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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

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Carrion Flowers

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Ceryse Stone) Warnings: Cartomancy/tarot/fortune telling, mentions of death, smut. Word count: ~4k

Summary: Annoyed after offering to help seek out his older brother, Aegon, Aemond wanders into the tent of a fortune teller in Flea Bottom to seek out information. He gets much more than he bargains for. Based on this request.

Artwork by the insanely talented @cyeco13

Ceryse drums her ring covered fingers on the cloth covered table top, her green eyes scanning over the tarot deck spread out in front of her for what feels like the hundredth time that afternoon. It has been a slow day in Flea Bottom. Were it not for the merciful relief from the blazing sun that her tent provides, she'd have packed up and gone home hours ago. The only people that have ducked under the canvas so far have been opportunistic drunks looking for somewhere private to pass water, or lost merchants seeking out directions.

She sighs as an intrusion of sunlight casts her in momentary brightness, before darkening once more. The movement of the opening causes the candlelight to flicker. She doesn't bother to look up, she hasn't had a customer all day.

"I'm looking for a man." A smooth, even voice says.

"Pleasure house is that way." She huffs tiredly, half heartedly casting her forefinger in the general direction of the Street of Silk, the movement causing the bangles that adorn her slender wrist to clatter together, as her gaze remains on her cards.

"It's information I'm after, actually."

She looks up, pushing the waves of her long auburn hair from her face in order to take a better look at her insistent visitor. The tall figure is having to stoop to prevent his head from hitting the peaked roof. He exhales heavily through his nose, his nostrils flaring in obvious annoyance.

She'd recognise that face anywhere; the eyepatch, the scar. It is Prince Aemond Targaryen that stands before her. He is trying to disguise his identity, though doing a poor job.

The clasp holding his cloak together costs more than she makes in an entire year. She bites back a laugh thinking about how stiflingly hot he must feel in all those layers.

"Information?" She muses nonchalantly, hiding her recognition. "That will cost you a silver."

He hesitates, narrowing his eye and pursing his lips. "A silver? My lady, you are attempting to extort a Prince!"

"A Prince?" Ceryse rests her chin on her hands, regarding him with amusement. "Well, why didn't you say sooner? In that case, for you, it's two silvers."

“I do not have time for this.” Aemond seethes, turning to leave.

“I’ll throw in a free reading?” She offers, her tone saccharinely sweet.

“No.” He says icily, pulling back the tent flap.

“Suit yourself. Good luck finding your brother!” She retorts cheerfully.

He turns, looking at her incredulously as he’s about to crouch back through the way he came. “How did you-”

“Goodbye, Prince Aemond.” She calls out airily, returning her focus to the fanned out cards on her table.

He leaves with a haughty huff.

Ceryse smiles to herself. Aemond has provided welcome amusement on an otherwise dreary afternoon. She spends the rest of the day half wondering to herself if he’ll send the Gold Cloaks after her for her insolence, though when early evening rolls around and she begins to pack down for the day, she is relieved that he has not.

The sky is awash with purple and orange hues as the sun sets, and she is placing the last of her tent poles into a linen sack when Aemond approaches once more. She straightens, eyeing him with levity as he stalks towards her.

“You know you’re fooling no one with that silly cloak.” She laughs.

He ignores her comment, though she notices the tight line his lips press into. “I would like a reading.” He tells her matter of factly.

“Couldn’t find your brother?”

“No, we found him, but…you knew I was looking for him. Your powers of divination must be strong.”

She gives a wry smile, shaking her head. “‘Tis no divine magic. Prince Aegon frequents this little corner of King’s Landing. I’ve chased him out of my tent more than once for trying to piss in it. It wasn’t hard to guess who you sought.”

Aemond appears to consider this for a moment, his gaze downcast. “I’d still like a reading.” He states, meeting her eye.

“I’ve packed down for the day already.” She gestures towards the bags around her feet.

“I’m willing to pay. Double what you asked; four silvers.”

Ceryse’s eyes go wide. She wouldn’t have to work for an entire week with that sort of coin, she’d be a fool to refuse him. “Very well.” She nods. “You can accompany me home and I’ll do it there. The sun is setting and this isn’t a place it’s wise to be once night falls.”

She picks up the largest of the bags, containing the tent canvas and poles, and thrusts it into Aemond’s arms. “Might as well make yourself useful.” She smirks, collecting up the rest of her things.

Aemond adjusts the bag in his arms, looking affronted at having been asked to carry it. “Who helps you with this usually?"

“Nobody. Us small folk don’t have servants to fetch and carry for us. I load that onto my back and carry the other two in my hands.”

“Hmm.”

They walk through the winding, cobblestoned streets of Flea Bottom for a few moments in silence, until Aemond decides to speak. “I didn’t ask you your name.”

“You didn’t.” Comes Ceryse’s clipped reply.

“You are infuriating.” Aemond mutters.

She giggles, looking sideways at him. “My name is Ceryse.”

“Might I know your last name?”

She hesitates a moment, sighing. “Stone.”

“Hmm. A bastard of the Vale.” He muses.

“Does that offend you?” She eyes him curiously as they continue walking.

“No, it’s just-”

“A bastard put out your eye.”

“That is treason.” He states coolly.

“Do you care?”

“I suppose not.”

She stops once they reach a row of single storey houses all on a slant. They are packed tightly together and look as though the slightest breeze could topple them over. She approaches the one on the end, setting her bags down and unlocking the door.

“Here we are.” She announces, stepping over the threshold and moving to the side to allow Aemond in.

He has to duck to get through the doorway and once inside the sight of this towering hooded man in her humble abode feels like a fever dream. She watches as he takes in his surroundings. She has never felt resentful of the little she has, but now, seeing the face of royalty cast their gaze around the cramped space she inhabits, she can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. Her bed is unmade, and her belongings litter every available surface.

“You have a lovely home.” Aemond says stiffly.

“You’re a horrible liar.” Ceryse snaps back.

“Where should I..?” He hefts the tent bag in his arms, looking at her questioningly.

“Oh, just stick that anywhere!” She says with a shrug, masking her shame as she sets her own bags down, and begins rummaging for her deck of cards. “So you wanted a reading?”

Aemond unfastens his cloak, taking it off and folding it carefully. “Yes. Where shall I put this?”

She takes it from him, throwing it onto the bed, then sets the cards down on a small wooden table that sits at the end of it.

He raises his eyebrows in shock. “Do you have wine?”

“No, too expensive. I’ve got ale though.”

She moves towards the little area that serves as her kitchen, snatching up a clay bottle from the side. Pulling the cork out with her teeth, she fills two mugs before handing one to Aemond.

He accepts it with a quiet thanks, sniffing it apprehensively before taking a sip. His nose immediately wrinkles in disgust.

“Not to your liking, my Prince?” Ceryse asks with a grin.

He coughs slightly, shaking his head. “That is vile.”

She chuckles, moving back towards the table. She seats herself on the end of the bed, gesturing a hand towards the sole stool situated at the other side.

Aemond sits, looking comically too large for the rickety wooden furniture. “So, how does this work?”

“Payment first.” She reminds him. “The drink is free, no need to throw in extra for that.”

For the first time that day he smiles, genuine mirth tugging at the corners of his mouth. Fishing four silvers from his coin purse, he deposits them onto the table, then takes another swig from his mug with a grimace.

Ceryse pockets the coins then shuffles the deck of cards. “What is it you wish to know?”

Aemond licks his lips nervously, his voice lowering as though he is afraid he’ll be overheard. “Am I to be King?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Is your father dead?”

“Yes…I should not be telling you this.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“I shan’t tell a soul, but what of his heir, Rhaenyra?”

“My mother has plans to crown Aegon instead. His coronation is tomorrow.”

Ceryse inhales sharply. She is no fool, that is as good as a declaration of war. “So what makes you think you will be King?”

“My brother does not want the crown, furthermore he is not fit to rule.”

“I see.” She spreads the cards out in a fanned formation on the table between them, her jewelry clinking together as she moves her palm over them, waiting to feel the warmth of the one she should pluck out first. As heat tingles her fingers, she snatches it up, laying the card face up in the centre of the wooden surface.

The Tower.

A snap of jaws. Bones crunching. A dragon and its rider falling from the sky.

Ceryse startles from her vision, meeting Aemond’s worried stare. “There will be a terrible accident, it will change the course of everything.”

“Does it involve me?” He asks.

“Truthfully, I do not know. I didn’t see enough.”

Aemond takes a deep breath, nodding for her to continue.

She passes her hand over the cards again, selecting one once she feels a prickle of hotness.

The Magician.

Aemond sits upon the Iron Throne. He wears an iron and ruby crown.

“You will rule as King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Aemond’s eye widens. “What of Aegon?”

“I do not know. There is one more card to draw still.”

“Go on then.”

She picks it up as soon as she feels the subtle warmth.

The Hanged Man.

Aemond plunges into water. He is chained to his dragon. A sword is plunged through his seeing eye.

Ceryse’s gasps, her hand shaking as she lets the card flutter loosely from between her fingers.

“What is it? What did you see?!” Aemond demands.

She hesitates. When she’d learned her craft in Braavos one of the first rules she’d been taught with regards to divination is to never disclose the nature of a person’s death to them, should she happen to see it.

“I saw nothing.” She lies. “The card means sacrifice, release, martyrdom. You will serve Westeros well.”

“I think it is you who is the horrible liar.” He stares pointedly at her. “Tell me what you saw.”

“I saw nothing.” She repeats, her voice raising as her heart hammers in her chest. She puts the silvers back on the tabletop. “I couldn’t complete your reading fully. Take this back and go.”

He leaves the coins where they are, but stands and retrieves his cloak from the bed. “I bid you goodnight, Ceryse.” He nods at her as he moves towards the door. “Perhaps I shall return another time for the rest of my reading.”

“Do not come back here.” She urges, rising from the edge of the mattress and ushering him into the street.

She leans heavily against the door after closing it on him, the image of his lifeless body sinking downwards branded into her mind.

True to Aemond’s word, the next day brings about the coronation of Aegon Targaryen. Watching through her window, as the crowds filter through the streets towards the Sept, fills Ceryse with an eerie feeling. She will not join them. Nothing good will come of this. They are doomed to a terrible fate and she wants no part of it. She thinks back to how she had seen Aemond smile the previous evening and wonders how many more times he will feel such genuine happiness before his life is cruelly snuffed out.

The almighty crash, followed by a dragon’s roar that echoes through the city causes her to jump, and she knows she was right to avoid going to the sept. The distant screams of the smallfolk are a stark reminder of how easily her life could have been taken from her. She wonders if Aemond is okay, whether today will be the day that he meets the fate she foresaw.

It is early evening when she hears a knock at the door. She pulls it open and there he stands, dressed in the same ridiculously obvious disguise from yesterday; Aemond.

“I told you not to come back.” She says flatly.

“I know.” He shifts awkwardly. “I just…I went to look for you after the coronation and I couldn’t see your tent in Flea Bottom. I thought-”

“I didn’t go.” She interrupts.

“I can see that. I’m glad you’re alright.” He replies, relaxing slightly.

She smiles softly. “I’m glad you are too.”

“Does that mean I can visit you?”

She rolls her eyes. “On one condition; you don’t ask for any more readings or for me to elaborate any further on the one you already had.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“And it’s a long walk back to the Red Keep. Off you go.”

He smiles that smile again and she finds herself returning it, a warmth spreading through her chest.

She invites him inside and they while away the evening, drinking more of the ale that makes Aemond wince in distaste as he tells her all that happened at Aegon’s coronation. She hears about the tears he saw on his brother’s cheeks as he walked through the sept, about how Rhaenys had burst through the floor on the back of Meleys and had now surely made her way to Dragonstone to swear allegiance to Rhaenyra.

Ceryse listens in silent horror. She feels anguish for the lives needlessly lost over Rhaenys’ arrogant urge to make a statement, and dread gnaws at her insides over the war she knows will stem from the rivalry for the Iron Throne. She knows if she had any sense she’d push Aemond from her home and make sure he never returns, nothing good can come from inviting this man into her life. She cannot escape the image of his death, and yet she is drawn to him all the same.

He eventually leaves her home under the cover of darkness, with a promise to return soon. It is an unlikely friendship, a fortune teller and a Prince, but she enjoys his company and he seems to like hers too.

He returns two nights later, a bottle of Dornish red in hand.

“I thought we might indulge in something a little more refined than that swill you call ale.” He tells her.

It is viscous and sweet, subtly spiced. The flavours dance on her tongue and she is certain she has never tasted anything more exquisite.

“It’ll do.” She shrugs, and there it is once more; the slight curve of his smile. Her heart flutters, though she is certain it’s the effects of the wine.

They chat idly for a while, until Aemond grows solemn. “This will be my last visit.” He tells her quietly.

“Oh?” She feels her chest tighten. She knows she will have to let him go eventually, but hadn’t anticipated ending their friendship so soon.

“I am to fly to Storm’s End tomorrow. My mother wishes for me to marry one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters, in order to strengthen Aegon’s claim to the Iron Throne.”

She nods, the acrid heat of jealousy blooming down her throat and into her chest. She despises the sensation, swallowing thickly in an attempt to rid herself of it. “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.”

They sit in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, neither one of them knowing quite what to say.

“I suppose I should go.” Aemond finally decides.

Ceryse stands to see him out. He turns to her as opens the door.

“Would you let me kiss you? Just to say goodbye. I-I can’t face never seeing you again and not knowing what it is to taste your lips.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aemond, I’m sorry.”

He bows his head sadly, glancing up at her one final time before turning and walking away.

She closes the door, knowing in her heart she has made the right choice. She knows that the moment his lips touch hers she will beg him to stay, but he is not hers to keep. Their destinies are not entwined.

Life carries on as normal for Ceryse. Setting up her tent each day in Flea Bottom, before packing it down again and returning home at dusk.

Three days after Aemond leaves her he returns to her. He stands at her door soaking wet, his right eye rimmed red with tears.

“I-I didn’t know where else to go.”

She ushers him inside, stripping him of his wet clothes and hanging them in front of the small fireplace.

“May I stay here?” He sounds fragile, like a frightened child. “I cannot return home. Not yet.”

She nods, passing him a blanket to wrap himself in as he sits in front of the fire in his braies and undershirt. “What happened?”

He simply shakes his head, wet silver hair hanging in his face.

