#and to go from the suitors being unable to string his bow

[treadsoftlyasyougo]

“I have had enough.”

YOU SURE HAVE KING GO OFF

[cherienymphe]

Bloodied Crowns (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, STEPCEST, murder, violence, abusive realtionships, Tony x reader, prince!Peter, king!Tony, queen!Reader

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ based off of this ask

summary:  When your husband, King Anthony, is killed in a coup staged by his son from his previous marriage, Peter, you are forced to marry the young man who no longer feels the need to hide his feelings.

~

Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, the stern monarch losing his wife only a few months prior. The engagement and the wedding happened so quickly, and before you knew it, you were married to King Anthony Stark. Truth be told, you’d feared that you’d never marry at all, and that you’d bring shame to your name, but a stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, had put you directly into the king’s path.

Your family had attended the queen’s funeral to pay your respects. It had been drilled into you to catch the eye of an available suitor, as it had been many times before, and while you were disgusted that you could not even properly pay your respects to the royal family, you understood your parents’ desperation. You were twenty-eight with no prospects on the horizon. They had no other children, no sons, your mother unable to conceive after yourself, and so the weight of carrying on the family name was solely on your shoulders.

Your family was not poor by any means, but you were far from wealthy. That being said, your mother spent an outrageous amount to get you the most captivating black dress money could buy. It was not something that would draw too much attention, but enough so that you did not look like a grieving widow yourself. When it was your turn to pay your respects, you recalled bowing to the young prince, the brunette barely acknowledging anyone’s presence. It was rumored that he and his mother were close, that he’d taken her death very hard, and the way he seemed to stare right through you confirmed as much.

When you bowed to the king, apologizing for his loss, you could feel his eyes on you. This was nothing you concerned yourself with. After all, you were speaking to him and he you, but when you rose, you were taken aback by the intensity you found in his dark eyes. Where his son seemed to look through you, the king could not seem to take his eyes off of you. No one else seemed to notice, and, brushing it off, by the time you returned home, you had forgotten all about it.

Until a few days later when a royal guard was at your door. You were being invited to dine with the king, the invitation extending to your family as well, and although you were confused, you knew you could not refuse. Even if you wanted to. The dinner was nice, and you were a bit surprised at how easy it was to get along with the king. You never thought him cruel, but you’d heard that he was a rather stern man. After supper, he extended the invitation to staying at the castle so that you would not have to travel back so late in the evening. Your mother answered before you had the chance to, and it was no surprise to you that the answer was yes.

The castle was so different during the night. It seemed less welcoming and more ominous, and you found it hard to sleep that night. Convinced that the corridors would be empty, you quietly slipped from your chambers and made your way down to the kitchens. There were still a few servants lingering about, cleaning or preparing for the next day. You felt guilty for bothering them for something to drink.

“Nonsense, my lady. I would be more than happy to get that for you,” a younger girl by the name of Guinevere told you.

“Oh...please,” you waved her off. “No one is around. Call me Y/N.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as you told her your name, but she said nothing more as she gave you your water. The dark corridors did not scare you, but the eerie silence was a bit off putting, especially in such a grand structure. You had turned the corner to make your way back to your room when you bumped into none other than the prince. You had almost dropped the drink, and you placed your hand on your chest in an attempt to still your heart.

“Your highness. My apologies, I did not see…”

Your words died in your throat as the prince fixed you with a look that made your stomach churn. You snapped your mouth shut, swallowing as he simply glared at you, brown eyes looking so much darker. You had not seen him since the queen’s burial, and he did not look much better than he did then. Before you had a chance to say anything else, he had shoved past you, almost making you drop the goblet in your hand, and a low gasp escaped you as your other shoulder harshly met the wall. You turned to watch him go, shock and confusion pouring through you, wondering what you had done to offend him so.

It was only a few weeks later did you get your answer.

“I...I beg your pardon?”

The king reached for your hand, a soft breeze ruffling his dark hair as he brought it to his lips. They were soft as they brushed over your skin, and the corner of them curved upwards into a smile.

“Everything is already being arranged, but...this is my formal proposal. I need a queen, Peter needs a mother, and you are everything I could have hoped for,” he told you.

You stared at him in shock, feeling as if the world had been ripped out from beneath your feet. Your mind whirled as you tried to make sense of this and where this had come from, and suddenly, the puzzle started to piece together. The countless dinner invitations, the gleam in your parents’ eyes, the hushed conversations...the prince’s animosity. You were being courted by the king this whole time...and you’d been none the wiser. His chuckle pulled you from your thoughts.

“When your mother told me that you could be quite oblivious, I thought that it was a simple exaggeration.”

He found humor in your distress, you realized, and you swallowed.

“I do not know what to say,” you slowly breathed, and you watched him tilt his head at you, a frown beginning to form.

“You say yes,” he said with a scoffing laugh as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

You realized that to anyone else, it would be.

“Your majesty...I feel as if we’ve only just met. Surely, you would allow me time to think-.”

“Think about what?”

His hand tightened on yours, and you winced. He leaned in, genuine confusion in his dark eyes as he stared into your own.

“I am a king telling you that you are to be my queen...and you are hesitant?”

The severity of the situation suddenly dawned on you. Anthony was a king. You were a mere lady attempting to refuse his proposal for marriage, and your heart sank to your stomach. You blinked at him, and his face suddenly smoothed over as he sighed.

“Ah. I understand what this is about…”

“You do…?”

He softly smiled at you, reaching up to brush his thumb along your chin.

“You come from an acceptable background. You are beautiful and smart and kind. I assure you, this is genuine. This is not some poor attempt to cope with my grief. In all honesty, my marriage to the queen was over long before she died,” he told you.

You looked away, realizing that you were not getting out of this. Whether you liked it or not, you would be marrying the king, and with reluctance and a shaky voice, you accepted his proposal. He straightened when you did, a look of satisfaction on his features, and he looked as if he wanted to kiss you. You were thankful that he did not.

The wedding took place only a couple of months later, every nearby royal, and even some across the water, in attendance. It was a grand and beautiful affair, no expense spared, and it was days later that you found out it far outshined his first wedding. You remembered feeling sick as you walked down the aisle, the feeling only getting worse as your gaze met that of the prince.

In the time since the official engagement, you had interacted with the prince only a handful of times. Each time more disastrous than the last. You told yourself that he was grieving. His mother’s death was sudden and had hit him hard and here his father was, marrying again so soon. You did not fault him for his cold behavior. He was young, after all. You would expect nothing less, to be honest, but you could not lie and say that it did not hurt.

Unfortunately, even after the marriage, he did not soften towards you. Every attempt to get to know him was met with nothing short of loathing, and you finally accepted that he would come around in his own time. The last thing you wanted Peter to think was that you were trying to replace his mother. You did not know how long this would go on, but you did not expect it to be more than a year. 

You were wrong.

“I throw that kid the best birthday celebration a nineteen year old could ask for and this is how he shows his appreciation? By not even having the decency to show up?”

Tony was angry as he sipped from his goblet, glaring down at the attendees dancing below. A wonderful number was being played by a string quartet, several single princesses in attendance, and an hour into the celebration, Peter was still absent. You placed your hand on your husband’s arm with a sigh.

“I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, Tony. He will show,” you tried to assure him.

His shoulders sagged as he slammed his drink down, and his eyes softened as he turned to you. He reached for you, and you flinched, but he paid it no mind as he brushed his finger along your cheek.

“You are far too nice to him...and he hardly deserves it,” he whispered.

“He’s your son,” you reminded him with a frown. “Do not talk about him like that.”

“He’s ungrateful,” he spat.

“He’s grieving,” you argued.

“It’s been a year,” Tony sneered. “How much time does he need?”

You sharply turned away, swallowing a sigh as anger flared within you. Sometimes Tony could be so insensitive, amongst other things, and it baffled you. Peter lost the only mother he ever knew, and Tony was treating it as if it was something minor. After a few more moments, you excused yourself under the guise of needing some air. In truth, you were determined to track down the prince.

It was not a hard task. He tended to frequent the same places when he called himself hiding. You found him deep within the grounds, lounging on a branch high up in the tree. It was getting late, the sun currently setting, and you held up the skirts of your dress as you trudged towards him. You knew that he heard you, and you resisted the urge to sigh as you stood below him. Your heart ached for him as you could not even begin to imagine what he was going through. After all, you still had both of your parents.

“Peter,” you eventually called.

He yet again pretended as if he had not heard you, a hurtful habit of his, and this time you did sigh.

“Peter, please come down. Your father is concerned about your whereabouts, and...and I am concerned about you. I-.”

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking I care about how you feel?”

His tone was cold, venom coating every word, and your heart clenched. He rarely spoke to you, every time he did as cold as today, but this was different. You were unsure of what to say, and before you had the chance to remedy that, he was hopping down. It was a bit cool out, and his coat flared behind him as he strode towards you, face hard and nostrils flared.

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking that I care about you at all?”

You reared back, staring at him with wide eyes. His words hurt, that you would not deny, and as much as you fought against it, you could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes. You swallowed, briefly glancing down as you took a step back.

