the tears that threatened to well up yet again, staring out the window at the sprawling city below, focusing on nothing. He’d been to Waterdeep before, to seek out Ban, but seeing it in the light of the setting sun made him wistful. He and Gale had decided to plan and rest tonight before heading out tomorrow. Confronting them in the daytime would ensure that they had the advantage over the Waterdhavian vampires.

We haven’t even been anywhere since the Netherbrain, he thought sadly.

He remembered Ban telling him she wanted to travel, the day after they had defeated the Absolute. He had sold her his empty promises, and then whisked her off into the bowels of the Crimson Palace. He had barely allowed her out.

Remorse filled him then, a sensation he’d been growing more and more acquainted with as each day passed. He’d merely wanted to protect her, cherish her, and he’d thought they would have all the time in the world to travel. Perhaps in the next century, he’d thought. The renovation and the scheming had needed to come first.

How wrong he’d been. How cruel, to keep her under lock and key under the pretense of ensuring her safety, when he’d simply feared her abandoning him at the first chance.

Oh, but the moment she was out of your grasp, she ran, didn’t she?

Yes. But he had deserved to be left. What he had done was contemptible.

The Ascendant tried again.

Well then, how about this? The moment she was allowed free rein around the city, she was taken. She was hurt!

He scoffed to himself. That one was valid, and for a moment he was tempted to let that thought win out. But, no. Vel had been drawn to Ban because Astarion’s behavior had made her run away, for one, and besides - she had been out on her own plenty of times before today.

He knew there was always danger to this kind of existence. Cazador had bleated on and on about this exact topic - the innate competition and envy amongst vampires, their covetousness, their endless scheming against one another. Ban had just been caught in the crossfire.

All this power, all the things he’d given up, all the grief he’d caused her, and for what? He had failed her. Again.

Undeserving. Unworthy. Never enough.

If he could be enough for only one thing, he hoped it would be saving her.

He cast his mind out, searching for hers once again. The now-familiar silence greeted him and was almost comforting. Better that than feeling something like her pain as Vel put his hands on her, or her dying thoughts-

No. She’ll be fine. She has to be.

He needed to keep telling himself that, if he was to keep functioning.

He made a promise to himself to take her everywhere, once this was over.

Ban awakened when the stake was pulled from her chest. She watched in abject horror as it slowly retracted from her body, feeling every inch of it drag in her flesh. It took some time to fully regain consciousness, the wound taking its time to stitch closed. She was dumbfounded. How am I alive? They staked me! Her thoughts were interrupted by the laughter of her captors, and the clanking of chains. A large iron door creaked as it slammed shut.

She realized she was sitting on the floor, manacled to the walls of what seemed to be a dungeon. Her wrists sizzled within the metal bands and it dawned on her that they were pure silver. Biting back the scream of pain that threatened to erupt from her throat, Ban made an attempt to tug on the manacles. Her skin burned, red-hot and blistering, and she immediately stopped, adjusting her posture to ensure the silver no longer touched her skin.

Stuck, without any means of escape, her thoughts turn to Astarion. Does he think I left him again? That I smiled and lied and snuck away at first chance? No. Surely not. He’s looking for me. He must be insane with worry.

Her concern for him was so strong, it broke through the haze of her panic and fear and it finally occurred to her to expand her mind outwards, letting tendrils of thought reach out for him.

She touched his mind, softly, like a caress.

He was about to turn away from the window when he felt her. The touch of her mind was tentative and she was in a great deal of pain. He rushed to envelop her mind with his, to shield her from the worst of it.

Ban? Are you alright?

For a moment, silence. And then, I was staked.

Astarion had thought as much. He’d presumed the extended silence meant she had been incapacitated somehow; a stake would do the trick.

I thought I was dead. But then they pulled it out, and I’m alive, but I can’t get out.

A stake can’t kill you, my love. It can only incapacitate you until it is removed.

Astarion shared his vision with her, showing her the city beneath him, attempting to supplant her feelings of pain with something, anything else.

Ban’s agony inevitably bled into him; he could feel the bite of the silver manacles against his own wrists. He ignored it. He had felt much worse, and he would gladly carry as much of her pain as possible.

Where are you?

Ban sent him an image of a dingy cell. He could smell the odiferous surroundings, could make out the dark, damp dungeon walls. She must be in Vel’s mansion, then.

She winced a little as her arms began to tire and she sagged against the manacles. He wrapped his mind more tightly around hers, hoping sharing the pain might somehow lessen her burden.

I’m coming, he vowed.

I know, love.

Her faith in him flooded their connection, unyielding, carrying no hint of uncertainty. The revelation made his heart swell with joy.

He didn’t sever the connection, holding her throughout the night.

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ithaquasbbg · 8 months

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Almost done yay.. then I’ll find myself some more prompts sk I can stay active (I’m proud of myself)

Won’t you stay, my darling? - Ithaqua x reader

Pairing : Morningstar! Ithaqua x reader

Experimented with the idea of a very down bad, and very touch starved Helel here. Also with the idea that under his persona he shows the world, he’s still the same scared young man he was before his exile.

VERY loosely inspired by the song “curses” by the crane wives

….

The king was utterly obsessed with you, to say the very least. From the way your eyes had a lovely shine to them, to your smile that made his heart flutter every time he saw you; a sensation he believed he’d no longer be able to feel. Every single part of you made him weak at the knees, you were his dream. Though, he could never bring himself to say anything. You were like a fire in his mind, per say, and try as he might, he couldn’t put that fire out.

None of the towns men or women could enthrall him the way you did, make his heart skip a beat like you. Every day he spent without you, it was like the fire of longing in Helel’s mind and heart would grow more and more. It was embarrassing to him, the way he, the king of a utopia had fallen so head over heels for a mere commoner such as yourself. The way he was more than willing to forget his position and do everything to please you was humiliating!

But it’s not until he hosts a ball for all the townspeople to attend he speaks to you for the first time. “My, you look quite lovely tonight, my dear.” He muses, corners of his lips peeking up in that confident smile he’d show to the public, eyes hidden from the world by the mask he’s adorned. You look nervous, getting ready to boy to him before you feel a hand gently grabbing your chin, tilting it upwards towards his face. “No need to bow to me, really, just tell me your name.”

All this time of watching from a distance, and Helel didn’t even know your name! Though you didn’t know of his admiration, and seemingly thought he was looking for another person. “I’m (Name), your majesty.” His smile brightens upon hearing your name, mumbling it to himself in a tone that sounds almost adoring. “That’s a lovely name, really.” His remark causes your cheeks to heat up, a smile creeping onto your own face.