He doesn’t need to say it, but she knows it has happened. The Tower.

They share the space of her tiny bed that night, and Aemond clings to her like she is a lifeline. She isn’t sure if he ever actually falls asleep, his breathing never deepens or relaxes, and he remains rigid against her despite the embrace he holds her in.

As the first soft rays of sunlight begin to stream through the small window, she rolls to face him. His seeing eye is closed, and his patch has slipped away from the one that bears his scar. She studies it intently, she had heard rumours that Prince Aemond wore a sapphire in his empty eye socket, but had never seen it for herself. It catches the light, shimmering brightly. She traces her finger delicately along the ragged line that mars his cheek and he grumbles, rolling to face her and pulling her tightly against him.

“Does it not bother you?” He asks groggily.

“No, you wear it well.” She replies honestly.

They lay together, the steady rhythm of their combined breathing the only sound in the room, until finally she builds up the courage to ask. “Aemond, why are you here?”

He closes his eye, inhaling shakily and it is only then that she notices he is trembling. “Aemond?”

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, his voice muffled. “You saw it, didn’t you? You said there’d be a terrible accident.”

She strokes a hand comfortingly through his hair. “I saw parts. What happened?”

“I didn’t mean to do it.” His voice cracks. “I only meant to scare him.”

A snap of jaws. Bones crunching. A dragon and its rider falling from the sky.

“Oh, Aemond.” She says sadly. “Who was it?”

“My nephew, Lucerys. The one that took my eye.”

There will be a terrible accident, it will change the course of everything.

“You have to go back, you must deal with this.” She tells him.

“I will.” He sniffles. “I will, just…not now. I want to feel anything but this, if only for a moment.”

He presses forward and his lips are upon hers. She kisses him back, his tears wetting her cheeks, wanting to give him a fleeting moment of happiness amidst his turmoil. The moment intensifies as their tongues meet and he pulls her on top of him before sitting up, her legs falling either side of his waist.

She gasps as his mouth moves from hers to trail white hot kisses along her jaw and down her neck, and she wonders where a man of such good breeding learned to commit such sinful acts. Her fingers tangle into his silver locks as he tugs down her shift to reveal her breasts, mouthing at them before sucking a hardened peak into his mouth. Arousal pools between her legs as she feels herself involuntarily grinding against him, his own desire more than evident through the thin cotton of his undergarments.

“Aemond, we shouldn’t…” She says breathlessly, as his hand moves beneath her hem and up her thigh.

“I know.” He responds in a whisper. “But I do not have the willpower to stop.”

Her jaw goes slack as she feels his fingers move through the slick that has collected between her legs. A noise akin to a growl rumbles from the depths of his throat.

He withdraws his hand, freeing his cock and before Ceryse can stop herself she is sinking down onto it, moaning quietly at the gratifying stretch, as Aemond grits his teeth, his grip on her tightening.

He pulls her in for another passionate kiss, as she plants her feet flat on the bed, using the purchase to aid in meeting each of his upward thrusts. She wraps her arms around his neck and his mouth returns to her chest as he fucks up into her. Their pace is hurried and full of desperate need.

Ceryse’s hand drifts between her legs, circling her pearl as her and Aemond’s hips move together. Her other hand returns to his hair, her grip tightening as she feels her impending climax and he lets out a feral groan, releasing her nipple with a wet pop.

“I am not going to last…” He murmurs.

She nods, the familiar tightness coiling itself in her lower belly. “I won’t either.”

Speeding up her ministrations, she pushes herself over the edge, clenching around Aemond as she cries out in ecstasy, feeling light headed as every nerve ending comes alive. He is not far behind, pulling out and spilling ropes of pearly spend across her thighs and lower belly with a relieved grunt.

They collapse next to each other, both panting for breath. As the rush of euphoria wears off, reality sets in and a deep, aching sense of dread overwhelms Ceryse. She is certain Aemond feels it too, as he tenses up beside her.

“Will you really not tell me what you saw in the final card?” He asks solemnly.

She gulps. “It wouldn’t change anything. It’s better that you don’t know.”

He rises from the bed, dressing in silence, and she does the same.

“I won’t forget you.” He whispers, cupping her cheeks and pressing his forehead to hers, once he is ready to leave.

“Nor will I forget you.” She answers softly. “But I mean it this time, you cannot come back.”

“I know.” He says sadly.

He gives her one final soft kiss on the lips, before walking away. Ceryse turns away, unwilling to watch him go.

In the days that follow, Ceryse decides it is best if she leaves King’s Landing behind for good. Lucky for her, she has spent little of Aemond’s four silvers and is able to afford passage on a ship departing to Braavos, the city in which she learned the art of divination. She is eager to be away from Westeros before the war begins in earnest. She does not want to be on the continent as it burns and crumbles, and she cannot bear the thought of being there the moment that Aemond ceases to be.

As she stands on the sole of the ship, the wind whipping her auburn hair around her head, she pulls the Hanged Man from her pocket, watching it flutter in the breeze before she lets go, her final tie to the One Eyed Prince. She watches as it floats on the surface of the water before sinking downward, much as she has watched Aemond do the same.

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happilychee · 9 months

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knight!erza and swordsmith!reader pt. 1

god I love erza so much

♡ when you were just an orphaned brat, you apprenticed at a forge in a rundown village. the old geezer who took you in, makarov dreyar, was a kind old man, but the real problem for you was his grandson: laxus. he took every opportunity to tease and torment you throughout your childhood. the only time the two of you could get along was at the forge. hammering away at raw metal, cooling hot swords, or sharpening new blades, that was the only time your arguing was replaced by the racket of a swordsmith's shop.

♡ you spent your childhood and adolescence learning the secrets of the trade and the dreyar family's special techniques. you grew into a fine young swordsmith, but you knew that this shop wasn't yours to keep. the moment you turned of age, you packed your bags and bid a tearful goodbye to the people you considered family: the man you called grandfather and (though neither of you would ever admit it) the idiot you thought of as your older brother.

♡ you travel for a while, doing odd jobs likened to a blacksmith's profession to make some coin. it's when you reach the bustling trade town of magnolia that you feel you've found your place. a ramshackle stand set up in a corner of the bustling magnolia market, a hot fire in your forge, and a roaring spirit are what it takes to set you on your path.

♡ you're a damn good swordsmith, and soon all of magnolia knows it. it's not long before your name is whispered throughout the entire kingdom. you receive commissions from all sorts of types. you've made beautiful bangles that twist into whips for a drunkard fortune teller; you've made a necklace that disguises spirit keys as charms for a hooded blonde woman; you've made twin daggers that can conceal themselves as earrings for the princess herself! your work is always well-made, created with the highest quality of materials, and it doesn't come at a low price.

♡ you think it's a day like any other. your biceps strain as you carry a new anvil into the back of the shop. your orders won't make themselves, so you get to work right away. between casting iron for gauntlets and hammering down on a new blade, you're quickly covered by a layer of soot. your skin shines with sweat, and you're about to yell at whoever dares to disrupt your work, but your words die in your throat. standing before you is a knight, covered from head to toe in armor. that's not an unusual sight in a place as well-connected as magnolia, but what catches your eye is the vibrant color of the knight's armor.

♡ "you're the scarlet knight." you breathe out, shoving aside scrap metal as you set down your hammer. "I am in need of a new sword." the knight speaks. you can't tell if they're a man or a woman or neither by their muffled voice, but you can tell that they're powerful. "what kind?" "any." you huff at their short response. it's an ongoing argument between swordsmiths everywhere: does the sword choose the swordsman, or the swordsman choose the sword? you think it's the latter. "will you be able to fight with any sword I make?" you raise an eyebrow. "if it's good enough." the knight answers. you can feel your blood boil, and you can almost imagine the smirk on their face. "you wanna bet, knight?"

♡ you don't sleep for the next week. you barely eat or drink, too focused on creating the best sword you've ever made. it's slightly longer than you'd usually make, but the scarlet knight was taller than the average man. the blade itself is a shining silver, but you know it won't stay that way for long. hopefully. the hilt is engraved with swirling dragons, their eyes inlaid with red gemstones. the hilt also has red and black stones that create a beautiful floral pattern in filigree. you don't think you'll ever make a sword as beautiful as this one.

♡ the scarlet knight seems to know exactly when you finish the sword. the embers are burning low in your forge, calming down as the evening draws in, and the knight is leaning against your doorframe again. you lift the sword out of a basin of water, the metal shining in the moonlight. "you don't waste a second, do you? here." you grin as the knight takes the sword, the blade turning a deep red. "what do you think?" your voice is nothing short of cheeky. the scarlet knight says nothing, staring at you through their visor. "...good."

♡ you don't see the knight for a long time after that, though you don't mind, with the amount of coin they gave you for the sword. you almost forget about them, until they return with a different sword, asking for a repair. "you have multiple swords?" you raise an eyebrow as you enter the back of your shop. "sit, this won't take long." you manage to weasel a few stories from the scarlet knight as you work, and you find that they're quite an interesting figure. you offer a few stories of your own in exchange, and you can't say you're not pleased when you hear them chuckle. the scarlet knight returns quite often after that, always with some weapon or other that needs adjustments. you learn more and more about them, relishing in each second you hear their alluring voice. the knight never takes off their helmet, but you don't ask about it. everyone has their secrets to keep.

♡ you fall into a steady rhythm of visits and late night talks. time between them varies, as the knight's travels take them far and wide, but your door is always open to them. on a rainy night, you perch at your table with a steaming mug of cider. sketches are strewn across the table, each offering a prospective new project for you to undertake. your musings are interrupted by a clatter at the door. like so many times before, you look up to see the scarlet knight, except... except they're falling to the floor, and you just barely manage to block their descent with your body. you wince as you hit the cold stone, but you quickly forget your discomfort when your palm comes back bright red. "blood?!" you cry out. "I didn't... know where else to... go..." the knight manages to get out.

♡ you did not sign up for this. you did not sign up for undressing a somewhat-friend-somewhat-stranger in your workshop. you did not sign up for pulling up their tunic and revealing planes of well-toned muscles. you did not sign up for stitching together their skin and wiping away the excess blood. you certainly did not sign up to remove their helmet, thinking it would put unnecessary strain on their body, only to find yourself face to face with the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen.

#lychee writes #hello I am insane about erza #as usual #also I'm a sucker for a reader who creates stuff #part two tmrw hopefully bc I have Thoughts #heehee #fairy tail #fairy tail headcanons #fairy tail x reader #erza scarlet #laxus dreyar #but this ain't about him #cana alberona #lucy heartfilia #hisui

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trashboatprince · 5 months

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Omg I love all the monster wives aus! What about for knight and dragon when the two first meet? Is it a meet ugly or a meet cute?

Oh, it's a meet ugly, I can tell you that much, haha.

Warning: mentions of human remains, Crowley sunbathing in her birthday suit, attempted murder of a dragon

So, a quick summary of the plot for this au: Aziraphale is a princess who escaped her family's expected wishes for her to be married off so she could run off to be a knight. Ended up being adopted by a coven of witches who help her prepare for being a knight. In this kingdom, you can become a knight through being a squire, being knighted for an act of bravery/heroism, or for slaying a great beast, especially a dragon.

Crowley is a shape-shifting wyvern who has magical powers because reasons.

On with the fic!

This was the place, Aziraphale swallowed.

It was a large cliff side, overlooking the valley's forest. It was rocky, jagged, and very much exactly what Aziraphale expected from a dragon's home. Looking up, she could see a large ledge sticking out a number of meters up, where a huge cave opening was.

Down below it were the remains of other wannabe knights and professionals who dared to try and fight this beast. Many of the remains looked to be from death falls, others were clearly charred. Same with their ropes.

Aziraphale let out a breath, trying to calm her nerves. This was her only chance to be a knight, as she had never trained with a real knight, it would have been too dangerous. And she clearly hadn't gone to the capital to ask for a task to be brave, nor had she saved any villages or whatever.

No, that left only the option of smiting a beast of terror.

And dragons were an instant approval of knighthood, as they were dangerous and cruel. They were a massive threat, as she remembered her family telling her when she was a child. She remembered the books, the stories, and legends, the history scrolls of the kingdom.

Steeling her nerves, Aziraphale needed to be brave, she needed to do the smart thing and approach this with thought, no going in without a plan!

She was armed with an enchanted shield, one impervious to magic blasts and fire, blessed in Holy Water to be on the safe side. She had a guardian's bronze sword, a very rare and powerful blade that ignited into flames with the flick of a wrist.

How Nana Agnes got her hands on these, Aziraphale would never know, but they will do her well in the fight.

But for now, Aziraphale needed to survey the area, see the best way to get up to the ledge. Going directly up with any sort of levitation spell or item was a no-go, clearly some of these knights have tried. Grappling hooks wouldn't work, nor would rock climbing...

She noticed the large patch of trees growing near the cliff and she approached, maybe the trees? They rose up high enough that she could use a levitation charm and get up there.

Nodding, Aziraphale approached, looking to see how to climb up the trees, before noticing something else.

Behind them, hidden oddly enough into the cliff face, were stone steps, carved by... magic? Hand? It was hard to tell. How had she not seen them?

Taking a number of steps back, Aziraphale realized why. They seemed to hide behind the very high, dangerous jagged spires of rocks, and even hide behind rocks in the cliff.

"How clever!" She blinked and moved to climb up the steps, careful to not make too much noise with what little bits of armor she wore. It wasn't much, mainly a very fine, powerful chainmail made by Aunty Tracy, and some pieces that she really didn't want to know where Anathema and Newt got them from.

After an exhausting jaunt up the steps, Aziraphale finally made it to the ledge, surprised by the sight before her.

Laying across a large, flat stone, was a woman, naked as anything.

She had long, wavy and curled red locks that shone beautifully in the sunlight, like a ruby. She had golden bangles and cuffs on her wrists and arms, and she seemed to be unconscious.

A damsel in distress!

Aziraphale felt her cheeks flush, hopefully from the heat up this high and the climb, not because of the naked beauty. She swallowed hard and approached quietly, shield at the ready, sword only a flick away from burning brightly.

The dragon had to be nearby, right? He would never leave his prey out in the open... this could be a trap, a captured victim to lure in a heroic person, only for them both to become tonight's main course.

Aziraphale turned her attention to the cave, it was too dark to really see further into it than just the entrance and the first fifteen or so feet. She heard no sounds from inside, just the gentle echo of a gust of wind blowing through, the moans of nature.

