#no hunger. no anger. no fear or protectiveness

[allgoodthingsflowintothecity]

So many indie horror series are trying to be FNAF But Good and I feel like none yet have quite managed it, at least not in the way I wish they did.

The thing is that, for me, a killer robot is not scary because it's made of metal and super strong. It's scary because it's not a person. If a person kills you, it's because they want you dead. But a robot doesn't want you dead. It can't want you dead. It can't want anything. No matter how much it looks like a person, it's not, and it isn't killing you because of rage or bloodthirst or a desire for revenge or any relatable human emotion, it's killing you because some line of code deep in its CPU is telling it that that is the best action to take. It feels nothing on the matter. It probably doesn't even understand what killing is, not like a living thing would, but its programming is telling it to deconstruct you until it stops detecting a heartbeat, so it's going to do exactly thay.

Robots aren't scary if they're ghosts, because being a ghost makes them human, and they're scary because they're not human.

[saebyeokbliss]

IF YOU EVER HUNGER, HUNGER FOR ME

synopsis: you never expected to see your ex, kang saebyeok, again—especially not as a masked guard in the squid game. it’s been two years since your messy breakup, and now here she is, staring you down from behind that cold, faceless mask. after surviving the dalgona game, you’re dragged out of the warehouse by a guard, confused and terrified, only to discover it’s her. warnings: angst, violence, death games, unresolved feelings, heavy kissing, minor manhandling, toxic dynamics, implied trauma

pairing: sae-byeok x reader

a/n: i cooked with that manip of saebyeok as a guard RAHHHH

i need her so bad its not funny

The first time Kang Saebyeok saw you again after two years, it was through the scope of a rifle.

You were standing in the middle of the field, frozen in fear, breathing hard as the haunting voice of the doll echoed: “Red light.” She couldn’t believe her eyes.

Her heart stopped when she saw you among the players. You shouldn’t be here. You had no business in this hellhole, playing this twisted game. She didn’t even realize she had been glaring at you with her finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger.

That anger bubbled up inside her quickly. Anger at seeing you again after all this time, anger at herself for letting you go in the first place, and most of all, anger at the fact that she still cared.

When the doll announced “Green light,” she watched you stumble forward, hesitating, tears streaming down your face as you tried to move. Her grip on the rifle tightened.

You idiot. That’s all she could think. What the hell are you doing here?

The games had already taken two rounds of victims. First, Red Light, Green Light, and then the Dalgona shapes. She’d watched you trembling, licking at the fragile, honeycomb outline of your star. Somehow, you’d survived both times. Saebyeok knew you were tough—she had fallen for that fire in you years ago—but the fear in your eyes now was something she had never seen before.

And she hated that she couldn’t do anything about it, not yet.

When the guards marched the players back into the warehouse, locking you all in like animals in a cage, Saebyeok’s mind raced. She had to speak to you. She had to know what you were thinking, why you were here, how the hell your life had gone so wrong that you’d ended up in this deathtrap. But most of all, she had to see you up close, to confirm you were real.

She formulated a plan, careful not to draw attention to herself. Being a guard gave her certain privileges, but even she had to move carefully to avoid suspicion. She waited until the lights dimmed, watching as players huddled together, either to rest or to protect themselves from the inevitable violence that would break out.

Her eyes zeroed in on you sitting in the corner, knees pulled to your chest. You looked so small, so scared. She clenched her fists and turned to the nearest guard.

“I’ll take her to the restroom,” she said, her voice muffled through the mask but loaded with authority. The other guard looked at you, shrugged, and nodded.

Saebyeok approached you, her presence towering over your curled-up form. “You. Get up.” Her voice was sharp, commanding. You flinched, looking up at her with wide, tear-streaked eyes. You hesitated, unsure if you’d heard her correctly.

“I said get up.” She grabbed your arm roughly, though not hard enough to hurt, and pulled you to your feet. You whimpered softly, not wanting to cause trouble, and followed her out of the warehouse.

The restroom was dark, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. Saebyeok locked the door behind you, her back to you as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She could feel your nervous energy, the way you shifted uncomfortably on your feet.

“I don’t… I don’t need to use the restroom,” you murmured quietly, your voice trembling.

Saebyeok didn’t respond. Instead, she turned around and pulled off her mask.

Your breath caught in your throat. “S-Saebyeok…?” you stammered, taking a step back in disbelief. “No… no, it can’t be—”

“It’s me,” she cut you off, her voice low and sharp. Her dark eyes bore into yours, filled with a mixture of anger and something else you couldn’t quite place. Relief? Pain? “What the hell are you doing here?”

You stared at her, your mouth opening and closing as you struggled to find the words. “I-I didn’t have a choice,” you finally whispered. “I needed the money. I—”

“That’s bullshit,” she snapped, stepping closer to you. “You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong here.”

“And you do?” you shot back, your voice rising despite the fear clenching your chest. “Why are you here, Saebyeok? Why are you dressed like one of them?”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed your face with both hands, forcing you to look at her. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her voice softer this time, almost breaking. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

Her thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “You’re so stupid,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “So fucking stupid.”

And then she kissed you.

The kiss was desperate, angry, and full of pent-up emotions neither of you had addressed in the two years since you’d broken up. Her lips were rough against yours, her hands gripping your face like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. You melted into her, the fear and tension of the last two days momentarily forgotten as you kissed her back with just as much force.

Your hands found their way to her waist, clutching the fabric of her uniform as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. She pressed you back against the wall, her body flush against yours, her lips never leaving yours. For a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist, like it was just the two of you again, tangled in each other, lost in the heat of the moment.

But reality came crashing back all too quickly.

“I have to take you back,” she murmured against your lips, her forehead pressing against yours as she tried to catch her breath. “They’ll notice if you’re gone too long.”

“No,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “Please, Saebyeok, don’t leave me.”

Her eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. But then she stepped back, putting her mask back on and straightening her posture. “I’ll find a way to help you,” she said, her voice cold and detached again. “Just… stay alive.”

She opened the door, her hand on your arm as she guided you back to the warehouse. You kept your head down, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to process everything that had just happened.

When she left you back in your corner, you felt the weight of her absence like a physical ache. And as the lights flickered and the sounds of other players filled the air, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever see her again—or if this cruel game would take her from you for good.

taglist (based off of who actually wanted me to do this): @knfthxv @yenyu1s @m0rtifiedg0th @madebysae

[jmliebert]

Scent of Seduction᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Summary: Halsin finds himself captivated by Tav, the feeling is mutual, of course. Their journey is full of danger and desire. Despite Halsin's internal struggle between primal instincts and duty, their mutual attraction intensifies. When Tav is in heat, their passion ignites... and well... let's just say things get steamy.

smut with (a little bit of) fluff?

Word count: 2,900

Tags: alpha/omega dynamics, heat, knotting, breeding, shameless smut

Warnings: explicit content (18+)

Author's note: today my demons won. sorry guys, but I was thinking about it for the longesttttt time 

also! you can read this on ao3 if you prefer it that way ♡

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The first time Halsin saw you, he was in his bear form. Held captive in the dark cellar, surrounded by goblins; such lowly creatures. He was helpless and angry, but then he caught a scent of something, or rather someone's scent. Someone who surely didn’t belong there, and that person was you. His ears perked up, intrigued. His muzzle watered a little, your scent being so delicious. But he didn’t want to eat you, of course. His hunger was of a different kind, you see.

At the camp, Halsin could sense you. He felt it in his flesh when you weren’t near. His mind and body grew restless, but it wasn’t only that. When he saw you talking to Wyll or Gale, laughing with them and sharing stories, he felt those sudden pangs of something he hadn’t felt for the longest time; jealousy. He was far too old for that, or so he thought. His heart wasn’t one to stir easily, but with you...it was different. He clenched his jaw unconsciously at the thought of you being with other males. He couldn’t stand this, but he shook his head, ignoring the feeling for now, as he had different matters to attend to.

Yet, his eyes followed you with longing each time you were close.

During the Tiefling Party, it took all the strength he had to reject your rather obvious seductions. You were absolutely sweet, your cheeks flushed from wine, your eyes sparkly and playful. It was a delight to see you so happy and carefree, the hero of the night, the center of attention. You were shining, and despite having so many people to choose from, your eyes found his. Halsin's chest swelled with pride at the thought, but he had to remain composed. That's why he didn’t drink that night; a calculated move on his part, as he feared he might say something he shouldn't have. Halsin already knew he had a certain weakness towards you, and alcohol would only fuel that. In no time, he would confess his feelings for you, saying you were made for each other, that his body and soul yearned for you. He would say he wanted to protect you and love you for eternity, and when he told you that you laughed, thinking he was exaggerating, but he wasn't. It was the truth and his words towards you would be sincere. Then, if he really got carried away and his alpha brain would win over him, he would not let you go until he marked you and pushed his semen deep into your womb. Continuously.

And he knew you for only a few hours at least, and you had a world to save, and he had his duties, and you deserved more than that—you deserved to be courted, to be worshipped. Yet, when he told you to enjoy the night with someone else, deep inside he hoped you wouldn’t.

The thought of you with someone else boiled his veins with anger, but what choice did he have? As he thought about it now, he realised he would act differently that night. He would take your hands in his, kiss them gently and ask you to wait for him, but then, it was different. Maybe he was scared? Maybe he wanted to play it cool, not used to having such abrupt feelings towards someone?

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Halsin wakes up in the middle of the night, sensing your absence. With a sense of urgency, he stands up and follows your scent. You're not in your usual spot. He finds you at the lake, bathed in moonlight, your naked form illuminated against the dark water. Your slender back, cascading hair, and the gentle curve of your hips beneath the water's surface captivate him. You look divine, a sight to behold. However, Halsin quickly averts his gaze, feeling it's inappropriate to observe you in such a vulnerable state. Returning to his tent, he finds his body betraying him, his arousal evident in the half-hardness of his dick.

Oh, how he longs to draw nearer to you, grasp your waist from behind and draw you closer to his body, making you feel his growing arousal pressing against you. Showing you how much he wants you, how much he needs you. He would groan to your ear, bite your neck and take you here and there, as nature intended. But you are not his to claim, he reminds himself sternly, over and over again, resisting the urge to succumb to his primal instincts.

But that was about to change when you left the Shadow-Cursed Lands. He was finally free from responsibilities, finally free to follow his heart's desires, and you quickly noticed this sudden transformation of his. As you traveled together, Halsin seemed drawn to your side, even unconsciously. He sought to protect you from any danger, always ready to lend a hand when needed. You noticed him finding excuses to be near you, to touch you, to engage in conversation. His gaze lingered on you, his presence felt even when he walked behind you. During campfires, he sat close, his body language open and inviting, his thigh brushing yours. Though he laughed and talked with others, his eyes always found their way back to you, his attention unwavering when you spoke. It made you feel shy, this whole-hearted attention Halsin gave you, but undeniably it made you feel appreciated.

Yet, you couldn't shake the memories of your early encounters. After he helped you battling those goblins, covered in blood and exuding raw power, you felt a shiver run down your spine. He appeared strong and imposing, igniting something within you. But when you approached him with openness and willingness at the Tiefling Party, he rejected you, leaving you feeling foolish. You had hoped for mutual feelings or at least some acknowledgment, but for most of your journey, he offered only polite smiles and lukewarm courtesy. Why the sudden change now?

Don’t get me wrong, you basked in the glory of his attention, relishing in those small smiles meant only for you. But amidst the warmth of his gestures, doubts crept into your mind. Weren't you worthy of his notice before? Yet, you quickly brushed aside those thoughts, focusing instead on the present. Halsin cared for you deeply now, ensuring you were fed, rested, and shielded from the sun's harsh rays. He showered you with little gifts; wildflowers plucked from the roadside, stones with intriguing shapes and colours, and delicately carved wooden ducks. There was no mistaking his intentions; Halsin was courting you, with patience and respect. Your heart raced at the thought, eagerly anticipating his next move. You pondered what the future held, though you never could have imagined what was to come.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

You found yourself in heat as soon as you arrived at Baldur's Gate. It was as if your body had finally released the tension accumulated during your harrowing journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. After witnessing so much death, roughly cut body parts and darkness, your body sought solace within the safety of the Elfsong Tavern, nestled behind the town walls.

Despite the late hour, neither you nor Halsin slept. Instead, you reveled in each other's company, cuddling on the sofa with the soft glow of the fire casting gentle shadows around you. Halsin held you close, his strong arms enveloping your body, and then he cupped your head, drawing you nearer for what would be your first kiss. As his lips met yours, a haze descended over your mind, and you found yourself yearning for more. You were waiting for so long.

You eagerly shifted positions, settling onto his lap, deepening the kiss with a hunger you couldn't contain. Halsin chuckled softly, his fingers pressing against the sides of your body possessively. You gasped at the sensation, feeling a sudden warmth between your legs as your pants grew damp. Panic surged through you—no, it couldn't be.

"I'm sorry, Halsin, I can't right now," you managed to say as you swiftly freed yourself from Halsin's embrace and fled to your bedroom. You needed space, distance from him until you could gather your thoughts.

His kiss and the sudden rush of emotions triggered your heat, overwhelming you with fear and confusion. You buried your face in your pillow, tears streaming down your cheeks as you struggled to make sense of what was happening.

Morning brought a gentle knock at your door, and you knew it was Halsin. He had been there all night, waiting patiently for you. "My love, let me in," his voice was soft, tinged with concern. When silence greeted his words, he spoke again, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his tone. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, never," you replied, your heart aching at the thought that he might blame himself. "I just don't feel well," you confessed through tears, your voice muffled by the pillow.

"Whenever it is, I'm confident I can help you, my darling," his words were sincere and full of worry. You were clearly in distress, and he felt he should be at your side, not here, behind these closed doors. "Just let me in," Halsin pleaded, his forehead touching the wooden surface in resignation.

You wished he was here too. When you saw his shadow at the door, your heart ached with longing. You were scared he would think poorly of you, scared of losing control to the heat. You hadn't known each other for long, and perhaps it was too soon for him to see this side of you. But at the same time, you were devastated at the thought of being without him. Unsure of what to do, you began to cry, and when Halsin heard your sobs, he couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going in!" he declared, his voice resolute as he forced the doors open. As soon as he entered the room, he clasped a hand over his mouth. There you lay on the bed, naked, the room dimly lit by the morning sun filtering through closed curtains. The scent of you filled the air, potent and overwhelming. Halsin thought perhaps you had second thoughts when you kissed for the first time, maybe things had moved too quickly, but he certainly wasn't expecting this. 

His dick twitched. You were in heat, he realised. "Oh, Tav..." You looked so lost and uncomfortable, your body covered in sweat, your eyes watery. All he wanted to do now was to take you in his arms and never let go.

"Halsin, I feel so hot I can't breathe. Touch me, please," you said, your voice laced with need. Halsin was there in the split of a second, responding to your plea without hesitation.

He took you in his arms, placing you on his lap, and you moaned, the sound emanating from deep inside you. As your bodies touched, you couldn't understand why you had pushed him away before, when you kissed for the first time. He felt like he was made for you, and you for him. Thoughts swirled in your mind as he held you close, his hands roaming all over you, his head buried in your neck, sniffing and then licking with long strokes, revealing in your delicious scent.

You began to grind on his thighs, your pent-up arousal needing release. Desperation fuelled your movements. Halsin placed his rough, large hands on your hips, guiding and assisting your grinding motion. In seconds, you reached climax, moaning and gasping. But it wasn't enough. The heat subsided for just a brief moment. Afterwards, you were ready for more. You wanted Halsin deep inside your wet and willing pussy.

You took his hand in yours and guided him to your heated entrance. "I need you here, Halsin," you whispered urgently.

"And you will have me, my love," he assured, his voice thick with desire.

You didn’t need to tell him twice. Halsin quickly took off his clothes. And that’s how you saw his dick for the first time. It was huge, but somehow you suspected it will be. He seemed pleasantly heavy. He was already oozing pre-cum and fully erect. Ready for you.

You lay on your back as he returned to the bed, your legs parted, inviting him in. Slick all over your inner thighs and your entrance, guiding the way. He didn’t even need to finger you. You were perfectly ready. Ready as he was. 

Halsin kissed you passionately, causing your body to tremble with the intensity of the sensation. Every ounce of his desire and affection towards you was conveyed in that tender gesture.

"Halsin, please…" you moaned, your hips moving eagerly, your body yearning for more. His arousal at your entrance heightened your senses, driving you to the brink of madness. With a single swift motion, he guided himself inside you, and as he entered, you felt a rush of ecstasy that illuminated your senses like stars in the night sky. A scream of pleasure escaped your lips, echoing in the room, while he grunted softly in your ear, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to maintain control. It was a challenge to remain composed when you felt so incredibly tight and warm around him. The urge to climax threatened to consume him, but he resisted, knowing that this moment was all about you. In this vulnerable state, you entrusted yourself to him, and he vowed to cherish you, to prioritise your pleasure above all else. You were his priority, and he would savour every moment with you. 

As Halsin began to move, his motions were deliberate and measured, each thrust a testament to his desire to please you. One hand caressed your full breast, while the other gripped your thigh, spreading you wider to accommodate him. The sight of you, so beautiful and lewd, whimpering each time he showed his dick deep inside you, elicited a primal desire within him. Every whimper that escaped your lips drove him further, his arousal building with each thrust. He couldn’t help but look at your exquisite, smooth pussy swallowing him over and over again.

"You are so good to me," Halsin murmured, his voice soft and filled with admiration, as he brushed a sticky strand of hair from your forehead before pressing a tender kiss to your skin.

As Halsin placed his thumb on your clitoris, his touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. With deft circular movements, he quickened his pace, driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. In response, you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, craving the feeling of his muscles against yours, yearning for the weight of his body upon you.

His hard, deliberate strokes combined with the stimulation of your clitoris pushed you over the edge once more, eliciting another powerful climax. "Yes, yes, yes," you repeated, the words tumbling from your lips as your back arched and your inner muscles clenched in pleasure.

"Good girl," Halsin praised, his voice filled with satisfaction and pride. So responsive to his touch.

At this point, Halsin felt himself teetering on the edge of control. Sensing his impending release, he quickened his pace even further, his movements growing more urgent as his knot began to form. With each thrust, his desire to breed you, to fill you with his seed, consumed his thoughts entirely. He wanted nothing more than to hear you scream in pleasure beneath him.

As his movements became more erratic, more sloppy, he whispered urgently against your neck, "I need you to come for me one more time," his voice strained with desire. The sound of his groans mingled with yours, creating a symphony of pleasure as his flesh moved against yours in a passionate rhythm. In that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of utter pleasure being in his arms, being taken by him, feeling his knot pressing against your entrance.