“Peter-.”

“My mother was not even in the ground properly before you came sniffing around my father like a bitch in heat,” he sneered.

Your lips parted, wide eyes staring at him in shock at his words. You had never seen him look so hateful, borderline murderous, and you suddenly realized that this was about more than grief.

“P-Peter...that… That is not what happened-.”

“Isn’t it?” he wondered, taking another step towards you. “Do you think me stupid? Blind? You think I have never known of the way so many women prayed on my mother’s downfall?”

“I never-.”

“Do you think that I do not know that you all came to her funeral not as mourners, but as vultures? As desperate snakes trying to slip your way into my father’s bed so that you may take her place?”

“No! That is not what happened-!”

“You are no different from the rest!”

He was practically upon you now, glaring down his nose at you with so much disgust it finally made the tears spill over.

“I always knew that you were a desperate and conniving whore…”

You gasped, more tears falling at his insult. He raised one dark eyebrow at you.

“...but I never took you for a liar too.”

You were frozen as he looked you over one last time before breezing past you. You shook, unable to stop the tears, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You had no idea that Peter’s disdain was in fact not misplaced due to grief, but was instead as genuine as could be because he thought you to be something you were not. This knowledge made your heart hurt, and it turned out that you were not as adept at hiding your feelings as you thought.

“What troubles you so?” Tony wondered later that night, his hand on your shoulder as you sat at your vanity.

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked with a small smile.

His gaze met yours in the mirror, and the way his jaw clenched told you that he did not have much patience tonight. His fingers pressed into your skin, and you swallowed. You looked away, eyes blurring a bit as you recalled Peter’s cruel words.

“Peter hates me,” you confessed.

You heard Tony heave a sigh, and you turned to look up at him. He ran his hand through his hair as he rolled his eyes.

“That kid hates everyone and everything,” he replied.

“No, Tony. You do not understand. He believes me to be something I am not. He thinks that I schemed my way into marrying you, that I am trying to replace his mother-.”

“Peter will be just fine. He will grow to get over it in time,” was his enlightening reply, and you stood.

“But it is not true. Tony, does this not bother you? Because it bothers me! He should be like a son to me. He should be looking to me for guidance and care, and he curses the very ground I walk on. It hurts,” you spat, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Tony’s entire demeanor softened, and he pulled you into his arms. He pressed his lips to your cheek, and you winced at the soreness before he took your chin in between his fingers. He tilted his head at you.

“I love that you’ve grown to really care about him. It warms my cold heart…”

You forced a chuckle at that.

“...but Peter has always been a bit difficult when it comes to me and anything in relation to me. His mother is really the only person he ever really connected with. This will pass, I assure you.”

You reluctantly accepted that Tony just did not care about this as much as you did, and likely never would. Against your better judgement, you opted to let it go, and softly exhaled when Tony pressed his lips to your jaw. He trailed kisses down your neck, tightening his arms around you.

“As much as I enjoy your big heart, I would rather not spend the rest of the night discussing my troubled son,” he murmured, lips finally finding yours.

You did not know if you would ever grow used to making love to Tony. The only time he had ever been anything close to gentle was on your wedding night, and you had still cried, waking up sore and bruised. It eventually dawned on you that this was simply how Tony was, but it did not mean that you had to like it. 

The years that passed did not improve things as you’d hoped they would. Tony was still the same as ever, and Peter was no different. Your conversations with the prince were rare, but every one was brief and left you with a paralyzing chill. When he was not speaking to you, his animosity was enough to force you to keep your distance. The hurt that his behavior caused never got any easier. 

“When you have a child of your own, this will mean nothing to you,” Tony would assure you.

However, it only did the opposite. Even though Peter was not your own, it did not mean that you viewed him any less, and you knew that would not change when you finally did have a child. Whenever that happened. You and Tony had been trying for years, and there was still nothing to show for it. It was a great source of stress for you both, but Tony was taking it much harder than you.

“They say that it took many tries before they were finally able to have Peter, and even afterwards...the queen was never able to conceive again,” Guinevere had whispered to you one night.

“Oh,” you sadly said. “How awful…”

The blonde girl had glanced around the busy kitchen before leaning in.

“The king will never admit it, but many believe that he was the problem, and considering he is experiencing the same thing with you…”

Your heart sank as she trailed off, and despite everything, you found yourself feeling sorry for your husband. Many would argue that you should feel sorry for yourself. After all, it was a popular opinion that the woman’s womb was always at fault, and kings have gotten rid of their wives for less, but you knew that Tony was far too possessive of you to ever do such a thing.

It was a subject you wished you could talk to Peter about. He knew his father far better than you did, and sometimes you wished you could get some insight on how to make this better for him, but Peter was disgusted by your very presence. There came a time when you reluctantly accepted that it might always be this way, but everything changed when Peter was only a few weeks shy of his twenty-third birthday.

Tony, ever the showoff, was having a ball every week for five weeks straight leading up to the night. It was the second gathering when he had dragged you out of the great hall. His hold had been tight, steps hurried, and you forced yourself to swallow down the pain. The corridor was dimly lit and equally as empty, and tears of frustration were kissing your eyes.

“Tony-.”

“I saw you,” he spat.

“Saw me what? Saw me greet one of your friends? Because that is exactly what King Steven is to me and nothing more!”

His dark eyes were hard as he pressed his fingers into your arms, lip curled over his teeth as he sneered at you.

“He desires you. It is plain as day, and he has never been subtle,” he bit out.

“Somehow I am at fault for that? Steven is a bachelor in every sense of the word. That is how he is, and you know it-.”

“Yes, but I thought to myself, surely my loving wife would have the sense not to entertain his antics!”

“I was being polite,” you told him, wincing at his tight grip. “Just because you are only ever nice to people when you want something-.”

You swallowed your words with a sharp shriek, pressing your hand to your hot cheek as the tears finally spilled over. Your eyes were on the floor as Tony shook you, a scathing remark on his tongue, no doubt, when he suddenly stilled, swallowing whatever he was about to say. His sudden change confused you, and you hesitantly looked up only to realize that his gaze was not on you. You turned to find Peter standing just at the entrance of the corridor, his wide eyes on the two of you. 

Tony was quick in straightening you up, and you hurriedly looked away as he acknowledged Peter.

“Why are you not enjoying your celebration with your friends?”

It was a while before Peter responded.

“I noticed that you had slipped out, so I came to find you. I had hoped to continue our...conversation from earlier,” the prince answered.

When you turned back around, you avoided Peter’s eye, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. Tony’s hand was rubbing into your back as he responded.

“Of course. Sweetheart, you will excuse us, won’t you? Peter and I have much to discuss, and I am sure the other wives are missing your presence,” he said, turning to you.

He threw you a tense and threatening smile, and you shakily returned it with a forced one.

“Of course. I shall see you in there when you return. Peter,” you acknowledged as you hurried past him, avoiding his gaze still.

You did not return to the hall though, but instead made your way down to the kitchen. It was filled with servants, and Mary Jane gasped when she saw you. She and Guinevere were always joined at the hip, but the other girl had been ill for the last few days. The redhead dropped what she was doing, shooing another servant off of a stool before grabbing your arm.

“My God,” she breathed.

The other occupants tended to the food and drinks, much too used to seeing you down here twice a week or so. Mary Jane pressed a cold piece of steak to your face, and you hissed.

“Is it that bad?”

“It is swelling already, your majesty,” she said.

You shifted on the seat, holding the cold meat to your face as you shooed her off.

“I hardly notice how hard he hits anymore. It still manages to shock me every time though, and I have no idea as to why,” you whispered.

She was just about to reply when another voice rang throughout the kitchen.

“Everyone out.”

You turned with wide eyes, confusion tearing through you at the sight of Peter just at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone seemed to hesitate for a moment, worrying about the food, no doubt, before eventually heeding his order. Mary Jane, no stranger to your relationship with the prince, threw you a worrying look before being the last one out. Peter seemed to hesitate as well before huffing, quickly approaching you.

You moved to stop him, but he was already pulling the red meat from your cheek before you had the chance. He stared at your skin for a while before putting it back in place. You held it there as he leaned against the counter, a familiar look of anger on his boyish features.

“This is not the first time this has happened,” he murmured.

There was no need to respond. It was a statement, not an answer. The silence was heavy, thick with tension and filled with words unspoken. Outside of that night, this was the longest you had ever been alone with Peter, and the first time you did not feel uncomfortable in his presence.

“You did not want to marry my father...did you?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, lips parting to refute such a blasphemous statement, but no words came out. Words failed you. Peter was a smart young man, always had been, and you were sure that he would see through whatever lie you pieced together.

“Of course, it was not like you could refuse if you wanted to. He is a king, and you were a mere lady,” he said more to himself than you.

You sighed, putting the steak down as you stood.

“My father has never been kind to anyone in his life. I do not know why I thought you were an exception…”

“Peter… I do not want this to affect how you view your father, do you understand?”

He simply frowned at you, and you continued.

“He is not without his flaws, this is true,” you slowly said. “...but he is still your father. In his own way, he loves you and only wants what is best.”