By the end of the night, you find yourself in the ballroom with the king after everyone else had left, even his guards. You had only seen him in his speeches, an imposing ruler in those circumstances. Though, when he was here in front of you now, he seemed awkward to an extent, smitten, that couldn’t be towards you.. could it? Helel’s smile never leaves his face, he can think so much clearer when you’re with him, like the flames had calmed down in his mind, though the longing for you still remained.

And that’s why he finds himself reaching for your hand as you turn to leave that night, holding onto it like a lifeline as you look back at him, a curious expression on your face. “Won’t you stay with me, my darling?” He asks, his normal smirk replaced with an anxious, almost pleading look. Though he’s overjoyed when you nod, a soft smile adorning your lovely face that he loves so much. “Is there any specific reason?” You inquire, to which Helel quickly answers, embarrassment visible on his face afterwards; “I don’t want to be alone tonight, please.”

You think it’s a little strange that the king, one who had seemed so fearsome before this, is begging somebody as low as yourself to stay with him. But something about him makes your heart beat faster, gives you the feeling of butterflies every time you see his genuine smile, not just the smirk he shows the world. A maid walks up to you two as he walks you through his palace, a smile on her face as she asks if she could get the two of you anything.

“Just a nice change of clothing for (Name), if you will” he replies, voice hardening a little more in front of her, though there’s still that hint of gentility he doesn’t have to the public when addressing her. She nods and comes back shortly later with some of the finest clothing you’ve ever seen, handing it to you with a smile. “Tell me if you need anything else tonight, my dear.” She tells you, before walking away, likely to tend to her other duties.

Helel shows you to a room and allows you to change. You meet him a moment later when you step out of the attached bathroom, seeing him sitting on the bed slowly undoing the braids in his hair. “Here, let me help with that.” You whisper, not knowing what makes you sit behind the king, hands running through his hair as you undo the braids, listening to the way he hums as you do so.

Though when it’s time for him to sleep, he hesitates, hands over his mask as if he’s afraid to take it off. “You’re alright, my lord, I will not tell anybody what I will see beneath.” You promise him, watching as he slightly calms down, taking off his mask, albeit cautiously. Though you’re shocked to see the soft features of the former prince in front of you, the man who had been presumed dead years ago. “ ..Prince Helel?-” you ask, feeling a finger press against your lips before he takes your hands, moving them so they cup his cheeks.

“(Name), please, just address me as Helel..” he whispers, shaking at the sensation of hands on his face. It’s been years since he’s been touched in this way, handled carefully by anyone. His desire for affection being buried down under a harsh persona he spent years building up, only for it to come crashing down at the hands of you.

You feel yourself acting without thinking, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs as he crumbles even more into your touch. It’s only a matter of time before he’s laying in your arms under the covers, still shaking at the lovely sensation he seems to have missed so much. “…Stay with me tonight, (Name), that’s all I ask..” he mumbles, eyes dropping in exhaustion.

You nod and whisper a quick “good night” to him as you feel Helel slowly fall asleep in your arms. You were still confused, left unsure why the king had attached to you the way he had. While Helel, on the other hand is filled with happiness for the first time in a while, not only to be good enough to be graced with your presence, but to be held by somebody for the first time in forever, to be cherished the way he craved, even if he would have to worry about putting his act back up the next day.

To Helel, you staying with him, easing the burning in his mind for tonight was better than anything, falling asleep in the arms of his Angel.

#idv fandom #idv fanfic #idv headcanons #idv imagines #idv x reader #idv scenarios #idv matchup #idv ithaqua #idv night watch #identity v ithaqua #ithaqua idv #ithaqua x reader #night watch #night watch idv #idv

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tessa-liam · 2 months

Text

Turning the Page

A Step Back in Time, chapter 11

Choices, The Royal Romance, AU

Series Premise: As Riley Brooks journeys through life as a single parent in New York City, an epiphany strikes as she contemplates the future for herself and her two-year-old son.

Turning the Page Series Masterlist

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!OC Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except William Brooks (Rys) and Matteo Magro, who belongs to this series.

Category: On-going series, contains angst/fluff/depression. Cross-over fic with Choices, Perfect Match.

Rating: M🔞 - Warnings - Series will contain crude language, weapons, NSFW material – not Beta’d - please excuse all errors.

Words: 3268

A Step Back in Time, Chapter 11

Chapter Summary: Liam, Riley and William arrive for a weeklong retreat in Lythikos. Olivia takes Riley ‘under her wing’ to mentor and to offer advice for her return to court. Olivia was determined to get her friend into the right frame of mind and to ultimately get the sparkle back in her eyes.

Music Inspiration: What Was I Made for? Billie Eilish ; Lose Control, Teddy Swims

A/N1: In this alternate universe, after King Constantine orchestrates two individual scandals to humiliate and entrap Riley Brooks and Olivia Nevrakis in shame, Madeleine Amaranth secures her position as the Queen of Cordonia. Riley, as the King’s mistress and Olivia, in self-imposed exile. Tariq is never found.

A/N2: Damien Nazario has been assigned as William’s personal bodyguard. (Series cross-over with ‘Perfect Match’)

‘Cause I, ‘cause I

I don’t know how to feel

But I wanna try

I don’t know how to feel

But someday I might

Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy

Something I’m not, but something I can be

Something I wait for

Something I’m made for

Something I’m made for’

Cordonian Royal Palace, Capital

If you told Riley Brooks that she would be living in Cordonia, in the Royal palace, with the King of Cordonia just last summer ... she would not believe you. She would tell you that ‘once upon a time’, she fell in love with that King and competed for his hand in marriage in his social season. By reason of the cruelty of fate, and the callousness of the Royal court, that dream would be ripped away from her by a world that was foreign to her. Where outsiders, or commoners, were frowned upon and/or deemed lesser than the noble class. She would be relegated to be the other woman, the mistress to that immensely powerful man whose duty to his country dictated that he must marry a ‘chosen’ woman, even though he did not love her.

...and she had to watch that man she loved, marry another.

...because she loved him, she remained. Confiding to him, ‘I’ve made my decision ... I want to be with you. I don’t care what it looks like.’

...and it broke her.

In the Royal east wing, inside William’s bedroom, Riley meticulously packed his clothing into a large suitcase. Carefully selecting each item with love and care for their winter vacation in the Alps of Lythikos, she folded his small woolen sweaters with matching pants and jeans. Soft mittens and a woolen cap were nestled next to his favorite plushie, Scooby; ready to go with him on his snowy adventures.