Then there was a yawn, from behind her.

"Mmm... whazat-? Oh! A knight!"

Aziraphale turned sharply, seeing the woman sitting up, stretching, her long hair hiding her backside from the other woman. Please, don't turn around, Aziraphale thought, her face burning. "S-Shhh! Miss, we must leave, before the dragon returns."

She moved back towards the stairs, thinking that maybe she should offer her cape to help cover the poor girl. "Come along, my dear, I'll get you to safety. We really should get going."

"Ooh? Aww, how sweet~!" The woman giggled. "You think I'm a damsel in distress? That's new! Then again, you lot never catch me sunbathin', so I guess this is a first."

"W-what?" Aziraphale frowned, turning to face her, only to freeze.

The woman was standing on the rock now, completely bare to the world, and that's when Aziraphale finally really took in her body. Which she really should have done from the start, cause then she would have noticed the tail!

A long, thrashing tail, a warning, coated in black and red scales. And speaking of scales, they were in patches along the woman's skin, her nails were long and dark in color, and she was grinning with teeth like knives.

Her eyes were wide, completely golden like her jewelry, with black slits for pupils.

"You!" Aziraphale snapped out of it, the sword erupted into fire as she got into a battle stance.

The woman, no, the dragon, looked oddly amused. "Also a first, a flaming sword, never seen one of those before. At least not in this century! Clever bit of charm work there? Or is that the real deal?"

"Why don't we find out when I stab at your belly?" Aziraphale smirked and charged, only for the dragon to move fast, grabbing the blade in her bare hands.

"Naughty thing, aren't you? Comin' to my home to attack me? How..." Her amused look faded when she realized something. She screeched and yanked her hands back, staring at the wounds. "It's... it's the guardian's sword!?"

"Y-yes? Yes! It is! And it is deadly to beasts!"

The dragon hissed and blew on her hands, the skin around the wounds looked raw and painful, Aziraphale couldn't help but wince. "How dare you! Coming here to harm me?! I did nothin' to you!"

Aziraphale blinked, frowning. "But... but you're a dragon! The locals told me that this is the home of the blue dragon that steals their sheep and slaughters their cattle!"

The dragon snarled, stepping back. "Blue!? Now you're insulting me!? I'm not a blue dragon, I'm not one of those pricks! I'm a black and red dragon, you idiot human! And I don't steal livestock! I don't even like sheep, it's nasty!"

The wannabe knight had completely forgotten that there was clear proof of black and red scales on this creature.

Ah.

Well...

The flame went out and Aziraphale coughed. "I... this is... oh dear."

"Yeah, 'oh dear', indeed." The dragon sneered, sticking out a forked tongue.

Not a great first meeting, but don't worry, Aziraphale will make it up to Crowley.

#good omens #ineffable spouses #ineffable wives #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #john's drabbles

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thesugarclubs-blog · 1 year

Text

What a Feeling - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: fantasy au, knight bucky barnes, princess oc, one-bed, grumpy/sunshine, smut, 18+

word count: 12.2k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1327974550-what-a-feeling-merari

Masterlist

“I would rather chew off my own fingernails than go back to that place,” Merari flicked her hair over her back, the gold bangles around her tiny wrist banging together in the hot summer air as Bucky moved around her giant white horse.

He tugged roughly on the saddle buckles, making sure the leather straps weren’t going anywhere as he listened to her complaints with a disapproving expression on his cranky face. His large scarred hand ran down over the mare's neck, giving the Princess’ horse a few extra scratches behind the ears.

“Your father only wants-” he started.

“My father would sooner have me hog-tied and sold to the highest bidder than deal with me in the palace for a single summer.” She poked her head around the mare, her long red hair cascading down around her face.

“The Convent is exactly where you should be,” Bucky grumbled.

The heat was causing the dark green dress she wore to stick to the base of her spine and sweat to drip between her breasts. She wiggled her shoulder blades in a meek attempt to loosen the itchy fabric from her skin but nothing worked. She watched his dark blue eyes, enjoying the way he watched her back. His dark hair was clean for once and pulled into a half knot at the back of his head, highlighting the sharp curves of his scruffy jaw.

“Well then perhaps you should join the nuns this summer if you believe them so special.” She rolled her eyes at him and she could have sworn his lip turned upward but when she studied his face she found only his mean scowl staring back at her. “Maybe they can teach you how to smile.” She shrugged and lifted her skirts to hoist herself atop the mare.

“I know how to smile, your highness.”

Merari glanced down at him from her perch on the horse, eyes narrowed as she studied him. He was concentrating, tongue peeking between the straight line of his lips as he double checked everything, ensuring their supplies for the trip into the capital were secure.

“I’d never believe it,” she sighs, “and how many times must I tell you to call me by my name?”

“I’ve lost count, but I can assure you that if I had a penny for every time, I’d be sitting on your father’s throne and not carting you across the land… your highness.”

She narrowed her eyes down at him again, a light smile tugging at her lips.

“Huh, that’s a view of a kind.”

He only responded with a raised brow, but she swore she could see a glint of amusement flash across his face before he turned to his black stallion. He hoisted himself up gracefully, in some may always more than the last time, and nodded for her to join beside him.

Merari let her eyes wander down to look at his butt that was gently swaying along with the stallion's movement. Then she gave her mare a tender kick with her heels and let her walk next to his.

Their knees were only inches apart as the two rode next to each other on the narrow cobblestone path.

"So, Bucky..." she started after five minutes. Only hearing the sound of the horse's hooves on the stone path was driving her nuts.

He turned his head towards her and she could see two strands falling out of his half knot, framing his face beautifully.

"Why are you always the one accompanying me? My father has dozens of men, but every time I end up with you."

She watched him attentively, her lips twitching upwards as his jaw ticked almost in slow motion. The glow of the unrelenting morning sun slipping through the trees around them highlighted his features perfectly. Bucky turned to face forward and shook his head.

"Oh come on Sir Barnes, you always do this," he whipped his head back to her quickly and Merari raised a brow. "Act all tough, silent and broody. We can't possibly spend this whole godforsaken ride without speaking."

"I'm here to do a job, my lady. To protect you. If you must know why I'm always the one assigned to you, you should ask the King. You may ask for a new guard if you are not pleased with me." he gruffed.

"No need to get your braies in a twist, Bucky."

Merari tried to suppress a laugh as she saw the stoic man's expression twist and his lips pursed as he let out a frustrated huff. She would never get over the satisfaction she got out of riling him up. It was just too good. A little part of her wondered how long it would take to watch him break.

“Just keep your eye on the path, Princess. You know how easy it is to lose track before we get to the main road.”

Merari rolled her eyes but straightened up on her horse. She loved leisurely rides around the castle grounds but the trek into the capital was always tiring and monotonous — just the clip-clop of their horse's hooves and her own voice as she tried to make conversation.

“Fine,” she huffed, catching him spare her a glance, his eyebrow raised. “Or should I say ‘yes, sir’? Isn’t that how the likes of Rogers and Wilson address you?”

“They are under my command, my lady. You, are not.”

“Much to your chagrin, I’m sure.” Merari huffed, spurring her horse ahead by half a length, putting Sir Barnes and his deep frown out of view.

As much as he was a treat to look at in his leather armour, unmarked by her father’s crest and always a lot cleaner than the man himself, he was an insufferable grump who always spoiled her fun. Always so stoic, so in control, Sir Barnes was a stalwart knight of the realm; what more fun could be had on this trip than to tease him?

The pleasant dappling of sunlight through the leaves in the wood had begun to falter. Through gaps in the canopy, she could see clouds passing over the face of the sun, causing momentary waves of gloom. A chill passed with shadows and, had she not been so engrossed in thinking about Sir Barnes, she may have noticed the way her mare knickered and shivered at the withers.

Merari glanced over her shoulder, taking in the path. The trees seemed to bow and sway in the wind, touching and tangling together to create a darkened dead end behind them.

“My Lady?” His voice came through the sound of raindrops littering the leaves above them.

Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as another shiver crept through her tense posture.

“It’s just rain, calm yourself before you spook your horse.” His voice was stern and laced with growing frustration.

"I am calm," she snapped, her voice laced with worry as her view of him began to eclipse under the darkening sky.

Her mare moved quickly to the side as the tree branches swayed into their path. Merari leaned down atop her and tried to soothe them both by digging her fingers into her mane and scratching lightly.

"We're alright, Luar. It's an ok sweet girl," her voice was gentle as she tried not to let her fear show.

The rain poured heavily from the dark sky, drenching her gown in rainwater. But before she could worry about the state her garments would be in a thunderous rumble sounded through the air. Luar lifted her forelimbs, making Merari tumble off her saddle onto the now muddy ground. Somehow, Bucky got a hold of Luar's reigns before she could run off too far.

"Whoa, easy girl," the knight murmured softly, blue eyes flooded with concern as he looked at the Princess. "Are you alright?"

Merari winced, sitting up as Luar whinnied above her, trotting impatiently in Bucky's well-trained grasp. The ground was soaked from the night before's rains and now mud and rainwater caked the skirt of her fine damask dress.

A stinging sensation started in her hand and Merari spotted a small stream of crimson on her palm. There was the sensation of blood running down one of her knees as well, but she shook it off.

"Just a few stones embedded into my skin, no worries," Merari laughed shakily.

“We’ll find shelter in the first town, we can’t stop here. Not with this rain and Luar so distressed,” he stated — gruff and sure in his words as he held out a hand.

“Bucky…” Merari spoke his name softly in protest, the way she had only ever done when the times didn’t call for formality. She’d be stronger about it if the gritty stones in her palm weren’t stinging something horrid.

“Here, hop up. I’ll walk her the rest of the way.”

He wouldn’t take no for an answer, stubborn as always, and he hauled her up onto his stallion. His warm hands steadied her as she settled in front of him, shifting until her back was pressed to his front.

“Comfortable?”

Merari’s hand was still throbbing but she nodded softly in response to give him the okay to keep going. Luar protested for a moment causing the horse they were on to stall but with a few coaxing words of praise Bucky got her moving.

“You are good with her,” Merari groaned, flexing her fingers to distract how uncomfortable their current situation was. “She hates all the stable boys,” she laughed wearily.

“She doesn’t know the stable boys. They rotate too often, she just needs a familiar face,” his voice low and calm against the side of her head, barely loud enough for her to hear him over the downpour.

“Is that why my father sends you?” She dared to ask. “Strictly speaking of horses.”

“Yes Merari,” he used her first name and sent shivers running over her skin. “That is why he sends me.”

The princess nodded silently, her cheeks warm despite the humid chill.

“Strictly speaking of horses, that is,” Bucky repeated in what sounded like a pained whisper.

His calloused palms were still wrapped around the reins, yet she swore she could feel the warmth of his touch linger on her waist.

His touch was an unfamiliar thing, one that had the damp hair on the back of her neck rising to attention. Even now, with his arms loosely around her and his chest occasionally bumping the very top of her shoulders in what couldn’t be more than a graze, her skin felt as though it could barely contain her.

Merari supposed she could blame that on the hot blood rushing to her wounds.

The storm let up slowly as they rode in silence to the sound of their horses galloping until they reached the main road. The air was chillier around them despite the lack of trees that surrounded them on their way now and Merari could feel her wet clothes sticking to her skin. She tried not to squirm much as she tried to find comfort again until Bucky’s large warm hand on her waist stilled her movements.

“We’re almost there,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

It was not the stiff wind breezing through her wet clothing attached to her body that made her shiver. It was the way it reacted to his touch, a warmth spread in her lower stomach and goosebumps pricked her skin.

She shouldn't be reacting to him like this.

Through a break in the trees, Merari spotted the town sign — the carved wood stained dark by the rain.

“We’ll find the inn,” Bucky murmured, “somewhere to warm up so I can take a look at your hand.”

“I just need to clean it—“

“I have supplies, from the castle infirmary. Let me take a look at your hand, Merari.”

His own hand fell from the reign of his stallion as he slowed the horses, guiding them up the smaller path into the town. The rough skin of his palm covered her knuckles and he turned her hand in his so he could see the graze before he brought it up to his lips and blew softly on the wound, Bucky’s tenderness surprising her.

Merari gasped at the sensation as the coolness of his breath soothed the stinging in her palm. She turned her head to look at her knight and warmth blossomed in her chest at the expression on his face, the small crease between his brows evidence of his concentration as he inspected her hand.

Strands of her long hair, darkened to auburn by the rain, clung to the scruff of his beard and Merari reached out with her other hand and brushed them away. Bucky’s eyes met hers then and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed.

“It, umm, it doesn’t look too bad,” he rasped. “Just keep it covered until we can wash it.”

From somewhere inside his leather surcoat he produced a surprisingly clean kerchief. His eyes never strayed from hers as he wrapped the fabric around her hand and gently curled her fingers closed around it.

She could feel a smile spreading across her face and tried to hold it back. Her heart pounded and the sudden closeness between them was making her shiver. Or was that the cold air? All she could focus on was how gentle his touch was, his calloused hands cradling hers tenderly as he finished wrapping her hand.

"Am I hurting you?" He asked.

"What?"

She was so lost in her spinning thoughts that she barely heard his question.

"Your hand," he clarified. His eyes were shining as he spoke, his voice slightly shaken and soft. There was that warmth again in her belly. She tried to ignore it. "Am I hurting you?"

She shook her head, keeping her breathing steady. She expected him to make a joke at her expense, but it never came. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder.

"We should get you warm. Your father will have my head if I let you freeze to death out here."

It was only a few more minutes before he led their horses to a small inn, stopping under the cover of the stable. What seemed like a quaint tavern connected to the side of the inn and despite its size, Merari could hear the noise of the patrons outside.

"Sounds lively in there."

"Don't get any ideas, Princess," He said, sliding off the back of the horse. He reached up, offering his assistance to help her down.

She thought she had a proper grip on his forearms as she slid out of the saddle, but at the last second, she pushed her weight on her hurt hand wrong. The stabbing pain made her flinch, and she slipped.

Bucky caught her before she could fall to the ground, his arm firmly around her waist, "I got you."

Her eyes flickered up to his, shining bright blue in the glow of the tavern lights, "thank you." Merari whispered as he helped her to her feet. Strong hands steadying her as she planted her feet into the mud. She glanced around them, hoping no one had seen her tumble, taking in her surroundings, cautious of the foreign city.