As his knot fully formed, Halsin pushed it into you, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from both of you. With three final, powerful thrusts, he released himself inside you, his loud moans reverberating through the room. In response, you screamed in ecstasy, your body convulsing with pleasure as you reached your third climax.

You took his knot so well, and he felt an intense rush of satisfaction as he emptied himself deep inside you. His dick, engorged and throbbing, remained buried in your tight, eager pussy, his knot ensuring that his seed would stay where it belonged. In that moment of shared bliss, you both relished the sensation of being joined so intimately, lost in the throes of passion and desire.

With Halsin lying on top of you, his weight pressing down on your smaller frame, you felt a sense of pure bliss wash over you. His presence enveloped you, providing a comforting sense of security. As he remained inside you, filling you completely, you relished the sensation of being pleasantly stretched by his size.

You never wanted him to leave your pussy, not even for a moment. The thought of his knot disappearing, signalling the end of this intimate connection, made you want to cry. But for now, he was still with you, his body pulsing with each release of his seed. You felt his warmth spreading inside you, filling your belly, and you surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of being completely claimed by him.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

thank you so much for reading !

you can find more of my works about bg3 ♡here♡

[sunandflame]

Please do a Rob Lucci x Pregnant reader. What kind of father would he be?

Full of Me

Rob Lucci never expected fatherhood to change him, but the moment he felt the life growing inside you, something primal shifted — and the man who once instilled fear in others now found himself fiercely protective of what was his.

Warnings: nsfw, smut, pregnancy kink, intimacy during pregnancy, mild possessiveness

Word Count: 1382

Pairing: Rob Lucci x Pregnant!Reader

a/n: could be seen as the continuation of 'a quiet hunger'

crossposted on AO3

You weren’t sure exactly when the change happened.

Maybe it was the day you told him.

You had rehearsed it so many times. Imagined his reaction, his silence, your fear. How he would process the fact that you were carrying his child. Rob Lucci — the World Government’s silent executioner, a man more feared than loved — was now bound to something so fragile, so human.

But when you had finally said the words, heart pounding and throat tight, he only looked at you with unreadable eyes. His silence stretched so long it made your lungs feel tight. And then—

“You’re certain?” His voice was low. Careful.

You nodded, and his gaze dropped, briefly, to your stomach — the smallest of bumps then, just beginning to show.

You expected tension. Dismissal. Maybe even anger.

But instead, he stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and gently—so gently—placed his hand over your lower abdomen. Not saying a word. Just feeling.

And that was it.

No declarations. No promises. Just instinct. Just presence.

Now, months later, you noticed the changes in him more easily.

He didn’t speak about it. Not directly. But you saw it in how he hovered closer to you than before. How his movements were slower, more deliberate, whenever he was near you. How his eyes drifted toward your belly more often—especially when you were resting. Like he didn’t quite trust the world not to hurt you. Like he didn’t trust himself not to be too much.

The first time he felt the baby kick, he flinched.

You watched him as his brows furrowed ever so slightly, as if confused that something so small could move with such force.

“...They're strong,” he murmured, resting a palm across your stomach. The way his thumb brushed small circles there—protective, tentative—nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He didn't know softness. But with you…with this? He tried.

Lucci wasn’t a man made for fatherhood. Not by anyone’s expectations. Not by the life he had led.

But somehow… it suited him.

He never said it, but you could feel the shift in the air. He would come home earlier when he could. He brought back things he would never admit were for the baby—blankets with tiny pawprints, soft booties you were certain weren’t standard issue. Once, you caught him lingering over a baby book you had left on the table, flipping the pages as if studying.

You didn’t point it out. You didn’t need to.

And then, one night, after you’d fallen asleep curled beside him, you woke to the feel of something heavy and warm against your side.

It was Lucci’s hand. Large, scarred, and resting carefully over your swollen belly.

You didn’t move. Just listened.

“I won’t let anything touch you,” he whispered, barely audible in the dark.

You knew he wasn’t just talking to the child.

It had been a long day. One of the rare days he’d stayed home.

You stood by the open window, the moonlight casting a silver sheen over your bare skin, hands cupped beneath the round swell of your belly. Lucci had been watching you from the edge of the bed—silent, unmoving—but you could feel the weight of his gaze like a touch.

His voice came low, steady behind you. "You’re beautiful like this."

You turned, heart thudding at the way he said it—not just in the words themselves, but the way he said them. Like it surprised him. Like the sight of you, heavy with his child, stirred something primal in him he wasn’t quite used to feeling.

When he approached, it was slow and deliberate. Lucci always moved like a predator, but tonight, there was something more contained in him. As if he were holding back. As if the sight of you, full with the life he’d created, did something dangerous to him.

He stopped just in front of you, eyes raking down the soft curve of your breasts, the stretch of your hips, the heavy roundness of your stomach. You saw the way his jaw flexed.

"You still want me like this?" you whispered, almost uncertain.

He didn’t answer with words. Just leaned down and kissed you.

It was different. Slower. Hungrier. A deep, unspoken yes that curled through your veins like fire. His hands roamed your body carefully at first, thumbs ghosting the underside of your breasts, down your sides, pausing over your belly with reverent pressure.

When he lifted you into his arms, it was effortless. And when he laid you on your side in bed, curling his body around yours protectively, you felt the tension roll off his shoulders—not fear, but something else. Something more ancient.

He was hard against your thigh already, thick and pulsing.

You guided him in with a small gasp, feeling how careful he was despite the burn of how deep he filled you. His hands cradled your belly from behind as he slid in fully, breath catching low in his throat. He stilled. Shuddered.

"You're… full of me," he murmured, voice rough, unsteady in a way that made your toes curl. "I can feel them. In you. While I’m inside you."

You whimpered. The way he said it—almost reverent, almost undone—made your whole body tremble.

He started to move, slow and deep. Not pounding. Not rough. But claiming. Each stroke was deliberate, angled, grinding into the spot that made you arch. His lips brushed your shoulder as he whispered, "I put life in you. And your body still begs for more."

His breathing grew heavier. You could feel his restraint, the primal urge pacing inside him like a caged animal. "Tell me if I hurt you."

"You won’t."

"You have to tell me." His voice was sharper, but not cold. More like he was fighting something inside himself.

"I trust you," you whispered, reaching back to cradle the side of his face.

Something about those words broke him open.

Lucci groaned into your neck, thrusting harder now—but still measured, still tuned to the shape of you. One of his hands slid down to cup your thigh, hiking your leg up to take him deeper.

"You don’t understand what this does to me,” he rasped, thrusting again—slow, hard, claiming. “Seeing you like this. Full of me. Heavy with me.”

You moaned, fingers curling in the sheets as your body clenched around him. He felt it, the way you gripped him tight, and it nearly undid him.

He fucked you through it, breathing ragged against your skin, until your orgasm took you with a sharp cry muffled into the pillow.

He was shaking by the time he came. Not from effort—Lucci didn’t strain—but from the intensity of it. His hips pressed deep, burying himself as far as you could take him, as if he wanted to feel his seed fill you all over again. His mouth was open against your neck, breath hot and stuttering.

He stayed inside you long after, hand spread across your belly protectively, possessively.

“You’re mine,” he said softly, reverently, with no one to hear it but the child growing within you. “Both of you.”

So what kind of father would Rob Lucci be?

A protective one. Viscerally so.

The kind who doesn’t cradle in public, but whose eyes scan every room before you walk in. The kind who doesn’t speak in sweet nothings but holds your hand tighter when you’re tired. The kind who doesn’t call himself a father, but who jolts upright the moment he hears a cry in the night and reaches the crib before you do.

He’d be terrifying to others—but safe to his own.

And for your child?

He would teach them silence and precision. But also patience. He’d be stern but not cruel. And when they grew old enough to climb onto his lap, to tug at his hair, or pull at the collar of his coat—

He would let them.

He would hold them as long as they wanted. He’d bear their weight in full Zoan form if it meant keeping them amused. He’d carry them on his shoulders without a word, letting their tiny hands clutch his ears.

He would scowl at anyone who stared too long.

And when they asked him one day, “Papa, were you scary before me?”

He would pause.

And say, with complete honesty: “Yes. But not anymore.”

Tagging my gurl @auryborealis because we both crazy for him.

[cece693]

Handcuffs (Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Just wanted a break from writing Percy Jackson fics, so here's something for my favorite slasher :)

Summary: You made Hannibal Lecter fall in love with you, however, that doesn't mean that your cannibal suddenly turns into a normal person. You can't declaw a predator, nor do you want to.

tags: possessive Hannibal, reader loves him, insecurity, handcuffs, no funny business though ☹️

Hannibal was a man of little emotions, his person suit knitted tightly to conceal the darkness he harbored within. But after he met you, that meticulous facade he had spent his entire life perfecting turned to nothing. He allowed you to see him—see past the elegant, cultured mask to the predator lurking beneath. You saw the monster Hannibal Lecter was, and loved him regardless. You didn’t flinch from the truths others would fear, didn’t shy away from the hunger in his eyes or the blood on his hands. You accepted him, wholly, and in that acceptance, Hannibal found a kind of vulnerability he had never allowed himself to feel.

So, to be frightened of losing that bond—over something as trivial as a fleeting conversation—was not irrational to him. You and he were bound together, sewn tightly by an unspoken understanding, an irrevocable trust. It was not love in the conventional sense; it was something deeper, darker, like two conjoined twins who could not survive a separation. You were his, and the very idea of another daring to encroach on what belonged to him was an affront Hannibal could not tolerate.

You lay on the bed, one wrist tethered to the headboard by a pair of handcuffs. The metal was cool and unyielding against your skin, biting just enough to remind you of your restraints without truly hurting. Hannibal stood beside you, his form still as he observed you with that unnerving intensity, his eyes reflecting the dim light like those of a wolf caught between the urge to protect its territory and to devour it whole.

There was no anger in his face, only a calm so controlled it bordered on unnerving. It was the kind of calm that came before a storm—before a decision was made, or a life was taken. You knew better than to argue. The situation was absurd in its own way, but also unmistakably Hannibal. This was his way of showing love, his twisted, possessive proof that he could not and would not risk losing you. After all, if he didn’t care, you would not be breathing right now.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze with steady resolve. “You know that, Hannibal.”

He remained silent, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he watched you. Then he took a step closer, his fingers brushing over the curve of your cheek, trailing down to your jaw. The touch was gentle, but there was a possessiveness in the way his thumb grazed your skin.“The fault is not yours,” he conceded, his voice a low murmur. “But there are others—pigs—who think they can encroach upon what is mine.”

He moved his hand lower, letting his fingers curl around the cuff on your wrist. “I am not a man who shares,” he continued, his voice like dark velvet, smooth but edged with something dangerous. “Nor am I one who takes kindly to trespassers. You belong to me.”

“And I do,” you replied softly, letting the words fall between you like a vow. “You don’t have to worry. No one else even comes close.”

For a moment, Hannibal's expression softened, though only slightly. He leaned in, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with something unmistakably him. “You speak as though you understand,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against your ear, “but humans are fickle creatures. Even the strongest bonds can unravel if pulled upon by the wrong hands.”

You tilted your head just enough for it to hover near his ear. A whisper, a vow. “Not ours. Not this.” You rattled the cuff slightly for emphasis, giving a faint smile. “You don’t need these, Hannibal. You know I’m not going anywhere.”

A shadow of something almost like doubt flickered in Hannibal's face, which you didn't catch. Hannibal was not a man who often second-guessed himself, but when it came to you, there was a vulnerability he despised, a quiet dread that perhaps, one day, he would wake to find you gone.

Instead of unlocking the cuff, Hannibal eased himself onto the bed beside you. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he slid close, his arm looping around your waist with a possessive grip that didn’t quite loosen. He pressed his chest against your side, his legs intertwining with yours as though to form a barrier, ensuring you could not slip away even if you wanted to.

You felt his breath stir the hairs on the back of your neck as he spoke, his voice low and almost tender. “It is not you I distrust,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “It is the world. The world is full of banal, foolish people who do not understand the bond we share. I will not allow anyone to fracture it.”

His hand moved up your back, his fingers splaying against your spine as though grounding himself in the reality of your presence. “You have spoiled me, my dear,” he continued, his tone dropping to a near whisper, “with your loyalty, with your love. And now, I am left with the knowledge that I could not bear to be without you.”

You nestled closer to him, feeling the tension gradually bleed from his form as he adjusted his hold around you. The handcuff remained fastened, but it felt less like a restraint now, more like a reminder of his claim on you. His thumb traced small circles over your skin, soothing in its rhythm.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, your voice laced with affection. “You’re stuck with me, Hannibal. Whether you like it or not.”

He let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle, a rare sound that warmed your heart and made you fall more in love with this monster. “Indeed,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as though he could seal the promise into your skin. “And I would not have it any other way.”

As his breathing began to slow, the grip around your waist eased just enough to allow you to shift comfortably against him. But even in sleep, his arm remained draped over you, his fingers curling possessively into the fabric of your clothes. It was a silent promise, a wordless reminder that even in his most vulnerable moments, he would not let you go.

You listened to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat, steady and strong, a soothing lullaby that seemed almost out of place for a man who carried so much darkness inside him. But it was real—just like his love for you, just like the monster you had chosen to love in return.

As the darkness of the room wrapped around you both, you let your eyes close, feeling the weight of his possessiveness settle over you like a protective shroud. There was comfort in knowing that you belonged to him—and that he belonged to you in return, even if it was in the most unconventional, twisted way.

[sugurugetofavoritemonkey]

What if Ethan Landry starts getting too fond of you ?

The pretty boy Ethan Landry started a relationship with you a few months ago and you two could still try to not make it official, that « there’s nothing between us » as one of you would say, it was still very obvious for everyone that neither of you could be detached from the other. Although you both were shy, Ethan was always so gentle and very sweet with you, always. And you were the pretty joyful thing that kept making him happy every single day. Heck, the two of you even had to touch the other one at all times. If you weren’t glued to his side, with your hands hugging his waist very tight to hide half of your body behind his back, it was Ethan that intertwined his fingers with yours every time he had the chance, or he would place little soft kisses on your forehead, cheeks and corner of your mouth when no one was looking…well he thought at least.

To say that he was enamored with you and you with him was an understatement to say the least.

But what if one day Ethan had to attack Tara’s place with all your mutual friends inside ? You included.

You absolutely didn’t know nor suspected that Ethan was Ghostface. Ethan made sure of that. He was always careful in hiding his true identity, although his feelings for you were never an illusion.

But his father had been very clear with him. Ethan had to do it, he had to butcher some of Tara’s and Sam’s friends in order to make them suffer before the big finale. That Ethan had to make him proud, to make the family proud.

His father didn’t know of his relation with you, Ethan made sure to keep Quinn’s mouth shut even though it was not simple.

Ethan prepared himself, convinced himself that he could do it, that he had no other choice but to hurt you.

After stabbing Anika, Mindy and killing his sister’s lover, he was exhilarated, in this type of trance where he felt powerful, a hunger to hunt and kill that he adores. When Ethan turned to you, his pupils blown wide with ecstasy, it didn’t take him long to run after you and firmly push you against the nearby wall with a maniac laugh that emanated from under the Ghostface’s mask.

�� Got Ya ! », you could hear the famous killer happily screaming at you as his knife pressed against your sensitive throat, without hurting you as yet.

At that, you started crying, your whole body totally frozen in place with how scared you were, you were even trying to breathe as little as you could to make you look as discreet as possible in front of him.

And it was at this exact moment that Ethan knew he was doing the biggest mistake of his life. He felt out of breath as he tried to regain some form of control over himself, his previous onslaughts not helping in making him feel nearly as sane as he would have hoped. His knife on your skin wouldn’t budge an inch as his eyes were focused on you, his brain assimilating bit by bit what he was seeing, what he had done and what he was about to do to the only person he ever loved. His eyes watered under his mask as he saw the tears rolling on your reddening cheeks, the way your chest heaved with fear and the way that you weakly called to him.

« E-Ethan…h-help…p-p-please… », you perfectly knew he wasn’t there and you ignored that Ethan was Ghostface, the one that was at the moment putting a knife to your throat menacingly. Yet, you still murmured his name in a feeble hope that he would come and protect you.

Ethan suppressed a sob at that. He didn’t have the right to, he thought. His choice was made now, as his knife moved away from you.

The others definitely deserved this, Ethan thought with anger…but not you, not his innocent precious girlfriend.

Ethan ran away from the house and into the dark alley where he removed the Ghostface’s costume to throw it away in the nearby dump as quickly as he could with haste.

He came back to Tara’s place by the front door this time, as Ethan Landry. He would make up any excuse to explain why he was there at this moment if the others would find this coincidence hard to believe but this was absolutely not his priority at this moment.

Once inside, Ethan ran over to you with anxious eyes, cradling you in his arms in the most gentle way imaginable, afraid that you would break, seeing how much you were trembling with fear and sobbing.

Your eyes widened when your body automatically felt the presence of your boyfriend carefully taking you in his arms. He actually came, you thought with hazy mind.

« I w-was so s-scared Ethan… »

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, your arms coming around his neck to get impossibly closer to him, his warmth enveloping you just the right way as your breathing became calmer.

You nearly found it strange how Ethan seemed almost more shaken than you, as his left arm hugged you around your waist protectively, his chin resting on top of your head as his right hand was carefully caressing your head and back with gentle and reassuring gestures. His eyelashes were wet as he pressed a kiss on your temple, softly whispering in your ear soothing words.

« Y-you’re okay sweet thing…I-I’m here now-I’m h-here…I love you…you’re s-safe…I promise… »

After that terrifying experience, Ethan deeply insisted on taking you home to his place. During the walk back home, your right hand was connected to his left as your cheek leaned against his shoulder while you held onto his arm for comfort. It was making the walk way more difficult but Ethan wouldn’t dare say a word about it, he liked - needed - to feel you close to him.

Back home, Ethan gently removed your clothes to make you more comfortable and dressed you with his largest black t-shirt. This one is your favorite to sleep, he remembered.

Ethan put you under the comfy covers and laid down close to you. Though, at first he hesitated in taking you in his arms, guilt grew into his chest when he remembered what he could have done to his lovely girlfriend. You were the one who moved to cuddle against him as you hid your face in his chest, listening to his heartbeat as your hands tightly hugged his waist. When Ethan’s eyes gazed down at you, he selfishly decided to put his guilt aside as his right hand found its way on the small of your back to caress your skin in little circles under your - his - shirt and his left hand rested on the back of your head in a protective way.