"Li Li, sweetheart, come here please," Riley called out, her voice echoing through the spacious room. William bounded towards her; his eyes wide as he watched his mother pack his belongings.

"We go away, Mama?" William asked, his voice filled with wonder.

"Yes, my sweet boy," Riley replied with a smile, scooping him up into her arms and placing him down on his bed. "We're going to the mountains with your father to visit a good friend of ours. It's going to be so much fun."

William's eyes sparkled with delight at the mention of his father. In the five short months since he met his father for the first time, the bond between father and son had grown stronger exponentially. William adored Liam, who always had time for his son's playful antics in New York and now, here in Cordonia, as well. Despite his Royal duties, Liam made the point to spend as much time with William as possible. Riley was not surprised. Liam often spoke about what kind of father he wanted himself to be. The exact opposite of his own father. She could tell that Liam was trying his best to make up for all the time they had lost. And she could not be happier.

Riley continued to pack, tucking away William's favorite books and toys to keep him entertained during their trip in Lythikos. She had already arranged for snacks with the kitchens, ensuring they would have everything they needed for the long drive to the northern chateau.

Riley looked up, catching Liam's gaze.

Liam stood and silently watched, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. A gentle smile played on his lips as he watched Riley packing their son's belongings for their trip, while William happily tried to help his mother.

"Come, my King," Riley softly spoke and smiled with a playful glint in her eyes. "Help me double-check if we have everything for our little adventurer."

Liam pushed himself away from the doorframe and strolled over to Riley; he crouched down beside William, who was wide-eyed with anticipation.

“Daddy, look.” William pointed to the large suitcase, smiling happily at his father.

"Hello, my little prince," Liam greeted, ruffling William's hair. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

William giggled and nodded his head vigorously, his eyes reflecting the admiration and adoration he held for his father. Liam chuckled, “I see you have lots of toys packed.”

William climbed over to the suitcase and plucked his favorite plush to show his father.

“Ah, I see you packed your little dog. Is he your special friend?”

“Yes, Daddy. I love puppies.” William grinned, squeezing his toy.

“You do? That is good to know,” Liam winked at Riley as William returned his toy to be packed.

“I will meet you two in an hour. All right, love?” Liam asked Riley.

“Okay, Daddy,” William answered as Liam and Riley chuckled together at his response.

As Liam left to go to his study, Damien entered, bowing to Liam, “Your Majesty”.

Liam smiled and nodded 'hello' in response as he walked towards his assistant waiting in the hall followed by his security detail.

Nevrakis Chateau, Lythikos, Cordonia

Driving through the majestic mountains, Riley stared at the vista overlooking the Nevrakis chateau. Memories flooded her mind as they passed the frozen lake below. The lake where she, along with the other suitors skated on, with Liam during his social season years ago.

Riley shivered. Was it from seeing the beautiful winter landscape or from those memories of past competitions for the man she loved? Riley’s thoughts were interrupted by the happy sound of her son’s voice.

William giggled; totally enthralled by Liam’s storytelling of his past adventures in the snow. The sight of father and son was precious to Riley, as she softly smiled at the two of them. William was sitting on Liam’s lap as he pointed to the large chateau coming into view ahead.

The escalade stopped at the grand entrance of the Nevrakis chateau as members of the royal guard went into formation and opened the vehicle doors.

As they made their way toward the entrance, a flurry of snowflakes fell from the sky, adding a layer of white powder to the ground.

"Wow, this is beautiful.” Riley raised her arms to the sky. “I remember my first visit here during your social season.”

"It is. If I remember correctly, it was just as cold." Liam quipped adjusting William’s scarf.

Members of Olivia’s waitstaff greeted the party as they entered the lavish and grand estate. Standing at the base of the grand staircase, Olivia grinned as William squealed at the pair of Alaskan malamutes sitting inside the foyer.

“King Liam, Lady Riley and Prince William ... welcome to my quaint northern lodge. I am delighted to host the three of you.”

Liam approached Olivia and kissed her cheek, then gestured to Riley and William to join them.

"Olivia, it's been far too long since I last visited. The grounds are magnificent.”

"Indeed, thank you, Liam.” Olivia beamed with pride.

"Thank you for hosting us. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.” Riley added.

"Anything for my dear friends."

Olivia's attention was drawn to William, who was petting the dogs and giggling.

"Well, hello again, prince William." Olivia walked over and knelt beside and offered treats to her two canine companions.

William looked up at her and smiled.

"Hewwo."

"He's even cuter than I remember," Olivia grinned. “This one,” she motioned to the brown tipped dog, is ‘Mischa’. And this big guy is ‘Zeus’, "she cooed.

"Now, Riley." Olivia stood and walked forward slowly, looping her arm through Riley's arm and leading her inside. "We have lots to catch up on. Liam, make yourself at home. Your Royal suite is ready for you. Gustav will be your personal attendant for your stay."

"Thank you, Liv. That is much appreciated."

"You are quite welcome. Now, Riley, let us get started on our girl time.” Liam winked at Riley, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled at Riley’s faux scared expression.

"Okay, sounds good." Riley shook her head grinning as she walked by Liam.

Olivia and Riley climbed the grand staircase and disappeared around a corner while William sat on the floor playing with the dogs.

"William, let's get you changed and settled." Liam extended his hand down for his son to take.

"Okay, Daddy."

“Bye bye puppies.” William exuberantly spoke to the large dogs.

***

Riley and Olivia sat on a plush sofa in front of a large window overlooking the mountains. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the snowy landscape.

"It's so beautiful here." Riley marveled at the picturesque view.

"I'm glad you like it.” Olivia proudly acknowledged as she handed a large glass filled with chardonnay to Riley.

Olivia sat back and watched Riley; her expression turning serious.

"Riley, I know that things have been difficult for you since you've come back, but you have to remember, you're a force of nature. You are stronger than you think.” Olivia was continuing the conversation of their last visit at the palace.

Riley looked down at her hands, which held onto the wine glass with a death grip. She knew the invitation to spend the week in Olivia's duchy was not just a holiday for her, Liam and William. Her once adversarial friend, and now, her good friend, wanted to assist her with reuniting with Liam.

"I can see the pain and sadness in your eyes." Olivia continued.

"Oh... "

"How is it really going? Riley, how is everything between you and Liam?"

Riley sighed and set her wine glass on the table.

"I'm...I'm not sure."

"Do you still love him?"

"Yes, of course. I have never stopped loving him.”

"Do you think he loves you?"

"Yes.” There was a small smile followed by biting her top lip.