Peter stared at you for a while before scoffing, a humorless laugh not far behind. He pressed his hand to the counter as he stared at you with a look of shock.

“My father does not deserve you,” he said, almost as if he could not believe it.

He chuckled again, pressing his hand to his forehead.

“All this time, I thought that the two of you deserved each other. I hated you...and now...now I just feel sorry for you. For both my father...and me…,” he quietly finished.

“Peter-.”

“I have been nothing but cruel to you, and for that I am sorry. I am sorry for the things that I have done...and the things that I have said.”

You blinked, convinced that you would never hear those words. They warmed your heart, and you looked away.

“It’s alright. You believed what you believed, and if I were in your shoes, I might have believed the same. Your feelings were valid, Peter,” you told him.

He blinked at you.

“I never wanted to replace your mother. That is still not what I desire...but I am here. I know that there is only a decade between us, but I have come to love you like a son despite everything.”

Peter’s eyes softened, and you could see the guilt there.

“I never wanted to rush you, even now, but I hope that you will view me the same one day. Tony is no longer your only parent, and I am always here.”

Peter looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he held off.

“I should get back before your father comes looking for me,” you said, heading for the stairs. “Oh...and please refrain from provoking him.”

You looked to Peter.

“I may dislike him at times, but I do not want to send him to an early grave.”

Peter simply hummed, sending you a strained smile before you left him to find your husband.

You remained in the corridor as the angry voices bled through the door. Both Tony and Peter assured you countless times that their strained relationship was none of your concern, but it could not be helped. They had never had the best relationship, but if possible, it had soured even more over the years, and you were unsure of who to blame.

The minute Tony started to get more serious about grooming Peter for the throne, things had gone from tense and strained to borderline violent at times. Not only did the two have such opposing views when it came to how to run the kingdom, but your husband had been pushing the idea of marriage more and more lately. It had only gotten worse when Peter neared his twenty-fifth birthday, the party on that fateful day ending abruptly when Peter had stormed out.

You were pulled from your reverie when the door swung open. Peter was the first one out, and he held up a hand as you moved to approach him.

“Not now, Y/N,” he huffed, quickly striding down the corridor with a frustrated sigh.

Tony emerged not long after, and you moved to kiss him, knowing that it would soothe him for the time being.

“That boy will be the death of me,” he complained.

“You both provoke each other, and I do not know why,” you told him. 

“He has duties! He is twenty-five and nowhere near taking them seriously. It seems that he is determined to ruin me,” he spat.

You sighed.

“Would you like for me to talk to him?”

“You seem to be the only one he actually listens to, so by all means,” he gestured down the hall, face cloudy.

You patted his chest before leaving him, wondering if a day would come where you would be a functional family. You and Peter were nowhere near what you used to be, and for that you were eternally grateful, but his relationship with Tony was far worse than it had ever been, and you did not know how to even begin to fix it.

You found Peter sparring with his dueling instructor. The sound of clashing swords was loud, and you rounded the corner, wincing when Peter just narrowly missed a rather dangerous blow. He motioned for the other gentleman to stop once he spotted you.

“Come on his behalf, have you?”

“Peter,” you sighed.

He snapped at the other man.

“Give your queen a sword, will you? Come,” he was talking to you now. “Spar with me.”

You reluctantly accepted the other man’s sword, a grimace on your face as you stepped forward.

“I am a horrible dueling partner,” you complained.

“Nonsense, Y/N. You are far better than what you were a year ago,” Peter said with a chuckle.

Your heart sank a bit at the sound of your name, but it did not distract you from blocking the swing of his sword with your own. Peter smirked at you.

“See?”

“Peter, this is not why I am here,” you told him.

“Of course not,” he calmly said. “My father knows that between the two of you, you are the only one I actually respect. He believes that you have some sway over me...and I am not reluctant to admit that he is right.”

He blocked your blow, quick to do so again when you swung your sword down towards his legs. He eyed you, a bit of pride in his gaze.

“Very good,” he praised.

“I was hoping to talk you into agreeing to some sort of compromise with him. Any compromise, really.”

Peter let out a humorless laugh, spinning before bringing his sword down over his head. Your eyes were wide as you lifted your sword, the sound of them clashing meeting your ears.

“There is no compromising with that man. He is determined to bring this kingdom and all of its subjects to ruin, and he wishes for me to just stand back and watch. He does not hear a word I say,” he spat.

He swiped his sword at you, several times and in several different successions. Unable to keep up, you were not surprised when your sword was knocked from your hands. You did not flinch when the tip of his blade found your throat, confident that Peter would never hurt you. He pressed the tip further, eyes locked on yours, and you swallowed.

“Do you agree with him?”

“Of course not,” you honestly answered.

Peter lightly dragged his blade down your neck and towards the top of your dress, his eyes following its movement before he quickly snatched it away. He tilted his head at you, raising an eyebrow as he waited for you to continue.

“You know I do not agree with how your father runs this kingdom, but I have no say. I never did. Believe it or not, Peter, you have much more influence than I do.”

He turned away with a disbelieving laugh.

“Somehow, I doubt that…”

“Look, I am going to say something that I know you are not going to like,” you suddenly said.

Peter did not respond, so you continued.

“I think that you should consider marriage.”

You saw him straighten at that, back tense, and you rushed to say something else.

“If Tony feels that you are taking your future seriously, then he will be more inclined to take you seriously.”

He turned to you with a withering look, and you rolled your eyes.

“Do not look at me that way. I am not saying that you have to marry some poor girl right away, but at least make an effort to look around, and show Tony that you are attempting to meet him halfway,” you advised.

Peter gave you a hard stare for the longest time before eventually rolling his eyes and looking away.

“Very well. You always do get your way, don’t you, Y/N?”

Your mouth parted for a moment before you snapped it shut, looking down. This did not go unnoticed by Peter, and he neared you.

“What is it, now?”

Your eyes met his, and you tried to hide your hurt, but it must have been clear as day. Peter’s entire demeanor softened, and he stuck his sword in the dirt, reaching for you.

“What is it?”

You exhaled.

“That...is another thing I had hoped to discuss with you.”

He frowned in confusion.

“You still refer to me by my name…” you watched as his face fell. “And I do not wish to rush you, I never have, but when you say my name...it makes me feel as if I am doing something wrong here.”

“You are not,” he rushed to assure you. “Believe me…”

“I do not want to replace your mother, but if I am doing something-.”

“It is merely a force of habit. That is all,” he interrupted. 

“You are sure…?”

“Positive,” he said with a small smile.

“...okay,” you said with a nod. “...and what will you be doing after this...?”

“I will be speaking with my father,” he reluctantly told you.

“Good,” you said, Peter bending to allow you to quickly peck his forehead. “...and please be polite. I hate the way you two provoke each other.”

He roughly exhaled.

“Yes...mother…,” he seemed to bite out, eyes on you.

You looked to him with wide eyes, heart swelling as your smile grew. You chuckled, kissing his forehead one last time before leaving him to finish his instruction.

Contrary to what you had hoped, your advice did not improve things. Now that Peter had agreed to at least looking for a wife, it just gave him and Tony one more thing to disagree on, and disagreements about the smallest of things only gave room for disagreements about more serious matters. Peter hated the way Tony ran the kingdom, and you could not fault him for that.

Meals were more tense than ever, and it soon became suffocating to be in the same room as father and son. You did your best to keep the peace between them but there was only so much you could do. Especially when the arguments would get so intense that you feared for them. Tony could get so angry, and while you had never known him to put his hands on Peter as he did you, it still worried you that he might one day. And Peter…

Sometimes Peter would get a look in his eye that chilled you to the bone. He would get so fed up with his father, lips pressed together as Tony tore into him, and you would see the younger man’s eyes flash with something you could not name. It was a look that terrified you and made him look like someone that was not Peter, at all. 

Tensions only mounted as your birthday neared. You did not want either of them involved in the party planning process, convinced this would be the final nail in the coffin. Truth be told, it was also for yourself as well. It allowed you to breathe better.

“The party is tomorrow night, and Peter has yet to have the last fitting for his attire,” you told Mary Jane as you stood.

“I can finish this up, your majesty, while you go find Peter,” she replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! I am almost finished, anyway.”

“Wonderful! I shall return shortly. There are only so many places he could be at this hour…”

The corridors were scarcely occupied as you decided to check Peter’s chambers first, making your way to his wing of the castle. You were unsurprised to find them empty, and you quickly made your way outside. He had a habit of frequenting the grounds, the maze especially, and you were confident that you would find him there then. 

You had not been inside the maze for a while, but you remembered how to navigate it vividly. You were deep within it, somewhere in the middle perfectly between the beginning and the end when you stumbled upon a sight you were not prepared for.

At the other end of a long stretch, were a couple, far too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence. You felt your face heat up as you stumbled upon the lovers, and you were prepared to turn back when the young man lifted his head, familiar eyes meeting yours. A gasp escaped you, and you were frozen on the spot as Peter simply stared at you.