When he felt that you were starting to fall asleep in his embrace, Ethan placed a few featherlight kisses on your face, reassuring you by covering your pretty face with the love he needed to prove to you. When his lips hovered above yours, he kissed your mouth softly a few times, making you smile slightly at his tender gestures.

When you finally let yourself rest in his arms by closing your eyes, you could hear Ethan murmuring close to your face.

« I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, princess. »

Though, before completely falling asleep soundly, you could almost hear words that you couldn’t quite discern, words that Ethan spoke with a saddened yet resolute voice.

« I’m s-so sorry, love. I'll make sure that it never happens again. Ever. », Ethan gently kissed your lips in order to seal his promise to you. And at this moment, a soft smile makes its way on Ethan’s lips, because he knows he’ll never betray his promise to you.

If he has to kill his father and sister for you to live, then how could this even be called a price to pay ?

Ethan immediately chuckled quietly at this thought while caressing your hair in the most gentle way.

« A blessing… », Ethan assured with a deranged voice and a broad grin.

You'll be safe with him that way.

Another Ethan Landry thing

[mommykye]

war beast

young!Ambessa Medarda x pregnant!reader

summary: Ambessa’s wife is the only thing she truly fears in her own sense.

request are open

masterlist

The air in the Noxian war camp clung heavy and metallic, a damp chill seeping from the Black Cliffs. General Ambessa Medarda, a formidable silhouette against the bruised pre-dawn sky, her scarred light armor a silent testament to battles won and prices paid, held her legion in an iron grip of silence. The start of command had forged her presence into a palpable force; a single glance from her steely eyes could still the blood of the most seasoned warrior. Yet, as her gaze swept the assembled ranks, a fleeting tremor, a microscopic shift in her granite composure, betrayed the iron will. Somewhere beyond the camp's perimeter, nestled within this harsh landscape, was her, carrying their child, a walking tempest of fierce affection and the unpredictable currents of new motherhood. Ambessa knew this well. She understood the delicate balance of power in their unconventional partnership, the potent force of the woman who now held her heart captive and whose ire she would navigate with the utmost care.

Your bare feet struck the cool, white marble of their shared estate with sharp thwacks, each footfall echoing through the long halls. The flowing crimson of your Noxian silk dress billowed around your swollen form, a vibrant splash against the pristine backdrop. Your jaw was tight, your lips a thin, angry line. A small, worried entourage trailed behind you: the hushed whispers of the midwives, their hands hovering nervously; the rustle of starched linen as the maids struggled to keep pace with your furious stride; the silent, wide-eyed young male servants, their movements cautious as if treading on shattered glass.

"Honestly!" you snapped, your voice echoing off the high ceilings, causing a flinch amongst your followers. "Do they think I have all day to wait? The sun is practically at its zenith! Does she expect me to simply wither away in hunger?" You punctuated your words with a sharp gesture, the movement emphasizing the perceived slight. "Lunch was hours ago! Hours!"

One of the elder midwives, her face etched with concern, dared to speak, her voice a soft tremor. "My Lady, perhaps the General has been detained by important matters of war..."

"War!" you scoffed, your voice laced with disdain. "Always war! As if a simple meal with her wife, carrying her child, is less important than flexing her muscles on some dusty training ground!" You rounded a corner sharply, the sudden movement causing the maids to stumble. "Does she think this babe sustains itself on air and battlefield strategies? Honestly, the audacity!"

You continued your relentless pace, your bare feet padding with surprising speed despite your advanced pregnancy. The coolness of the marble against your skin was a small comfort, a stark contrast to the simmering heat of your frustration. You passed through the sun-drenched atrium, the gentle murmur of the fountain doing little to soothe your agitation. Your eyes, the color of storm clouds gathering, scanned the familiar surroundings, each elegant detail now a reminder of Ambessa's absence.

"It's always something," you muttered, mostly to yourself, but loud enough for your retinue to hear. "A strategy meeting, a troop inspection, some new dreary report from the front lines. Does she not realize that this," you placed a protective hand on your rounded belly, "is the most important front line of all?"

You reached the grand double doors leading to the gardens, your breath coming in slightly sharper bursts now. The exertion, coupled with your simmering anger, was beginning to take its toll, but you refused to slow your pace. The thought of Ambessa, likely barking orders and surrounded by her stoic officers while you languished in hunger, only fueled your fury.

Pushing open the heavy doors with a surprising burst of strength, you stepped out into the bright sunlight. The meticulously manicured gardens, usually a source of peace, now seemed to mock your inner turmoil. The vibrant blooms and fragrant herbs did nothing to sweeten your mood.

"She probably thinks I'll just nibble on some delicate little pastries," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "As if that will satisfy the hunger of two! This child has her appetite, you know. A veritable beast!" You shot a pointed look at one of the younger servants, who quickly averted his gaze.

The path leading down to the beach and the training grounds stretched before you, a winding ribbon of white gravel. You started down it, your bare feet crunching on the small stones, the sensation surprisingly grounding amidst the storm of your emotions. Your followers hurried after you, their expressions a mixture of apprehension and loyalty.

As you approached the edge of the cliffs overlooking the beach, the sounds of shouted commands and the rhythmic clang of steel grew louder. You could just make out the figures below: Ambessa, a towering presence even from this distance, surrounded by her officers and the disciplined ranks of her legion. The sight of her, so focused and formidable, did little to quell your anger. In fact, it seemed to intensify it.

You began your descent down the winding path to the beach, your movements surprisingly agile despite your condition. The midwives exchanged worried glances, but none dared to voice their concerns. They knew better than to interfere with your current state of mind.

Finally, you reached the sandy expanse of the beach. The air here was thick with the salty tang of the sea and the earthy scent of the training grounds. Soldiers paused in their drills, their heads turning in your direction, a ripple of surprise and curiosity spreading through their ranks. The high-ranking officers surrounding Ambessa also turned, their expressions shifting from professional attention to something akin to nervous anticipation.

Ambessa, her broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the afternoon sun, turned last. Her steely gaze met yours across the distance, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossed her features. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a more guarded expression.

You continued your march towards her, your red dress a defiant splash of color against the muted tones of the military encampment. Your bare feet sank slightly into the sand, but you paid it no mind. You stopped a few feet away from Ambessa, your chest heaving slightly from the exertion and your simmering rage.

The surrounding soldiers and officers stood in stunned silence, unsure of how to react to this unexpected interruption. The usual rigid discipline of the Noxian war camp seemed to waver under the intensity of your gaze.

"Ambessa," you began, your voice dangerously low, yet carrying across the hushed beach. "There you are. Busy, as always." You punctuated the word "busy" with a pointed look at the sweat glistening on her brow and the worn leather of her training armor.

"Indeed," Ambessa replied, her voice carefully neutral, though a muscle twitched in her jaw. "Training is essential, especially with the upcoming campaigns."

"Oh, yes, the campaigns," you echoed, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "So much more vital than ensuring your heavily pregnant wife receives a timely meal. I'm sure the logistical strategies of troop deployment are far more intricate than, say, the simple act of providing sustenance for your own offspring." A few of the younger soldiers near the edge of the group snickered, quickly stifling their amusement when Ambessa shot them a sharp, almost imperceptible glance.

"My Lady," one of the senior officers, a grizzled veteran with scars crisscrossing his face, began hesitantly, "the General has been overseeing a new…"

"Unless this 'new' development involves conjuring a roasted pheasant out of thin air," you interrupted, your eyes narrowing at the officer, "I suggest you save your breath, Captain Valerius. My current concerns lie less with battlefield innovations and more with the distinct lack of food in my stomach." Valerius paled slightly and fell silent, his gaze fixed on a pebble at his feet. Ambessa’s eyes flickered towards him, a hint of warning in their depths.

"Surely the kitchens…" Ambessa started, attempting to regain control of the situation.

"The kitchens prepared lunch hours ago, Ambessa," you stated, your voice rising slightly. "Hours! My stomach thinks it's perpetually twilight. And this little… this war beast you’ve planted within me," you placed a hand firmly on your swollen belly, "has inherited your insatiable appetite, apparently. It demands sustenance, and it demands it now."

Another ripple of suppressed laughter went through a section of the soldiers, this time a bit bolder. Ambessa’s gaze swept over them, a silent threat that effectively quelled the noise. You, however, seemed to derive a small measure of satisfaction from their amusement.

"So," you continued, your gaze fixed intently on Ambessa, "since you were clearly too engrossed in your… manly pursuits to consider the delicate state of your wife and unborn child, I have taken it upon myself to rectify the situation." You turned sharply, your crimson silk billowing dramatically. "Come," you commanded your entourage, "we are going back to the estate. And Ambessa," you paused, turning back to face her, your eyes like chips of ice, "you will personally ensure that a feast fit for a pregnant woman – and her ravenous heir – is prepared. And it better be ready before my next hunger pang strikes, or you might find yourself facing a domestic campaign far more brutal than any you’ve encountered on the battlefield."

You turned again and began your trek back towards the estate, your bare feet kicking up small puffs of sand. Ambessa watched you go for a moment, a complex mix of emotions playing across her strong features. A hint of a smile touched the corner of her lips.

"Dismissed!" she barked at her officers, her voice regaining its usual authoritative tone. "See to your duties."

As the officers dispersed, casting curious glances in your direction, Ambessa started after you, her long strides quickly closing the distance.

"My love," she said, her voice softer now, a stark contrast to the commanding tones she used with her troops.

You didn't break your stride. "Don't 'my love' me, Ambessa. My stomach is currently engaged in its own internal war, and you are dangerously close to becoming the primary target."

"I understand," she said, falling into step beside you, her hand hovering near your arm but not quite touching. "My apologies. I became… engrossed."

"Engrossed?" you scoffed. "You were probably reveling in the smell of sweat and steel. Honestly, sometimes I think you prefer the company of your legion to your own family."

"That's not fair," Ambessa countered, a hint of defensiveness in her voice.

"Isn't it?" you challenged, glancing at her sideways. "When was the last time you joined me for a leisurely afternoon stroll in the gardens? Or perhaps read to me from those dusty old tomes you hoard in your study?”

Ambessa sighed. "My duties…"

"Always your duties," you finished for her, a wave of weary frustration washing over you. "This child will have your blood running through its veins, Ambessa. Will you always place your 'duties' before it as well?"

Ambessa stopped, gently taking your arm, forcing you to halt. Her gaze was earnest, her usually stern eyes softened with a genuine concern. "Never. Never would I do that. This child… you… you are everything to me. But you know my responsibilities. Noxus demands…"

"Oh, Noxus can wait for one damn meal," you snapped, pulling your arm away, though the heat of her touch lingered. "I am carrying your heir, Ambessa. That, I would argue, is a matter of significant import to Noxus as well."

A small smile played on Ambessa's lips again. "You are magnificent when you are angry."

"Magnificently hungry, you mean," you retorted, starting to walk again, though your pace had slowed slightly. The path was becoming steeper as you ascended the small incline leading to the estate gardens.

Ambessa chuckled softly and this time, she firmly took your arm, her grip surprisingly gentle yet supportive. "Allow me."

You didn't resist, though you kept your gaze fixed straight ahead. "See that you do. After all, you’re the one who put this… this miniature legionnaire inside me. The least you can do is ensure it’s properly fed."

"A miniature legionnaire," Ambessa mused, a hint of pride in her voice. "I like that."

"Don't get any ideas about enlisting it before it can even walk," you warned, a hint of a smile finally breaking through your stern facade.

You continued your ascent, Ambessa’s steady presence a comforting anchor despite your still-simmering frustration. The midday sun warmed your face, a stark contrast to the cool marble of the estate.

“And don’t think for one moment,” you continued, your voice regaining some of its earlier heat, “that I haven’t considered the implications if this child inherits your… enthusiasm for early mornings and loud noises. If I find myself woken before dawn by miniature war cries and the rhythmic banging of tiny training swords, I swear, Ambessa, I will personally dismantle every piece of ‘essential’ military equipment in this entire territory. With my bare hands.” You punctuated this threat with a dramatic flourish, nearly losing your balance on the uneven path. Ambessa’s grip tightened infinitesimally.

“I have no doubt you would,” she murmured, a hint of amusement lacing her tone. Her gaze drifted downwards, lingering for a moment on the swell of your belly beneath the crimson silk. A soft smile touched her lips, a genuine expression of tenderness that often melted your anger despite your best efforts.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you grumbled, though the edge in your voice had softened.

“Like what?” Ambessa asked innocently, her eyes lifting to meet yours, though the playful glint within them betrayed her.

You sighed, the last vestiges of your irritation fading. “Like you’re already picturing tiny versions of yourself wreaking havoc.”

Ambessa chuckled, a low, resonant sound that always sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Perhaps I am envisioning a future leader with a strong voice and a dedicated training regimen. Qualities I find rather… admirable.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “A strong voice for demanding more sweets and a dedicated training regimen for climbing the highest furniture, no doubt.”

She squeezed your hand gently. “They will have your intelligence and your… persuasive nature as well. A formidable combination.”

The path leveled out as you reached a small, secluded garden nestled amongst the higher terraces of the estate. The air here was fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine and lavender, a peaceful sanctuary away from the bustling activity below. A stone bench sat beneath the shade of a sprawling olive tree, inviting respite.

“Let’s rest here for a moment,” Ambessa suggested, guiding you towards the bench. She carefully helped you to sit, her movements always mindful of your growing form.

As you settled onto the cool stone, the panoramic view of the valley unfolded before you. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rolling hills, painting the landscape in hues of gold and amber. The distant sounds of the city – the murmur of voices, the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer – were softened by the distance, creating a sense of tranquility.

The warmth of the stone seeped through your thin silk, a grounding sensation as Ambessa settled beside you, her large hand covering yours on the cool surface. The scent of jasmine and lavender, usually a balm, now carried a hint of the earthiness clinging to her currently light armor, a reminder of the world she inhabited and the constant pull it exerted.

You watched the distant shimmer of the city, its activity a muted hum against the vast stillness of the valley. A gentle breeze stirred the olive leaves overhead, dappling the sunlight on your crimson dress. Ambessa’s thumb traced slow circles on the back of your hand, a silent apology and a familiar comfort. The tension that had coiled so tightly within you began to ease, replaced by a weary fondness. You knew this dance, this push and pull between the demands of her duty and the needs of your unconventional family. It was a precarious balance, weighted by the fierce love that bound you, a love as formidable and complex as the woman beside you, a woman who could command legions with a single glance yet now sat, humbled and contrite, under the soft afternoon light, awaiting your forgiveness and the inevitable, rumbling demand for food from the miniature legionnaire growing within you.

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #35

"Someone has to sacrifice themselves! Why not your child? Why mine?"

Your father's voice rang out crystal clear, even through the masses of people shouting and swearing all around you. The tension was palpable, the whole village having come together for this decision. However, they had slowly come to a conclusion that was all about you.

A few days ago, a prophecy had been announced that the dragon, the holy guardian of these lands, decided to take a mate. Again. There were very few details, just that the mate had to be of age but young enough to spend the longest possible time with the dragon. Pretty, but no specifics. And from your village specifically for some reason.

They were all details that fit every child in the village, and you were no exception.

"I'll repeat," the huntsman spoke up, lowering his voice to an authoritarian sternness. "Your child has just turned of age, and you have no prospect to nurture them into higher education and would use them to work on the fishing boat with you day and night. They'd be better off mated to the dragon and doing the village a solid. Plus, you've got five more maws to feed, and we promise to take care of them as if they were our own if we sacrifice your oldest."

The reasoning stung. You didn't choose to be born the oldest to a poor fisherman, but you had worked your whole life, never refused to help others, and did your best to be a good part of the village. But on the other hand, somehow you understood. You saw the fear in the eyes of the mothers who were scared to lose their children. You only had your father to fight for you, although he did it with tooth and nail, but everyone else had a mother, father, older siblings, aunts, and uncles.

The community was close-knit until it was about sacrificing one of their own.

Then, they only had their own family to care about.

On the other hand, you and your father only had each other and your five siblings, two still barely able to walk. Your family came from another village to start over and not hunger so much hopefully, but your mother didn't make it through the last winter. If you went, who would care for the babies of your family? Maybe your young siblings? Your father? Would he earn enough money to retire from his work and stay home? Would all of them be fed and allowed to go to school instead of working like you had to when you were young? Could your choice make a difference for your family?

"But the dragon is terrible! Don't tell me you have forgotten how he killed his new mate mid-air the last time he demanded one?! We had to watch this monster demand more and more sacrifices over the years because he kept disposing of them despite saying he wanted to have one for a lifetime before choosing the next! That's not how we have established our settlements! There has been a treaty, and he keeps breaking it!"

"So what?!" another man shouted, jumping off his seat, red in the face from anger. "You'd rather he burn us all alive?! Go back on his word and reclaim the land that you, too, use to survive?! We are just trying to stay alive, man, get a hint!"

"Then YOUR child go sacrifice themselves!"

You watched them argue back and forth, your father fiercely protecting you as you felt the tears shoot into your eyes, and you had to look away. Of course, you were scared! Of course, you wanted to stay with your family! You, too, had heard all the rumors and witnessed the bloodbath of the last victim. But the other man was right, this was bigger than just one life. It was about all their lives, and they were all scared and desperate.

It wasn't until a warm, old, wrinkled hand laid down on yours, wringing in your lap, that you looked up. Looking at the old lady who sometimes snuck you and your sibling's baked goods when her own husband wasn't looking made the tears flow freely from your face.

"You don't have to do this, sweetie. Your siblings, they all need you," she reassured you. But then her grip tightened, more than you had ever expected from such a frail, old woman.

"But if you do, we'll make sure your pa gets to rest that old back of his, and the babies will always be fed and can take other jobs around the village. It's your decision."

Only now did you realize everyone had stopped talking, all eyes on you, even your father's exhausted, desperate ones, who immediately shook his head no as you looked at him. In the end, they left the choice to you, but neither option felt right, and you wished you could have just gotten up and run away. Far, far away.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[meowsgirldrawing]

Soft is a Need too (Spite x Rook Drabble I could NOT get out of my head)

Obviously Lucanis x Rook too, but I like to explore Spite and his constant need for Rook just as much as Lucanis does too.

Not proofread so apologies for any mistakes, I am but a wee human in this wee world.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Soft, subtle hands play into ‘his’ hair, twirling a strand around a finger so gently before letting it fall to the rest before carding through once more.

Spite couldn’t tell what need rang better- the need to close ‘his’ eyes or keep them on Rook as they read their novel peacefully from their other hand. 