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'm not sure."

Olivia shook her head and sighed.

"You have to trust him, Riley. He loves you. And I can see how happy William makes him.”

"I know that.”

"But there's something else, isn't there?" Olivia eyed her friend for clues.

"It's just that... we've spent so much time apart. And now that we are back together, things feel different.”

"I think I understand. That is quite normal, all things considered."

"And I'm worried that he'll eventually resent me for leaving him while I was pregnant with William."

"He could never resent you, Riley. You are the mother of his child. It'# not in his DNA.”

“I keep thinking that that there will be another scandal around the corner. That something or someone will tear us apart.”

"What happened to that confident and free spirited American girl? The one who turned the court on its' head. Where did she go?"

"I know what you are asking. I feel scared; waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

"Scared of what? And why?"

"That he won't forgive me."

"Riley, listen to me. That is your guilt talking.”

Olivia reached over and grabbed Riley's hands, looking her in the eye.

"Liam loves you. He will always love you. You and William are his world. And I know that he wants nothing more than to make you happy.”

"But..."

"But, nothing. There is no 'but'.”

"Okay." Riley was not convinced. "But, Madeleine ..."

"Is out of the picture; where Liam is concerned. You have the power of position now, make Madeleine feel it."

Riley looked at her friend and took a staggered breath.

"Most importantly, you hold the King’s heart...show the world, show Cordonia, show Madeleine what that means...you will bring her to her knees." Olivia sneered.

"This is why I wanted you to come for a visit. To remind you of who you are and what you are capable of.”

“Olivia ...” Riley sighed, shaking her head, ‘no’.

"Now. Come with me."

Olivia stood and motioned for Riley to follow.

Olivia took her down to an armory in the bowels of the chateau.

"Here we are." Olivia turned and motioned to a wall of weapons.

"What are we doing down here?" Riley asked, eyeing the collection of weapons displayed on the wall.

"We're going to do some training.”

"Training? For what?" Riley questioned, perplexed.

"For the press."

"Why do I need training for the press? With weapons?"

"Because they're vultures. They will try to get a rise out of you. They will ask rude and invasive questions. They will try to trip you up.”

"But why do you think I need training? I know you haven’t forgotten that I was subjected to them during Liam’s social season."

"Because they're relentless idiots.” Olivia sneered.

"Okay, but ...”

“Now that you are back in Cordonia, the mother of the crown prince, no less ...they want to find out your intentions with their king.”

Riley took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

"Don't worry. I'm going to teach you how to handle them.” Olivia confidently proclaimed with a smirk.

"Thank you, Olivia.” Riley sighed as she eyed the collection of pointy weaponry again.

"Of course. Now, let us get started.”

Riley was grateful for Olivia's help and advice. She knew that she was right about the press, having dealt with them through the engagement tour, after the scandal was brought to light.

Riley didn't have to know that. At least, not yet.

And she knew that she needed to be prepared. Riley understood the extent to which the press would dig and manipulate information to get a juicy soundbite. But she was not aware that Madeleine would have her own agenda to discredit and sabotage her at every chance she got, all the way from Morocco. However, Olivia was well aware of Madeleine’s spite and her bitterness over losing the crown.

"First off. I want you to choose a weapon." Olivia pointed to her collection of weaponry mounted on the wall.

"A weapon?" Riley’s eyes were wide looking at the selection before her.

"Yes. You cannot fight the press with words alone.”

"Um...okay." Riley answered sceptically.

Riley looked at each weapon closely. There were swords, halberds, axes and daggers, among others.

She picked up a sword.

"Hmm...a sword? Interesting choice."

"It's light and I can move fast.”

"Good. Particularly good.” Olivia nodded approvingly. “That would be a weapon that Liam would choose.”

“Really?” Riley admonished.

"Now, we'll practice some moves.”

"Moves?"

"Yes. Maneuvers. Stances. Blocking and parrying.”

"Wow. This is serious.”

"Indeed. I'll start slow, but don't let your guard down.”

"I won't.” Riley responded warily.

"Good. Now, attack me."

"What?" Riley looked aghast.

"Attack me."

"Oh, um ... okay."

Riley raised the sword and ran at Olivia, who easily dodged the blow.

"Is that the best you've got?"

"No.”

Riley lunged at her again, and again, Olivia sidestepped each attack.

"You're leaving yourself open.” Olivia challenged.

"I am?"

"Yes. If this was a real fight, I would have cut you down by now." Olivia chirped.

"Oh.” Riley let out a large breath, wondering to herself how this lesson was going to end.

"Here. Let me show you."

Olivia demonstrated a series of moves, her sword flashing and swooshing in the air.

"Now, you try.”

Riley imitated the movements, her sword swishing through the air.

"Better.” Olivia critiqued.

"Thanks." Riley answered questionably.

"Again.” Olivia commanded with Riley going on the defensive.

They continued to spar, their swords clashing together. Riley was impressed with Olivia's skills and ability to read her opponent and react accordingly.

As they continued to fight, Riley became more comfortable with the sword, her moves becoming more fluid and graceful. Liam slipped into the back of the room, quietly watching the sparring.

"Excellent.” Olivia praised.

"Thanks.” Riley smiled at the compliment, picking up a bottle of water.

"Now we need a target." Olivia led her to a stuffed, practice dummy.

Riley chuckled as she watched her friend attach a large face photo of Madeleine onto the head with a dagger.

"Here, let me help you." Olivia handed her an assortment of knives, before she expertly threw her dagger.

Riley's first few throws landed wide, but she quickly found her mark, sinking several blades into the center of the picture.

"Nicely done.”

"Thanks."

"Feel better?" Olivia snickered as Riley laughed.

“Yes! Yes, actually I do. But I don't understand. How is this going to help me?”

"When the press asks you questions, you need to stay calm and confident. If they try to rattle you, throw them off balance. Focus on your target.” Olivia pointed to the picture.

"Let's practice."

"All right."

"Imagine I'm a member of the press. And I ask you, 'Lady Riley, where have you been all these years?'"

Riley cleared her throat and straightened her posture.

"I've been raising my son in New York. It's where he was born and raised.”

"Why did you leave Cordonia?"

"I left to protect my child. And because I knew that King Liam had an obligation to the Queen.”

"What are your intentions now that you've returned?”

"I'm here to support my son and to be a part of his life.”

"Do you still love the King?”

"Yes, of course."

“No! STOP!!!”

Olivia moved assertively towards Riley. "This is where you say, 'that's all the questions for today’ and then you walk away from the microphones. Show confidence. Show determination. Show stoicism. Control the narrative.”