"I'm serious," he rasped as the warmth of his hands disappeared from her, "We're here to get you warm and clean that hand before it gets infected. We aren't here to make friends with the locals."

Merari's lips quirked upwards at his demands. He knew how she tended to speak to anyone and everyone, friendly or not. "Whatever you desire, Sir Barnes." She teased cupping her hand to her chest.

Bucky's eyes narrowed at her and she watched as his tongue flicked over his bottom lip in the way it did when he was frustrated with her. She would never admit that sometimes she'd frustrate him with purpose only to see the movement.

His hand wrapped around her bicep again, leading her to the door. "Let's go."

Bucky released her as they climbed the two steps to the inn. Using both his hands he pushed on the doors with a loud grunt. Swinging them open to expose everyone inside to the rain and wind.

The Inn was bustling with an assortment of patrons. Bucky watched Merari carefully, clearly gauging her reaction to the people around her. She had never seen so much diversity and it made her heart flutter with excitement despite the discomfort in her palm.

“Stay close,” he looked back at her, his eyes scanning the packed pub floor of the Inn. “We’re looking for the owner,” he said gruffly to a drunk-looking man hanging off one of the long wooden banisters just inside the massive doors.

“Yer lookin’ at ‘im” the man belched, laughing loudly as Bucky grimaced, waving him off as he searched the room. Merari looked away from Bucky, tapping him on his arm when she found a man behind the bar, watching everyone.

“Pretty sure it’s him,” she said and took off across the room, hearing Bucky curse and stomp after her.

Merari reached the bar and sat down before Bucky could stop her, planting herself firmly on the stool and grinning at him when he pulled up short next to her. He glowered and turned his dark expression to the man they thought was the owner.

"Excuse me-" he said gruffly, his voice low to avoid attention before a sudden, musical voice cut him off.

"Good evening!" Merari chirped, a bright grin on her rain-soaked face. "Are you the owner of this lovely establishment?"

Bucky looked up at the ceiling, his eyes rolling back. He swiped his gloved hand across his face in frustration. This failed to keep Merari from leaning forward across the bar at the giant fellow cleaning glasses before them.

"Yes, actually, I am," he replied in a more playful voice than she expected as Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. "Friends call me Korg. Which you can call me too. If you want to be friends. No big deal."

"Of course! This is Bucky and I'm-"

"Look," Bucky interjected, stopping Merari before any else could fall from her pouty lips. "Could we just get something to eat, please?"

Her brows kissed in confusion as Korg shuffled off towards a set of wooden cabinets above a small fireplace. Bucky whipped around to the princess, eyes blazing in annoyance.

"Do you want to announce to everyone here who you are? Maybe stand up on the table and shout it out?" he growled, the low rumble of his voice making Merari's face heat up with anger and something else impossible to think about.

"That actually sounds like a fantastic idea, Sir Barnes."

Merari went to stand from the stool, her drenched cloak falling down from her shoulders. A broad hand shot out and gripped the fabric at one hip.

"Princess," Bucky whispered menacingly, fully demonstrating the reason why he was the most feared and respected knight in their kingdom. "If you get up from this stool, you will not like what happens next."

“Spoilsport,” Merari huffed, pouting. She was behaving petulantly, she knew that. But she was finding great joy in seeing just how many of his buttons she could press before he would pretend to hide the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“I mean it, Merari. One foot on the floor and—“

“And you’ll what, Sir Barnes?”

Behind them, Korg cleared his throat.

“Hello. Sorry. I thought you’d like to know what’s on offer today?”

“Please,” Bucky sighed, exasperated.

“It’s stew.”

Bucky nodded dismissively, “great, we’ll have—“

“Made it myself, there’s a special ingredient.”

“Sounds delightful, Korg!” Merari beamed, “we’ll have two bowls please.”

Merari glanced back at Bucky, a sly grin spreading over her face as she slowly and very deliberately lifted her foot and touched the tip of her toe to the wooden floor. Bucky’s jaw ticked and he drew in a breath.

“Princess…” he began, but a bellowing shriek echoed through the inn, cutting short his warning.

In less than a second Merari found herself pressed against the wooden bar as her knight moved in front of her with a dagger in his hand that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. He scanned the room, searching for any threat to his Princess, determined to protect her at all costs.

A strange whistling noise sounded and the screaming stopped as abruptly as it started.

“Hey mister, sorry about that,” Korg shrugged and whistled again. “It’s the goats. They get a bit cranky at dinner time.”

He was too close. His body pressed against hers, the way his muscles seemed to twitch and tense even beneath thick leather and cloth. Merari felt like she was going to explode. She had to do something, and it didn’t help that rest of the patrons were staring at them. Merari gave Bucky a shove.

“Get off of me!” She snapped. Bucky stumbled slightly and turned around, his eyes narrowed as Merari grabbed his dagger and threw it onto the ground. “And point that thing somewhere else! You said you wanted to be discreet. This isn’t being discreet!”

“I'm doing my job, Princess. And if you want to talk about discreet, trying to jump on barstools and behaving like a...”

As he trailed off, his jaw ticked. She could see his adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat as his chest heaved. She liked to rile him up. Merari’s breath remained quick, eyes darting around the Inn as people slowly went back to their drinks and conversations.

“A what?” Merari challenged, taking a step toward him.

“Nothing.” He spat the words out like poison.

“No. Finish your sentence, Sir Barnes.” She glared at him, cocking her head to the side. “Tell me what you really think.”

She could see him straining, holding back anger as lightning flashed in his eyes. In her periphery, she could see two bowls of stew resting on the bar counter for them.

“I think the only thing you’ve done since we got here is make my job difficult. Now do as you’re told for once and eat your dinner. Quietly.”

Rage bubbled in her chest. He sounded like her father. Merari turned, snatched the bowl of stew off of the counter and began to shovel it into her face, making sure to be as messy as possible.

“Oh for the love of..." He trailed off with a huff and focused on his own food. For a few moments, his attention was directed somewhere other than at her. A moment of peace. She faintly wished they could have more of those too-close-for-comfort moments from earlier, instead of always getting on each other's nerves like this, but of course, it could never lead to anything.

She hated being a Princess sometimes.

Merari slurped her stew, glancing over her shoulder as a trio of musicians started playing music by the large fireplace.

With Bucky preoccupied with his food, an idea formed in her head and a mischievous smile crossed her face.

She deserved some fun if she was to be locked up in that awful nunnery for the next few months, right?

She waited until his head dipped into his spoon, bringing the stew between his lips completely oblivious to the mischievous plan forming in her mind. The music made her heart flutter with excitement, it had been so long since she was able to just move her body. She ached for a dance that didn't involve a thousand precise steps with a man that didn't smell of stale beef and dust.

"I must relieve myself," she blurted, slipping from the table before he could wrap his grumpy hands around her wrist and hold her in place. She heard him call out to her but the crowd closed around her and she found herself one step closer to the freedom she chased. She leaned over the section of the bar that was free to her and called to Korg. "May I have a pint?" She asked and he nodded.

"This should cover our stay and food," she pulled two of her solid gold bangles from her wrist and the man's eyes widened.

"That's too much," he said sliding one back alongside a tall mug of ale.

"The second one is for the trouble," she smiled, holding the large mug between her hands and gulping it down so fast it spilled from her lips into the front of her dress.

"The trouble?" Korg questioned but she was already backing away with her pint, moving her hips to the sound of the sweet guitar and shrill, fast paced violin.

Merari lost herself in the beats, feeling the energy of the inn travel throughout her veins, adrenaline surging until she was laughing, spinning in circles to the music.

She could feel eyes on her everywhere, only one pair standing out but she ignored them, smiling and winking at everyone who met her gaze.

Coppery strands of her hair whirled around her face, obscuring Merari's vision as she felt the unmistakable boost of letting herself go for just a moment. No one to stop her and no one to judge, no one who would tell her father or her parents. No one except the darkly brooding knight leaned against the bar, jaw clenched tightly as he took a long drink from his mug and turned away. With a giggle, Merari spun gleefully once more before someone stopped her. She looked up into the greasy face of another bar patron, a burly man whose smell reminded Merari of the river near her home. Her nose wrinkled up in disgust as he leaned in close, his fist clutching her skirt in the same place Bucky's had been previously.

"A pretty thing like you shouldn't be dancin' alone," the man breathed into her face as she pressed her hands to his chest, trying to push him back. His weight nearly had her pinned against a nearby table, close to the wall.

"That's funny because I was doing...just...fine," Merari grunted and shoved with each word, turning her head from the unwelcome intrusion. A little bit of panic bubbled up in her chest and she took a deep breath, not knowing if she was going to scream profanities or call out for someone to help. For Bucky to help.

A dagger flew through the air, whizzing by Merari's soft waves and slicing the cheek of the man towering above her. He howled blood gushing from just under his eye before turning to face an enraged Bucky, a second dagger clutched in his grasp.

"The first one was because my lady is present," Bucky growled, fury blackening his ocean tinted eyes. "The second one won't miss."

Merari’s eyes widened, but not at the sight of him flinging the knife or the almost perfect execution. She smirked, leaning against a beam in the centre of the pub as if there wasn’t a man with a bleeding face or Bucky gearing up to strike again.

“Your lady as in, you serve me or your lady as in—“

“Not the time, Merari.” Bucky grunts out, “get to safety.”

Merari raised an eyebrow.

“Please, for the love of all things holy,” he sighed, just as another drunken idiot dared to swing a fist.

Bucky caught the guy’s hand before he could make contact and wrenched his arm around. A sickening crack sounded and his attacker let out a strangled cry and cradled his now broken wrist. Bucky shoved him away and turned to Merari, thrusting the hilt of one of his small daggers into her hand before pointing angrily over to the corner of the bar where it met the wall.

“Get. Over. There,” he gritted, shoving his elbow back into the face of another assailant, flattening his nose in a spray of blood. “And if anyone comes near you…”

“I know, I know, stick ‘em with the pointy end,” Merari grinned.

As she ran for a set of doors near the back of the bar, Merari heard a deafening roar coming from one of the incredibly drunk patrons. When she glanced back, she caught Bucky blocking a hit from a large knife. He ducked and weaved out of the way as the drunken man tried swinging at him again. Merari pressed herself against the door, her own knife clutched in her hand as she watched Bucky handle the man with ease.

He thrust his dagger into the shoulder of his assailant before he leaned back one leg and kicked him in the chest, knocking him backward. The man let out another scream as he collapsed to the ground and Bucky strutted toward him, bending down to remove the blade. As he wiped it off on his tunic, another man charged at him from across the bar.

“BUCKY!” Merari screamed.

Without missing a beat, Bucky turned to his left and hurled the blade and Merari watched as it made a sick squelching sound when it hit the man’s eyeball. He let out a bloodcurdling scream, falling to the floor as a river of crimson poured down his face.

“I told you I don’t miss,” Bucky snarled. He held out both arms as he turned to face the patrons who were cowered in the corner. “Does anyone else have something they’d like to say to me?!”

There were splintered chairs, spilled drinks, and sticky ale all over the floor from the fight. Merari rolled her eyes as Bucky smirked when nobody answered him.

“Yeah!” The Barkeep shouted. “You’re paying for that!”

Merari slid the last of her gold bangles off, and slid it across the bar, "Uh, sorry. I didn't think there would be quite so much blood."

When no one else approached, Bucky turned his attention back to Merari, storming across the bar toward her.

"Can we get our room key?" She squeaked at Korg. As Bucky grabbed her, the barkeeper shoved the key into her hands.

Bucky heaved Merari over his shoulder, "You. Are in so much trouble," he hissed, marching them up the stairs.

He balanced her tightly against him, his strong grip digging into her thighs even through her thick, damp dress.

"You can put me down now you giant oaf," she squirmed against him but it only made him hold her tighter. "You're only fun when your violent," she griped, propping her face up on her hand with her elbow against his back. She waved politely to a drunk patron at the top of the stairs, his face between the maid's breasts and his hand up her skirt.

"Stop," Bucky shifted her weight. "Every time you open your mouth a man finds five new reasons to shut it for you."

"You haven't yet," she quipped as he snaked his hand around his back, his blood-soaked hand was palm up.

"The key," he growled, and she dropped it for him. "And trust me, I've thought about it. Do not run." He said before finally setting her down and spinning her in the direction of the door to their room which he had propped open with his heavy boot.

"No," she said, whirling around to look at him, her long red hair whipping him across the chest. "There's only one bed."

Bucky stood in the door, looking down at her, his expression the same as a stone. She only ever saw him like that once, years ago when she invited some locals over to their castle’s library to teach them how to read. Bucky wasn’t amused in the slightest. Still, after days, he wasn’t talking to her, only if necessary.

“I’ll take the floor, your highness.” his stoic expression was back.

“I can’t let you sleep on the floor, Bucky.” She shook her head. “And I told you, it’s Merari.”

The floorboards creaked as he took a step towards her and the princess stood her ground, tilting her head back slightly. Merari tried to emulate her mother, ruling coldly from a distance, but the knight before her was making her resolve melt quickly.

"So," he asked with a slight smirk on his handsome face. "You are going to share a bed with me, princess?"

The pull to take the next step and close the distance between them was strong, almost tangible in the smoky room.

"You aren't the first knight that I've...lain with," Merari clipped back, stumbling slightly over her choice of words as Bucky's nose flared and his jaw twitched. Something like jealousy flickered in his eyes before he stepped around her, removing his belt.

"What are you doing?!" Merari shrieked as Bucky unclasped his cloak and tossed it on a nearby chair.

"We've been riding for hours, I'm not sleeping in this, my lady," he replied with snark, removing the leather and chain mail he wore over his woollen tunic.

Merari’s gaze tracked over him, with each layer lost a new form of definition revealed itself. From the sleeves of his tunic taut across his arms to the way it rose slightly at his hips as he lifted the chainmail up and over his head.

She was so lost in her admiration of him that she completely missed him speaking to her until he appeared blurred before her, fingers wrapping around the wrist of her injured hand.

“Merari,” he rumbled, dipping his head so she would meet his eye. “I still need to clean this, take a seat while I fetch a jug of water.”

For once Merari did as she was told, lowering herself down until she perched on the edge of the bed. The hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as, with a hum of approval, Bucky turned and made his way across to the other side of the room, rolling up the sleeves of his linen shirt until they reached his elbows.