He only gets so much time with them, and yes- while that time has for sure grown since Lucanis finally did something worthwhile and said how he felt towards Rook after their long-awaited return, he still itches for the times Lucanis finally lets himself rest and him take over. 

He’s been what Rook calls ‘Good’ and laid with them instead of trying to leave. But why would he leave now? Before, he was just bored. Now, he’s not bored anymore! Rook is! With him! Him!! Spite!

And with the way they giggle after a particular hair caress has him sighing in content and nuzzling into their stomach, he can tell they like it too. Not think like Lucanis does, Knows!

“You’re not falling asleep either, are you?” They tease lightly.

Spite glares up at them with fiery purple hues marking their face, “No. Can’t now.”

Their brow raises and a light smirk has him smirking fully back. “Oh?” Their tone has him tightening his arms around them better. Better for them not to leave. “And why’s that, hm?”

Spite nudges into the palm cupping his face, lightly nipping at it that has Rook booping his nose in response for his assault. 

It takes him another moment to realize the look set on him is one of expectation, not just playfulness with tender touches added in. 

It’s simple. “Can’t loose. Our Rook. Again.”

Rook’s hand holding his face pauses as does the one clasped with a book freezes, turning more stiff. 

They blink, then an odd look comes about their face. Spite doesn’t like it. 

They look worried and runs a more concerned felt hand through his hair. He practically purrs like those creatures he sees them constantly petting in Lucanis’s home town. 

“Spite…you know I’m not going anywhere again, right?”

“Yes. Because we kill. Whoever changes that.” His eyes flash momentarily, and he brings a hand to their face instead. Soft skin meets his hand followed by a sweet flutter of eyelashes as he cups around the side of their face. Gentle as Lucanis told him. Like he would ever hurt Rook. They are theirs! Theirs to protect! To fight with, to have fun with!

And finally feel soft with after so long of pain and hurt. 

All Spite knew since getting forced to share a body with the most stubborn human alive was pain. 

From being ripped from the fade and into the already tormented body itself, to the harsh experiments and trial and errors the mages did on him and Lucanis-just to see how ‘they’ reacted as host and demon, to sitting to the side as Lucanis curled into a sopping broken ball for months every night, frozen cold and having to listen to the irritating drip drip drip of the cell door. 

Spite felt the hunger, the aches, the burning anger and nagging sadness, and above all- the undeniable fear. 

Lucanis inadvertently made Spite feel it all, thus leading to his own want to leave, to go back to this ‘home’ Lucanis kept thinking about night and day. 

It all stopped the day Rook and her little team of misfits came into their life. With Rook leading the charge, they managed to get out and end up entirely into a new contract in return for helping them escape. 

It all stopped when Rook smiled and offered their assistance with anything the two needed. 

It all stopped when Lucanis got a flutter in his chest that grew and grew until the very sight of Rook had him blushing and Spite grinning. 

That was until that bastard mage, Solas as they called him, decided the brightest idea was to take their Rook. 

No more. 

Spite eyes them as they mark their book for later reading time and he starts sitting up further with glee when their arms stretch out to him. 

He’s a bit fast in globing them up in a hug only to have them laying across their large couch. He buries his face into their neck, smirking and chuckling as hands run up and down his back. It tickles. 

They settle into his favorite position at that point. Him laying on their chest, face nosing into their collarbone, and them holding them like how his wings hold them when keeping them safe. Away from the painful world. Away from mages and Solas. 

“Mine.” He presses a kiss into the bone underneath him. "Mine." They murmur it back just as easily. He smiles. 

He feels..safe..soft here. Lucanis thought it first but Spite couldn’t help but agree more the first time their hands touched them. 

The same hands that card his hair from his face to press light, fast kisses on his forehead. His nose. And he tilts up to meet their lips. They pinch him and they yelp as he does it back with a chuckle. Others would be scared of such a noise, but their hands are still on him, still giving him soft touches and loving caresses. 

He won’t sleep, he doesn’t need it nor wants it right now. He has his and Lucanis’s Rook and that's all he needs. 

That and their soft touch as always.

[conceptionsofconciousness]

The Nakshatra Colors

In Astrology, every Nakshatra has a color which it is associated with. The color of the Nakshatra works in two primary ways. Internally and externally. This article piece focused on the Internal.

On an internal level, the color of the Nakshatra has a psychological effect. According to color theory every hue, shade, and tone affects the spirit and consciousness. Every Nakshatra color internally takes on the psychological traits of color, integrating into the consciousness and personality.

The colors of Nakshatras internally are best applied to the Nakshatra placement of the Sun, Moon, Rahu, and Ketu. This is because all 4 of these planets relate directly to the internal consciousness.

The Traits of a Nakshatra Color brings the following traits into the inner self or personality:

Ashwini - Blood Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Bharani - Blood Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Krittika - White

Independence Youth Innocense Completeness Openness Blank Slates Possibilities Creativity Purity Virtue Cleanliness Simplicity Peace Tranquility Cleansing Efficiency Order Soothing Isolating Empty Boredom, Criticism

Rohini - White

Independence Youth Innocense Completeness Openness Blank Slates Possibilities Creativity Purity Virtue Cleanliness Simplicity Peace Tranquility Cleansing Efficiency Order Soothing Isolating Empty Boredom, Criticism

Mrigashira - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Ardra - Green

Going Motion Equilibrium Balance Harmony Health Wellness Nutrition Vitamins Fitness Growth Fertility Prosperity Progress Wealth Freshness Renewal Stress Relief Relaxation, Nature Inexperienced Envy Greed Jealously

Punarvasu - Lead Grey

Intelligence Wisdom Dignity Experience Neutrality Balance Impartiality Clear Thoughts Compromising Faith Truthful Formal Modern Future Advancing Technology Protective Private Reserved Blending in Loner Isolated Background Existence

Pushya - Black Red

Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Ashlesha - Black Red

Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror

Survival

Magha - Cream

Openness Seriousness Intense Respected Esteemed Admired Durability Sophistication Refinement Humility Athletic Ambitious Competitive Cautious Held Back Adversarial Sore Loser Antagonistic

Purva Phalguni - Light Brown/Tan

Natural Organic Warmth Comforting Cozy Calm Relaxed Logical Analytical Creative Artistic Security Luxury Elegance Conservative Dull

Uttara Phalguni - Bright Blue

Optimism Enthusiasm Bright Alert Peace Clam Tranquility Relaxed Meditative Zen Recharging Intelligence Concentration Focus Connection Strong Values Integrity Honesty Attractive Connection Helper Assister Rational Capable Composed Competent Precise Responsible Reliable Trustworthy Loyalty Social Cold Sad Down

Hasta - Dark Green

Bold Controlled Steadfast Conservative Edgy Fertility Drive Desire Money Materialism Hunger Indulgence Moody Oversaturated Overwhelming Flooded Overloaded Gluttony Excess Resentment Spite

Chitra - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Letheragy

Swati - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Letheragy

Vishakha - Gold

Optimism Positivity Charisma Passion Wisdom Understanding Enlightenment Success Knowledge Wisdom Great Understanding Triumph Achievement Reputation Wealth Quality Giving Compassionate Loving Selfishness Over-complexity

Anuradha - Reddish Brown/Maroon

Warmth Beauty Primal Emotional Passion Power Strength Determination Confidence Courage Spirited Depth Ambition Force Risk Creative Wise Spiritual Impulsive Anger

Jyestha - Cream

Openness Seriousness Intense Respected Esteemed Admired Durability Sophistication Refinement Humility Athletic Ambitious Competitive Cautious Held Back Adversarial Sore Loser Antagonistic

Mula - Bright Yellow

Happiness Positivity Cheerfulness Inspiring Illuminating Optimism Hope Promising Striking Insightful Wise Humerus Vibrant Stimulated Engaged Overpowering Intense Excessive Warning Caution Deceit Restless

Purva Ashadha - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Uttara Ashadha - Copper

Down to Earth Warm Homely Wealth Comforting Impassioned Lively Energetic Strong Determined Supportive Genuine Classy Successful Accomplished Egotistical Cheeky Envy Hypocrisy Cynicism

Shravana - Light Blue

Feminine Welcoming Soft Comfortable Safe Calm Gentle Ethereal Peaceful Tranquil Soothing Refined Cultivated Stylish Approachable Concentration Focus Connection Strong Values Integrity Composed Competent Precise Responsible Reliable Trustworthy Superficial Delicate Frail Cold Sad Down

Dhanishta - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Shatabhisha - Cyan/Aqua

Rational Liveliness Nature Healing Therapy Restoring Correcting Mending Remediation Stability Tranquility Clarity of Mind Emotional Balance Serenity Creativity Spirituality Dreams Fantasy Trances

Purva Bhadrapada - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Uttara Bhadrapada - Purple

Power Wisdom Inspiration Creativity Imagination Fantasy Spiritual Devout Philosophical Future Minded Resourceful Selfless Humility Wealthy Luxury Nobility Extravagance Impractical Immature Arrogance Cynicism Melancholy

Revati - Brown

Sensual Sensitive Warm Comfortable Stability Reliable Secure Steadfast Natural Wholesome Dependable Structured Homely Sincere Reassuring Genuine Practical Supportive Dull Mundane Boring Predictable Inexpensive

[revelboo]

how many souls have you taken Revel bc ive seen multiple ppl promising their life to you and with your delicious writing im about to be yet another life in your debt 😭😭

So, so many souls. Maybe I’m an Eldritch horror bartering in the shadows. Maybe I’m just a collection of exceptionally clever crows in a trench coat with a stolen cell phone. You’ll never know…

Finally ran out of space on the shelf… 18+ content mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Everything Is Alright Pt 97

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Watching Starscream and Soundwave murmuring to you, worrying over you, makes Megatron feel uncomfortably off balance. It’s the tender way Soundwave cups your face, tucking your hair behind your ear and the way Starscream runs his servos over you to make sure you’re unharmed. He’s jealous, he realizes. And he hates it. Not only that, not only jealous, but lonely and that’s so much worse. Surrounded by his followers all the time, but unable to really trust many of them, he’s isolated himself. Alone. Growling softly, optics narrowing, a part of him despises Starscream’s happiness. After all the Seeker’s done, he doesn’t deserve for things to break his way. To be happy and it twists angrily about his spark. “If you’re not going to play with your little pet, maybe I should,” he snarls just to needle Starscream and it works, the mech glaring, wings flicking up and quivering.

• “Cut it out,” you snap at Megatron, and Starscream stiffens, wings flaring slightly. Tensed to protect you when Megatron lashes out at your impudence, because there’s no way you’ll go unscathed for that. For defying him. Watches Megatron’s optics narrow, and Starscream’s servos tighten on you. Ready to grab you and bolt. He’s a much smaller target this size, can fly off and hide with you until Megatron calms down. Soundwave can fend for himself. And then to his utter shock, Megatron laughs. “Stop being a jerk, you already got a free show.”

• Voice wavering as you glare at Megatron and your heart races, you’re encouraged that he thinks your anger is funny and that he’s not getting pissed off. Because he’d been trying to provoke Star and you’re sure all of them know it. So you’d panicked and drawn his attention to you instead. Soundwave’s hands flex against you as if wanting to tell you to stop. And Starscream reaches around you to cover your mouth, growling when you twist your head away. Know they’re worried you’ll push too hard and direct Megatron’s anger at you. “Don’t, little one,” Soundwave growls, voice low as he and Star exchange a look.

• “Let our little pet speak,” Megatron laughs, waving a hand. “Primus knows, no one else here is willing to contradict me.” Uncertain, Soundwave vents against you. Almost tempted to hook a thought in Megatron’s processor, because amusement wasn’t what he was expecting. And he desperately wants to know what their leader is thinking right then. What he thinks of you, because there’s a hunger on the warlord’s face he’s seen before. It’s the look he’d worn in the gladiator pits, defiant and starving to be seen, recognized. “You have a problem fragging in front of me? You didn’t before.”

• “To be fair, I didn’t know you were there until you said something. I was a bit busy,” you counter, chin lifting as your face reddens. And Starscream knows you well enough to know the attitude is all bluster. You’re frightened, he can feel you trembling against him, one of your hand reaching back to grip his arm, the other grabbing Soundwave like you need them to anchor you. Your fear doing things to him. “Go find your own human if you want a show.”

• “Why would I do that, when I already have my own?” Doesn’t mean to say that, to make that claim. Only to antagonize you because your irritation with him is delicious. Ignoring the two other mechs, he stares at you, daring you to contradict him. Watching those eyes narrow, before they slide over him from helm to ped in a slow perusal that makes him freeze. That to his utter shock makes his spike stir behind his plating. Because it’s one thing to taunt and tease. Giving in to that same deviancy Starscream and Soundwave are lost in the grips of? It’s tempting. So tempting. “And if I order them to frag you so I can watch?” If he frags you?

• Can feel the tension in both of your mechs, their hands almost bruising on you. “If you want to watch, just say it,” you mutter, turning in their arms to face Star. Seeing the fury there as you go up on tiptoe to brush your mouth against his. Know this whole thing is meant to demean him, to make him angry. To prove he’s powerless. That he can’t protect you, but you can protect him. If he’s a ticking time bomb about to go and cause as much collateral damage as possible, and you know he is, you have to distract him. “This isn’t his. It’s yours,” you whisper against his mouth, arching into him. “I’m yours.”

• Servos tangling in your hair as your mouth slides against his, his optics shutter. Blocking out Soundwave and Megatron, focusing on you. The warmth of you against him, those soft hands sliding down his chassis to brush against his plating. Asking. They’re watching, Soundwave is almost pressed against your back, his knuckles brushing the other mech as he strokes over you, but he slowly relaxes into you anyway. Pretending this is okay. Because no matter what happens, you are his. His sparkmate, bound to him. Let Megatron watch and see what he can’t have. Freeing his spike, he vents against your throat as Soundwave’s hands grip your hips and lift you for him. Knows the communications officer is trying to shield you from Megatron’s view as much as possible and he appreciates it even as it annoys him that he needs the help.

• That breathy noise you make, head falling back against Soundwave when Starscream enters you goes straight through Megatron. Shifting on his throne, resisting the urge to move closer to see. With Soundwave’s back to him, his body is shielding you from view. But he can hear the wet sound of Starscream thrusting inside you, the Seeker’s low growls and hitching vents. Soundwave murmuring to you, too low to pick out the words. Optics half shuttered, he tries to focus on just you. Hating Starscream in that moment more than he’s ever hated him before. For having this, for being happy when he doesn’t deserve it. He’s not the one who’s lost everything. Who’s sacrificed everything for his goals. For what he believes in. And what he gained? Ash and death. Nothing good, and he wants something warm and soft in that moment. Someone who can’t plot against him or use him. Will defy him and challenge him. He wants you.

Previous

Next

[diejager]

could you maybe do more of the Phoenix series or is that discontinued? But if you're still working on it can you maybe do something like monster TF 141 use hunter as a heater? Ik if it doesn't make any sense but like monster TF 141 are on a mission and its horribly cold and they're actually cold so hunter just walks up and turns into a phoenix? and just starts heating up the room 141 is in. idk I just have had this idea in my head for a while

Cw: human heating, tell me if I missed any. Note: Nope! It’s still on going, well, at least the original Au of the Phoenix hybrid!reader spinoff.

“I’ll have a bloody word with the tosser who sent us here,” Soap hissed, body wracked with tremors as he breathed into his mittened hands, hoping that the small bit of heat would warm him just a bit more than the failing heating system of their Siberian  safehouse.

They had planed to rest and warm up their temporary residence while Price took Ghost and you to survey the area, all warmly covered but mostly immune to such cold temperature. A dragon rarely needed anything other than the beating fire in their heart, kindled and powerful; a wraith, long since dead, had no worry about feeling cold or warm, only hunger and anger; and a phoenix, whose body was stuck in a perpetual cycle of life and death, had no fear of being cold when they were an embodiment of life’s fire. 

It was only natural that Price took the only people who could withstand the harshness of Siberia for a long and careful inspection when the others would freeze and shake in their thick boots and warm coats. They safehouse looked old, surfaces covered in a thin layer of dust, shelves filled with canned food - both expired and unexpired- and walls and floors as frozen as the loud winds blowing against the thick windows. It wasn’t much of a surprise that something would malfunction, the soviet era building left to appear rotten and forgotten to fit it’s intended use, and it seemed to lack any sort of upkeep. 

“We’re freezing our arses off in here!” Soap growled out, leaning closer to Gaz’s side to steal more warmth from under his wing, the soft feathers all ruffled, “Can’t even-”

Crunch

The two perked up, hands immediately reaching for their weapons, bodies tense and ready for a fire fight until your head popped in, huffing about the melted snow soaking your clothes. They jumped to their feet, running to your side for a lick of warmth that oozed off your skin. You froze at the grabbing hands, pulling you to the cold sofa and pushed under a mass of groaning and moaning bodies, happily soaking in your fire.

“Let me- ” you squirmed between them, shuffling out from under them to stretch your arms and back.

The four watched your neck crack with a wince, flames erupting from your feet, wild and bright embers licking at your skin until it engulfed you in a fiery blaze. It was both too hot to touch and too strong to approach, a fire that would threaten to burn if they touched you. It worked to protect you from an early death while you shifted into the majestic bird you were, a gentle flame in the form of orange and yellow feathers, softer than any silk and warmer than any suns. 

In your place stood a phoenix, lashes fluttering while your flapped your wings, stretched backwards to scratch the itch from the lack of use. You cooed, preening under their awed expressions before you flew back in your prior position, body heat growing hotter and hotter, strong enough to warm up the entire room. 

“Thank you, Hunter,” Gaz smiled at you, a sweet and grateful grin that made your feathers shyly ruffle up.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[insidekatmind]

Possession and curiosity~Hwang In-ho

Wearning: +18,smut, age-gap

Request: yes!

Neon lights flicker in the void of the night. The air is thick, soaked with sweat, fear and desperation. You are there, slumped against the cold metal of a wall, your heart beating furiously in your chest.

After yet another fight with your brother Gi-hun, you left, tired of his empty promises and his failures. But you too have never been an example of success. Debts devour you, hunger corrodes you and life seems like a race without a destination. When you received that mysterious ticket, you told yourself that you had nothing left to lose.

There you are, among people who share your same misery, forced to compete in childish games with deadly consequences. Only when you saw Gi-hun among the participants, you understood how foolish it had been to think of making it alone. For days you avoided his gaze, hidden in the crowd. But in the end, inevitably, he found you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice cracking between anger and fear. It had been a fierce argument. You yelled at him, reminding him that he had no right to judge you, not after all the broken promises. In the end, with no alternatives, he accepted you into his group, with the air of someone who would rather do anything else than see you there.