Riley raised her eyebrow. "How did you get so good at this, Olivia?"

Olivia shrugged, her shoulders rising slightly. "I'm the duchess of Lythikos. People talk. And sometimes they don't realize I'm listening."

Riley nodded, a new respect for Olivia blossoming in her heart with a renewed sense of determination in her step.

Feeling his arms, Riley giggled and leaned back against him with a content smile.

Liam sauntered up to Riley from behind, wrapping his arms around Riley’s waist.

Riley turned around to look at Liam, her eyes filled with love.

“The Royal guard will then lead you away from the gathering,” Liam interjected. “You will never be left without protection.”

"Thank you, Liam.” Riley tearfully smiled.

"I want you to know that while I am alive, you will always have a home in Cordonia. And I will never let anyone threaten that ... or you ... ever again.”

Riley felt a warm feeling in her chest and a sense of calm.

Maybe everything was going to be all right, after all. As long as she had Liam and William, she knew she could face anything.

"Liam, I love you."

"I love you, too, Riley."

Liam pressed his lips to hers, and Riley melted into his embrace. They kissed for a long moment, savoring the feel of each other's bodies.

"Come, let's go get some sleep. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow."

"I'm ready.*

"Pleasant dreams you two. Good night."

"Olivia, thank you for your expertise. It is much appreciated.

"Your welcome, Liam. It's my pleasure."

Good night." Riley called out.

Riley followed Liam out of the room, her hand firmly grasped in his.

And for the first time since she had come back to Cordonia, she truly felt like she was home.

"Thank you, Olivia," she whispered as she lay in Liam's arms, his steady heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

Thanks for reading; please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from this series.

My current tag list:

Perma tags: @ao719 @queenmiarys @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @alj4890 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @harleybeaumont @busywoman @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @imjusthereforliam @lovingchoices14 @kyra75 @tinkie1973 @emkay512 @malblk21 @kristinamae093 @charlotteg234

TRR Liam & Riley TTP: @emersyn-in-cordonia @mainstreetreader @belencha77 @walkerdrakewalker @iluaaa @mysticalfangirl @queenwalton @bascmve01 @umccall71 @choicesfrog @amandablink @ownworldresident

Submissions:@choicesficwriterscreations

#tessa liam writes #the royal romance #liam rys #trr #riley brooks #trr fanfic #choices fic writers creations #king liam #king liam rys #choices liam x oc #turning the page

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belit0 · 7 months

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Indra being presented with a line up of girls to thoroughly “inspect” and choose from. Then selecting Y/N as the lucky one to bear his child? 👀

I still find myself unable to express the love I have for this man😩❤️‍🩹

(Y/N) stands nervously but with her head held high, unable to stop playing with her coat sleeve between her fingers. Her mother would scold her, tell her she's wrinkling her clothes, but nothing stopped her parents from surrendering her to the treacherous ideas of a man with more wickedness than soul.

On either side of her, two rows of at least 15 women seem to be even more affected, some even sobbing quietly. Everyone knows who Otsutsuki Indra is, no one with any common sense would want to get in his way, but what can you do when you are literally shoved under the shoe of a giant, ready to be crushed by him and unable to run away?

About 35 women undergo a rigorous inspection, and only 1 of them will make it out alive. The procedure has been going on for days, and so far none have survived.

(Y/N) is not overconfident, no, but dying at the hands of the greatest villain in history is better than dying at the hands of her abusive mother, either good fate if it ends her existence. She must only wait, meet the man's gaze, and feel a slight sting as her throat is slit.

She has watched that sequence play out over the past two days, having arrived with one of the last batches of women and observed as at least 100 spilled their blood in the main hall of the Uchiha palace. Indra is ruthless, killing without a second glance on more than one occasion, ruling out possibilities by standards only he is aware of.

There is no way to survive his inspection, so far no one has succeeded.

The girl next to her faints from fear, and a guardsman drags her body to the back wall. (Y/N) doesn't need to turn around to know where that wet, stabbing noise came from, thought that at least the girl died without being awake to experience it.

The place, already almost completely silent in itself, falls into a haunting lack of sound when the infamous Uchiha leader enters the room, followed by two assistants, those who help when inspecting.

The man takes a few minutes to get started, perhaps building momentum or simply enjoying dragging out the agony, but when his eyes finally settle on the first lady, it doesn't take long for him to start dismissing them. Standing in the middle and not daring to look in his direction, she hears that deep voice say "no" constantly, followed by the screams of some girl begging for her life and blood hitting the floor. The cries increase, and it seems to escalate Indra's anger as well, for he himself slits each sobbing woman's throat.

A girl away, (Y/N) feels him pause.

He takes his time with the poor lady, circles around her and moves her hair, looks at her face intently, her body. "What is your name?" He asks without any remarkable emotion in his voice, and (Y/N) thinks the moment of truth has finally arrived. The Otsutsuki chose the recipient of his heirs, and all the rest will be condemned like a cow to the slaughter.

"K... Ku-uro." The girl answers, but it is the last sound heard from her. Her throat is mercilessly reamed by those evil hands, as the poor girl falls dead to the ground.

"Ugly."

(Y/N) feels beads of cold sweat roll down her lower back, having convinced herself that it was all over once and for all. She raises her head again to rectify her lack of fear in front of the man, and when he finally stands in front of her, she looks him in the eye.

Not many people can say they lived to tell the tale after facing those black orbs, but Indra seems to approve of her bravery in not killing her instantly.

The man is tall, intimidatingly large and with a reputation to match his frightening physique, needing to hide behind no one and carrying the weight of his actions on his shoulders, imposing. He glares at her intently but unreadably, and she struggles not to lose, not to let herself be won over.

One hand is raised to her face, and a long finger moves hair from the middle, an overly delicate gesture considering the context. Neither of his two assistants speak, but both take notes. "What is your name?"

"(Y/N)." Her voice does not tremble and she is proud of it. She will die with bravery, honor, power.

"Show me your neck." He demands, doesn't ask, and assesses intently as she moves the fullness of her hair upward, exposing a smooth expanse of skin any man would desire.

"Turn around." Again, (Y/N) follows his intrunctions as if a faithful dog, thinking how ridiculous her last moments of life are. Who can say they played the jester for Indra himself before they died? Not many.

Minutes go on forever, and staring at the wall does not allow her to decipher what is going on in her surroundings. If only someone would speak, if only one of the women who are still alive would make a noise, something....