He did not break his gaze as he continued to thrust into the woman beneath him, who you absentmindedly recognized as Guinevere. Her eyes were closed, clinging to Peter as moans tumbled from her lips, and even though Peter was silent as he stared at you, the heat in his eyes was undeniable. Finally coming to your senses, you willed your feet to move, but you did not escape in time to miss the way Peter’s deep moan rang throughout the air.

Upon your return, you told Mary Jane that you were unable to find Peter. You did not want to think of the awkward encounter, and told yourself that the tailor had never been wrong before. You were positive that Peter’s attire would fit. You did not see the young man again until the following day, your birthday, and it was only an hour or so until your party. Tony was meeting with a few of his Lords when there was a knock on your chamber door.

You were quick to answer it, surprised to find Peter on the other side. You only felt uncomfortable for a moment before you took in his attire. You beamed, widening the door to allow him in.

“Oh, Peter, you look positively dashing!”

“Did you doubt that I would?” he smugly wondered.

You threw him a look.

“I swear, you are getting more and more like your father every day,” you told him with a chuckle.

“I got you something,” he suddenly said, and it was only then did you notice the box in his hand.

You blinked in surprise, eyes widening when he opened it to reveal the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. The ruby heart in the middle was positively blinding, standing out against the rest of the diamonds that made up the band. You pressed your hand to your chest, mouth parting.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Oh my… Peter, this is so sweet of you,” you told him.

“Well,” he started, setting the box aside as he took the piece of jewelry into his hands. “It is not every day that one turns thirty-six.”

He motioned for you to spin around, and you obliged.

“This might also double as an apology for yesterday. I regret that you had to see that,” he chuckled.

You joined him, waving him off.

“Nonsense, Peter. It was a bit of a shock, but nothing more. You are a young man, after all, and I could never fault you for doing what young men do. You are treating Guinevere well, I hope? She is a sweet girl.”

Peter groaned.

“Yes, Y/N.”

Your heart sank at the sound of your name, and you frowned a bit.

“I am treating her just fine,” he assured you.

You chose not to comment on his use of your name, wondering if you had done something wrong.

“Would you ever consider marrying her?” you pushed.

Peter was quiet as he brought his hands over to lower the necklace at your neck. It was not one that rested at your décolletage, but at your throat instead, and your eyes widened a bit when he pulled it back. You reached up to your neck, forced to stumble back into his chest to keep from choking, relaxing a bit when he finally clasped it together.

“No,” was his simple answer. “It is not like that.”

He rested his hands on your shoulder, turning you around to admire you. His dark eyes took you in before finally focusing on the necklace, the corner of his lips lifting a bit. He pressed his finger to the ruby heart, drawing patterns over it before eventually stepping away.

“It looks great,” he told you.

“Thank you. We should track down your father before they start my own celebration without me,” you replied.

It was not long after that the three of you were entering the great hall, a smile on your face as everyone greeted you. Tony and Peter were at your sides, and both of their hands rested at the small of your back as they guided you to the royal table at the head of the room. Everyone only quieted down when you took your seats, and you looked down at the familiar faces with a smile.

Your attention was drawn to Peter as he stood, raising his glass as a servant came by to fill them. He only filled yours and Peters, but another quickly came to fill Tony’s. Once everyone’s glasses were filled, that was when Peter spoke.

“I would like to propose a toast…”

He turned to look down at you, dark eyes unreadable as he swallowed.

“...to the woman who loved me even when I did not deserve it.”

Your heart swelled as you smiled at Peter, so happy that you two had come this far.

“No one could ever replace my mother...and I would not want them to, but you, Y/N, you are the next best thing.”

Your eyes softened, realizing that while maybe Peter did not see you as something akin to a mother just yet, he still loved you, and that gave you hope. You could live with that for now. Peter’s eyes fell onto his father, and he suddenly smiled.

“...and to my father, the king. If it were not for you, Y/N would never have come into our lives.”

His voice was even, but his eyes glinted before he turned to the rest of the royal court, his glass held high.

“To the king and queen. Long may they reign,” his voice traveled over the room.

Everyone else repeated his words before taking a drink, you and Tony following suit. As you set your glass down, you watched, a bit concerned, as Peter swallowed all of his wine, a look of satisfaction on his face as he lowered his glass. You turned to Tony, prepared to ask him if he wished to say anything, just as he let out that first cough.

It sounded nasty, and you frowned, prepared to ask him if he drank too fast when he coughed again, blood staining his bottom lip. Your heart fell to your stomach, eyes widening as you reached for him, hands trembling. You were prepared to call for help when you noted the sound of several coughs reaching your ears, followed by screams.

When you turned towards the rest of the room, you saw every single one of the royal court coughing up blood, and you stood on unsteady legs as understanding dawned on you. You reached for Peter, your hand gripping his arm as fear and horror clung to you.

“P-Peter…”

You looked to him, but his face was stony as he looked down at everyone. The only people who were okay were you, Peter, the servants, and the few guards. You watched as Peter waved his hand, confusion filling you as two guards opened the door to let more in. You were frozen as they all drew their swords, stomach churning as you realized what was about to happen. You turned back to Peter, but he was already moving past you.

“Peter, what- what is happening? What are you doing?”

You lunged for him as he drew a dagger, hand fisted into his fathers hair to pull the struggling man’s head back.

“Peter, no!”

He shoved you away, right into the arms of a waiting guard, and you did not turn your head in time to miss the way he dragged the blade across his father’s neck. A scream left you, belonging to a voice that you did not recognize, and you continued to scream and cry as the guard backed up. Peter pointed at you, his father’s blood coating his hand, his face unrecognizable to you.

“Get her out of here…”

His eyes met yours, dark with a harmful intent that terrified you. Who was this man? He ran his eyes over you.

“...and do not let her get away.”

You fought against the guard as he dragged you away, kicking and screaming all the way. Your efforts did not even cease as you made it into the corridor, having been forced past the dead bodies of your friends and acquaintances. The guard towered over you and was easily double your size, so all of your efforts were useless. 

He only let you go when you reached Peter’s chambers, dragging you through the receiving chamber to toss you onto the floor of his bedchamber. The impact made your head spin, and by the time you pushed yourself to your feet, he was already pulling the door shut. You slammed your hands against it just as you heard it lock, and another sob threatened to escape you.

You had only ever been in Peter’s room a handful of times, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked around. Your chest hurt, heart breaking as you recalled the way Peter had so callously taken his father’s life. Your husband was dead, and it was no secret that the man was far from perfect, but his absence scared you. What would become of you now? Why did Peter not poison you like the rest? God, had his feelings never changed, at all? Had he still secretly hated you this whole time and wanted to get some sick satisfaction out of killing you here?

You lost count of how many times you tried the door before moving to the balcony doors. They too did not budge, and you kicked them in frustration. You could barely form a coherent thought, and more tears spilled over as you realized just how alone you were. You did not understand anything. Why would Peter do this?

As you heard someone enter his receiving chamber, it occurred to you that you might get your answer.

Your eyes met Peter’s as he entered his chambers, and you stumbled back, afraid to take your eyes off of him. You watched as he locked the door behind him, and the sight of that made your face crumble.

“What have you done?” you shakily asked.

The room was quiet save for your soft sobs, and you flinched when Peter took a step forward. He did not look like the young man you knew. He stood there in the dark attire he had picked out for your birthday, looking every bit like the murderous man you now knew him to be. A dark strand of hair kissed his forehead, jaw clenched as he eyed you. It started to lightly rain outside, and your eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

His father’s blood.

“Have you come to kill me too?”

Finally, his face shifted, and he frowned at you.

“Kill you?”

Peter scoffed, laughing to himself as he tilted his head at you.

“You could not be farther from the truth…”

“Then what do you plan to do? What are you doing, Peter? I do not understand…”

“My father was going to run this kingdom into the ground. We both know it…”

You started shaking your head before he was even done.

“Something had to be done.”

“Not like this! You killed him- you killed everyone,” you cried.

“...and here I thought you would be thanking me,” he sneered.

“Thanking you?”

“Unless I was wrong, and you enjoy being slapped around,” he threw at you.

You felt as if you were just slapped then, and you pressed your back into the wall, tightening your arms around yourself.

“Not like this, Peter. Not like this,” you tearfully murmured.

The rain got louder, filling the otherwise silent room with some noise, and you flinched when lightning flashed, shedding light on the room and on Peter’s dark gaze.

“What will become of me? Did you ever think about that? I am the widow of a murdered king. A king murdered by his own son in a coup!”

“...and the future wife of the next one,” Peter calmly stated.

You froze, his words failing to make sense despite the fact that you heard him just fine. Something about them did not sound right, and your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping you.

“What...what did you just say?” you hesitantly questioned. 

Peter took another step towards you, and you slid along the wall...away from him.

“Do you have any idea how much it pained me to watch you with him?”

“Peter…”

You shook your head, still moving away as he moved closer.

“Do know what it was like to watch him mistreat you again and again only to turn around and reap the spoils of his marriage as if he had not just caused you harm only moments before?”