But what you didn't know was that someone was watching you from afar, every step you took, every breath you took. Hwang In-ho, the Frontman, hidden behind the silver mask and the altered voice, had noticed your determination, your courage in wanting to survive at all costs. And that dedication had struck him. The obsession had started as a simple interest but, with each challenge overcome, that desire to see you triumph had become a woodworm that devoured him from the inside.

Unbeknownst to you, In-ho had shown up undercover as Yong-il, another seemingly anonymous competitor. His voice was softer, gentler, and his gaze was veiled in a look of false weariness. Whenever you found yourself in trouble, he was there, offering subtle advice or a temporary alliance.

You didn’t suspect him. No one did. How could you imagine that a man with so much power would stoop to your level, just to ensure your survival? But In-ho had made up his mind. He would do anything to protect you, even if it meant diverting his attention from your brother’s sabotage plans.

Every day was a battle. Every game a new chance to die. And yet, with Yong-il by your side, you survived. There was something disturbingly comforting about his presence, something that made you feel safe even in the midst of hell.

You didn’t yet know that his kindness hid a dangerous obsession, a shadow that stretched over you. And while you fought for your life, he fought for a very different prize: you.

In the dim light of the room, you feel YoungIl's heartbeat against your back, steady and reassuring. His arms wrap around you like a protective shield, keeping the nightmares at bay. You've grown accustomed to his presence, to the way he seems to anticipate your needs before you even express them.

As you lie there, your thoughts drift to the day's events. The challenges are getting harder, the stakes higher. You've seen players fall, their lives snuffed out like candles in the wind. It's a grim reminder of the precariousness of your own existence.

Suddenly, you feel YoungIl stir behind you. His breath tickles your ear as he whispers, "You're safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, but it's not entirely from fear. There's something else in his tone, a possessiveness that both comforts and unsettles you. You turn to face him, your eyes meeting his in the darkness.

"What makes you so sure?"

His gaze intensifies, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Because I know what's at stake. I've seen the way the others look at you, like a prize to be won or a threat to be eliminated." His voice drops to a low, dangerous growl. "But you're mine. I won't let anyone else lay a finger on you."

The possessiveness in his words sends a thrill of fear and excitement through you. You've never had someone claim you so fiercely, so completely. Part of you wants to pull away, to assert your independence. But another part, the part that's tired of being alone and scared, wants to surrender to his protection.

You lean into him more and relax. Feeling your surrender, YoungIl's grip tightens possessively around you. His breath grows heavier, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against your back. A low, satisfied growl rumbles in his throat.

"You trust me, then," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Good. You should. I've protected you this far, haven't I?"

His hand slides up your arm, a featherlight touch that sends goosebumps racing across your skin. You nod silently, unable to find words. The air between you crackles with tension, heavy with unspoken desires and dangerous promises.

“I never thanked you for this,” you whispered softly, turning to look at him.

His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unblinking. "You don't need to thank me," he says, his voice low and husky. "Not with words, anyway."

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your lips. The gesture is tender, but there's an underlying hunger in his gaze that makes your heart race.

"I want more than just gratitude from you," he continues, leaning in closer. His breath is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I want... everything."

The possessiveness in his tone is palpable, a dark promise that both thrills and terrifies you. You're acutely aware of the power dynamics at play, of the precariousness of your situation. But in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you feel safe. Protected. Desired.

You nodded and kissed him. His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, hungry and demanding. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. You can taste the desperation on his tongue, the pentup longing that's been building between you.

He breaks away, breathing heavily. "You're mine now," he growls, his eyes blazing with possessiveness. "Mine to protect, mine to cherish... mine to claim."

His hands roam your body, touching and claiming every inch of you. You gasp as he finds sensitive spots, your own desire rising to match his. In this moment, there's no game, no death, no fear. There's only the two of you, lost in a haze of passion and need.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "Say it," he demands, his voice rough with desire. "Say you're mine."

You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. "I'm yours," you whisper,words the falling from your mouth like a confession. "Only yours."

A primal growl rumbles in his chest at your submission. His hands make quick work of your clothes, tossing them aside carelessly. You shiver under his heated gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable. But there's no room for shame in his eyes, only a fierce, protective love.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. "So perfect. I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

He settles between your legs, his hardness pressing against your core.

He enters you slowly, filling you completely. A gasp escapes your lips at the sudden fullness, your body stretching to accommodate him. He pauses, allowing you to adjust, his forehead resting against yours.

"You're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "So good."

He begins to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate. Each one sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, building a fire in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing more.

"Yes," you moan, your nails digging into his back. "More."

He obliges, his pace quickening. The room fills with the sound of your labored breaths and the slap of skin against skin. You're lost in the sensation, in the feeling of being completely consumed by him.

His hand slides between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot. He rubs in circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"So good, so big" you whisper.

His thrusts grow more urgent, more desperate. "You like that, don't you?" he pants, his voice thick with desire. "You like feeling me inside you, filling you up?"

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plunders your mouth, mimicking the motion of his hips. You can feel him swelling inside you, growing harder and thicker with each thrust.

"Yes," you moan into his mouth, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches. "Don't stop."

He doesn't. If anything, his movements become more frenzied, more possessive. He's claiming you, marking you as his in the most primal way possible. You can feel the heat building in your core, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter.

"Come for me," he growls, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. "Come on my cock."

His words push you over the edge. Your body convulses, your inner walls clamping down around him as you cry out in ecstasy. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

He follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he spills himself inside you.

He flips you over roughly, pressing your face into the mattress. "I'm not done with you yet," he growls, his voice dripping with possessiveness.

You feel his hands gripping your hips, pulling them up to present yourself to him. There's a moment of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty, but it's quickly swallowed by the overwhelming desire to please him, to be claimed by him completely.

He spits into his hand, using it to lubricate his already slick cock. Then, without warning, he pushes into your tight hole. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, your body instinctively tensing against the foreign sensation.

"Relax," he commands, his voice strained with effort. "Let me in."

Slowly, you force your body to comply, feeling him slide deeper with each shallow breath. The pain is intense, but so is the pleasure, a twisted combination that leaves you dizzy and overwhelmed.

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Each one stretches you, fills you in a way you've never been filled before. You can feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as it slides in and out of your ass.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he pants, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "So perfect. I knew you'd feel amazing."

His thrusts grow faster, more urgent. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room, mingling with your muffled moans. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, growing harder with each passing second.

"Who do you belong to?" he demands, his voice harsh and commanding. "Say it."

"You," you gasp, your face buried in the mattress. "I belong to you."

"Damn right you do," he snarls, his pace becoming almost brutal. "This ass, this body, it's all mine. I'll fuck you whenever I want, wherever I want. You're my little toy to use however I please."

His words send a shiver of humiliation and arousal through you. You're completely at his mercy, utterly owned. And yet, a part of you revels in it, craves it.

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back. His hand snakes around to your front, finding your clit and rubbing it in rough circles.

You moaned loudly and arched to take more. Your eager response spurs him on, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. He's claiming you, marking you, making you his in the most primal way possible. Your moans fill the air, a symphony of pleasure and submission.

"That's it, take it," he growls, his fingers moving faster on your clit. "Take my cock like the good little slut you are."

His words should humiliate you, but instead, they only fuel your arousal. You're lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding instinctively to his touch, his commands.

He shifts his angle slightly, and suddenly, he's hitting a spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. You scream, your back arching off the bed as a devastating orgasm rips through you.

"That's right, come for me," he snarls, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Milk my cock with your tight little ass."

His words, combined with the overwhelming pleasure, push him over the edge.

He buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his hot seed into your ass. You can feel it filling you, marking you from the inside out. He stays there, panting heavily, his body pressed against yours.

"Mine," he whispers, his voice hoarse with satisfaction. "All mine."

Slowly, he pulls out, his cum dripping from your wellused hole. He watches it with a possessive gleam in his eye, as if admiring his handiwork.

[r0-boat]

*clears throat* PUPPY! *chases Naberius*

(I'm sorry I'm a white girl who has no fear about petting the big puppy)

The funny thing is that he would enjoy it ;)

Naberius general headcanons

NSFW&SFW

His defeat growl gave me chills.

Has different levels of his form!

10% : ears and tail with fangs, they tend to pop up when he is excited.

50%: most werewolf like, Naberius can somewhat control it. He's just more animalistic.

100%: Run! He is no longer in control usually happens when his emotions are at his highest. Extreme anger/extreme sadness ETC.

Clingy, however he doesn't really like to show it. I'll follow you like a lost puppy to any room you walk in. Desperately wants your attention, your touch, even though he's trying to be professional, but you make it so hard.

He'll do anything, get you anything, He is completely loyal, hoping for your praise, your affection. Sitri hates him, calls him your lap dog. As if he also isn't as eager to serve as Naberius is.

Protective. He'll watch you chatting with other devils. He has told you before that some devils aren't as nice as the ones you've met before, but he doesn't want to stop you from hanging out with anyone you choose. However, he will not hesitate in beating The shit out of any devil that harms as much as a little hair on your head.

*Nabs pissed off and chewing out a devil*

Mc: "who's a good boy!"

Nabs: "Mc! Not now..." *He rolls his eyes unaware that His tail is wagging*

He's usually calm and collected, but once he's worked up, it's hard to calm down. Amon and Bael quickly realized that Naberius, in his Titan form, seemed to stop in his tracks when he sees you; the beast that was knocking buildings and setting everything ablaze with fire breath now sitting idly, His three tails wagging happily, nuzzling you with their big noses.

Raw and primal, that's how he thinks sex should be. He can't tell you how many times he has daydreamed about taking you doggy sinking his fangs and claws into you while he knots you. Whimpering, to fill you with his pups. His tail wagging back and for as he humps into your squeezing walls despite to milk every last drop of his seed inside you.

Naberius is just as filthy and wild as he is refined and professional. So eager to turn into a mindless beast ripping off his and your clothes and breed you, make you his mate.

To make him submit to you you'll need to overwhelm and overpower him. Collar and leash him. Make sure the collar and the leash is strong enough so it doesn't break when he shifts.

His were hellhound body is so much bigger than yours. It's not as large as his Titan version, where he towers over buildings. But it's enough to tower over you. To encase you in his arms to hold you down while he mates with you.

Nothing gets him off more than letting him chase you down; nothing gets him harder than the thrill of the hunt. Looking at you with pure hunger in his eyes as it gives you a 1-minute head start. Don't worry; His nose is extra sensitive. He could sniff you out of any hiding spot; he has memorized your delicious scent. He could feel his cock hardening when he saw you from the bushes, helpless prey, vigilant, delicious prey. He hopes you run when you see him, Even though he could outspeed you. Run and fight him till your lungs and legs give out for Naberius to tackle you down onto the ground. And he wants you to fight back, claw and bite, Kick and hit, fight to escape, or fight for dominance. He'll try his hardest to hold deep down, rip your clothes off, and fuck you good until you obey. Take you to his balls are empty, and you are both spent

He is an intelligent, demon with a lot of responsibilities. Despite his powerful position, He craves nothing more than sometimes to become your mindless little fuck pet, his only job being to serve you.

He has ruts; they're so bad if he doesn't knot some tight hole soon, His control will slip, and he will turn into a rampaging beast. He tries to lock himself away. Anyway, he can keep it at bay as much as he wants to slip and become a mindless animal. He knows how much damage he'll cause to the entire kingdom. But now that you're here, his ruts are more enjoyable. Addicted to your scent and the taste of your sweet skin, His body is practically glued to yours, nuzzling his nose into your neck, begging for you to be alone with him. Begging for you to be underneath him, begging for you to let him stick his cock inside you and knot you. He is addicted to the feeling of himself pushing inside you one last time for his knot to lock itself deep inside, with the head of his cock nuzzling against your deepest parts before emptying his balls inside you.

[brunchable]

Winter King, Chapter 7: Look What You Made Me Do

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Queen Reader Words: 11.5K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: Acts of Violence. Attempted Murder. Summary: Y/N defies tradition by joining the equinox fetivities. Fitten in equestrian attire, she draws onlookers, including Thor, Loki and Pietro, while Bucky watches with visible frustration as others practically undress her with their eyes. Despite the tension, Y/N remains focused on the race.

Flashback: Edges of the Country

Isaac stood at the edge of the crowd, blending seamlessly with the common folk. His cloak was pulled low over his head, obscuring his features, and his eyes scanned the scene. The town was one of many far from the heart of the kingdom, and it had been growing increasingly restless. Isaac could feel the tension in the air, the unease that crackled like a storm ready to break.

In the middle of the square, Brock Rumlow stood tall and imposing, his voice carrying over the crowd with the confidence of a man who knew how to stoke a fire. The townspeople, desperate and angry, gathered around him, hanging on his every word. Isaac's lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Rumlow incite the crowd, his eyes sharp and calculating.

“This kingdom has grown weak!” Rumlow’s voice boomed, his fists clenched at his sides. “Your king—your so-called leader—has been absent in his duties! While you starve, he is nowhere to be found. Where is he? Where is his protection for you?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. The townspeople, many of them gaunt from hunger and weary from constant struggle, nodded, their faces hardened by the truth in Rumlow’s words.

“The shipments of food, of supplies, have been blocked for weeks now!” Rumlow continued, his voice growing louder, more fervent. “And what has your king done? He ignores your plight! He lets you suffer while he plays the royal game in his palace, far removed from your reality!”

Isaac shifted slightly, his jaw tightening. He knew that this was exactly what those pulling the strings behind the scenes wanted—doubt, unrest, rebellion. Rumlow was merely a tool in a larger plan, but the power of his words was undeniable.

“And what of your queen?” Rumlow spat, his lips curling into a sneer. “She cannot bear a child, cannot provide an heir! Your king is absent, your queen is barren—is this not a sign from the gods? A sign that the crown has fallen out of favor?”

The crowd grew restless, some nodding, others muttering in agreement. Rumlow raised his arms, his voice dripping with venom. “The gods have turned their backs on us! This kingdom, this weak, crumbling kingdom, is on the verge of collapse! We cannot wait for the royalty to save us, because they won’t! They do not care about you!”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. Rumlow was riling them up, feeding their fear and their anger. It was dangerous—more dangerous than Isaac had initially thought. His hand twitched toward the dagger hidden beneath his cloak, but he stayed his impulse. There was more to learn here, more to uncover.

Few days before: at The Siren’s Song

The tavern was dim with the faint scent of smoke and ale filling the air. Isaac sat at a corner table, his back to the wall as he watched the room carefully. Across from him sat Clint Barton, one of his most trusted spies, his face hidden beneath the brim of a hood.

Clint leaned forward, his voice low and serious. “Unrests are growing in the towns on the edges of the country.”

Isaac's brow furrowed slightly, though his face remained impassive. “How so?”

“There’s been talk of shipments being blocked,” Clint explained, glancing around the room before meeting Isaac's gaze again. “Food, supplies—everything’s being cut off. Rumlow’s been making speeches, stirring up dissent. People are starting to lose faith in the crown.”

Isaac's expression darkened. “Do we know who’s behind it?”

Clint hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “Not yet. But it’s coordinated. Too many towns are being hit at once for this to be random.”

Isaac nodded slowly, his mind already working through the possibilities. “Keep an eye on him,” he said quietly. “And on the lords. We need to know who’s pulling the strings.”

Clint tipped his head in agreement, his eyes sharp as ever. “I’ll keep you informed.”

Back in the Square: Rumlow’s Speech

“The king has abandoned you!” Rumlow shouted, his voice ringing out across the square. “He is absent, lost in the games of royalty while you starve. And your queen—she cannot bear the weight of an heir, much less the weight of this kingdom. The gods have shown us the signs—this is a bad omen—that they don’t want the line to continue. The crown has failed.”

The crowd erupted into murmurs and shouts, anger and desperation filling the air. Isaac’s eyes swept over the faces of the people, their pain and hopelessness. Rumlow had them in the palm of his hand, and Isaac knew that this was only the beginning.

Rumlow raised his fist in the air, his voice growing louder with every word. “We deserve better! We deserve a ruler who will fight for us, who will not abandon us in our time of need! The kingdom is failing, and if we do nothing, we will fail with it!”

Isaac’s jaw clenched as he turned, slipping silently away from the crowd. He had heard enough. This unrest was spreading, and it was no longer just whispers in the dark—it was becoming a movement. He would have to act swiftly, but for now, he had to report back to Bucky.

Private Meeting in Annecy

The small council assembled in Annecy was tense, the weight of Isaac’s words hanging heavily in the air. Bucky sat at the head of the table, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as he processed what had just been shared. Beside him, Steve, Sam, and Tony sat in silence, their faces grim, while Isaac stood at the opposite end, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

Isaac leaned forward slightly, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “The unrest is growing faster than we anticipated. They're targeting the outer towns first, cutting off supplies and causing desperation. Once they have destabilized the edges of the kingdom, they'll start working their way inward, toward the capital.”

Bucky's brow furrowed as he considered the gravity of the situation. His jaw clenched, and his eyes flicked over to Tony, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meeting. 

“Tony, have you heard anything? Any whispers in your network?”

Tony, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, straightened at the question. His expression was serious, his usual wit subdued. 

“Nothing concrete,” he admitted, his voice low. “But there’s been some chatter—rumors about shipments being delayed, and certain noble families getting nervous. It didn’t seem like anything at first, but now that Isaac’s mentioned the unrest, it’s starting to make sense.”

Sam, who had been sitting quietly next to Steve, leaned forward, his voice filled with concern. “So they’re trying to isolate the kingdom? Make the people suffer so they turn against the crown?”

Isaac nodded grimly. “That’s the idea. They’re creating chaos on the outskirts, hoping it’ll spread like wildfire. The longer it takes, the worse it’ll get. The people are desperate, and Rumlow is feeding that desperation. He’s giving them someone to blame.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, his hand forming a fist on the table. “And the lords? Do we know who’s supporting him?”

Isaac shook his head. “Not yet. But there are whispers—some of the more ambitious lords might be backing him, quietly of course. They want the crown weakened, but they’re too cowardly to show their hand until the time is right.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted back to Tony, his voice steady but filled with an underlying tension. “Keep listening, Tony. We need to know if anyone on the council is involved.”

Tony nodded, his face darkening. “I’ll keep my ears open.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They were not just facing external threats but the possibility of betrayal from within their own court. Bucky leaned back in his chair, his eyes hard as he looked around at the men gathered.

“We need to stop this before it spreads any further,” Bucky said, his voice quiet but firm. “We can’t afford to let them destabilize the kingdom from the outside in.”