She thinks she is about to be executed from behind when she feels a hand on her shoulder, and instinctively closes her eyes to prevent at least the final displeasure. Her lungs deflate in a nervous exhalation, finishing releasing what will be the last air in her body, when she senses a mouth too close to her ear.

"Are you scared?" Indra asks as if the answer is not obvious, enjoying the terror he creates in his audience. Every move, every action, is one more brick solidifying the terrible reputation he carries with him, and seems to love how people fear him.

(Y/N) doesn't answer, having seen too many women fall into that trap and lend themselves to a quick execution. The Uchiha leader doesn't like to be spoken to without permission. She tries to stay as still as possible, frozen and filled with a new survival instinct that runs through her veins.

Resignation to die slowly washes away, and she begins to think that maybe she should fight, at least try to slap him before perishing.

The world would remember her differently if she managed to sully the man's untouchable reputation, if a woman managed to hit him even once before being destroyed under his hands. People would have reason to stop fearing him with their lives, see that he is reachable, and perhaps even begin to laugh at him. Once he proclaims his hateful "no", once he rejects her, she will jump on him before any of his guards can kill her.

She is ready to listen, to react quickly, but not to what finally reaches her ears. "I want her." Those words echo against the four walls of the great hall, and suddenly the man's two attendants are holding her by the shoulders and arms, forcing her to walk in the opposite direction from the one he takes.

The girl instantly feels blood spilling onto the floor, those women still waiting to be inspected after her being killed mercilessly but at least quickly, body after body falling limp to the floor and staining everything in their path.

(Y/N) can't decide if she was lucky, or if she would rather be dead.

#indra otsutsuki x reader #otsutsuki indra x reader #indra x reader #otsutsuki indra #indra otsutsuki #indra #uchiha clan #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden #naruto #naruto x reader

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agendabymooner · 11 months

Text

supermodel ! daniel r. x ofc (måneskin member!ofc)

"yeah, she's a master, my compliments."

summary: an episode of the måneskin tour vlog was uploaded and people are not having it. OR lester really tried not to cry as she spoke about her engagement and life with daniel ricciardo. danny only wanted to fulfill her dream without her worrying about the cost.

content warning: brief use of explicit language, fluff, dirty jokes (no smut), lester being me irl (mentions of money and middle class girlies), måneskin members making their appearance, smau/video clips content.

note: writing this to fulfill my imagination that someone would come swooping in and save me from my student loan (a joke, i will be pursuing press relations this year hopefully). i'm going to uni this year. also. we've had way too much unhinged danny and lester. that's why most of the posts i'm uploading are fluff or relating to babysitting toto wolff's kids. enjoy xx

masterlist

MÅNESKIN TOUR VLOG #2

[first caption: (italian) my fiancé is asking me if we should have a rustic-themed wedding. i told him "mio caro, if we want a good marriage, we can't use our yeehaw persona as a factor of our wedding!" he asked me if i had an input, all i said was "i haven't thought of anything yet."]

[second: person: and your wedding is in december. lester: we've hired a wedding planner, of course. whenever he's on a race or at home and i'm touring we would have a zoom meeting with our coordinator. i'm not being useless, i promise. my planner has been useful so far, and we've already come up with guests, location, entourages. it's challenging but exciting.]

[third: (italian) "your wedding is going to be amazing, from what i can hear" i hope so. danny pushed me into planning it out with him because i've told him about not wanting to impose. everything were so expensive- i still think everything's pricey. he pushed me, asking me what i want for our wedding. he didn't like it when i think about money, because apparently it's stopping me from pursuing my dreams.]

[fourth: (italian) i like to be independent and earn money on my own. but the kind of wedding that i wanted-it wasn't on my budget. when danny said "tell me what you want" all i can think about is him taking control of the matter. his budget, not mine. beggars can't be choosers.]

[fifth: he wants an answer. at first i wanted to joke, but then i remembered vividly watching a tape from the wedding of princess diana. she had this really nice dress. and she got married and she had all of these pictures in a palace. i told him, "if you don't mind, i would like to get married in a castle. be a princess for a day." he looked at me funny for thinking that he would be bothered by anything that i'm saying]

[sixth: i still feel like i'm imposing whenever i get invited to gatherings with/by his friends or family. it's like the same with (my) paddock passes- i know i've earned my place but it still feels like i'm not one of them and never will be. but the thing is: i love danny. he makes me feel like i belong somehow. and i feel like i'd be more than willing to give my body and soul to him as soon as he asks for it.]

[seventh: *sniffles* (italian) i need to stop speaking about him especially if he's not here. he's got some sort of sense when i speak about him and he'd text me (to ask) if i was chatting shit. but he's been amazing. i cannot imagine spewing out the worst things especially to/about him. those two years of being together and my six years of pining on twitter were worth it. i just hope he sees me as his equal not as a burden.]

bonus !!!

f1tillywolff posted !

user1 replied: "he's fiancé" sounds like danny saying "i'm baby!" while sipping on an apple juice lmfao 🤣

user2 replied: i'm sure with learning how to speak french fast, she should be able to learn and speak wombat.

user3 replied to user2: bestie wtf is speaking wombat? 😭

user2 replied to user3: it's when you can't speak joey, you resort to wombat.

f1tillywolff posted !

user1 replied: why am i even excited for the reception nood art painting 💀 it's nice to know she's still as messy

user2 replied: first pic really said "lester alessandro, h0rny on main, caught in 4k" 😔

f1tillywolff replied to user2: nah that's just lester being lester. it's been the wildest 2 years for us danester dumpster fans.

user3: her attention going from her fiancé to the mechanical bull really shows you where her priorities lie 🤡🤣

loressandro replied to user3: everything reminds me of him 🤠

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dmbakura · 5 months

Note

It's clear throughout the game that he absolutely does not hate the idea of having his own spawn(s) and the ability to control people. He did not "become what he hates". Even without that, there are pretty blatant distinctions between AA and Cazador. Is it healthy behavior for a relationship? No. But again, I think damning someone to a life of never being able to see the sun again, and not being able to go outdoors during the day without fear of literally dying simply so they don't have power is also not very good.

Why did you send this to me? Have I even been arguing this points recently to get this out of the blue? Anyways

[EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER NOISE]

Nobody argues he isn't an opportunistic power hungry little shit but he actually DOES express relief at not having any spawn post Cazador encounter (if not ascended.) Also he never expresses specific interest in making spawn of his own pre-ascension.