His voice was low, thick with something you were too disgusted to name. Your eyes were wide, filled with tears as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Peter’s feelings, his father’s murder...the two of you alone in a castle full of people that have proven their loyalty to him. Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, standing face to face with you, but now, eight years later, the young man towered over you.

He suddenly chuckled, and the sound terrified you more than anything now.

“I find it funny… My father was always telling me that royals take. We take what is ours. We take what we believe we should have. That is what we do, son,” he mocked. “We take.”

His cold eyes bore into yours as you stumbled away from him. In a circle the two of you went, and you pulled on the handle of the door as you pressed your back to it. Fresh tears spilled as it refused to budge.

“Now look. I have taken his life, I have taken his kingdom, and I have taken the woman he thought belonged to him-.”

He swallowed the rest of his words as you suddenly dived to the other side of the room. Peter followed, and you reached up to pull the portrait from the wall, tossing it at him only for Peter to evade it. You frantically crawled across the bed, kicking Peter in the chest as he reached for your ankle. You fell to your knees on the other side, running to the balcony doors with tears in your eyes.

Again, the doors would not budge, and you were prepared to throw yourself through the glass when Peter was suddenly there at your back. He enclosed you in his arms, and you reached back to fight against him and push him away, but he only pinned you between him and the glass. The sound of the thunder drowned out your screams, and you yelped in shock when he fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head to the side.

Peter was determined to taste you, tongue and teeth brushing your skin as he ground himself against you. Nothing you did seemed to deter him, and it suddenly felt hard to breathe. The storm raged outside, wind pushing rain against the window. One of Peter’s hands dragged up your leg, pushing the skirts of your dress with it, and you slammed your hands against the window, attempting to push back.

This only egged him on, and he moaned in your ear.

“Peter, please,” you begged

You could feel the air against you, and your efforts to get away only increased when you felt him moving to release himself. The hand in your hair moved to your neck, cutting off your airway as he pulled your head back to rest against him. You struggled to breathe, nails scraping against the glass. He leaned down to cover your lips with his own, kissing you for the first time, and you sharply inhaled.

He moaned at the taste of you, his tongue meeting yours, tasting the wine that you wish had killed you too. You both struggled against the window, your hands turning into fists when he pushed his leg between yours, quickly followed by the other. You turned your head away, your small victory overshadowed by your ultimate defeat as he thrust into you. You yelped just as Peter shuddered against your back, a long sigh escaping him as he pressed a hand into the glass beside your head.

He pressed his face into your hair, grinding against you, the sound of him breathing you in reaching your ears. Your own forehead was pressed to the glass now, tearful eyes taking in the storm as Peter dragged his cock in and out of your unwilling core. Your body shook from both your sobs and his ministrations, and again, you pushed against the glass in hopes to push him away.

He merely shoved his chest into your back, forcing you back against the glass before wrapping his arms around you again. One hand pulled at the neckline of your dress, ripping it straight down, and your lashes fluttered when he slipped his hand beneath the fabric to roll his fingers over you. His other arm came across your middle, pinning your own at your sides.

“You are finally mine,” he breathed after a while.

You shook your head in denial, another lightning strike bathing the room in a glow. It was gone as quickly as it came, and you were forced to focus on Peter’s reflection in the window. He was lost in the euphoria of you, the feel of you wrapped around him, sucking him back in again and again.

“Finally,” he groaned. “At my side and in my bed as my queen…”

His hand slipped from beneath the torn fabric of your dress, dancing along your skin before his fingers brushed over the diamond choker at your neck.

“I have all night to claim you as mine, and no one is around to stop me.”

“Peter, this is not you-.”

“Oh, but it is,” he sighed. “This is the man you loved when he did not deserve it. This is the man you will marry, bear children with…’

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears falling at his words.

“Oh, please. Everyone knew that my father was the problem. He was the only one in denial about it, and I have a feeling that by the time I am done with you, you shall be with child by tomorrow.”

“Peter, please,” you screamed.

His hand tightened on your throat, pulling your head back so you were forced to stare at the ceiling, back arched to take his slow and purposeful thrusts. He kissed the corner of your eye before doing the same to your cheek. His breathing was choppy, heart pounding in his chest, and the way his hips stuttered told you that he was close.

“Oh God,” he moaned, stilling against your back as he spilled himself into you.

You froze against him at the feel, realizing that there was no turning back. You shook in his hold, feeling the urge to be sick when he suddenly pulled out of you, replacing his cock with his fingers. You gasped, reaching down to grab his wrist as he shoved a second finger inside of you, the wet sound of it reaching your ears even with the rain outside. He pressed you to his chest as he curled his fingers into you.

You bucked your hips, ashamed with your actions as he pulled pleasure from you like it was nothing. LIke he somehow knew your body better than you did. His lips were at your ear, brushing against your skin before he trailed them to your neck again, pressing kisses there. Your nails dug into his wrist, but he paid your efforts no mind as he thrust his fingers into you, setting a pace that had your legs shaking. You knew that if it were not for his hold, you would have collapsed already.

Peter hummed when your breath hitched.

“You are close...aren’t you?”

“Peter...stop,” you shakily begged.

“I shall stop when I feel your arousal dripping down my hand,” he purred.

His words had you clenching around him, and he moaned against your neck.

“I suppose I cannot blame my father for being so possessive of you. Your walls feel like heaven…”

“Peter…”

“I do not know how I will ever allow you to leave our bed-.”

“Peter-.”

“I guess I shall just have to keep you tired…”

“Please-!”

“Come for me, Y/N. Fall apart for your king,” he whispered.

And you did. You seized in his arms, walls clenching around him, your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. Your nails drew blood, but he only moaned with you, cursing as you rode yourself on his fingers, your other hand reaching back to twist into his shirt. That was the hardest you ever came, and shame filled you.  As you came down from your high, Peter lowered the both of you to the floor.

It was only then did you notice the bloody handprints on the glass. The same blood on you, no doubt. More tears sprung forth as it all seemed to hit you, and Peter forced your head onto his shoulder as he shushed you. You obliged, and he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, rocking you as you sobbed in his tightening arms.

~

tags:   @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie  @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @mcudarklibrary @melli0112 @buckybarnesplumwhore @dramaholic18​

[ladymercysletters]

The Moment I Knew// Anthony Bridgerton - Chapter 1

Word Count : 1663

Warnings: none. [but it’s gonna get spicyy]

A/N: based on this request from @albeeox. This is going to be seven chapters long and it really gave me The Moment I Knew - Taylor Swift vibes so there we go ... enjoy :) Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

At the beginning of Season your mother had been frantic; it was your first season, but with an older sister still unwed after her fourth, she was adamant that you marry as soon as possible – to ‘make the most of your youth and beauty.’ Following your debut at court she had circled the floor with you at every ball, thrusting you into the arms of any unsuspecting gentleman who so much as smiled at you. Little did she know that your heart may already fully belong to another. Another whom you had known since you were both in leading strings, one who had tormented and teased you through your youth but had grown silent and stoic since the untimely death of his father.

You had first seen Anthony Bridgerton again at your debut. Despite the silence from her brother you had retained correspondence with Miss Daphne Bridgerton, and wished her luck as she walked past you on her way to the doors with her mother. You swallowed a deep breath as the doors were re-opened for you next; the scrutiny of the Court and accompanying families made you nervous but as you looked to the right you locked gazes with a pair of deep brown eyes you had not seen since you were 16. His eyes followed you on your way to the Queen, you could feel them burning into you as you watched her smile and bless you. Turning to exit you looked over and saw him again. His expression unreadable but his eyes just as fixed. You had not seen him in so many years but what was once a girls crush came flooding back right away as you tried to regain composure and look ahead of you.

 The evening of your first Ball he didn’t approach you, having Daphne to accompany and guide, but you could feel his glare from across the room. Only when your mothers met in the middle to discuss any potential suitors did he bow and greet you like a gentleman. Taking the liberty of the distraction he asked how you were. Where once had been a carefree young man, he had been replaced by a stiff, conforming gentleman- head of his household and in keeping with societies expectations. That wasn’t the Anthony you had known. His façade loosened after Daphne joined your conversation, and completely crumbled when his two younger brothers intervened to come and poke fun at their big brother and his enormous sideburns; the smile you had known since childhood returning to his face as he gazed up at you laughing with his family.

You had always loved the big Bridgerton family, all of them feeling like an extension of your own. You had especially been friends with Benedict growing up, being closer in age to him and Colin, he always tried to protect you from his older brothers more bullish jesting; indeed, having no brothers of your own Benedict had adopted you as yet another sister to look after.

Looking back at Anthony you watched in fondness as his eyes crinkled at the sides with laughter at one of Colin’s drier japes, before flushing as he caught you staring at him. Despite the long glances you had been giving each other all evening, Colin Bridgerton was the first to offer his hand for a dance. Taking his arm, he escorted you to the floor where you joined the cotillion.

“Miss Y/N is a fine young woman is she not, brother?” Benedict asked, none too subtly. Anthony side eyed his with suspicion at the direction of the conversation.

“Yes, quite. I’m sure she will have no problem finding a match.” He gritted out, taking a sip of wine.