Merari couldn’t help but watch as he busied himself at the dresser, pouring water from a large jug into the accompanying wash basin. His shirt was of a fine enough weave that she could see the muscles of his back moving fluidly as he lifted the heavy jug and found herself becoming completely lost in the way the leather of his trousers hugged the curves of his ass and thighs.

He rooted around in the dresser drawer, grumbling under his breath. Normally, she would have teased him about it, but her mind was.. elsewhere.

“Take the wrap off,” he told her, glancing over his shoulder. Probably to make sure she was actually sitting down. Merari just stared at him, her jaw slightly slack, eyes still wandering up and down his strong legs. “Merari, are you listening to me?”

His tone was slightly sharp, pulling her back down to reality.

“What? Oh, um… of course.” She shook her head and unwrapped her hand as Bucky stepped toward her with a damp white cloth clutched in his fist.

He knelt down in front of her, his massive body making a thunk sound as he hit the floor. He grasped her wrist gently with one hand and began to clean her wound. She felt heat gathering beneath her dress and swallowed hard. His gaze was focused, brows knitting together as he worked. But Merari could see a blush gathering along his jawline, betraying him as it crept up into his ears.

“You don’t have to kneel in front of me,” she whispered.

“You’re a Princess, my lady.” He looked up at her, his eyes shimmering and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s my duty to kneel for you.”

Merari was at a loss, her tongue dragging over her suddenly parched lips.

Bucky held her gaze, "Just as it's my duty to protect you."

The intensity of his gaze suddenly shifted, and he smirked, "Which is why I'm the one who stands guard at your door. Every. Single. Night."

He finished cleaning her hand and raised himself up, leaning in so close she could feel his breath on her face when he spoke again, "Would you tell me, Princess, when you had the chance to lay with any other knights? Because I would have gutted anyone who came to you will ill intent."

Merari could feel the goosebumps as they appeared over the skin on her arms, if she tilted her chin up her nose could brush against the soft scruff of his tense and angry jaw. She could feel his breath and with it the hungry desire to show her just how badly she had been caught in her lie.

"You think you know your princess because you stand guard?" She quipped, and even then as the burning rush of fear coursed through her she steeled herself, she had never lost an argument against him, and she wasn't about to let him get the best of her that easily. "Then you already know all the sweet sounds I can make without the help of a man."

His blue eyes grew dark with challenges as they flickered over her face, hesitating only for a moment on the pout of her bottom lip before he spoke again, "I have every single soft, sweet whine that has ever left those lips," he inched closer, trapping her on the bed between his strong arms and pressed his lips to her ear, "memorized."

Merari felt her body melt as one of those whines started to slip through her teeth. She stopped it halfway, breathing heavily through her nose as she felt Bucky’s lips press into a grin against the skin of her earlobe.

She swallowed hard and lifted her chin an inch, her nose brushing deeper into his long, soft curls. He smelled of rain, sweat and the iron tang of blood.

“Merari…” Bucky whispered, turning his face slowly, lips trailing along her skin, brushing against her jaw until he was at the corner of her mouth.

She parted her lips slightly, taking a breath, feeling her lower lip touch his upper one.

“Tell me,” he whispered against her lips, “what is it that makes your mouth leave those pretty noises at night when you think nobody is listening?” his mouth was just inches away from hers.

“Tell me,” he demanded in a soft tone which made her lower parts fill with more heat.

His hand slowly caressed her arm up and down, his hot breath still just inches away from hers. When he slowly brushed the fabric of her dress to the side, his bare hand on her sensitive skin, she couldn’t resist a small whimper.

“Exactly like that, princess,” he grinned in satisfaction, getting that kind of reaction out of her.

"Don't," Merari whispered and Bucky's hand moved away from her like he was burned by the flushed skin across her collarbones.

"No," she breathed with a soft laugh. "I mean...don't call me princess. There's no one else here, for the gods' sake."

Her exasperated tone made his eyebrow quirk up, but he said nothing. The palm of his hand caressed her cheek as he leaned closer, the other hand coming around her back to keep her close. Close to him is where she belonged at all times if she had her way.

"As you wish," Bucky smiled softly, his tongue darting out over his lips before rubbing his nose against hers.

She bit her lip and found every fleck of grey in his blue eyes as he watched her face for any sign she was scared.

"Tell me what you want...Merari."

“I want…” she started, senses heightened with the warmth of his breath and delicate brush of his nose.

“It’s just us,” Bucky reminded her, voice soft and low and only for her in the quiet lodgings.

“Kiss me?”

Not as bold as she’d have liked with her request, her eyelids fluttered closed as Bucky dragged the tip of his nose lower, lips ghosting hers.

“Things might change if we do this.”

“I don’t care, kiss me. Touch me, Bucky. Show me how you would unearth the sounds you overhear.”

She could feel the muscles of his arm tremble under the delicate touch of her hand as if he were at war with himself.

“Bucky,” she whispered against his mouth, “please.”

A low groan left his chest and the last thin thread of his restraint snapped. His hand slid from her cheek to cradle the back of her head as he closed the final hair’s breadth between them and captured her lips with his.

She whimpered against his mouth, her own so unsure and timid in response. She’d never been kissed like this before. The way his stubble scratched her skin, surely leaving marks behind, the desperation in the way he held her, it was enough to make her head spin.

But the lie that she had told him about laying with other knights sat like a knot in the pit of her stomach. He was going to know by the way she kissed, or the way she was beginning to tremble beneath him. He was gentle and tender, pulling moan after moan out of her as he took complete control. One of his hands rested on her waist, warm and inviting despite her soaked dress, fingers playing at the soft leather cords that kept it fastened to her body.

He pulled back, his pupils nearly black and his throat bobbing up and down in his throat nervously as he studied every inch of her face. She felt warm beneath his gaze and his lips formed a sly and wicked smile.

“You’ve never lain with a Knight, have you?” He asked.

“I told you I have.”

His smirk grew wider.

“You and I both know that’s not true, my dove.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “I'm outside your bed chamber every single night. If you want this, I need to hear you say it.”

“I want this,” she practically whimpered.

The words tumbled from her lips and Bucky pulled back, nodding his head.

“Can I undress you?”

Her eyes widened and her chest got tighter and tighter with each breath she took. She was just trying to keep herself upright.

“Yes.”

He turned her around to face the bed and she could feel her legs struggling to hold her up. Suddenly, the leather strings that kept her dress fastened began to loosen and one of Bucky’s calloused hands drifted up toward his shoulder to push the fabric down. He left soft kisses and a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“I’ll be gentle,” he assured her, warmth stitched into his voice. “I promise.”

Her dress fell loose, the cool air licking at her hot skin as his other hand snaked around her waist, pulling her back against his chest tightly. Her skin connected with the damp fabric of his tunic and she scowled, needing to feel his skin.

"There are too many layers between us Knight," she whined. She nearly melted as his chest rustled against her in a quiet laugh. He carefully moved her hair over her shoulder, nuzzling his nose into the base of her neck as he tried to hide his amusement. "Are you laughing at me?" She asked, trying to pull away.

"Perhaps," he mumbled, gripping her tighter. He nibbled at her ear lobe, running his sharp teeth against her sensitive skin as his fingers drummed gently against her hip above her skirts. "Be patient Merari, the storm rages still outside and I plan to take my time with you before we are shoved back to the world that awaits us when the clouds break."

Despite his words, his hands moved to unlace the layers she had on underneath, pushing her skirts past her hips, hands following the path of the fabric until they fell away above her knee, falling to the floor, leaving her only in her chemise.

Bucky’s hands slowly slid back up the fronts of her thighs, one hand sliding around to the side, sliding on the fabric and just barely cupping her ass. His other hand trailed lightly across her front, crossing over her covered mound, with the slightest hesitation, continuing on up her stomach to the bottoms of her heaving breasts.

“Tell me, Merari,” Bucky whispered, hovering just behind her, not letting the cold fabric of his tunic touch her warm skin. “Would you have me undress first, or shall I finish what I started?”

"It wouldn't be very chivalrous of you to leave a lady wanting," Merari breathed with a lust filled grin, leaning back as his thumb and index finger wrapped around the base of her neck gently. "But I would like to see you first."

Turning in his arms, Merari met Bucky's gaze and realized just how far gone he was. There was a longing in his eyes that pierced her chest and made her heart swell.

With slow movements, Merari unlaced the strings at his throat, exposing soft planes of muscle and dark curls of hair that made her mouth go dry. Bucky merely watched her trembling hands as they lifted his tunic over his shoulders and she laid eyes on him for the first time.

The familiar golden skin was littered with scars, sword slashes and small jabs covering his chest and abdomen. The hard muscles spoke of a life spent in service, built for battle and bringing death. She stood on her tiptoes, kissing him once more gently, the soft swirl of his tongue so different than she would have ever imagined. Each kiss was like something different and now that her hands were on his bare skin, she craved more.

Merari had often stared at Bucky with longing - while he trained, when he guarded her, and when he was at ease with some of the other knights he called friends – daydreaming about what lay under his armour and his tunic. Now, pressed against the heat of his bare chest that was littered with the scars of his devotion to her safety, Merari realised that her imagination had failed her spectacularly in her envisioning of his beauty.

He stilled as her delicate hands explored the geography of his musculature, allowing her a chance to discover for herself all of his wonders. Each cleft and ridge of taut muscle, goose-fleshed skin, and a light shiver that followed the ghosting of her fingertips over his nipple. Her doe eyes met his, hooded and dark with fettered lust, but still, he held for her.

In a moment of bravery, Merari laid a gentle kiss upon his chest, over a particularly nasty-looking scar. One she recalled he had gotten saving her from a boar on a picnic several years ago. Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed and he sighed heavily through his nose. All the ladies in waiting liked to talk about how the men would moan if a lady placed her lips just so.

Merari continued, kiss after tender kiss until, when almost kneeling, her fingertips lingered on the ties of his britches, and he flinched. Bucky’s hands snatched hers away swiftly but gently.

“Hear me well, my Lady,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “I can’t deny that I want this, and have for some time. But I won’t have you prostrate yourself before me when it is my place to kneel at your feet.”

Merari’s breath hitched in her throat as Bucky walked her backwards until she felt the bed bump softly against the back of her legs. She sat automatically, lost in the reverent depths of his eyes as this giant of a man sank to his knees before her for the second time that night. His hand found her cheek, cupping it gently as his thumb stroked across her cheekbone and then down over her mouth, dragging her bottom lip a little on the calloused pad.

A rush of heat flowed through her just from the intensity of his stare as his eyes flickered over the planes of her face before coming to rest on her mouth. She felt his fingers flex on her cheek just a little before he pulled her towards him and kissed her with a fervour even greater than before.

He pulled her top lip between his, his other hand reaching up to cage her face, and Merari sank into his embrace. Draping her arms around his neck she couldn’t help but open her legs wider, aching to feel him closer. A desperate moan left her throat as his hand, once on her face, now slid over her knees and made its gentle but determined progress over the soft skin of her thigh.

She shivered against the metaphorical flames that licked her skin as Bucky’s tongue pushed and swirled against hers. His fingers danced along her skin, moving at an almost agonizing pace and she lifted her hips a little, aching for more. More of him, more of his mouth, anything. A small whimper filled the room that made Bucky chuckle against her mouth. He pulled back, his hand moving higher and higher until he was tracing letters along her inner thigh and she realized he was spelling his name. Leaving an invisible mark. Tears brimmed in her eyes and she clenched her teeth so hard she thought they would crumble in the back of her mouth.

Bucky’s lips curled into the warmest smile she had ever seen. Her eyes raked over the scars and soft freckles on his chest. She began to trace them with one fingertip, going lower and lower until Bucky grasped her wrist.

“Undress me,” she commanded, trying to put some authority back into her voice.

Bucky merely chuckled and his fingers found a spot between her thighs that made her eyes widen the second he began to circle it. There was a beautiful pulsing sensation that made her rock her hips, and her head fell back as she let out another ragged groan.

“You might have authority out there,” his voice gruff as he dragged the tip of his nose up and down her throat. “But not in here, little dove. Do you feel where my fingers are?”

“Yes,” she rasped, choking on another moan.

“Good. I’m going to put my mouth here, okay?”

“Your mouth? Wh—"

“Yes or no, Merari. That’s all I need to hear.”

Her head swam with lust and she nodded her head, letting a soft, “yes” nestle between them. Suddenly, the warm breath on her face vanished and Bucky’s face was nestled between her thighs, his head concealed by her chemise. She felt his lips gliding along her skin, and the roughness of his beard made her whimper. And then his tongue found that spot and she covered her mouth with one hand before opting to bite down hard on her knuckles as she let out a strangled cry.

Bucky stopped suddenly, silencing her protest with a kiss on her inner thigh, and using his fingers again where his mouth had been a moment ago.

"My lady, I want to hear you scream," He rasped, pushing away the hem of her chemise so he could see her better. His stubble was dripping with the dampness that had formed between her legs, "Don't you dare swallow those beautiful noises."

Merari nodded, "Yes, yes! Just don't stop!"

He chuckled, diving back in with a long, slow, torturous lick up her folds before sucking on that sensitive spot again.

"Oh, oh! Bucky!"

His hands spread her thighs further apart, his fingers coaxing her folds apart, getting coated in thick wetness. As he sucked on that one spot, above where his hand was, he gently pushed a finger inside her.

“God! Bucky, oh my god, how- it’s so-” Merari couldn’t finish her sentence, overwhelmed and feeling strangely full yet empty at the same time.

“If it’s too much, I’ll stop,” Bucky said, a head popped out from her skirt, stilling his hand with his finger mostly inside her.

“No! I want this, I want more. Please Bucky?” Merari asked, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him.

It was strange, the taste of herself on his tongue, but feeling the rumble of a groan against her lips had her throbbing again. She moved impatiently against him and Bucky gripped her thighs, gently holding her in place.

"Patience," he chastised, a stern look on his handsome face. "You deserve someone who will take their time."

Bucky kissed the apple of her cheek and she giggled softly, feeling his hands slide the fabric of her chemise up until she was exposed to the warm firelight.

"Someone who will give you everything you need," he murmured once more.

This time, his mouth sucked at the unblemished skin of her neck, making Merari keen and gasp in his arms. It was like a bite, but it sent shockwaves straight to her cunt. His tongue soothed the mark before Bucky raised his head.