Nobody argues he's exactly 1:1 like Cazador either. There isn't enough story content to say if he'll be better or worse than Cazador in the long run, but that isn't relevant to the cycle of abuse themes present in the story. The ascended ending is the ending where he's unable to move past his fear, and so he consolidates power because that is, from his own perspective, the only option he has to feel safe. Tav enables his behavior, and this leads to the deaths of 7000. He starts emulating Cazador's behavior, right down to the "rules" imposed on him. Within the game itself, there are plenty of dialogue options directly comparing him to Cazador. This is not subtext! This is an intentional parallel that exists in the game for a narrative reason! "Astarion doesn't torture Tav" yeah OK, I'm sure Cazador thought he was a merciful master compared to Vellioth too. Abusers often consider themselves "kind" compared to whoever had power over them, and disparage their victim for being "ungrateful." Hmm. What is Astarion doing in the epilogue where he and Tav have a fight at the party? Subconsciously or not, he does become what he hates. You even acknowledge this is not healthy! Why is it such a stretch to think the writers are intentionally trying to make a point with him? Why does this behavior not exist in the spawn ending? Just THINK for one second.

As for the sun thing. If you value him walking in the sun that much, that's fine. He doesn't seem to though, given he either immediately starts talking about blotting it out and holes up in Cazador's palace (if ascended) or gets over it and fully embraces the dark (if spawn).

There is nothing wrong with ascending him, but my fucking god bro the constant disregard if very blatant themes in his story is fucking crazy. You could have just kept this to yourself and written your own fanfic or post or whatever but you brought it directly to my inbox for some reason.

#do people just send me this dumb inane shit because they want to be humiliated or what #or is it some ploy so i write more meta #ascended astarion

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yujo-nishimura · 3 months

Text

Whispers of the Desert Kingdom - Part 2

Warning: Sir Crocodile x fem reader, mention of masturbation, English is not my native language, not proof-read, age gap

words: 766

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

You were always obedient to your father's requests, which is why Vivi had joined the pirates while you stayed in the country. However, you couldn't shake off the feeling of suspicion regarding this sudden order.

"Has the king given any specific reason for me not to meet the visitor?" you inquire, sensing Pell's avoidance of eye contact and his hesitation, indicating that he was lying.

"Well, for now, there hasn't been any reason given," Pell responds, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Very well, then. Please bring me some breakfast, and I will commence my studies," you say, releasing Pell from his uncomfortable position near the door, understanding the guilt he must feel for having to lie to you.

He swiftly leaves your room, and you can hear the door being locked from the outside. It seemed like an unreasonable measure in your eyes, but you sigh and slump your shoulders. All this commotion and excitement surrounding a visitor you're not supposed to meet? What could this possibly be about?

As you walk towards your desk, your eyes catch sight of the books for today's study. Opening the drawer, you retrieve your feather, ink, and pen. However, out of the corner of your eye, you notice a sudden commotion outside. Curiosity piqued, you swiftly step towards the window, gently lifting the curtain to get a better look.

Before you, a group of finely dressed individuals arrive, and amidst them stands Chaka, the dark-haired second warrior of the palace, who has always been a true friend to you, much like Pell. He bows respectfully, and as your gaze scans the gathering, you spot a tall figure approaching. Your heart skips a beat as you recognize him. Towering in stature, with a muscular build, slicked-back purple hair, and a cigar clenched between his teeth, he exudes an aura of power. His extravagant attire fits his status - it is Sir Crocodile, the second richest man in the kingdom and one of the most influential figures in the town of Alubarna. You not only know him by his formidable reputation as a warlord of the sea, protected by the government, but also by personal acquaintance. Five years ago, when you were still young, you had the opportunity to meet him at a banquet attended by the kingdom's esteemed personalities and mayors, accompanying your father.

At the age of 17, your father introduced you to Sir Crocodile. He was much older than you and his imposing presence, coupled with his cold eyes, intimidated you. Throughout the banquet, you barely interacted with anyone else, instead focusing on discreetly observing Crocodile, captivated by his appearance.

This initial encounter sparked a mild obsession within you. After returning home, you found yourself frequently thinking about him. Over the following months and years, you would spend your weekend evenings sneaking into the local casino that he owned, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. However, encountering him there was a rare occurrence. He seldom mingled with his customers or the commoners, and most of the time, you left disappointed, unable to even lay eyes on him.

In the span of those five years, you were fortunate enough to see him on only three occasions. However, you lacked the courage to approach him, and Crocodile himself never recognized you or made any effort to engage with you. Your infatuation gradually transformed into a deep longing, causing many sleepless nights as you lay awake in bed, imagining his beautiful muscular chest beneath his luxurious attire. You fantasized about his golden hook gently caressing your skin, and the mere thought sent shivers down your spine, often leading you to touch yourself in desire and solitude.

As the princess of the kingdom, you were acutely aware of the need to maintain proper decency, and your infatuation with this man conflicted with those expectations.

Observing him as he made his way towards the palace, Chaka warmly welcoming him, it suddenly dawned on you that he was the highly anticipated and esteemed visitor everyone had been eagerly awaiting. Your heart raced, and a flush of excitement spread across your skin. Why had your father extended an invitation to the only man who held such immense significance in your world?

As you reluctantly tore your gaze away from the window, a sense of dizziness overwhelmed you. Just as you were about to step back, you gasped in sheer awe. Crocodile had lifted his eyes, meeting your gaze through the glass. Your lips parted gently, and disbelief washed over you. He smiled—an enchanting sight—his dark eyes gleaming through the wisps of smoke from his cigars.

#one piece #sir crocodile x y/n #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile one piece #x reader #yujowriting #sir crocodile #alabasta

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hyperfixationsporfavor · 5 months

Text

True Form Sukuna/Reader: A Moment in Time (Part 5- The Arrival)

Author's Note: Hello pretty readers! I'm not entirely confident with this chapter so I held off posting it for awhile. Any feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy!

Warnings: implied violence, implied nsft

The carriage rocked back and forth on the rocky country road.

“Won’t you look at me?” Sukuna sadistically coaxed.

Please.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he threatened.

And so you do, meeting his eyes, trying not to go mad with fear. Bloody red irises pin you to the corner you huddled in.

You had remained still since you had departed from the capitol. The voice of the young servant boy calling out to you almost brought you to tears. You knew besides the powerless youth no one would care for your well being, no one would remember you as Sukuna sunk his teeth into your heart.

“Are you frightened maid?” he coyly asked.

Oh his arrogance enraged you, but it did minutely relieve your nerves enough to answer him.

“Shouldn’t I be? Lord Sukuna,” you asked, delivering a sharpened tone in your honoring of him.