“It is a wonder then, you did not ask her to dance yourself, brother.” Benedict mocked, turning to face Anthony with a tilt to his head. That roughish smile that always preluded trouble graced his face as he turned back to watch the dance and sip his own wine.

“I do not dance.” Anthony said bluntly, finishing his glass. Just then he spotted his old school chum, Simon Bassett across the room, and left Benedict swiftly to greet him.

The following week you found yourself at Bridgerton House, having afternoon tea with Daphne Bridgerton and her mother. The warm spring was beginning to turn into summer and the younger Bridgerton’s, and Colin, had flung the French doors open and galloped onto the extensive lawn to run about. The Bridgerton’s had always had such fine sweets and cakes, all of them having a hereditary sweet tooth, and after a long tea you sat in peace discussing the next ball and the latest Whistledown. Only a short time after a footman disturbed you to inform the Ladies Bridgerton that a visitor had arrived for Miss Daphne. No sooner announced, than Lord Berbrooke broke into the room, his presence made all of you tense, and a little queasy, and as you took you leave of the room you sent a small, sorry, smile to Daphne.

You wandered the quiet halls of Bridgerton House before coming to the library. Slipping in you enjoyed the quiet and far away laughs of children, as your eyes scoured the bookshelves. You barely heard the door open before a gruff cough asserted that someone was behind you and you turned to see Anthony Bridgerton. He stood there, purposefully but without further words, giving you a chance to take him in. He had forgone his jacket in his own house; a look which, although proper, was still foreign and relaxed to your eyes, although your attire, sans jacket and gloves was surely the same. “Your Lordship.” You curtsied.

Anthony was dumb-struck. He hadn’t expected to walk into his own library and see you there; your hair in some sort of cascade down your neck as you look up at his extensive collection. He was midway through rolling up his shirt sleeve when he saw you, a glint of sun through the tall windows acting like a spotlight on your gown, you were just a beautiful as the last time he saw you. You had grown into an elegant lady, but the wild streak that had caused you all so much mischief in your youth was still there; if he looked dep enough. Snapping himself out of his trance he heard you speak. “Miss Y/N” he bowed “I did not realise you were still with us.”

“Yes. Your mother insisted I not leave on Lord Berbrooke’s account, and so I found my way here. I hope my presence here is not an inconvenience too you.”

“Of course not.” He said, moving around the table towards you “is there anything I can help you with?” You looked into his eyes for a moment as they held yours before turning back to the bookshelves.

“I am happy to browse Sir, I hardly know where to start.” You concluded, reaching out for a book on a high shelf. You struggled to reach it and stretched on the toes of your slippers to try. The warmth emanating from Anthony surrounded you as you felt him come close behind. He reached up over you and plucked the book from the shelf, lowering it down to your reach. His breath fanned across the back of your neck making your small hairs stand on end as goosebumps rippled over your flesh. Anthony tracked your reaction closely, not having meant to become this close to you but now finding himself unable to move. “Here.” He whispered, his lips almost grazing the shell of your ear “And please. Call me Anthony.” Your light scent was intoxicating to him and he could feel the warmth radiating from your skin onto his lips. He closed his eyes and drew a breath to steady himself, pulling back a little so he did not break his composure and overstep the mark.

Your head turned slightly at his words. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, his eyes burning into your skin and making you feel hot all over. As you reach up to take the book from him he let his hand graze down yours, his finger lightly trailing your un-gloved arm. “Anthony” you gasped in a breath; turning to face him. He was still so close to you, closer than any gentleman had been before, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It felt so right, having him close to you, his lips slightly parted as he drew a gentle breath – his cravat loose and shirt sleeves rolled up showing so much more skin than was proper, on refection. Your eyes trailed to a small triangle of chest hair, visible in the gap, your breath caught in your throat as you thought about what was under his shirt. Your eyes flicked up to meet his and he was already staring at you; a twinkle in his dark eyes letting you know he could read your mind.

Anthony brought a hand up to brush at the curls on your neck; gently pushing them off your shoulder and exposing the smooth skin of your collarbone to his gaze. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed a feather light kiss to the base of your neck. His lips, pillow soft, enflamed your skin and made your blood burn within you. He pulled back, ever so slowly, bringing his deep gaze back up to your eyes, gauging your reaction to his actions. The air was thick between you and you wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on every inch of you skin twice over. Just as you wrestled your demons against leaning into the touch a shout from the parlour broke both of your attentions and made you both whip your heads around to the door left ajar.

“ANTHONY!!” Violet shouted for her son. He stepped back with a shake of his head, clearing the fog of your union and rushing to tend to his mother.

*

[bokutosvoid]

the moon and all its stars | a.k

Pairing - stableboy!Akaashi x royalty!reader (gender neutral)

(A/N; I really like how this turned out and I want to do more parts to this. @dekushandscars ur welcome)

Genre; fantasy! AU and fluff

word count; 1.2k

The stars twinkled overhead that night, wrapped in this tranquil air swept up through the instruments of the royal band playing in the ballroom behind you that stayed buzzing with voices and the elegant clinking of champagne glasses even after the departure of you. although you didn't mind, as this calm night was a company you would welcome greatly over the room filled with people you weren’t quite familiar with. For now, the moonflower vines and midnight air were granting you more fascination than suitors who offered a dance.

The attire you wore, adorned with gold lace and dainty flowers glistened under the moonlight that trickled from above, placing gentle kisses along your collarbones and soft lips as your mind wandered to the stolen kiss you had shared a few nights ago. Hidden under the old willow tree, the encounter you had shared with him in tender darkness, now stays a treasured memory of the gentle brush of his lips on your own. His delicate hands holding yours as he looked at you with such adoration, a look you only read about in stories of true love and flourishing passion.

Now, you hoped to find the same feeling he had given you among the stars; the feeling that you couldn't exactly explain quite right. He made you feel like the sky. He made you feel like all the universes and galaxies and gladiators in constellations. He made you feel like dawn; the soft break of morning's first light that offers this overwhelming sense of normalcy in a world where all eyes are on you. He gifted you morning twilight wrapped with silver string and blue ribbons. He made you feel like dusk; like swirls of beautiful shades of carmine, apricot and cream. God, he made you feel like the sky.

You knew he wasn't far, but somewhere you didn't know and that was why you searched the pale moonlight for him. Amongst the garden below, filled with roses and forget-me-notts that were coloured grey due to the absence of the sun, you let out a deep breath as the angelic symphony flooded through the doors.

“They are serving cake inside,” a males voice broke the trance you were in. You turned swiftly from the sudden familiar voice. You only looked at him, a small, faint smile coming across your face “Akaashi” you breathed out as you took him in. He looked just as beautiful as he did that night.

You turned back to look over the balcony, shaking your head. “you shouldn’t be here, you could get in trouble” you spoke, trying to make your voice firm. He was a stable boy, and you were royalty. No matter what either of you wanted, there would always be a social gap locking you apart.

“But I had to see you again...ever since that night I...couldn't stop thinking about you. I waited to see you at dinner, but you hadn’t arrived” he stepped closer, standing behind you as you looked at the stars, although the stars were beautiful, your mind couldn't be disfixed from his voice, the voice you wish the heavens to hear once more. “Tell me you haven’t thought about the next time we would meet” his voice was small, whispering as if to show he only wanted you to hear his voice.

A slight, sharp gasp escapes you at his forwardness. After a few silent moments, you speak up. “I...cannot deny that i have”

Akaashi lets out a heavy sigh of relief. “I am very pleased to hear that,” he chuckles, looking down to his feet in order to hide a dust of blush across his cheeks. You couldn’t bear to not face him any longer. You turn as his gaze remains on his shoes. Cheeks aflush as his eyes meet yours once more. He smiled, adoration and love carved into his teeth. He admired every curve of your beautiful face carefully as if you were an angel, a being so humanly euphoric, like an ethereal anomaly that he was brought back to by the heavens.

“You waited at dinner for me?” you asks, a smirk glazing your lips. Akaashi ‘s cheeks burned a darker shade of scarlet now, scratching the back of his neck and clearing his throat softly before speaking once more. “Well...yes, I did.” he nodded. Without another word, you stepped forward, stood on your tip-toes and moved closer to press a gentle kiss on his warm cheek, placing your hands on his broad chest. You pulled away after a short moment.

“Thank you, Akaashi...although I must return, the maids will come find me sooner or later” you gave a departing smile, walking past him. Only a few short steps towards the completely lit-up interior of the castle, you felt a hand catch your own. “Wait!” Akaashi blurted, rushed and eager. “Before you go…” he pulled you closer. “May i kiss you again? So for the time we are apart, I will have this memory of you” he asked, cupping your cheeks in his hands while he stared lovingly into your eyes.

You nodded, unable to effectively process your thoughts enough to form an answer that wasn't a jumbled mess. But you wanted him to kiss you, down to your very core, you wanted him to. His smile widened, pulling your face towards his slowly. Before your lips merely brushed, you could feel these sparks of electricity run through your fingertips and up your spine, zinging over your whole body through this simple gesture. Akaashi’s lips were soft, warm in contrast to the crisp night air that hung loosely above your heads. You wished this moment to last forever, to stay here with him on this cold balcony, blanketed within the comfort of the vines that had grown astray over time, tangling you together with him so as to keep your souls delicately entwined because the stars above know.