Dropping down to his knees once more, his hands kneaded the soft flesh of her thighs and Merari groaned as her eyes fluttered closed.

"Someone," Bucky breathed as her legs splayed open in his grasp. "Who will bow to you and enjoy every second of it."

It was as if he knew exactly want she wanted, all those years of watching and waiting leading to this. He probably knew her better than she knew herself and he took it out on her body with skilled precision.

As his tongue delved deep inside her, Merari gripped the thick locks of dark hair that brushed her thighs.

"Oh my," she gasped with a breathless laugh, shocked at the sudden sensation. "Gods, Bucky."

Looking down beyond the scrunched-up fabric of her chemise, the exposed plane of her tummy and the soft curls of her mound, she met Bucky’s eyes as he devoured her eagerly. The thrill and stifled embarrassment she felt joined seamlessly with the intense pleasure building with each kiss, each lick, and each wicked suckling his mouth made. She threw her head back and moaned, gasping as if her breath had been stolen, and all Bucky did was smirk, his twinkling eyes full of mischief.

It was all too much, and yet not enough. The sharpness of her pleasure, exquisite in its ferocity, was too much to take. She bore down, clenching around the absence of Bucky’s finger, the feeling almost enough. Almost.

“Please…”

Her begs were like sobs, wracked with desperation until she felt him at her entrance once more. He circled teasingly as he consumed her, his finger dipping inside deeper with each intrusion. The slight sting caused her to gasp but he shushed her and soothed her with kisses to her inner thighs, gently stroking deep inside her. His deft finger added more pleasure once he returned his lips to their sworn task.

The bedsheets twisted into a knot within her clenched fist as Merari tried to ground herself against the intensity of the feelings that coursed through her. It was as if a spring were being wound inside her, tighter and tighter with every movement of Bucky’s finger, every lave of his tongue.

Her other hand found its way into his hair, twining themselves through his locks and urging him ever on. Her hips began to buck against his face, small movements at first that grew as pleasure began to overtake her.

“Gods, more Bucky, please!” She begged through gritted teeth, almost screaming as he slid a second finger inside her along with the first.

“That’s it Merari, let me hear you.”

Her screams threatened to crumble the walls, but she didn’t care. Bucky’s fingers seemed to be hitting a spot inside of her that lit up every nerve ending— that combined with the pressure and pace of his tongue… She felt like weeping, and she didn’t know why.

Merari felt like an elastic band stretched so tightly that when he crooked his fingers, she cried out again, a tidal wave of pleasure drowning her as her muscles began to tremble. Bucky continued to lap at that spot and move his fingers at a deliciously slow pace while wave after wave of pure bliss consumed her and forced strangled cries from her throat.

She was coated in sweat and when it was all too much, she squeezed his head between her thighs and whimpered. Every muscle contracted and relaxed as Bucky withdrew his fingers, climbing on top of her while she sucked in the cool air.

“I told you I committed every single one of those sounds you made for me to memory,” he said softly, one hand gliding up her waist and cupping her breast. She felt sparks as he dragged his thumb across her nipple. “But I don’t think I’ve heard them all just yet.”

She swallowed the invisible wad of cotton lodged in the back of her throat.

“I-- I was bluffing,” she choked out, humiliation washing over her in the aftermath.

Bucky chuckled, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I know.” Another kiss. "It's alright. I'll guide you. I belong to you tonight, Merari."

As the tremors eased away, Bucky nuzzled Merari's neck, kissing and nipping at her skin.

"You ready for more, my dove?" He asked, pausing in his affections to check on her.

"More?" She asked, amazed that there could be anything better than what she had just experienced.

"Of course," He whispered, "That was just the beginning."

Bucky pressed more kisses to Merari’s neck, trailing down her chest until he was sucking her nipple into his mouth, fabric and all. She gasped at the sensation, cool silky fabric getting wet with his warm saliva and breath.

Merari held his head to her chest, her fingers buried in his long locks, pressing up into his mouth as his hand cupped her other breast, fingers rolling and gently pinching her nipple.

“Bucky, please, I need-“ Merari stopped herself.

“Tell me, my dove, what do you need?” Bucky asked as he pulled back, her chemise soaked, the air cool and making her nipple harden further.

“I need, whatever more is,” she murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his jaw, losing herself and pressing more kisses up to his neck to his ear. “Please good sir, I need- I need you.”

Bucky turned to catch her lips with his own as he lifted her up, her thighs clenching around his stomach as they slid further up the bed. She let out an involuntary gasp at the sudden motion and Bucky let out a gentle laugh.

Settling down between her thighs, his hips dug into her skin as he rocked against her, the leather pants rough but slick against her cunt.

"Bucky," Merari whined as she laughed. "Stop teasing."

"After all the time I've waited," Bucky drawled above her, her nails digging into his shoulders as he dragged his hips against her slowly. "I think I've earned a little bit of teasing...Merari."

At the sound of her name on his lips once more she whimpered and kissed him hard, panting with need. Her hips rolled against him, in slow, steady waves as Bucky reached down to unlace his breeches.

“We go slow,” he rumbled, that raspy voice making more heat flare in her chest. “You tell me if it’s too much.”

He grasped one of her wrists and brought her hand up to wrap around his cock. She gasped softly at the size of it and Bucky let out a groan, guiding her hand to stroke him slowly. He was already falling apart and quickly, Merari began to get the hang of it, even gliding her thumb over the tip. It seemed to make him shiver. She liked that.

“Just like that, sweetheart.” His head rolled back, along with his eyes until she saw the whites of them. “Fuck.”

She continued to stroke him, but every second he wasn’t inside of her was pure agony. She felt a deep ache, almost like a hunger inside of her and wound her legs around his waist. It was then that she realized how much she had wanted this, all of the back and forth between them, the barbs they traded, the insults… none of it mattered. She let it all fall away.

“Please,” she begged.

He chuckled.

“I could get used to hearing that word from you.”

“And I could get used to you kneeling,” she quipped.

Bucky smirked as Merari guided his cock toward her slick cunt, pushing the tip against her entrance; testing herself. He let out a whine and dipped his head, kissing her softly.

“Anything for you.”

Slowly, he began to push inside of her. It stung, and he was careful to go as slow as he could. Bucky kissed away the tears that stained her lashes and all Merari could feel was warmth in her chest, spreading slowly to every part of her body as he filled her up. Pain began to turn to pleasure as her body relaxed and she took him deeper and deeper. Bucky kissed the tip of her nose when he noticed her breath getting shallow.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Her breath hitched in her chest and she nodded a little desperately, her hands sliding up from where they had migrated to his hips, up his back and to his shoulders. She clung to him, broad and filling up all her senses, the tang of sweat and blood still in the air as they moved, joining with the scent of sex, creating a heady atmosphere that Merari let herself fall deeper into.

Her back arched as Bucky’s cock brushed against a spot inside her, making sparks light up the blood in her veins. A moan left her lips and Bucky smirked, a groan leaving his own lips as Merari tightened on him, responding to the pleasure she felt.

He kept his promise, rocking his hips slowly while peppering her face with sweet kisses. Merari was already beginning to fall apart. She raked her fingernails down his back, feeling a topography of scars along his skin, tracing the elevation of each and wondering where he got it and how. She wondered if he cried, or took each wound with his teeth gritted. There was no doubt in her mind that Bucky was strong. She could see it, but part of her always thought there was a softness to him. It was difficult to find through his arrogance and icy exterior.

Merari’s moans grew louder and louder as her body moved with his, the bed creaking beneath them and they became lost in each other.

“I’ve needed you for so long,” he confessed through moans.

She reached up and cupped his cheek, gliding her thumb across his stubble.

"How long?" She asked.

"My whole life."

Merari felt the familiar sting at the corners of her eyes return once more, only this time it was because the man she lived to aggravate, torment with her silly notions and acts of rebellion had turned into someone she would need for more than just tonight.

"Bucky," she whimpered feeling him settle completely within her. She wiggled and writhed beneath him forcing herself to become accustomed to his size and only driving her pleasure as her body moved.

He dipped his head, leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline, down the column of her neck and in between the swell of her breasts. "Say my name again, Merari." Bucky requested, the tone in his voice was needy but with enough rasp that caused her skin to gooseflesh.

"Bucky," she moaned feeling his hips pull away from her almost completely before slowly driving himself within her again. His name was long and drawn out with the movement only to be accompanied by the sweet sound of his own pleasure escaping from his lips against her sweltering skin.

Merari wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him close to her, forcing him deep inside her, his hips grinding and making short little thrusts.

Every movement of his hips had his cock pressing against that spot from earlier, the one that made her feel alight.

The feeling kept building, and Merari couldn’t hold it back, this fire raging throughout her as she screamed her pleasure, shouting out her knight’s name.

She was overcome with bliss, and Bucky began to fuck her with wild abandon, hitting that spot over and over again until she was quivering beneath him.

“I’m gonna—“

“Please,” she begged. “Please, Bucky?”

Every muscle coiled beneath her touch and Bucky’s hips stilled as he spilled into her, his broken cry forcing her back to arch as he pulled one more climax out of her. Finally, he collapsed, mouth gliding against hers as they breathed heavily. She wanted to say something but there was nothing to say, and her mind was half gone anyway. Merari wasn’t even sure if she would be able to write her own name after that.

He pulled back and smiled at her.

“Are you okay?”

She laughed and her fingertips brushed his cheek, but his eyes were desperately searching hers, checking in, making sure he hadn’t hurt her.

“I’m wonderful, Bucky.”

She kissed him again to reassure him.

Merari felt him melt into her kiss. She wanted to kiss him like this every day, every hour for the next eternity of their lives. It seemed to be hasty but as he pulled away from her and the blue in his eyes had returned where the usual stoned anger sat, was now something softer and littered with warmth.

Bucky slowly rolled from her and off of the bed. Merari watched as he tucked himself back into his trousers as he moved towards the dresser and the bowl of water.

"What are you after?" She asked, propping herself up onto her elbows. Her voice was quiet with disappointment that his warmth was taken from her.

He glanced over his shoulder, working one of the clean rags in the water and gently wringing it out. "A rag," Bucky started as he turned to her and made his way back to the bed. He sat beside her, "let me clean you up?" He asked gently, holding the rag carefully in his hand as he waited for permission to touch her.

She wasn't sure as to what he meant but she trusted him. Merari laid back with a soft nod only wincing slightly at the chill from the water hitting the inside of her thigh as Bucky worked smoothly to wipe up the remnants of their need for one another.

"You don't have to do this," she said softly, watching the way the muscles in his biceps moved with him.

Again those blue eyes met her with the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen, "I do because it is my duty to take care of you, with or without the armor."

Merari’s heart swelled, a smile and blush overtaking her face, making her turn and bury her face in the pillow.

Bucky returned to the dresser, wringing out the rag and setting it to dry, hesitating only a moment before turning around.

Merari lifted her head, gazing at Bucky beyond the edge of the bed. “You’re not going leave me cold here, are you?” she asked, sitting up, propping herself up on her non injured hand, reaching down and pulling at the bed covers.

Bucky grinned.

“It would be foolish of me to ignore a beautiful woman in my bed.”

She arched a brow.

“Your bed? I paid for this room.”

He climbed onto the mattress and she felt it dip beneath his weight as he pressed a kiss to her lips. She giggled against his mouth, but Bucky seemed to savour the sound like he was afraid of losing something. His hands cupped her face and he broke the kiss, staring at her.

“Every day I thank the gods that I get to wake up and look at you.”

She bit her lip.

“Even when I frustrate you?”

“Especially when you frustrate me,” Bucky laughs, grasping her injured hand tenderly and pressing kisses to her knuckles. Bright blue eyes caught hers and her heart felt like it was cracking. Bucky lifted his head. “Merari, I—"

He exhaled softly and tried to speak again but all he could do was shake his head. Merari pressed her finger to his lips. She knew what he was trying to say, the words that were caught in his chest as he took a breath. Her mouth covered his again and she pulled him down on top of her, her legs winding around his. If she asked him to run away with her right now, the desperation in his kisses told her he might say yes.

Merari broke the kiss and Bucky smiled.

“We should sleep,” he murmured.

"Will tomorrow be different?" She blurted, the sudden fear of her life and the idea of this night ending swarming her.

Bucky's tongue ran over his bottom lip as he considered his answer. Though a part of her knew she wouldn't want to hear it.

"Tomorrow will be just like any other day," he started as he righted her chemise and rolled next to her tugging the quilts up and over their bodies, "you will frustrate me to no end and I will wish to the stars that we will not part," he wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her to his chest, "but," his voice dropped gently, "you are a Princess though you disdain the word with every fiber of your being, there are duties you have to uphold as do I."

"So your answer is yes," she said hiding the crack in her voice through a whisper as she tucked her head into his neck.

"I wish that it was not."

Merari sniffled softly hoping he wouldn't hear her but his hold on her grew a little tighter reassuring her that at least for this night, he was not going anywhere.

Soon, she fell asleep listening to the quiet thundering of his heart raising her white flag to a night she wouldn't forget.

Morning crept in slowly and as rays of sunshine filtered through the dusted windows Merari's eyes opened slowly. It was quiet in the inn below. The boisterous noise from the night before had settled leaving the soft creaking of the wood settling and the gentle rhythm of her breathing. She rolled over, finding the bed to be empty next to her. She splayed her hand across where Bucky had laid his head for the night, the sheets still warm from him.

It was only then she heard the faint sound of voices just outside the door. She tried to listen for a moment and could hear the unmistakable sound of Bucky's morning voice getting closer to the wooden door before it slowly pushed open.

He was still in the leather trousers he wore from the night before and the tunic had returned to cover the mapped-out scars she had committed to memory. His hair was a little curlier from sleep and the stubble that peppered his jaw had darkened a tad bit with the new morn.

"Good morning," she said catching his attention.

His body tensed at the sound of her voice. He clutched an envelope in his hand and balanced two bowls of porridge in the other, "Good Morning Princess."

Merari's heart cracked at the use of her title. No longer was she just Merari, no the formalities of their relationship had returned. "What is that you have?"

She raised a long painted finger to the letter.

"A letter from the kingdom." He answered, setting the bowls onto the dresser before holding out the letter to her, "It's addressed to you."

Her brows furrowed gently as she took the envelope, opening it and scanning over the words. She felt her eyes widen and covered her mouth with her hand to hold back the gasp lodged in her throat.