Isaac’s expression was unreadable as he met Bucky’s gaze. “I’ll head back to the border towns. Rumlow’s stirring up trouble there, and I can follow the trail from him.”

Bucky nodded, a determined set to his jaw. “Be careful. If Rumlow’s got backers, they won’t hesitate to strike if they know we’re onto them.”

“I’ll watch my back,” Isaac replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sam looked between them, his brow furrowed. “And what about the people? They need to know we haven’t abandoned them.”

“We’ll send relief,” Steve interjected, his voice steady. “Food, supplies, whatever we can spare. But we’ll need to be strategic—if the shipments are being blocked, we’ll have to find new routes.”

Tony leaned back again, his eyes narrowing as he considered the logistics. “I can work with the traders, see if there are any alternative routes we haven’t thought of. But it’s going to be tricky.”

Bucky’s gaze hardened, his eyes dark with determination. “Do whatever it takes. We’re not losing this kingdom.”

The Dungeons (Back at the Palace, a few days after.)

The dim, flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the cold stone walls of the dungeon. The air was thick, damp, and heavy with the scent of mold. The guard they had kept alive, now shackled to a chair in the center of the room, sat trembling under the weight of what was to come. His eyes darted between the two brothers—Isaac, leaning casually against the far wall, watching silently with a cold smirk, and Bucky, standing directly in front of him, radiating a dangerous calm.

Bucky held a rolled-up piece of parchment in his hand, his gaze hard as steel as he unrolled it slowly. The detailed portrait of Rumlow came into view, the artist’s precision capturing the man’s scarred face and cruel sneer with chilling accuracy.

Bucky’s voice was low, almost too calm, but the threat within it was unmistakable. “Do you recognize this man?”

The guard swallowed hard, his eyes widening as they fixed on the portrait. His breath quickened, his lips trembling as he hesitated to answer. Bucky took a slow step forward, the measured sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing ominously in the small chamber.

“I asked you a question,” Bucky said, his tone cold. He leaned down, bringing his face closer to the guard’s, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

The guard’s breath hitched, and he looked away, trying to steady himself. “I—I’ve seen him,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “At the docks… several times.”

Bucky straightened, his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving the guard’s face. “And what was he doing there?”

The man swallowed again, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill of the room. “He… he seemed to be overseeing things. Shipments, deliveries… but it wasn’t normal work. He was careful and quiet. And he always had men with him—dangerous men.”

Bucky’s gaze darkened, and he took another step forward, looming over the guard. “Go on.”

The guard’s voice shook as he continued, his eyes darting between Bucky and Isaac. “I overheard something once. I—I wasn’t supposed to hear it, but they didn’t see me. Rumlow was talking to one of his men, and he mentioned someone on the council.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the council, his casual posture stiffening slightly. Bucky leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Who?”

“I—I don’t know,” the guard stammered, his voice trembling with fear. His gaze darted around the room, avoiding Bucky’s cold, relentless stare.

Bucky’s patience snapped, he grabbed the guard by the collar, yanking him upright and slamming him back against the stone wall. The sound echoed through the room, and the guard let out a whimper, his breath hitching in panic.

“Who?” Bucky growled, his face inches from the guard’s, his grip tightening until the man could barely breathe.

The guard gasped, eyes wide with terror. “Alexander!” he sputtered, his voice barely audible. “He said the name Alexander.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as the name sank in. Alexander Pierce. He released the guard with a forceful shove, and the man collapsed back into the chair, wheezing as he clutched his chest.

Isaac, who had been watching in cold silence, exchanged a knowing glance with his brother. Pierce—one of the most influential and cunning members of the council. It wasn’t entirely surprising, but it confirmed their suspicions that the conspiracy ran deeper than just Rumlow’s schemes.

Bucky paced for a moment, his hands flexing at his sides as the information settled on him. He could feel the anger boiling under the surface, the urge to act immediate and violent.

Isaac’s voice broke the tense silence, his tone low and thoughtful. “It's Mother's birthday tomorrow. Then the Autumn Equinox the day after.” He glanced at Bucky, his expression calculating. “We can’t act on this right now. The court’s eyes will be on us the entire time.”

Bucky paced for a moment longer, his mind racing, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The revelation of Pierce's name added a dangerous layer to the already delicate situation, and every instinct in him wanted to act now, to confront Pierce head-on. But Isaac had a point—they couldn’t afford to make a scene with the queen's birthday tomorrow and the Autumn Equinox celebration right after. Too many eyes would be watching.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to think clearly, before turning to Isaac. “Is Tony sending any relief to the affected towns?”

Isaac gave a curt nod, his expression steady. “It’s already in motion. Tony's rerouting the supplies through alternate routes—ones Pierce doesn’t control. Shipments are bypassing the docks and moving overland. The towns should start seeing relief soon.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened with a mix of relief and lingering tension. “Good. We can’t let them suffer while those bastards play their games. The people are losing faith in the crown.”

Isaac’s voice remained calm but firm. “The relief will help ease the unrest. But we can’t act too soon, not until we have Pierce cornered. If he suspects we’re onto him before we’ve gathered enough evidence, he’ll slip through our fingers.”

“No, we cannot wait! Our people are being forced to starve! We have waited long enough. The longer we wait, the stronger they get, and the more our people suffer.”

Isaac watched him intently, the wheels in his head turning. “Then I guess it’s time to spill more blood,” he said, his voice calm yet filled with dark intent. “I’ll start with their positions at the docks.”

Bucky’s gaze locked onto Isaac, his chest still heaving from the force of his anger, but there was a grim satisfaction in his brother’s words. Isaac, ever calculated and precise, had already started strategizing another plan.

“This time, don’t be clean,” Bucky advised, his voice lower now but laced with menace. “I want to see how Pierce would react.”

Isaac’s smirk widened ever so slightly, a flicker of dangerous excitement passing through his eyes. 

“As you wish, brother.”

× × × ×

Present

The Autumn Equinox Celebration was in full swing, and the town square buzzed with excitement. Lanterns in warm hues of gold, red, and orange illuminated the cobbled streets, casting a soft glow over the vendors selling hot cider, roasted chestnuts, and the season’s bountiful harvest. The air was crisp with the early bite of fall, a perfect contrast to the warmth of the bonfires that flickered in the distance. The people, dressed in their finest autumn attire, gathered in celebration of the changing season, their faces alight with joy.

It was a time-honored tradition, one that the royal family always attended. In previous years, their presence had been more symbolic—watching from elevated platforms or giving formal addresses before retreating to private dinners. But this year felt different.

You stood beside Bucky and the Queen Dowager, your eyes scanning the lively crowd that filled the bustling festival square. There was something in the air tonight, something electric, pulling you away from the suffocating formality that had become your life. The weight of the crown, the title of "queen," had forced a distance between you and the very people you had vowed to serve.

You were tired of it.

Tired of watching from afar, tired of being on the sidelines. Tonight, you had decided that things would be different.

“I shall participate,” you declared suddenly, your voice cutting through the gentle murmur of conversation between Bucky, Isaac and the Queen Dowager.

All three of them froze. Bucky’s head whipped toward you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, while the Queen Dowager blinked, clearly caught off guard by your unexpected declaration. 

Even Isaac turned his head sharply, his eyebrows raised as if to say, Did I hear that right?

You didn’t wait for them to respond. You had already made up your mind, your heart pounding with a mixture of defiance and exhilaration. With a firm nod, you began descending the steps from the royal platform, your gown flowing behind you as you moved purposefully toward the festival grounds. Your decision was final, your stride unwavering.

Scott hurried after you, “Your Majesty,” he began, his tone gentle but insistent. “I must advise against participating in the horse race… or the archery competition. You’ve been… frail as of late, and these are not activities usually undertaken by—"

"Women?" you interrupted, raising a brow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Scott shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that, Your Majesty, it’s just that—"

You shook your head, cutting him off again. “Scott, enough. The people need to know who their queen is, and standing on some platform like a distant figurehead isn’t going to do that.”

Before Scott could protest further, you turned to the Queen Dowager and Bucky, your eyes steady as you made your case. 

“May I?”

The Queen Dowager hesitated for only a moment, her sharp eyes assessing you. 

"Well..." she began, her voice laced with curiosity. She turned to her son, raising a brow, waiting for his response.

Bucky, who had remained quiet until now, felt a weight settle in his chest. He studied you, the determination in your eyes unmistakable. His initial instinct was to say no—to protect you from what could easily become reckless. 

But he could see it, the fire burning in you, the need to connect with the people in a way that felt real. The weight of upcoming events—the ceremony, the consort issue—still hung between you, and he knew this wasn’t just about tradition. This was about you asserting your place, your own strength.

He let out a soft sigh, reluctant but understanding. 

“Fine,” he said quietly, though his voice carried a hint of tension. After a pause, he added, “But I shall be joining you.” 

Your lips tugged into a grateful smile, though you could see the concern lingering in his eyes. You nodded, your resolve only strengthening. 

Without another word, you turned and strode toward the festival grounds, the sounds of the bustling town filling the air around you as you prepared to show them exactly who their queen was.

"Scott, why don’t you fetch me some riding attire?" you called over your shoulder.

Scott, still flustered by the sudden turn of events, stammered, "B-but, Your Majesty, the attire is only for men."

You arched a brow, a glint of defiance in your eyes. "Even better. Find me a size that would fit, then."

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head as he watched you walk away with a newfound fire in your step. 

As Scott hurried off to fulfill your unusual request, you glanced back at Bucky, who was now following your lead toward the race track. Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice calm but with a teasing edge as he walked beside you. 

“You are angry,” he repeated, though there was a hint of playfulness in his tone.

You tilted your head, lips curving into a faint smirk as you feigned innocence. “Hm? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You are. I can tell.”

“I’m not,” you insisted, though your expression betrayed you. The defiance in your stance, the way you had commanded Scott to fetch the riding attire—it all spoke volumes, and Bucky knew you too well to miss it.

“You are,” he said again, this time with more certainty, stepping closer until you were walking side by side. His voice softened, but there was still that lingering humor. “You’re upset about something.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hold onto your composure, but the warmth in his gaze made it difficult. He was giving you that look—the one that always made you feel like he could see right through you.

Bucky’s smirk deepened, but he raised his eyebrows as if to prove a point. 

“I see,” he said, his tone light but with that knowing edge that always managed to get under your skin. “So you're not mad. You’re just… a little defensive.”

You felt your pulse quicken, your composure slipping for just a second. 

“I said I’m not,” you repeated, but the sharpness in your voice betrayed the calm facade you were trying to maintain.

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“Alright, alright,” he said with a chuckle, though the amusement never left his eyes. “But you know you’re only proving my point, right?”

A huff escaped you, your gaze flicking forward as you quickened your pace slightly. 

"It is because you keep insisting that I am mad." The words came out faster than you'd intended, the frustration bubbling with you.

Bucky didn’t miss a beat, falling into step beside you again. He shot you a sidelong glance, his smile softening into something more understanding. 

"Perhaps... but I know you, Y/N. There’s something you’re not telling.”

You kept your eyes ahead, unwilling to meet his gaze, knowing that if you did, the wall you were trying so hard to keep up would crumble completely. 

Of course, you were mad—mad about tonight, mad about the expectations, mad about the fact that after everything, you’d be left to bear the weight of it while Bucky... while Bucky would have to fulfill the duties that came with naming a consort. But you weren’t about to admit that. You couldn’t.

Instead, you bit back your real thoughts, holding your chin high. “I just want to win this race,” you said with forced resolve, brushing past the truth and focusing on the task at hand.

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head, but there was no teasing left in his tone when he finally spoke again. "If it’s about the upcoming ceremony and the consummation, you know it doesn’t mea—"

“Don’t,” you cut him off quickly, your voice quieter this time but firm. You didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to discuss it—you knew you made this decision for him—but still.

Bucky hesitated, studying your face for a moment, then sighed softly. He didn't push further, though you could sense the tension still lingering between you both. Even though he didn't say it, you knew he understood. The heaviness of the night ahead pressed on you both, but for now, neither of you would speak it aloud.

You had an image to maintain, after all.

× × × ×

The field was abuzz with excitement as the riders gathered for the horse race, the energy palpable in the crisp afternoon air. Townspeople and nobles alike lined the track, eager to witness the festivities of the equinox. The usual banter of the crowd was suddenly replaced by hushed murmurs, the kind that always followed when something—or someone—unexpected made an entrance.

You stepped onto the field, your figure commanding attention in a way that immediately silenced those around you. Dressed in a fitted equestrian outfit that hugged every curve, the tailored trousers marked the first time people saw a woman in pants—let alone their queen. The absence of a helmet left your hair loose, a deliberate choice that only amplified the boldness of your appearance. The cut of the clothing emphasized your form in ways your royal gowns never had—every inch of you exuding confidence and power.

“This is blasphemy, how could he allow this?” Lord Carter muttered toward the other lords, shaking his head in disgust as he watched you stride confidently across the field, dressed in your fitted equestrian attire.

Tony Stark, overhearing Lord Carter’s complaint, raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

“Blasphemy, Lord Carter?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “I’d call it bold. A queen who knows how to make an impression. You should try it sometime.” He nudged Pepper, who was standing beside him, her expression calm but approving.

Pepper glanced at you, a smile tugging at her lips. “It doesn't just suit her—she’s setting a new standard,” she added, her tone firm. “If anyone can’t handle it, that’s their problem.”

Tony chuckled, giving Lord Carter a pointed look. “Quite right, let them grumble. She’s not just ruling—she’s rewriting the rulebook. You might want to take notes.”

Lord Carter scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “A queen rewriting the rulebook? That’s not how tradition works, Stark,” he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

Before Tony could respond, Lord Pierce chimed in, his voice smooth and calculated. 

“Tradition has its place, Tony,” Pierce said, his gaze flickering between the queen and the lords. “But there’s a fine line between boldness and rebellion. And I’m not sure which side of that line our queen is walking right now.”

Tony, ever unflappable, raised an eyebrow. “Boldness, rebellion—call it what you want. But progress doesn’t happen without shaking things up.” He leaned closer to Pepper, adding with a smirk, “And she’s shaking things up in the best way possible.”

Wanda, standing near the edge of the crowd, watched with a mixture of quiet awe and tension. Her eyes flickered with admiration for your boldness, but there was a shadow of concern in her expression, knowing the stir it would cause among the more traditional members of the court.

Beside her, Natasha smirked, crossing her arms with a knowing glance toward Wanda. “She’s always known how to make an entrance,” Natasha murmured, her voice low, though the pride in her tone was unmistakable.

Wanda’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as she tried to stifle a smile, her gaze briefly shifting to the far end of the gathering. Her fingers brushed absently over a simple ring she wore—small and unadorned, hidden in plain sight yet easily overlooked. It was not a royal symbol, but one with personal significance.

Natasha’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the movement, and her smirk deepened knowingly. “I’d wager there’s more than one reason you’re watching so closely,” she said in an even quieter tone, her eyes flickering toward Isaac, who stood further back, observing the crowd with his usual intensity.

Wanda’s expression faltered for just a moment, the barest flicker of something unspoken passing between her and Natasha. She quickly composed herself, her voice soft but firm. 

“You know the court likes a good spectacle,” she replied, deflecting with a grace that only someone well-versed in keeping secrets could muster.

Across the field, Isaac’s gaze briefly locked onto Wanda’s, and for the faintest second, his lips curled into a smirk—a fleeting gesture, but one that carried a world of meaning between the two of them.

As you made your way toward your horse, the whispers grew louder, though no one dared to speak directly to you. But you could feel their gazes on you—on your legs, your hips, the way the trousers clung to your body as you moved to mount your horse.

Beside you, Steve adjusted his reins, giving you a knowing glance. “So, is this your plan tonight? To cause a stir?”

You smirked at him, your eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and mischief. “Don’t tell me you’re going to lecture me too, Captain.”

Steve chuckled, his eyes sweeping over the crowd briefly before returning to you. 

"Not my place. Besides," he added with a wry grin, "I don’t think anyone’s in a position to lecture you right now."

Your gaze flickered to Bucky, standing just beyond the track, his eyes dark as they followed your every movement. His posture was calm, but the way his jaw clenched and his hands tightened at his sides told a different story—he looked unimpressed. It was the way the majority are practically undressing you with their eyes, their curiosity and barely concealed admiration not going unnoticed by him.

Thor, ever the blunt one, muttered something under his breath that earned him a sharp elbow from Loki. Pietro, catching Thor’s comment, snickered and leaned over to nudge one of the nearby riders, clearly enjoying the stir you were causing.

“Sons of. . .” Bucky muttered under his breath.

You stole a glance at Bucky from your peripheral vision, noticing the sharp way he mounted his horse. His movements were precise, but the tightness in his jaw and the simmering anger behind his eyes were impossible to miss. He looked like a man barely holding back.

Steve also caught sight of him, his brow furrowing slightly. “Looks like the king’s decided to join,” Steve muttered, his tone neutral but observant.

You kept your eyes forward, not wanting to give Bucky the satisfaction of your attention. Your grip tightened around the reins, frustration still simmering inside you, unresolved and heavy.

Bucky maneuvered his horse next to yours, his presence imposing. He said nothing at first, but you could feel the intensity radiating off him, a storm waiting to break.

“Are you really joining the race now, Your Majesty?” you said, your voice tight, lacking the usual teasing tone. It wasn’t a playful question—it was a challenge.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to you, his eyes dark with frustration of his own. “Someone needs to keep an eye on things,” he muttered under his breath, though you knew his words carried a double meaning.

You didn’t respond, your jaw clenched as you stared ahead, trying to keep your emotions in check. Steve, noticing the tension between the two of you, stayed quiet, though you could sense he felt uneasy.

As the starting horn blared, signaling the beginning of the race, your heart pounded not just from the anticipation of the race, but from the unresolved tension hanging thick in the air between you and Bucky.

The horn blasted through the crisp evening air, sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins. You nudge your horse forward, feeling the powerful surge of muscle beneath you as the mare shoots ahead. The pounding of hooves echoed all around, the cheers of the crowd turning into a muffled roar as you focused on the track ahead.

Beside you, Steve was a steady presence, his horse galloping in sync with yours. His gaze remained forward, his focus razor-sharp, but you could sense his concern, even in the midst of the race. To your left, Bucky pushed his stallion hard, his frustration clearly feeding into his determination to win.

You leaned forward, your grip tightening on the reins as the wind whipped through your hair. The scent of the earth beneath you, the thundering of hooves, and the rush of the competition were all-consuming. For a moment, the weight of the palace, the consort ceremony, and your own personal turmoil faded away.