After your lips were apart once more, there was this longing that remained, one that you were curtain would stay, lined with silver along your lips until the time you would lie in darkness later this evening, and all was quiet through the castle. “When shall i expect to see you again?” you asked, happiness heavy on your tongue. Loud voices from within the ballroom, causing Akaashi to look over his shoulder briefly, then back to you a few seconds later. “Well that I do not know, for now...i can only hope that the stars will bring us together once more...be it under moonlight or in a mere dream, my only wish is to be there with you.”

A warmth creeped itself onto your cheeks, a squish to your heart followed close behind. You could hear the conversations from inside become noisier, fear of being caught brought you your last glance of him. “Don't make me wait too long,” you laughed softly. Akaashi shook his head through a smile, stepping away to bow. He brought your hand towards his lips and placed a gentle kiss upon it.  

“Until we see each other again, m’lady” he gave a final heartwarming smile before walking down the balcony, until all that was left of him was a dark shadow. You turned back to face the sky, the feeling of him on your lips still as vibrant in your mind as it was the second he kissed you.

You smiled, thanking the moon and all its stars for the stable boy you had met under the old willow tree who was named Akaashi Keiji.

[littlesparklight]

Water Lilies and Narcissi

There’s multiple counts of character death in here, both by murder and suicide, but none of it graphic.

***

Once there was a pair of twins born to the river god Kephisos and the nymph Liriope, pretty as the buds on flowers. As they grew, they bloomed, and more beautiful yet became. The girl, wielding bow and arrow as cleverly as she could weave or pluck flowers, blossomed under the attention her flowering beauty drew. She was charming and sweet, and sweetly charming to her suitors, and Nymphaia's father made sure that those who approached her in potential hope of more would treat her right. So her sweet disposition and her sweetness grew more fair, but not a single one of her suitors could distract her should her brother want to hunt, for she went with him always.

A potential worry to any parents, perhaps, except that their love was innocent; Nymphaia doting on her brother, and Narkissos would only see her smile, whether it was in the success of a hunt or for a gift from one of her hopeful suitors. He did not understand what charm she found in the play, or the promise of a future marriage. He did not understand why beauty should draw attention at all, and was uncomprehending not just in the face of his sister's suitors, but his own. For Narkissos felt not the sting of either love or lust, no matter the hopeful girl or boy or man, and in his lack of understanding he was thoughtlessly cruel in his rejections.

It might have mattered little, except for the string of broken hearts he left behind himself as he went to hunt, like a careless child attempting to mimick mother or sisters and eagerly yanking on flowers and herbs, breaking some, leaving others pulled out by the roots, yet more with drooping heads left to nod painfully in the wind.

Echo, spying the twins, tried to join them in their hunt to hopefully gain Narkissos' favour - unfortunately her lack of conversation left Nymphaia confused and, when a misunderstanding left her to attempt to embrace Narkissos, Echo was furiously spurned. Left behind was only a voice in the wind, but one of Nymphaia's suitors had spied the altercation, and already suspicious and laid to jealousy, he confronted Nymphaia alone, away from her father's riverbanks.

"You shameless, terrible girl, stringing us all along, when you only have eyes for your brother! It would behoove you to reject us - me - with some grace and honesty, but you can't, can you? Not when you need to hide such shameless lust."

The young man was furious, and uglier for both fury and jealousy, misaimed as it was.

"Love my--- Of course I love my brother! But not like that, what claim you? Have some shame! I already told you I wasn't interested, and Father has told you to go, so go!" Nymphaia cried, furious herself and humiliated besides. And, for the light in that former suitor's eyes, scared. He knew no reason any more and threw herself at her.

Her cry for father, for mother, for her dearest brother, was lost to the shaded pool they had been standing by as she was shoved underwater. The terror of the girl's struggle made the plane trees ringing the banks drop all their leaves.

The body sank to the bottom, and in her place lovely, death-white blooms grew from the leaves floating on top of the water.

The young man fled the scene, and said nothing of what he'd done, leaving Narkissos and his parents to search in vain for the lost daughter. But though he had no knowledge to accuse anyone in particular, Narkissos looked between all her suitors and accused them all with silent stares and harsher words, blaming their love, if not actions, for his sister's disappearance.

Narkissos' thoughtless cruelty in rejecting what he did neither understand nor feel from others became pointed. Became ugly and malicious as he blamed love - and truly so, however blindly! - for his sister's death. Unfortunately, though fewer and fewer approached him, one, unfortunately, so did. Even before Nymphaia's disappearance, Narkissos' tendency to be shallowly thoughtless would have hurt such a sweet-minded, gentle boy. Now, it was worse than that.

"Love?" Narkissos sneered, all flashing blue eyes and long, dark hair to frame that comely face as he stared at the hopeful suitor. "You might as well take your sword there at your side and kill yourself here and now, that would be quicker since that's where all love leads! And I want nothing to do with you, Ameinias. Take that love of yours and go."

The door was slammed shut, and not even Liriope's sad-eyed, frowning disappointment in her son would urge him to open it and be kinder in his rejection.

Perhaps if he had, if he'd not been hurting and nursing his annoyed confusion for all the attention aimed at him, matters might have ended differently. But poor, gentle Ameinias spent the day in tears, sunk into a blackness of mind from whence desperate action comes. Narkissos' cruel spurn echoed in his head again and again, until it had become a demand in the dark of the night, until Ameinias stole out from his comfortable bed and sturdy home, sword in hand, and walked the empty streets until he came to the right door.

"Nemesis! Furious, gentle goddess, who avenges those wrongly harmed, hear me!" Ameinias was sobbing as he drew his sword, hands shaking but his grip determined, eyes fever-bright and locked in a desperate stare at the door. "Narkissos, son of Kephisos, has no kindness in his heart, has no regard for others but himself. So let him love only that which he can't reach, when he's spurned all other love besides. Let him not go out of this unharmed, meanly injuring others with no thought!"

The sword cut true, despite the boy's upset, and Nemesis, her dark wings spread in guarding sympathy as the body fell down onto the threshold, fulfilled Ameinias' last, aching words.

In the morning, Liriope, going to fetch water, was the one who first found the body. Her scream roused Narkissos who, in wild-eyed, guilty upset, fled the house.

He had not, for all his cruel words, actually meant them. Amneinias dead there on their doorstep was a shock.

The young man ran through the streets of Thespiai, and out into the surrounding wilderness. Down paths he'd taken with his sister, laughing ease to her steps as they pursued a deer, paths he had been avoiding in his grief.

Now, they took him to a little lake in the forest, surrounded by denuded plane trees, their leaves thick on the lake's shores and the air shimmering with fear and grief. Narkissos, tired as he was, sunk down there to drink. Nemesis, having followed, made sure he paused too long as he bent over the water. Paused just long enough to catch sight of his reflection, which he had avoided in any surface that might show it to him since Nymphaia disappeared.

Arrested now, Narkissos stared, and ached for the accusing similarity he could see in his reflection. His sister was still here, and yet untouchable, and he missed her. She might have been able to stop him from being so cruel, and now two people were dead.

Three.

"Nymphaia, where did you go?" Narkissos cried, striking the water, but though it shattered the beloved image he couldn't made himself move. Instead he sat rooted, all the more desperate for the image to return whole and still to him, for he was aching with loss and the love of what was only a mockery of what had been. He was his sister, but his sister wasn't here, and she had died - he was sure one of her suitors was the reason, had she perhaps been suffering from heartache? Had someone killed her? It didn't matter. She was gone, and he was here, and he missed her.

And in missing her, he had caused a boy who had only been suffering from what Narkissos himself didn't understand in any way than as what he felt for his sister to kill himself. And though he had had no desire, still didn't, couldn't ever have seen himself to kiss her for that love, would he have killed himself for it?

It had been a guilty thought, but his parents' grief had stopped him. Now... Now his heart ached as much for guilt as longing.

"My words have caused death, our beauty has caused your death and I cannot live without you. Nymphaia, Nymphaia, I miss you, I miss your face, but seeing it in my own reflection only makes it hurt so much more. Mother and Father are glad to see me, both for myself and for the reminder that some part of you are still here, but you aren't and I hate myself as much as I love you!"

And he couldn't move.

He had feared it, had feared he wouldn't have been able to look away once he spied himself, but Nemesis had ensured he had looked and now kept poor Narkissos rooted. Not even clawing at his face made him able to move, and instead he was reduced to tearful regret of marring the face that was his sister's, too.

Finally, unable to stand the sight of himself but unable to look away, Narkissos tossed himself at his reflection, reaching for what couldn't be touched.

The lake swallowed up the youth, and Nemesis, in solemn understanding, let flowers bloom at the spot the Narkissos had sat, unable to look away from his reflection. In death, the twins would be together, his flowers on the bank of the lake, her flowers growing on the surface of it.