"He's dead." Was all she could muster.

Bucky sat down next to her on the bed, taking the letter from her and reading the words confirming that the King had been murdered during transport back to the Castle. She ached to feel almost nothing for her father's death only horror at how the letter described it. "This means that--"

"You're Queen." He finished for her. Their eyes met as silence fell between them.

"Queen," Merari tested out the new title that felt more foreign than Princess.

He leaned forward, his hands cupping her cheeks as he discarded the letter, "My lady, this means you return Home, not to the nunnery and-" The words became stuck in his throat like molasses.

"I don't leave you nor you leave I," this time it was her that finished for him.

He shook his head, a sad smile spread across his lips as he leaned into her, pressing his forehead to hers, "Today is different my dove but it is the start of something much greater."

"You are under my command?" She asked, knowing the answer.

She felt him smile as his lips brushed hers, "I was always under your command, Merari."

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myceliumelium · 6 months

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Okay lotr/sil OCs I have two that are a package set, cousins sort of? (You don't have to do both ^__^ or, you know, either if they don't spark anything)

One is male, reasonably tall, tan skin, with wide eyes that are grey but just a bit lavender (the kind of color that doesn't really register as lavender unless he wears purple or blue kinda? If that makes sense?).

He has the kind of features people describe as cheerful and sunny. A really nice smile? He has a scar split through the far left side of his lower lip down nearly to his chin from a fight he got into (someone said something he couldn't let go)

His hair is rabbits fur tan-grey. Which I headcanon as a mostly Sindar hair color. (Which meikers and other doll sites never have *sad sigh*) Texture is wispy fine, the kind of hair that starts coming out of whatever style its been put in to immediately after its been put up unless massive amounts of fixture is used, so he only does fancy styles for special occasions. Mostly it goes up in a bun, or a tail, or braids at the temples and pulled back, always with bits flying free of the style. It's usually about waist length if he hasn't burned it off doing something inadvisable.

He wears several gold hoops and studs, with ruby and garnet stones, and bangles, because he likes the clinking sounds they make. He sometimes wears a few rings on each hand (Noldor and their sparkly things) but more often he needs his hands free of things that could catch, so he strings them on the gold chain he wears, along side a small pendant star of Feanor.

He dresses nicely! Except he is one of those people that can't keep away from things that cause messes ever so his clothes almost always end up rumpled or singed or torn.

His cousin is blatantly and unabashedly based, personality wise, on Joan Watson from Elementary. So like, adventurous lady who seems like she's calmer and more careful, but that's only compared to her very smart but somewhat unhinged bestie and partner.

She's a little bit taller than my guy OC, with a similar skin tone, and grey eyes. No lavender for her, her's are thunderhead grey. Her hair is dark reddish brown, and wavy when loose. She has a shallow widows peak. She mostly keeps it back in a tight braid that reaches about down to her tailbone, or up with (sharp) jeweled hair sticks. Style made fancier when she needs it to be.

She has sharp features, and a resting face that says she is Unimpressed. She's got no facial scars, but several slices across the sides of her arms and forearms. Most are faded to almost nothing. She's pretty careful.

She wears a single pair of gold and ruby studs, with a matching necklace and cuff bracelet. She's Noldor but doesn't really 'get' the jewelry thing. She has as much as any lady, but only wears it when she has to. She does quite like fancy clothing though! She very much appreciates lovely colors and fabrics and embroidery. She just often ends up following her cousin onto rooftops and through fens and up mountains so she mostly keeps to practical AND pretty, and saves the gowns for when they're actually in Mithlond or other gown appropriate venues.

Both are generally armed, him with a sword and a bow, her with a shield and a halberd.

If something is mysteriously on fire, and they're in the area, there is like an 80% chance they're involved.

You will notice I have mentioned no names! These two are being SO stubborn about that. No names yet. Just stand ins of Rabbit and Fox!

The ask of not absolutely Drenching a noldo in jewellery was a big ask but I channeled the maximalism into the surcoat embroidery.

Fox is lovely, and I'm so glad you have me the chance to draw her!

I feel like they'd get along great with one of my ocs. same kind of chaos energy.

#art #ask #other people's ocs #silamrillion

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xmaudx · 1 month

Text

The Phoenix Burns

Chapter 3:

The first light of dawn crept through the heavy curtains of Y/N’s room, casting a soft, golden glow over the stone walls. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts swirling with the events of the previous night. The unsettling encounter on the balcony still weighed on her mind however today was important—a day of diplomacy, and she needed to be at her best.

With a sigh, she rose from the bed and began preparing for the meeting. Her fingers moved carefully as she dressed in a churuthar. The yellow-green cloth was embroidered with intricate gold patterns, reminiscent of sun that symbolized her people. Over the tunic, she draped a rich, silk shawl—deep maroon with golden paisley designs, a nod to her ancestors who once wore similar garments in the ancient lands of her tribe. It was one of the very few dresses Queen Mitsuki still had of her mum from the visits between the two kingdoms. The ensemble was completed with a pair of gold bangles that jingled softly as she moved, and a small bindi, a traditional mark on her forehead, symbolizing her connection to her tribe’s spiritual roots. Humming her mothers lullaby as she got ready she'd move over to the mirror checking for any creases before adjusting her shawl.

A knock to her door however quickly shut her up. Y/N turned, half expecting it to be a servant, but when she opened the door, she was met with the sight of Ochako Uraraka. The witch smiled warmly, her brown eyes bright and welcoming.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Ochako greeted her, her voice light and cheerful. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I was asked to escort you to the meeting room. King Enji is expecting everyone soon.”

Y/N smiled in return, though the tightness in her chest didn’t ease. “Good morning, Ochako. You’re not disturbing me at all. I was just about to head there myself.”

Ochako’s smile widened, and she stepped aside to let Y/N exit the room. “Great! Shall we go together?”

As they walked through the castle’s grand halls, Ochako kept the conversation light, chatting about the beauty of the Hellfire Kingdom and how she’d spent her morning. Y/N listened, nodding at the right moments, but her mind was elsewhere. Despite Ochako’s kindness, there was a small, gnawing feeling in her gut that made it hard to fully relax around her. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, that’s what Y/N told herself—but something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

After a lull in the conversation, Ochako shifted the topic, her tone a bit more serious. “I’ve heard so much about the Dragonblood Tribe. It must be incredible to be part of such a powerful lineage. But I imagine it also comes with its share of burdens, doesn’t it?”

Y/N’s steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. “It does. There’s a lot of history, a lot of expectations for kats of course as well. But it’s also... fulfilling, knowing that I’m part of something bigger than myself. I have a family there, makes it easier to deal with everything”

Ochako’s eyes softened as she glanced at Y/N. “It must be hard, though especially after everything that’s happened to you... after what your tribe went through.”

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat but nodded in response. “It’s not easy, I guess there are some nights harder then others. But my amma wouldn't have wanted me to let my past haunt my present.” Her voice wavered, the uneasy topic felt strange to talk to with Uraraka.

Ochako was silent for a moment, her gaze thoughtful as they continued walking. Then, just as they were about to reach the grand doors leading to the meeting hall, Ochako spoke again, her voice quieter, almost hesitant. “Do you feel guilty for what you did? Or maybe...what you didn't do?”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. She looked at Ochako, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words, but the witch’s expression remained unreadable.

“I—” Y/N began, but the words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t sure how to respond, wasn’t even sure what Ochako was really asking. Guilty? For surviving? For not being able to save her tribe? For not doing more? She was young when it had happened but the trauma of it still haunted her in her sleep. The sight of children's dead bodies plaguing the land. Her mother's last gentle kiss to her forehead before pushing her small boat down the river sea. The screams and cries of women,children and men.

Before she could find an answer, the doors to the meeting room were opened by the guards, and Ochako gave her wide small, as if nothing had happened. “We should go in. The king is waiting.”

Y/N swallowed hard and nodded, pushing the question aside as she stepped into the room. But Ochako’s words lingered in her mind, gnawing at her as she took her seat at the table. The sense of unease that had been growing inside her only deepened, making it harder to focus on the task at hand.

As she settled into her chair, she forced herself to push aside the emotions swirling within her. There would be time to dwell on them later—now, she needed to be strong, to represent her tribe and stand her ground in the face of whatever challenges lay ahead.

Across the table, Katsuki’s crimson eyes met hers for a brief moment, and she felt a flicker of warmth, a reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. Whatever happened, they were in this together.

“Finally decided to join us, huh?” Katsuki said, his tone light but with an edge of impatience.

Y/N grinned as she took her seat across from him. “Aww did ya miss me kats?”

The blonde boy would click his tongue however a faint smile painted his face. Ochako settled into the seat beside Katsuki, her hand moving to squeeze his own, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice the ease with which she did so, as if she belonged by his side.

As the others resumed their conversation, Y/N focused on the topic at hand. Katsuki and Izuku were discussing recent reports of suspicious activity in Alkora Forest, a dense and mysterious woodland on the outskirts of the Hellfire Kingdom. It was a place shrouded in legend and fear, said to be home to ancient and powerful forces that few dared to disturb.

“I’m telling you, there’s something off about this,” Izuku said, his voice low and serious. “The patterns are too deliberate. Whoever—or whatever—is behind it is planning something big.”

Katsuki crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful. “Youstill think it’s that bastard All for One?”

Izuku hesitated, his green eyes flickering with uncertainty. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but... it��s possible. The signs are there. But if it is All for One, then that means One for All—”

“—might still be alive,” Katsuki finished for him, his voice grim. “But that doesn’t make any sense. One for All was supposed to have died in the Battle of Kraken.”

Y/N’s ears perked up at the mention of the legendary battle. It had been one of the most significant events in the history of the realm—King Enji’s predecessor, One for All, had faced off against the devil king All for One in a cataclysmic struggle that had left the kingdom in ruins. Both kings had been presumed dead, their bodies never found, but the impact of their battle had shaped the future of the Hellfire Kingdom forever.

Kirishima, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. “If All for One is back, then we’re in deep trouble. That guy’s no joke.”

Prince Shoto nodded, his voice calm but firm. “We need to investigate this further. If there’s even a chance that All for One is behind the disturbances in Alkora Forest, we can’t afford to ignore it.”

Tenya Iida, ever the diligent knight, added, “The safety of the kingdom must come first. We should prepare a team to investigate immediately.”

As the conversation continued, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the tension in the room. Everyone was on edge, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on them. She glanced at Katsuki, who was deep in thought, his usual fiery demeanor tempered by the seriousness of the discussion.

Before they could delve further into their plans, the doors to the meeting room opened once more, and King Enji Todoroki entered, flanked by his trusted hand, Hawks. The room fell silent as the king took his place at the head of the table, his presence commanding and imposing.

King Enji was a tall man, his fiery red hair a stark contrast to the cool demeanor he exuded. His sharp eyes scanned the room, lingering for a moment on Y/N before moving on. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of something in his gaze—something that made Y/N uneasy.

“Let’s get to business,” King Enji said, his voice low and authoritative. “We have much to discuss.”

As the meeting began, the discussion shifted to the main topic at hand: the trade relations between the Hellfire Kingdom and the Dragonblood Tribe. The recent changes in the political landscape had led to tensions between the two realms, and it was clear that the king was eager to assert his dominance.

Katsuki spoke confidently, outlining the terms of the proposed trade agreement. Y/N listened carefully, ready to chime in when needed. She knew this was an important moment—not just for her tribe, but for her as well. She had to prove herself, to show that she was more than just a survivor of her tribe’s massacre.

King Enji listened in silence, his expression giving nothing away. But when he finally spoke, his words were laced with an undercurrent of malice.

“You speak well, young Bakugou,” the king said, his tone almost patronizing. “But I wonder... is this truly the best your tribe can offer? After all, the Dragonbloods are not what they once were with a female leader ruling them.”

Y/N felt a surge of anger at his words, but she kept her composure. “Our tribe is still strong, Your Majesty regardless of what gender rules over. "

King Enji’s gaze shifted to her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of disdain in his eyes. “Ah, yes. The last of the Malabar Tribe. It’s impressive, truly, that you’ve managed to survive. But one has to wonder... how relevant are you, really, in matters of the kingdom?”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her hands clenched into fists under the table. The king’s casual dismissal was sharp, his disdain for her clear. She could sense everyone's focus shift towards her. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm, to not let his words get under her skin. Bakugou watched, his hand moving to grip his sword as he glanced over to Kirishima, a mutual understanding of how to act should this conversation turn violent.

King Enji leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your tribe,” he continued, his tone dripping with condescension, “has always been a relic of the past. A small, insignificant group clinging to ancient traditions that have no place in the modern world. You’ve survived, yes, but survival is not the same as thriving. You’re little more than a curiosity—a footnote in history.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her expression calm, refusing to rise to the bait. “The Malabar Tribe has endured for centuries, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice steady. “Our traditions are not mere relics; they are the foundation of our strength. We have preserved our knowledge, our culture, through generations and as the last survivor I will continue to practice our beliefs. It is not for you to decide what is significant and what is not.”

King Enji’s eyes narrowed, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Strength? How quaint. What good was your strength when it came to surviving. No one but you survived. Your men were left dead. Your women and children, your mother. Rumours had it her head was severed from her body and spiked on the gates of your tribe. So your strength is not as relevant as you claim it to be."

Y/N felt the final thread of her patience snap. The calm façade she had maintained throughout the conversation shattered as she stood up, her eyes blazing with a quiet fury. Her voice was low, but each word was filled with resolve. “You may see us as weak, Your Majesty, but you are gravely mistaken. The Malabar Tribe has endured more than you can imagine, and we will continue to endure long after you are gone. You speak of progress, but what you fail to understand is that true strength comes from knowing who you are and where you come from. That is something my people have never forgotten, and we never will.”

King Enji opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say another word, Y/N’s hand lashed out, striking him across the face with a force that silenced the entire room. The sound of the slap echoed through the chamber, and for a moment, everyone froze, their eyes wide with shock.

Y/N stood there, her hand still trembling from the impact, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. She couldn’t believe what she had just done, but she refused to back down now. She met King Enji’s stunned gaze with a look of fierce determination, her voice unwavering.

“You may be the king of this land,” she said coldly, “but that does not give you the right to belittle my people. We have survived worse than your insults, and we will continue to survive, no matter what you or anyone else thinks.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the stunned silence behind her.