Bucky drew closer, his horse nearly neck-and-neck with yours. You could feel his presence beside you, the unspoken tension between you thick in the air. You didn't look at him, your focus entirely on the path ahead. But you knew he was pushing just as hard, if not harder, trying to overtake you.

Steve, on your other side, matched your pace, his horse galloping fiercely as the three of you tore down the track. The crowd was a blur, their cheers blending into one cacophonous sound. You couldn’t focus on anything but the finish line, your heart pounding as you urged your horse forward.

The ground flew by beneath you, the wind tugging at your clothes as you edged ahead, your mare responding to your commands with every ounce of strength she had. Bucky’s stallion was right beside you, his breaths coming hard, his eyes locked on the finish line just as yours were.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a dark blur shot past both you and Bucky, startling the horses. You blinked, barely able to process what had just happened as a familiar figure streaked ahead of the pack—Isaac. His horse, sleek and black as night, thundered down the track with blinding speed, leaving dust in his wake.

Isaac, of all people, had appeared out of thin air.

“What the—” Steve muttered under his breath, his eyes widening in surprise as he watched Isaac speed toward the finish line, his usual smirk plastered on his face.

You and Bucky exchanged brief glances, both of you equally shocked by the sudden intrusion. But Isaac’s horse was too fast, and within moments, he had crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupting into wild cheers and laughter.

Isaac slowed his horse, turning it around with effortless grace, a smug grin spreading across his face as he trotted back toward the rest of the riders.

“Well, well,” Isaac drawled, his tone smug. “It seems I’ve beaten the king and the queen at their own race.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but a small smirk tugged at your lips despite the tension still lingering inside you. Isaac, always the showman, had once again stolen the spotlight.

Bucky, however, was less amused. His jaw was clenched tightly, his knuckles white as he gripped the reins. He gave Isaac a look that could melt steel, but Isaac only laughed, thoroughly enjoying the moment.

“Better luck next time, brother,” Isaac said, his tone teasing as he dismounted with ease, handing the reins of his horse to one of the stable boys.

You dismounted as well, patting your mare’s side appreciatively. Steve shook his head, still catching his breath, a bemused smile playing on his lips as he watched Isaac bask in the attention of the crowd.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Steve remarked dryly, glancing at you with raised eyebrows.

“Nothing’s ever simple when Isaac’s involved,” you replied with a sigh, though a small part of you was relieved. At least, for a brief moment, the focus had shifted away from the simmering tension between you and Bucky.

× × × ×

The archery field was abuzz with excitement, the tension thick in the air as the nobles gathered to watch the competition. It was a favored event of the equinox festival, where skill, precision, and a bit of bravado were put on display. You stood at the edge of the range, the familiar weight of the bow in your hands calming your nerves. The festival had drawn in many of the lords, and though this was meant to be a lighthearted competition, you felt the eyes of the court upon you.

Across the field, Lord Carter stood with his usual haughty air, his gaze flicking toward you with thinly veiled disdain. He held a small scroll in his hand, one that he had been waving around during conversations, clearly making a point to anyone who would listen. The sight of him only fueled the fire that had been smoldering in you all day.

You took a steadying breath, narrowing your gaze at the target in front of you. Initially, your focus was sharp on the bullseye—your bow raised, the arrow nocked perfectly. The tension in the string built, the anticipation thickening in the air.

But then something shifted.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Pierce—his face pale and tight with frustration. He looked as though he had just received dire news, and his entire posture screamed of someone desperately trying to leave unnoticed. 

Isaac, however, stood in his way, blocking his path with a casual but firm presence, his lips curled into an amused smirk as he conversed with the clearly flustered councilman.

Your lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Carter had initially been your target, but this new opportunity was far too tempting. With a subtle adjustment to your aim, you set your sights on Pierce instead.

Beside you, Steve stood still, his sharp gaze catching the subtle shift in your movements. He didn’t speak, but you felt the weight of his attention on you, ever steady and watchful.

“Are you ready, Your Majesty?” the official called out, waiting for your signal to begin the round.

You gave a slight nod, your eyes never leaving Pierce now. The bow raised, string pulled taut, the arrow perfectly nocked and ready to fly.

The arrow sliced through the air with deadly precision, the sound of it cutting through the stillness of the field. A collective gasp echoed through the crowd as the arrow veered away from the intended target—a bullseye—and instead found its mark: Pierce’s coat, pinning it cleanly to the wooden post behind him.

Pierce froze mid-step, his eyes wide as he looked down at the arrow now securing him in place. His face flushed with a mixture of shock and fury, but before he could fully react, another arrow swiftly followed the first, pinning the opposite side of his coat, effectively trapping him.

Isaac, who had been standing beside Pierce, took a startled step back, his usual composure briefly faltering as he flinched when the arrow thudded into the post. His eyes widened for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden display of your boldness.

But as quickly as the surprise came, Isaac’s face shifted into a toothy grin. He leaned against the post casually, the smirk deepening as he locked eyes with you from across the field. Pierce, now quite literally stuck, looked from the arrows to you, his face a mask of barely contained rage. But even he knew better than to cause a scene now.

The nobles, too, were silent, eyes wide as they processed what had just happened. The message was unmistakable.

You lowered your bow with the same calm, collected grace, turning away from the target as if you hadn’t just sent the boldest statement of the day.

Steve, mounted on his horse nearby, chuckled softly under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’d say that hit the mark.”

You smirked, glancing up at him. “I was aiming for something a little more symbolic.”

Across the field, Pierce’s face burned with fury, but the message had already been sent. The crowd had seen it, and no words could undo the statement you had just made. Isaac, though momentarily caught off guard, seemed to enjoy the chaos you had stirred, his smirk never leaving his face.

Isaac’s grin widened as he watched Pierce struggle, the councilman’s face contorting in frustration as he tugged at his coat, trying to free himself from the arrows that had pinned him to the wooden post. The crowd had already started to murmur, but no one dared move to assist Pierce, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Isaac leaned casually against the post, his arms crossed, an air of mock amusement hanging around him. He glanced down at Pierce, his tone light but dripping with playful malice.

"Having some trouble there, Lord Pierce?"

Pierce grunted, his hands desperately trying to pull one of the arrows from the wood. His face reddened further with each futile attempt. 

“Get these off, now,” he growled through gritted teeth, his voice low but seething with rage.

Isaac chuckled softly, making no move to help. 

“You seem perfectly capable,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “But if you insist, I’m sure one of the guards could lend a hand. Then again,” he added with a smirk, “it’s quite the spectacle. I’d hate to rob the court of such entertainment.”

Pierce shot him a venomous glare, his anger only deepening as Isaac remained where he was, clearly enjoying the moment far too much. With a final grunt of frustration, Pierce yanked harder at one of the arrows, but the force only caused him to stumble slightly, his coat still firmly attached to the post.

Isaac raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. "Perhaps you should have a bit more practice at the archery field, my lord. It appears those arrows are giving you quite the challenge."

Pierce was panting now, his hands trembling slightly from the exertion, but Isaac only took a step back, waving his hand dismissively. 

"I’ll leave you to it," he said lazily, as if this were all just a game to him. "Good luck, Lord Pierce."

With that, Isaac turned on his heel and strolled away, his posture relaxed as if he hadn’t just left one of the most powerful members of the council humiliated and trapped in front of half the court. As he walked, he glanced back briefly, catching your eye from across the field. The knowing glint in his gaze spoke volumes.

Meanwhile, Pierce, still pinned to the post, continued his struggle, his pride preventing him from calling for help, even as the sweat beaded on his brow. The scene played out before the gathered nobles, each one pretending not to notice but clearly watching with bated breath as one of their own remained stuck, while Isaac walked away with an easy swagger.

× × × × 

The evening had descended into something almost ethereal. The soft glow of lanterns cast a warm, golden light across the festival grounds, the crackle of bonfires filling the air with the scent of woodsmoke. Along the shore, people gathered with lanterns in hand, preparing to send their wishes into the sky. The vast expanse of the ocean reflected the flickering lights, making it seem as though the heavens and the sea were one.

People gathered in clusters, their faces illuminated by the soft flicker of flames as they prepared their lanterns—small, delicate paper structures painted with wishes for the coming winter.

All around you, there was a quiet anticipation, a sense of magic in the air as families, couples, and children alike whispered their hopes and dreams into the night, preparing to send them into the sky.

You stood at the edge of the bonfires, the glow of the flames casting shadows across your face. Despite the crowd, you felt a strange sense of solitude, as though the weight of the night had draped itself over your shoulders, keeping you apart from the festivities.

The murmurs of the crowd fell into a soft lull, the crackle of the fire becoming the only sound as you watched people begin to release their lanterns into the sky. The first few floated up gently, their soft light flickering against the dark canvas of the night. One by one, they began to rise, slowly at first, then with more purpose, as though they were being drawn toward the heavens.

It was breathtaking, a moment that felt almost too perfect for the reality of the world you had come to know. The lanterns drifted higher, the soft glow creating a shimmering constellation of hopes and wishes above.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Bucky’s voice came softly from behind you, and you turned to find him standing there, his face partially illuminated by the flickering light of the bonfire. His eyes, however, were trained on the sky, watching the lanterns rise like tiny stars escaping into the night.

You hadn’t expected him to find you—not tonight. You hadn’t expected him to break away from the formalities of his role. And yet, here he was, his presence grounding you in a way that only he could.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The lanterns were already rising, drifting gently into the night sky, their soft light like stars scattered against the darkness. It was breathtaking, but the beauty of it only heightened the sense of longing that had settled deep within you.

“It feels like the whole world is wishing for something,” you said softly, your gaze returning to the sky. “. . . better. Something brighter.”

Bucky moved closer, his hand brushing against yours. It was such a simple gesture, but it was enough to ground you in the moment. His fingers curled around yours, warm and securing. You didn’t pull away.

“I’ve been wishing too,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the waves gently lapping at the shore.

You hesitated, your chest tightening as you turned to face him more fully. “And what is it that you wish for, James?”

His eyes met yours, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow. There was a vulnerability you rarely saw in him—one that he only ever revealed to you.

“For you,” he murmured. “to be genuinely happy.”

Bucky's hand tightened around yours, his eyes, so full of unspoken love and longing, held yours with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

“What did you wish for?” Bucky asked.

Your gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, your fingers still gripping his as though letting go might cause the world to crumble around you. 

"I wished for peace," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For all of this—the chaos, the pressure—to end."

Bucky’s thumb brushed softly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance. “And for yourself?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze once more. His blue eyes were filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. You swallowed hard, searching for the right words.

“I wished for…” you trailed off, the truth threatening to spill over. But you stopped yourself, the weight of duty pressing on you again. You forced a smile instead, your fingers tightening around his. “I wished for the kingdom to thrive.”

“That’s not for yourself. . .”

Bucky’s gaze softened, but he didn’t push further. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable as he turned his head back toward the lanterns drifting higher into the sky. His silence was deafening, but the way his fingers held yours told you he understood what you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Around you, the lanterns continued to rise, hundreds of them now, filling the sky with their soft, golden light. The bonfires crackled softly in the distance, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the world felt peaceful. The magic of the moment lingered in the air, and in that quiet space, you allowed yourself to believe—just for a little while—that the wishes drifting into the sky might actually come true.

Bucky’s hand slipped from yours, but only for a moment. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, unlit lantern, holding it out to you.

“One more,” he said softly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “For us.”

Your fingers brushed his as you accepted the lantern, a quiet understanding passing between you. Together, you lit it, the warm glow illuminating both of your faces as the flame flickered to life. Slowly, you both lifted it, ready to release it into the sky.

Just as you were about to let go, Bucky’s voice, soft and full of longing, stopped you. Your breath stilled as his fingers brushed against yours, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made the world around you fade. The noise of the festival, the glow of the lanterns, everything melted away until there was only him.

“I wish…” he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, his gaze unwavering. “I wish that one day, we’ll have a child of our own. A piece of you and me, together.”

The warmth of the lantern’s flame flickered between you, casting a soft glow on his face, illuminating every detail—the way his lips parted slightly, the gentle curve of his jaw, the unspoken promise in his eyes.

And then, without another word, you both released the lantern together, you watched it rise into the night sky, carrying his wish—your shared wish—into the heavens. 

Bucky’s gaze never left your face, even as the lantern disappeared into the sea of lights above. 

× × × ×

It was the day of officializing the Consort.

The towering oak tree stood at the edge of the palace gardens, its massive branches stretching out like protective arms. You had always found solace here, the leaves whispering in the breeze, the rough bark grounding you when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control. 

Scott stood at the base of the tree, his arms crossed casually as he looked up at you. By now, he had grown used to your need for solitude, often finding you up in the branches after difficult moments. He had long stopped trying to convince you to come down, knowing that this was where you found some measure of peace.

“They’ve sedated Lady Monica,” Scott said, his voice carrying up to you. “She had a mild wrist fracture, but the physician said she’ll recover quickly. You can visit her once she’s awake.”

You nodded from your perch, though your mind was still far from the present. 

“I’ll visit her before the Ceremony.”

The world felt muted, your emotions dulled by today’s event. You had wanted to visit Monica earlier but duty had held you back. Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

The sound of footsteps on the grass drew both you and Scott’s attention. Steve approached quietly, his usual careful, measured strides carrying him toward the oak tree. His gaze flicked up to you, concern written plainly on his face. You knew he’d come to check on you.

Scott glanced at Steve, then back at you. 

"I'll give you two a moment," he said, his voice gentle. With a nod, Scott stepped back, disappearing into the distance to give you some space.

Steve stood at the base of the tree, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his gaze soft. He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at you with an expression you had come to recognize—gentle concern mingled with adoration that seemed to grow more obvious.

“Good Morning,” Steve called up quietly, his voice carrying up to your branch. “I figured I’d find you here.”

You glanced down, the feel of his presence tugging at the edges of your solitude. 

“I needed some air,” you replied softly, your voice carrying down to him.

Steve nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Understandable. It’s been... a long couple of days."

For a moment, there was only the rustling of the leaves and the distant sounds of the palace. Steve remained silent, giving you the space to speak if you wanted to—but you didn’t. Instead, you closed your eyes briefly, letting the wind play with your hair, trying to push the ache in your chest deeper down.

But Steve, ever patient, didn’t press. He simply waited, knowing that being there was enough.

After a long silence, you opened your eyes to find Steve studying the branches above him, calculating something. Then, he lifted his arms up, he grabbed hold of the lowest branch and began to climb.

Your brow lifted as you watched him pull himself up, his movements a bit more confident than the last time he attempted this. 

“Your climbing skills have improved,” you teased, leaning back against the trunk as he hoisted himself onto the branch across from you.

Steve let out a breath, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he settled himself on the branch, facing you. 

“Not like a schoolboy anymore, huh?”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Not quite.”

There was a brief silence between you as Steve adjusted his position, leaning his back against the trunk. He watched you for a moment, his usual guarded demeanor softening just a touch. It was clear he wasn’t here simply to check on you—there was something else in his expression, something deeper that he hadn’t yet found the words for.

“I figured I’d come see how you were holding up,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. His eyes never left your face.

You gave a small shrug, trying to keep your tone light. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

Steve’s gaze lingered on you a little longer than usual. He could see right through the façade you were trying to keep up—he always could. “Thinking about the ceremony?”

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers idly tracing the bark of the branch beneath you. “Among other things.”

Steve nodded, his expression thoughtful. He shifted slightly, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his gaze out toward the horizon. 

“You don’t have to be fine, you know. Not with me.”

Something in his voice made you pause. There was a gentleness there that you hadn’t expected, a quiet invitation to drop the mask you wore for everyone else. For a moment, the walls you had built around yourself wavered.

“I know,” you said softly, your eyes dropping to the space between you. “It’s just… complicated.”

“It usually is.” Steve let out a small breath, nodding in understanding.

There was a brief silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt as though the two of you were suspended in time, the weight of the palace, the crown, the duties all falling away for just a moment.

Steve shifted again, this time leaning in a little closer, his voice quieter, almost conspiratorial. “You know, I was half expecting you to climb even higher. Maybe hide out completely.”

“And what would you have done if I did?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Probably tried to climb higher too,” he said with a shrug, his lips quirking into a playful grin. “Though I’m not sure how well that would’ve gone.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “I think you’d manage.”

The lighthearted exchange brought some relief, but your thoughts quickly drifted back to the heavier matters weighing on your mind. You shifted slightly, drawing a deep breath before speaking again, though this time, you found it harder to meet Steve’s gaze.

“Steve,” you began slowly, almost cautiously. “What… will happen after?”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing the shift in your tone. “With… what, exactly?”

“The things that happen after the ceremony... I heard it’s a two-day ritual? Consorts weren’t a tradition in Zienna.”

Steve let out a quiet breath, clearly understanding the underlying tension in your question. He shifted a little closer, his voice soft yet steady. 

“Yeah, the council has their way of doing things, stretching it all out. There’s usually some symbolic rites for the consort to cement their place. A formality, really.”

You nodded, but your eyes stayed focused on the ground. “And then… after all that?”

Steve could see through your hesitation, the way your words trailed off as if you were too afraid to say what you were truly thinking. His heart clenched, knowing what weighed on your mind but not wanting to cause you more pain.

“You’re wondering about the heir,” he said, gently pulling the words from your silence.

You didn’t answer, but the slight tension in your shoulders spoke volumes.

Steve’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his voice filled with the quiet confidence you had always relied on. 

“Look, Y/N… I know the council will push for an heir, but don’t get caught up in their expectations. Bucky’s heart? It’s yours. No matter what they want or what they say… he’s yours.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his, and for the first time in a while, you felt a small sense of relief. Steve’s words held a warmth that wrapped around you like a protective shield, something solid to hold on to amidst the uncertainty.

“But... what if…” you trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Steve’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering. “It will not change his feelings toward you,” he said firmly, his tone steady and assured.

You let out a quiet breath, but the unease still lingered. “Really? I cannot help but think feelings do shift as one spends more time with another.” Your eyes held him with a knowing look, one that hinted at a deeper understanding of what lay beneath the surface.

Steve’s jaw tensed slightly, his composure faltering for a fraction of a second as your words hit their mark. His gaze flickered away, just briefly, before he composed himself once more, his voice low and measured when he spoke again.

"You should stop now, Captain, before it gets deeper."

Steve chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a hint of resignation, as though he'd been caught red-handed. His tongue briefly swiped across his teeth, a small, reflexive gesture that gave away more than he intended. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes briefly meeting yours again, but this time, there was something lighter in his gaze—something that spoke of a truth he'd been holding onto for too long.

“Hm,” he said quietly, his smile faint but genuine. “Guess I’ve been found out, huh?”