This wasn’t unnoticed by your captor.

Before you could blink he extended his lower right arm and took your chin in between his fingers, using his left lower arm to pull you towards him.

“I’ll advise you to watch your tone when you address me.”

His warning caused a cold sweat to run down your back, laced with venom and guaranteed execution.

But the feeling of his hands on your body stirred something else, something you couldn’t quite place. You had remembered those hands from somewhere, a memory where they hadn’t frightened you.

Your train of thought was interrupted when the carriage came to a halt and Uraume poked their head inside.

“My lord, a situation has arisen.”

“What is it?”

Sukuna stepped out of the carriage and was greeted by a small family of farmers. They all dropped to their knees and averted their eyes in a fearful display of respect.

“L-Lord Sukuna, we apologize for burdening you with our presence,” the patriarch stammered.

“Tell him what you told me, peasant,” Uraume instructed.

So the farmer explained the issue.

A group of bandits had looted their rice crop in the middle of the night, and had done the same to others in the area.

Sukuna honestly could have cared less about this family or any of the others who had found themselves on the receiving end of the thieves' daggers.

However, he knew if he left this issue unattended others would encroach on his territory and think him a fool. No, he’d take these petty nuisances and mutilate them, string them from the outer walls of his temple, and make an example of them.

He turned to Uraume.

“I’ll handle this, take the maid back to the temple.”

You peered through the curtains of the carriage and observed the scene.

The family that kneeled before Sukuna consisted of a mother, father, and a small daughter. The child didn’t fully grasp the threat that towered before her, she simply mirrored her parents actions.

As her father explained the situation she peeked up and noticed you.

Who were you?

She hadn’t recognized you from the village.

Perhaps you were to Sukuna what her father was to her mother.

The King of Curses had a queen.

After Sukuna took his leave, you and Uraume continued on towards the temple. They reluctantly joined you in the carriage for the remainder of the journey.

The flat farmlands began to transform into mountainous terrains, dense with an imposing forest.

It was here, where Sukuna’s temple was hidden.

The carriage suddenly stopped and Uraume stood up, dusting off their robes.

“Follow me,” they ordered.

You reluctantly did as they said, not wanting to incur their masters' wrath.

Uraume led you up a steep pathway of stairs, something that visitors would have to conquer if they wanted to reach Sukuna.

You struggled, lagging behind Uraume who effortlessly made the trek up. After what felt like an eternity the two of you finally arrived.

The palace you had worked at had been a sizable structure, but it was dwarfed by the temple. It loomed over you with a threatening aura. You could only imagine how many had met their demise on these grounds. The worshipers, prisoners, and sorcerers who had been devoured behind the doors.

“This will be where you live from now on,” Uraume announced as the two of you entered the temple.

“I can’t imagine you’re happy about that,” you muttered, knowing well that the only person who had the authority to take your life was Sukuna.

They just scowled at your sarcasm.

“I’m not particularly worried. I doubt you’ll stay long.”

Uraume led you to the throne room to await the return of their master. Knowing Sukuna, the bandits would be dealt with quickly enough.

“Stay here,” they ordered. “Or else-”

“Uraume,” a voice called out.

An elderly man entered through the doors you had just come in with such nonchalance it was almost astounding. His wooden cane echoed through the room with each step he took.

Uraume scowled at the stranger. “What do you want Kenjaku? I’m busy.”

“I’ve come to discuss business, and I’d prefer to do it without the presence of that hedonistic brat’s conquest.”

You tensed up, knowing fully well he was addressing you.

Uraume clenched their jaw, for some reason, choosing not to end the old man’s life as quickly as they ended Yorozu’s.

They begrudgingly nodded and shot a warning look in your direction. “Don’t move.”

Uraume and the old man known as Kenjaku had left you to your wits in the locked room.

You turned to face the throne, dipping yourself forward to mockingly bow towards it.

Was this the room you would meet your demise in?

It wasn’t as if you had any option besides death at Sukuna’s hands.

Did you?

You couldn’t go back to the capitol, certainly not.

The lord of the house would turn you away, and if he had died the others would follow suit and extend a personal invitation for Sukuna to come to the capitol to partake in an elaborate feast where the main dish would be your severed head.

But your persistence kept pestering you, not allowing you to fall before Sukuna’s throne and burst into tears.

You walked around the throne room observing the walls decorated in elaborate tapestries depicting war, and the carnage it left in its path. You stopped in front of one that depicted a woman holding her baby, shielding him from the monster that threatened her. You reached out and pressed your fingers against her cheek, drawn to the tears woven in.

As you leaned forward you felt something hollow.

Letting curiosity get the better of you you pushed the tapestry aside and discovered a small opening.

No, it couldn’t be. A way out?

The opening revealed a long hallway, and at the end, an exit.

You looked behind you and when you were sure no one was coming back you proceeded inside.

“So Ryomen’s resorted to whisking maid’s away to the temple,” Kenjaku mused over his tea.

Uraume smothered their irritation over the old man referring to their master so casually and sighed. “He’s been acting strange as of late. As if life has become dull.”

“He’s always done whatever he pleases, even when he was an ungovernable child.”

“Well, whatever the case, I fear this sudden infatuation with this maid will only lead to greater issues.”

Kenjaku hummed in agreement.

“That’s what Tengen believes. But she’s always been one to worry. There’s been talk among the main clans and I’m sure you know the capitals already abuzz with this affront. No one cares for the life of a faceless soldier. But the livelihood of a man with a sizable estate? The days of constant bloodshed and power struggles are numbered.”

“What should be done?” they asked.

“Let him play with his new toy. Bed her. Eat her. Both. That is if she hasn’t stumbled across your trap. You conniving devil.”

A small smirk appeared on Uraume’s face. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you're talking about.

You were far from the fool that Uraume believed you to be.

It would have been a ridiculous oversight on their part to leave you in a room with a discreet exit.

You almost expected Sukuna to be waiting for you at the end of the hall, but you wouldn’t remain stagnant.

You wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The passageway led you through a few turns and ended with a small storage space filled with weapons, an armory. Swords, spears, and anything else for Sukuna to use in the game of war.

Past a wall of armor was a door, and when you opened it you were greeted with the outside, the woods spreading as far as you could see.

You took a dagger from its resting spot and concealed it in your robes.

You took a step away from the house, then another, picking up the pace until you sprinted through the barricade of trees, imaging Sukuna taking his spear and shooting it through your back, but it never came, so you ran.

The End.

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #true form sukuna #ao3 fanfic #hyperfixationsporfavor

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