#bnha #mha #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #angst #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha bakugou #deku #kacchan x reader

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per-the-jellicle-magician · 6 months

Text

In his den Mefistofeliks has a little stash of things that remind him of his human and of cats he's close with. It started when he was still a kitten because of his human and there's only a few cats who know this stash of mementos even exists.

The inspiration for it was his human, Erik, who made a little baby album of a sort after he adopted Feliks, and over the years has been adding pictures and other things such as his paw prints etc. So wanting to do the same Feliks stole a few of the printed pictures and scraps of paper with Erik's handwriting (the closest thing he could find as his human's paw print) and stashed them in his den at the studio. Over the years said stash grew, he kept stealing a picture or a note here and there, and few pieces of Erik's clothing including one of his favourite pairs of socks. He also got there his latest collar that he wore only once to please Erik. He doesn't like wearing it, but he still very much likes to have it (he knows Erik saved the very first collar he got for Feliks, tiny kitten one that also was worn only once).

Besides his human's things he has lots of mementos of other cats. Most weren't exactly gifts but more of a "oh you can keep it if you want" type of thing, but Ram Ram Tamek and Kasandra, who both knew about it for years have both gifted him things and would sometimes tell other cats that hey this specific thing you dont want to anymore, Mefistofeliks may want it. Eventually two more cats would learn about it, both by accident, said cats being Bombalurina and Munkustrap.

From Tam he's got a little round mirror, a scrap of an old blanket they often used to share as kittens and a photo of the two of them Tam stole from Erik (Tam may tease him a bit for being sentimental, but he still helps with getting the things, and he saved the other piece of that blanket and another copy of that photo too).

From Kasandra he's got two of her bracelets, a broken silver one he saved from when they first got together, and she didn't know about the stash yet (he gifted her a different one then), and a golden bangle with little stones she gave him when they finally and for good sorted their relationship out and went from partners to being just friends.

From his daughter, Wiktoria, he's got a piece of cardboard with her paw prints on it and red and black marble from a little stash of them she found in some forgotten corner of the studio (she saved herself a matching white one).

From his parents, he's got one of Bywalec' ascots and an old broken pair of glasses, and from Plameczka a couple of her hair rollers, plus a few feathers from her feather duster (it took a time to get those things to save, he doesn't see his parents as often anymore)

From Misto a long piece of the glittery rainbow he used in his tricks, from when it accidentally ripped one day and a few playing cards from his favourite, although very much no longer complete deck (Feliks wasn't the only one to receive cards from his cousin, few went to Tugger and Victoria as well).

From Victoria a gem that fell off her collar and a pink ribbon bow she made once for him so the 3 of them could match as family (Misto saved the one she made for him too).

From Bomba he's got her hair clip sometime after they become friends. It was an old one, with a broken clip part (she let him have it after he helped her find a replacement).

From Demeter he's got a silver and gold handkerchief which was bit of an "I'm sorry" note after she accidentally messed up his arm (he wore it over the bandages when it was still healing)

From Munkustrap he's got feathers, saved from every catch Munk would share with him all the times Feliks would visit his cousins at the Junkyard. Munk saw the arrangement Feliks made of the feathers several times when visiting before he realised they were from birds caught by him. It took for a very specific feather to appear there for him to catch on (Munk has saved all the flowers Feliks has ever conjured up for him too, took him one catnip fuelled visit to his den to learn that). Later, one of scarves Munk had in his den, a brilliant blue one, made it's way over to Feliks' (Feliks may or may not have said it reminded him of Munk the most of all things Munk's got and that he liked how soft it was)

#I've been having thoughts so it's a long one #this idea was living rent free in my head #maybe one day i'll write out what he got from other cats #if and when i get any ideas of what those things may be #cats the musical #cats warsaw #cats headcanons #mefistofeliks #mistoffelees #ram tam tamek #rum tum tugger #Munkustrap #kasandra #cassandra cats #only tagging the more important ones form all the mentioned #my headcanons #jellicle cats #my main cats au

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year

Text

From the Ashes Pt.15

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, MC POV

Words: 2260

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35

Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)

The blisters on your hands were healing and becoming strong calluses the more you trained. You could see the improvements already and it made you ecstatic. Never once had you imagined that you would be sword fighting alongside your brother.

Smiling to yourself, you absentmindedly listen to Rhiannon’s voice and the others in the choir. Rising up to the high ceiling of the Red Temple while the scent of incense relaxed you. The spot beside you was empty as Jaime didn’t particularly like attending services. He would much rather be out on the grounds with the others. You would have preferred that too but as Azor Ahai reborn, you were expected to attend every so often so that other worshippers could see you. High Priest Benerro was in the works of preparing you for your revealment so that not only the worshippers at the temple knew who you were, but the whole of Volantis. Benerro insisted upon it so what could you do?

He had you seated atop near the altar and between two iron torches that were alive with flames. A flowing red robe that threatened to fall off of your shoulders as you had to pull them up every so often. Gold bangles adorned your wrists and a large scarlet ring shined on your thumb. The robe was rumored to have been worn by Azor Ahai himself; kept in a glass case and well taken care of for centuries. Gold threading kept the robe together, catching the light from the fires around you. Kohl outlined your bottom lid, red powder on top; Inanna said it showed the duality of light and shadows and how they intertwined. It brought your thoughts back to the darkin. He was still out there. Waiting for you to come out of the temple. That’s when he would attack. You hoped you would be strong enough then to fend for yourself. You remembered how fast he was though, hopping from shadow to shadow. He nearly had you too had it not been for Sirvart. Trapped by your very own shadows at your feet. You had felt utterly powerless and had accepted your death. Coming face-to-face with death so many times already, it didn’t phase you one bit at the moment.

Lions.

Poison.

Fire.

You had survived them all. Perhaps by sheer dumb luck or otherworldly help, you honestly didn’t know how you were still alive.

“Ñuha kosh.”

You lift your face up. She was beautiful. Pale skin with long red hair and an even redder gown; another red priestess that must have just come back from her missionary visits to the rest of Essos. Her Common Tongue was exquisite with only the slightest hint of her native accent.

Bowing her head an inch, she turns her abnormal red eyes up to you. “Ñuha kosh, it would be an honor to introduce myself. I am Melisandre.” Melisandre spoke softly as to not disturb the choir’s singing. Many of the red priestesses had made it a point to introduce themselves to you.

“The honor is mine to meet you.” Putting on a friendly smile, you allow her to kiss the base of your pedestal as so many others had done before. The act was still embarrassing for you but you figured that if they didn’t mind, you wouldn’t stop them. You had to accept the importance you had to them, whether you disagreed or not.

Her heart shaped face was hard to deny anything to. Around her slender throat you noticed she had a similar necklace to Alizah’s. A choker styled necklace that held a large ruby stone in the middle. Rhiannon had explained that those necklaces were special. She had her own chain necklace with a garnet gem, but the chokers were only given to those who had demonstrated their ability to read the flames. Something Thalina would have acquired had she stayed in Volantis. Thalina could have done so many things if she had stayed. She met an early demise with you.

“I hope you will accept my assistance with your darkin problem. The high priest has informed me of your run in.” Offering her services, Melisandre continues to stay on her knees in front of you. “The darkin rose from my homeland of Asshai. I have more knowledge than others about them and the Darkin Society.”

You sat up a little bit in your seat. “Really? You're from the shadow land?”

Dark red lips turn up. “Yes, Ñuha kosh. I am 0ne of few children who were actually born there and thrived. Asshai lacks children and life. Those who manage to survive, well, they have a natural affinity for magic.”

Magic rang through her eyes. You could see that much. It reminded you of the chilly blue eye of the darkin. So pale blue that it could almost blend into the whites of his eye. Melisandre continues “Darkin and shadowbinders alike originate from Asshai.”

“I would love to learn more.” Replying breathlessly, you find yourself leaning forward in your seat. You would find yourself against him once again surely, it was best you learn everything you could about the darkin. Rhiannon had already helped you plenty, but there was only so much she knew about them.

“My services are at your disposal, Ñuha kosh” She bows once more before leaving.

“Is it too heavy?” Rhiannon asks you as she adjusts the ceremonial headdress on you.

Jaime was sitting at the table in your room, drinking and smacking his lips as he enjoyed his red wine. “Geez, that thing looks like it’s made out of solid gold.”

Inanna laughs, tucking the sash to your robe. “Because it is.”

You stifle a laugh and try to keep your neck straight. “Only a little bit.” The tassels on each side of the headdress tickled at your cheeks making you swat them away. “Did Azor Ahai himself wear this too?”

“No. This is just for you. Don’t worry, you won’t have to wear this into battle. It is merely for your ceremony.” explained Rhiannon, taking a step back to assess how it looked.

A soft smile makes her eyes warm. “Beautiful. Now you look like a goddess.”

Examining yourself in the mirror, you felt yourself growing self-conscious. Rhiannon was right. You did look like a goddess. Or at least someone of great importance. You hadn’t even looked as pretty in your wedding dress, and that had been an exquisite piece of clothing made by the best craftsmen in Westeros. Red, gold, yellow, orange and black hung from your body yet were still able to define your feminine curves. And although the headdress would be considered gaudy back home, here in Essos it fit right in. A heavy gold headband with spikes sticking straight up to the sky to resemble the sun’s rays.

You glance at your discarded sheet of paper on the table where Jaime was at. For the past couple of nights you had tried your best to come up with something to say to the people of Volantis. Something a champion would say to their people. You were stuck with your words though, for as often as people called you their champion you still didn’t feel like one.

Rhiannon notices your dispodent glance and takes it upon herself to grab Inanna’s arm. “Come along, Inanna. We shall go to the high priest and inform him that everything fits well. She will be ready for the ceremony.”

Nodding without question, Inanna and Rhiannon leave.

“Have a drink, sister.” Jaime smiles at you and holds out his chalice. “It’ll settle your nerves.”

You shake your head and pat down your ceremonial garb. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to risk staining this.”

“Like anyone would notice with all that red.” He chuckles and takes a sip himself while with his free hand he grabs your speech paper. Watching him for his reaction, you take the seat across from him.

“What do you think?”

Sighing, he puts the piece of paper back down. “It doesn’t sound like something you would say to be quite honest.”

The honest truth made you groan. “I know. But I have no idea what to say. I was trying to think of what father or Cersei would say. It still doesn’t feel right though. I’ve never had to be in front of so many people and give a speech. I asked the high priest what the speech should be but he said that was up to me. Something to introduce me to the people of Volantis as Azor Ahai reborn.”

“Maybe it would help if you thought of your speech in Valyrian. Not so straight forward like the Common Tongue. I’ve picked up a few words here and there. Valyrian is a language much like poetry. No wonder I’m no good at it.”

“You would be if you had the patience. You were always so fidgety as a child. If it didn’t have to do with swords or stories about battle, you wanted nothing to do with it.” You point out with a giggle as Jaime puts on his grumpy frown.

“Battle is my language.” Your brother acknowledges with a nod.

Pondering over the piece of paper, you remove the headdress as it was starting to put a strain on your neck. “In Valyrian. . .”

Jaime shrugs. “It’s the language of the people you’ll be speaking to.”

You lean back in your chair and think of the scripture and creed of R’hllor. What you were meant to be for thousands of people.

“Hey,” Jaime grabs your hand and you feel him pull you back to stability “it’ll be okay I know you. You can do this. You’ve proven many people wrong so many times. Done the unimaginable. When I rescued you from the fire, there wasn’t a burn mark on you whatsoever. It’s like even the flames didn’t want to harm you. You are a champion, (y/n).” His fingers weave with your own until your palms comfortably rest against the other. “And I’ll be by your side. Probably in some eyesore of an outfit.”

That managed to make a laugh bubble up inside of you. “That would be quite the sight. I hope they put you in a matching headdress.”

Jaime pointedly makes a face at that. “Yeah, no thank you.”

“And what are you doing here?”

You look up at Vidarr’s amused face. That face of his that always broke your heart a little bit each time. His face was too much like Rhaegar’s sometimes that it was hard for you to look at him at certain moments. The eyes were different though. That was enough to remind you that your husband was thousands of miles away, back in Westeros. Vidarr wasn’t Rhaegar. Lacked those captivating purple eyes that you loved so much. From your hands and knees you grin at him and drop the piece of fish you had tried to tempt a stray cat with. At his presence the cat had immediately fled, not caring about the delicious morsel you had to offer. His silver hair was tied back into a high ponytail, signs that he had just finished with his practice. In that stance he reminded you of Rhaegar.

Standing, you brush off your knees from dirt. “I saw it from my balcony and it looked hungry. Figured I would share since I don’t have much of an appetite.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “That cat eats plenty. The grounds are littered with rats and mice alike. Plus they steal from the local fishmongers.” Dark eyes notice something that had fallen from your sleeve pocket. Nimble fingers snatch it before you have time to register what you were missing.

You squeak and reach to grab it but Vidarr has a good foot advantage over you.

“Your speech?”

“Well, my attempt at a speech. For my revealing ceremony.” A thought comes to you and you stop trying to retrieve it from him. “Jaime suggested I try thinking of the speech in Valyrian. Maybe that would help me.”

In agreement, Vidarr nods. “The Golden Knight isn’t as dull as he seems.”

“That’s not nice. Jaime is plenty bright. He just prefers to use steel rather than his brain. He got us all the way to Volantis.”

An apologetic tone takes over. “My apologies. I only tease as he is so fun to poke. But he is right. Your audience will most likely all speak Valyrian.” In Valyrian he adds “And it is a much more beautiful language than the Common Tongue.”

“Jaime says it’s poetic.” You giggle and allow Vidarr to look over what you had written so far.

His frown has you worrying. “There is no heart in these words. Like someone else has written this for you.”

“I know. I don’t feel much like someone important. Someone worthy of a ceremony.”

Vidarr snorts making you furrow your brow at him. “That’s nonsense. You don’t need me to tell you that you are worthy. You should know by now. Your brother has told us of your travels and dispairs. You have survived and that is more than admirable. And you fight with such heart and fire.”

Weles would beg to differ. He had said you lacked fire. But. . . You manage to smile with dewey eyes at him. In reply Vidarr returns the gentle smile. With his index finger, he presses it against your chest making you blush a little bit at how close it was to your breasts. “Gaomagon bona rōva prūmia hen aōha's, ñuha kosh (Use that big heart of your's, my champion).”

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