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “You’re really obvious.”

Steve’s gaze flickered with amusement, though there was a trace of something deeper behind his expression. “Maybe I wasn’t trying too hard to hide it from you.” 

But then Steve’s expression softened, the playfulness fading into something more sincere. His hand dropped from his neck, resting on his knee as he leaned forward, his tone quiet but resolute.

“But you don’t have to worry. I won’t act on it. I won’t pursue you—because I can’t.” He hesitated, his eyes searching yours, as if wanting to make sure you understood. “You’ve got enough on your shoulders as it is. I won’t add to it.”

There was a steady resolve in his voice, a reassurance that he wouldn’t let his feelings complicate things further. Yet, even as he spoke the words, you both knew that the tension between you would remain.

His smile returned, softer this time, though tinged with a hint of sadness. “Just know… wherever you go, that's where I follow. Always.”

× × × ×

You walked slowly down the corridor, Isaac at your side, his silent presence a steadying force, though unease curled deep in your chest. The weight of guilt gnawed at you, but you forced it down. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.

Isaac's eyes were sharp, ever watchful, as you neared Monica's bedside. He hadn’t said much since he insisted on coming along, and though a part of you wondered why, Steve's lack of resistance made you push the thought aside. Isaac always carried that quiet intensity, a storm kept at bay but ready to break if needed.

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a habit he never quite lost, even when no danger was immediately present. His demeanor was far from relaxed, his presence reminding you of the subtle tensions that still ran through the palace.

“Are you sure about this?” Isaac asked in a low voice, his eyes scanning the corridor ahead.

You nodded, keeping your face neutral despite the knot tightening in your stomach. “I should have come sooner.”

Isaac gave a curt nod but said nothing more, pushing open the door to the infirmary. He stepped aside, allowing you to enter first, though his sharp gaze never left you.

Monica lay in the bed by the window, her complexion still pale, but her eyes open. When the door creaked, she glanced over, her lips curling into a faint smile upon seeing you.

“Your Majesty,” Monica greeted, her voice strained as she tried to sit up.

You moved quickly to her bedside, gently motioning for her to lie back. “Don’t strain yourself,” you said, keeping your tone as stern as possible.

Monica gave you a small smile, her hand reaching out weakly toward you. You took it, her skin cold against yours.

“It’s good to see you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, your mind racing. The guilt was there, gnawing at you, but you refused to let it show. “I should have been here sooner, Monica. I should have known something was wrong.”

Monica squeezed your hand, though her grip was feeble. “Don’t… blame yourself.”

Your jaw clenched. “But I can’t help feeling responsible. I should have been more vigilant—I’ve been too focused on my own self pity.”

Monica shook her head weakly, her gaze steady despite her weakened state. “No, your majesty… this is not on you. They’re targeting you… you know that. But this… this wasn’t your fault.”

You took a breath, glancing toward the window. “It still feels like I missed something. I should’ve been paying attention to the signs.”

Monica’s gaze softened. “You’re doing your best, my Queen. Don’t carry a weight that isn’t yours.”

Isaac, who had been standing silently near the door, his arms crossed as he observed the exchange, let his gaze drift between the two women, his face impassive but his mind already calculating. His fingers drummed lightly against his arm, betraying the restlessness stirring beneath his calm exterior.

A long silence stretched between them before Monica’s expression shifted. Her gaze became more serious, a glint of worry creeping into her eyes. 

“Your Majesty… are you still drinking tea?”

You blinked as confusion crossed your features. 

“Tea? Y-yes, but not often why?”

“Any tea,” Monica pressed, her voice a little stronger now. “Not just the tea Lady Sharon brought you… have you been drinking anything else?”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed sharply. He took a step forward, his voice low and measured, though his tone carried an unmistakable edge. 

“Why do you ask?”

Monica hesitated, glancing between you and Isaac, her lips pressing into a thin line before she spoke. “Because… I ran a test on the tea that was brought to you—I believe you saw me. . .Prince Isaac?”

Isaac recalled and nodded twice.

“What do you mean?”

Monica’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, her voice grave. “It wasn’t just tea. It was tainted with Silphium.”

Your brow furrowed. “Silphium?” The name meant little to you; you had never studied such herbs in detail. “What is that?”

Isaac’s gaze darkened, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes, though his expression remained inscrutable. 

He spoke, his voice a shade colder now. “Silphium is a contraceptive, Your Majesty. Highly effective… and not something that should have been anywhere near your cup.”

Monica nodded grimly. “And worse than that… it wasn’t only Silphium. There was also a small amount of wolfsbane mixed in.”

Isaac’s face hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. He stepped forward, his posture predatory, a dark storm cloud on the verge of eruption. 

“Wolfsbane? Poison?” His voice was dangerously quiet, simmering with a lethal calm. 

Monica shook her head, her face clouded with concern. “The combination is dangerous. It could have harmed her far more than just preventing an heir. Silphium alone is potent, but adding wolfsbane could… well, it could weaken her considerably.”

Isaac’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile, though an ounce of humor was absent. He turned toward you, his eyes flashing with barely-contained fury. Isaac scoffed under his breath, shaking his head as if disgusted by the messiness of the situation. 

“Huh. I see now,” he muttered, his voice low. He met your gaze, his eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity. 

The tension in the room mounted, the implications of what had been revealed settling heavily in the air. You felt your stomach twist, a cold realization sweeping over you—someone wants you dead.

Isaac’s voice cut through the charged air, dark and commanding. “This is an attack.”

Monica’s voice broke through the charged air, her tone still soft but filled with caution. “Please, Your Majesty, you must be careful. Whoever is behind this. . . have something against the royal family.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, but a steely resolve building within you. 

Isaac stood by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection, his demeanor now cold and calculating, ready to do whatever was necessary. As you glanced at him, you could see the fire in his eyes.

× × × × 

As you left Monica’s chambers, the weight of the revelation pressed down on you like a physical burden. The air felt colder, the hallways stretching endlessly ahead as you walked side by side with Isaac. Each step seemed heavier, your thoughts racing as the full implication of the situation crashed over you. Silphium. Wolfsbane. Someone had ordered to poison your tea—someone who wanted to weaken you, perhaps even kill you.

Your breath quickened, coming in shallow bursts, your chest tight as anger and fear swirled within you, threatening to spill over. The rage—it was too much to contain. Hot tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to hold it together, to keep the storm of emotions from escaping. But it was no use. Your breathing became frantic, fast and shallow, and you could feel the tingling in your fingers and toes as the lack of oxygen spread through your body.

Isaac’s sharp gaze flickered toward you. He sensed the shift immediately, the way your steps faltered, the way your shoulders trembled. Without a word, he moved closer, his hand resting firmly at the small of your back, guiding you forward, keeping you upright as your legs threatened to give way beneath you.

“Steady,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with a surprising gentleness, one that cut through the storm in your mind. “Breathe.”

But you couldn’t. The air wouldn’t come. Your chest tightened further, your vision darkening at the edges as the tears spilled over. You tried to focus, to ground yourself, but it was like drowning in your own fury and helplessness.

Isaac’s grip tightened around you as your legs buckled. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you against him with swift, protective force. He held you up effortlessly, his expression hardening with concern as he watched you struggle for breath.

“You’re not collapsing here,” Isaac said, his voice firm, steady, but not unkind. His grip on your shoulders tightened just slightly, “Y/N. . . Y/N! Slow your breathing. Breathe with me.”

His voice, deep and commanding, cut through the haze of your panic, pulling you back. You were barely aware of your surroundings, but Isaac’s presence was solid. His breath was slow, deliberate, and he leaned in closer, bringing his face level with yours.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of urgency. You forced your eyes to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze almost made you falter. But you held on, your breaths coming in short, sharp exhales, your chest tight with anger and frustration.

“Breathe with me,” he repeated, his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, he inhaled, his chest rising and falling in a controlled rhythm. You tried to follow his lead, matching his breaths, but the rage inside you made it difficult.

Tears welled up in your eyes, your vision blurring once more. Isaac’s expression softened, just slightly, as if he could see the storm raging inside you. His hands moved from your shoulders to gently cup your face, his fingers cool against your heated skin.

His gaze held yours, intense and searching. The world around you seemed to come back, his attention pulling you back to the present.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low but firm, his eyes locked onto yours. 

Your breath began to slow, your body responding to his calm, but your heart still raced, not from fear but from the intensity of the moment. His eyes never wavered, holding you there, steady and secure, until you felt yourself coming back into control.

“You need to pull yourself together,” Isaac whispered, his voice barely audible but sharp with purpose. His hands remained firm against your skin, grounding you. “Just a bit longer. The ceremony is coming, and everyone is there. You need to be ready.”

His words sliced through the haze clouding your mind, a harsh reminder of the responsibilities that awaited you. His eyes never left yours, as if willing you to find the strength within yourself. Despite the rage and the panic, you knew he was right.

With a deep, shaky breath, you nodded, feeling the last remnants of panic begin to ease. Isaac nodded, his expression softening just slightly as he saw the determination return to your eyes. 

“Let’s go,” he said quietly but firmly, releasing your arm and stepping back, giving you a moment to gather yourself fully.

You straightened, your heart still pounding but your mind now clearer, sharper. Without another word, you and Isaac turned and began walking toward the Great Hall.

The ceremony took place in the Great Hall where the council members stood in a semi-circle, watching closely, their faces impassive—except Pietro Maximoff who now seemed to be getting weird looks from other council members. The Queen Dowager sat quietly at the head of the hall, her expression indecipherable. Steve stood by the entrance, arms crossed, his gaze never leaving the center of the room. But Isaac who you swore was there mere seconds ago was gone.

× × × ×

The infirmary was eerily quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the nearby fire in the hearth. Shadows danced across the room, casting a faint glow over Monica’s resting figure. The heavy scent of medicinal herbs lingered in the air, and the soft rustle of linen was the only other sound.

Sharon stood by Monica's bedside, her eyes narrowing as she watched the stillness of her body. Her heart pounded, her mind racing with the grim task she had come to finish. With a steady hand, she reached for the pillow beside Monica’s head, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

Without hesitation, she lifted the pillow, bringing it close, her breath quickening as she hovered over Monica's face, prepared to snuff out the last remnants of life As Sharon pressed the pillow down, Monica's body jolted awake, her hands flailing wildly, clawing at the fabric with desperate panic. Her legs kicked beneath the blanket, trying to fight for air, her eyes wide with fear.

But before Monica's struggling could fully register, Sharon was suddenly ripped away from the bed. A powerful hand clamped around her throat, yanking her back with such force that she slammed into the stone wall behind her.

Isaac stood over her, his expression dark and commanding, his hand still wrapped tightly around her neck. His eyes gleamed with a cold, dangerous intensity, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he held her against the wall. The casual, almost predatory ease in his posture made her blood run cold.

“You’re really becoming quite the nuisance, aren’t you?” Isaac’s voice was low, dripping with dark amusement. His thumb brushed lightly over her throat, sending a shiver through her, though there was no mercy in his eyes. His grip tightened slightly, making her gasp.

Behind them, Monica's hands were still weakly reaching toward her throat, gasping for breath, but Isaac's focus remained solely on Sharon.

Sharon struggled in his hold, her eyes wide with shock as she grasped at his wrist, but Isaac didn’t budge. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You should have known better than to try something like this under my watch,” he murmured, his voice a soft, lethal purr. “Now, tell me… was this your own idea, or are you following someone else’s orders?”

Sharon’s chest heaved, her breath shallow, jaw clenched as she refused to answer. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening.

“No? Well then, perhaps I’ll give you a moment to reconsider before I lose my patience,” he added, his voice like silk, though there was a lethal promise hidden beneath the surface.

For a moment, Sharon struggled to breathe, her eyes darting between Isaac and the doorway, her mind racing for an escape. But Isaac’s hold didn’t falter—he was in complete control, and he knew it.

Finally, after a few tense seconds, Isaac loosened his grip just slightly, enough for her to gasp for air. He raised an eyebrow, watching her intently, waiting for her to speak.

"You have a choice here, Sharon," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with barely contained menace. "Answer me… or I can make this much worse for you.”

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[r-memberme]

the world tilted | k.m

⎯⎯Klaus’s scream—raw, unpracticed, and filled with an agony that no immortal soul should ever endure—broke the night

warings: can you hear my heart breaking?

In the twilight of a forgotten village—where the cobblestone streets echoed with ancient secrets and the winds whispered of bygone sorrows—there lay a time when Klaus Mikaelson was still human, his heart a fragile thing unscarred by immortality. Back then, before destiny would twist him into a creature of eternal hunger, he was merely a boy burdened with pride and the weight of a family legacy. And in that time, you were his confidante, his dearest friend, the one whose laughter lit up the dusk and whose eyes held magic all their own.

The days were long and tender, filled with the quiet murmur of the river, the rustle of leaves in the forest, and the secret smiles exchanged in hidden glades. You were a witch—a gentle spirit with the gift of healing and the curse of being misunderstood—whose subtle powers enchanted the villagers, drawing wary glances and furtive whispers. But in Klaus’s eyes, you were the embodiment of all that was luminous in a dark world. You were his solace and his forbidden delight, a kindred soul against the harshness of a life dictated by brutal traditions.

It was a crisp autumn evening, when the sky burned with the last remnants of daylight and the air was laced with both promise and sorrow, that fate took its cruel turn. The village was abuzz with rumors of strange happenings—murmurs of magic, of a power that could either heal or curse—and your gentle nature had always drawn both admiration and suspicion. Klaus, ever protective and possessive in his own quiet, secret way, had stood by your side through whispered slanders and fearful stares. He had promised you, without uttering the word, that he would never let harm come to you. Yet in that fragile era, even promises were as delicate as glass.

༊*·˚

One fateful night, as a bitter wind swept through the narrow lanes and the moon hung low like a mournful eye in the sky, Klaus’s father, the formidable and unyielding Mikael, arrived in the village. His presence was as chilling as the night itself—an ancient force of cruelty and iron will. The villagers, steeped in superstition and fear of the unknown, had long eyed your gifts with dread. Mikael, believing in the old ways and in a ruthless order, saw you not as a gentle witch but as a dangerous aberration. That night, when the wind howled and torches were lit in the streets, suspicion and anger coalesced into a plan of violence.

Klaus had been away on one of his errant wanderings, restless and brooding, when the chaos erupted. He returned, heart heavy with an unspoken dread, to find the village aflame with terror and the bitter cry of a crowd that had come to judgment. With trembling steps, he raced through the narrow alleys, each footfall pounding a rhythm of hope and horror until he reached the modest cottage that had been your sanctuary.

There, in the flickering shadows of the torchlight, he saw it: you, radiant even in despair, standing defiant as Mikael’s wrath descended upon you. His father, a towering figure clad in darkness and cruelty, raised his arm as if to deliver a final decree. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and blood, and Klaus’s heart pounded in his ears like a war drum as the inevitable unfolded. With one swift, ruthless motion, Mikael struck, and the light in your eyes dimmed, extinguished by a force so absolute that time itself seemed to shudder.

The moment he saw her crumpled on the ground, the world tilted.

Klaus’s scream—raw, unpracticed, and filled with an agony that no immortal soul should ever endure—broke the night. He rushed forward, pleading and desperate, as if his words could unmake the horror. “No! Please, don’t leave me!” he cried, voice cracking like shattered glass. But there was nothing left to salvage; your form lay still beneath the unforgiving gaze of your father, and Mikael’s features were etched with a merciless finality that froze Klaus in place.

In that desolate moment, the past and present collided. Memories of your shared laughter in the woods, the gentle evenings by the river, and the quiet, stolen moments of youthful hope flashed before his eyes—a montage of light that now seemed so painfully distant. You had been his anchor in a world gone mad, the one constant in a life ruled by chaos. And now, with your life snuffed out like a candle in the storm, Klaus felt the weight of every broken promise and every silent prayer he had ever uttered in your name.

He cradled your head in his arms, his tears mingling with the rain that fell ceaselessly around you, each droplet a tiny witness to the devastation. “I will never leave you,” he whispered, the words a broken vow that tore at his soul. “I will carry you with me in every moment, in every breath, until my very heart stops beating.” His voice was a mixture of anguish and a desperate, unyielding love that echoed in the cold night air.

༊*·˚

The villagers soon dispersed, leaving behind a silence so deep it pressed against Klaus’s ears. In the aftermath of that night, the world became a place of bittersweet echoes—each familiar sound, each whispered memory, a reminder of what he had lost. In the quiet mornings, he would find himself wandering the banks of the river, touching the stone he had once given you, now a relic of a promise he could no longer keep. He would sit in the empty cottage where your laughter had once filled the rooms, and in the silence, he would cry.

Days melted into weeks, and Klaus became a man haunted by the ghost of your smile, by the phantom touch of your hand. The pain was constant, a dull ache that never truly left him, even as he tried to bury it beneath the weight of centuries yet to come. He wandered through the village like a lost soul, his eyes searching the crowds for a glimpse of what he had lost, for any sign that your spirit still lingered in the corners of the world.

And yet, even as he roamed, Klaus found himself unable to let you go completely. Every time he closed his eyes, your face would emerge from the shadows—a bittersweet vision of youth, warmth, and an innocence that no cruel fate could ever erase. In his dreams, you whispered to him, “I will always be with you.” But upon waking, the harsh reality was a void that could never be filled.

In the months that followed, Klaus’s heart became a repository for every unspoken word and every painful memory. He would speak to you in the solitude of night, as if you were there beside him, his voice trembling with longing and regret. “I am sorry,” he would say, over and over, as though the words could stitch his broken soul back together. Yet, no matter how many times he uttered them, the wound remained—a deep, raw scar that no time could heal.

The world around him moved on, indifferent to his sorrow. Seasons changed, and the land that had once echoed with your shared laughter fell silent under a blanket of perpetual grief. Klaus became a phantom in the village, a man whose eyes held an eternal sadness, whose every step was heavy with the burden of loss. He no longer sought the warmth of human company; he retreated into himself, finding solace only in the memories of a love that had been both his salvation and his undoing.

In the final, silent hours of one cold, unyielding night, Klaus stood beneath a sky so vast and indifferent that it mocked his sorrow. The stars shone like distant promises, unattainable and forever out of reach. With a voice that trembled like the wind through barren trees, he vowed to carry your memory with him for all eternity.

And as the night swallowed his whispered vow, Klaus Mikaelson disappeared into the mist, his figure a solitary silhouette against the endless void of a world that had stolen his only light. There was no happy ending here, no solace to be found—only the bittersweet, unyielding truth that some loves, however fierce, are meant to haunt us forever.