*** Myth check: I’ve combined different versions of the Narcissus story into one. The one that involves Narcissus having a sister is incestuous, but as I’ve always liked how Narcissus can easily be read as aro-ace in the other versions, here there’s no incest, only platonic sibling love in service of the tragedy and to flesh the relationships out. In the incestuous version the cause of his sister’s death (she has no name) is unknown, so I went with something that seemed to suit the situation and also pulled in the incest angle, if only as a wilful misunderstanding of Nymphaia and Narkissos’ relationship.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Pairing: Princess!Reader x Cinderella!Bucky Summary: A/B/O!AU. Female!Reader is an Omega. Alphas and Omegas are rare, and Reader’s been able to avoid alphas through sheer force of will and luck in equal parts. Warnings: verbal abuse and physical abuse [of Bucky] Word Count: ~8,622 A/N:If I was pissed that By Chance was deleted, I’m just plain confused on why this was deleted. I don’t think it even has any sexual scenes.

You knew that when your father, the King, summoned you, whatever he had to say wasn’t going to be pleasant. You’d been dodging suitors and making excuses for being unable to meet eligible foreign dignitaries for years, and it was only a matter of time until your father had had enough.

“You will show up to the ball. You will choose a suitor from the bachelors invited. And you will do your duty as this country’s princess,” your father said forcefully, eyeing you angrily from his spot on the other side of his study’s extravagant desk.

You weren’t going to give into your father’s demands. There was no way you’d sell yourself to the highest bidder; you’d met enough Lords to know they were all power-hungry sharks just looking for a chance at the crown matrimonial.

You had to put up some show of resistance, or he’d suspect you were up to something.

“Father, I am not some pawn to be cast off as you see fit! I am my own woman and I can rule this country on my own!” you said defiantly. “I have been tutored on how to best lead this country from the moment I learned how to speak! I alone can-”

“That is enough!” the king roared, standing suddenly as he slammed his hands on the table, anger twisting his face until he was almost unrecognizable to the man who raised you. “I tire of your insolence, daughter! You should have been married off years ago, but it is only because of my and your mother’s love for you that you have been allowed to remain unwed this long. Our retainers- nay, our people- will not respect a queen with no king or king consort!” he said, spittle flying from his lips in his unbridled fury. “You will find a man to marry at the ball tonight, or I will choose a different successor to ensure a stable line of succession,” he said venomously.

You hung your head in mock contriteness, eyes trained on the ground. You hadn’t been expecting him to threaten your birthright, but you supposed it wasn’t that surprising. You knew that your father cared more about securing his bloodline than he did about you. “I’m sorry, father. I will… try my best to find a suitable bachelor,” you said penitently, curtsying gracefully to him.

“I expect you to make the declaration of who you will marry by the end of the ball,” he warned, making your stomach plummet to your feet. Not only did you have to marry some backstabbing Lord of the court, you had, at most, a single night to get to know him first.

“I will return to my chambers and review the portraits of my potential suitors and have Lord Barton help me review their backgrounds. By your leave, of course, your majesty,” you said placatingly, once again curtsying deeply.

You felt his gaze bore through you, looking for any signs of dissent or trickery.

He seemed to find none, though. “That is acceptable. You may leave,” he said coldly.

“Your majesty,” you said benevolently, finally rising from your curtsy to leave the room.

The second the doors to your room closed behind you, you burst into action. You knew you couldn’t leave; you wanted the crown. You wanted to do right by your people which, in your eyes, meant not marrying any of the corrupt men that wanted your hand in marriage.

You tore at the strings and lace binding your dress to you, nearly ripping the dress in your haste to tear it from your body.

You had so little time, now; So little freedom left. If you were going to be engaged tonight, you were sure as hell going to make the most of the day.

There was a quiet rap at the door, causing you to freeze halfway out of your elegant gown and look at it in horror. If your father-

“May I enter, your highness?” came a tentative voice at the door.

You sighed in relief. “Yes, Wanda. Come in,” you said quickly, ducking behind your bed in case someone happened to peek in the room when Wanda entered.

As soon as she’d shut the doors you were in front of her, gown hanging off of you, eyes wild. She nearly squeaked in fear, but you clapped a hand over her mouth. “Wanda, I need a favor,” you said hastily.

Twenty minutes later you were in the stables, dressed in castle servant’s clothes.

You glanced around and were relieved to find it empty; apparently everyone had either finished riding for the day or were out. Either way, it meant you wouldn’t be interrupted.

You walked down the line of stalls, stopping in front of the one you needed. The name “Havel” was etched into a sign on the door with painstaking detail.

“Hey boy,” you said affectionately.

The lovely dapple grey in the stall perked his head up immediately at the sound of your voice, inquisitive ears pointed directly at you.

A low nicker left his lips as he walked up to the gate of stall, obviously excited to see you.

You laughed at that and pulled out the apple you had stashed in your pocket, throwing it into his feed bucket attached to the inside wall. He immediately started munching on it while you unlocked the stall door and grabbed the saddle. A quick pet revealed he’d already been groomed and you sighed in relief; the less time you spent on the castle grounds, the more time you could spend enjoying your last day as a free woman.

“Alright, Havel. It took me a while, but I think I finally-”

You froze, eyes wide in shock, at the stable boy’s sudden intrusion.

“You can’t be in here! That’s the princess’ horse!” the stable boy, Peter, said loudly, obviously alarmed.

“Shh! Peter! It’s me,” you said, pulling your hood back a bit so he could see your face more easily in the dim light.

“Oh, my goodness! Princess! I’m so sorry!” he said, bowing frantically, bridle still clutched in his hand.

“Peter! Not so loud! Please!” you hissed, glancing worriedly around the barn.

“Sorry, sorry. Here’s his bridle. It was rubbing him a bit so I adjusted it; it should fit perfectly now!” he said, still bent over double in a bow, eyes trained on the ground as he thrust his hand forward, holding the bridle out to you.

“Thank you, Peter. I’ll be back in a while, but you didn’t see me here, understand?” you said, quickly easing the bridle onto Havel.

Peter looked up at you worriedly, but nodded. “Have a safe journey, princess,” he said, standing back so you could lead Havel out of his stall.

You smiled at him as you passed. “I will.”

You and Havel set a brisk pace and made it to the village about fifteen minutes later, hood shadowing your face so it was less likely people would recognize you. You dropped him off at the local stable for a short while, dropping the stable master a small handful of coppers for the trouble.

You set off to explore the town, simply enjoying being among your people without being recognized. It was nice to know you were loved, but you like seeing them as they were every day, and not just on festivals and special occasions.

Yes, you preferred your everyday citizens to the rich, pompous nobles at court any day. By and large they were hard-working, passionate, and kind people and every time you were among them the knowledge that you would lead them one day weighed heavily on you; you never wanted to let them down.

According to your father, though, you were doing just that by not marrying.

You shook your head, trying to clear it of all the dark thoughts about the ball and your impending marriage. When you looked up you realized you’d never been to this part of town before. Here, there was more room between houses; yards were grander and the houses more opulent. You sighed; getting lost hadn’t been part of your plan today.

You resigned yourself to wandering around until you spotted a familiar street, enjoying the scenery as you walked.

You hadn’t made it more than a few steps when a deep melody reached your ears.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,

When you’re fast asleep…”

You followed the source of the noise, curious. Whoever was singing had a beautiful voice, but he also sounded so… sad.

“In dreams you lose your heartaches,

Whatever you wish for you keep…”

As you walked you looked into houses’ windows, craned your neck to see past hedges, and even hefted yourself on top of stone walls in search of the mystery singer.

You knew you were headed in the right direction; the singing was only growing louder and, with it, your curiosity.

“Have faith in your dreams and someday,

Your sun will come smiling through…”

It was when you peeked over the wall of the last house on the street that you finally spotted him.

Although the garden was tiny, it was well-maintained and could rival even parts of the royal gardens in its beauty. There, in the center, was your mystery singer. You glimpsed him through the trellises as he worked, shoulder-length brown hair tied back in a messy bun. Although he was wearing ratty peasant clothes, it wasn’t hard to spot the handsome man underneath the layers of dirt.

“No matter how your heart is grieving…”

You realized, then, why it was so quiet. The birds and small critters of the woods were all watching him work, charmed by his song. He trimmed trees with loving care, assessed all the plots for weeds, and placed down new fertilizer.

“If you keep on believing…”

He stood, wiping his brow, and smeared dirt all over his it. He looked around, surveying his handiwork, song falling easily from his lips.

“The dream that you wish will-”

His steel blue eyes met yours and his melody stopped abruptly, the magic his voice had been working ending abruptly. He stared at you, shocked, trowel clattering to the ground loud enough to scare the critters away.

“I’m sorry! Your singing was so beautiful! I didn’t mean to spy!” you said quickly, standing up straight now that you’d been caught.

He studied you warily, blue eyes drinking in every inch of you. He must have realized he was staring because he looked away suddenly, as though the bush next to him was the most interesting thing in the world.

“It’s alright…” he said tentatively, fingers nervously playing with the hem of his shirt. “I just thought you might be my step brother, at first,” he said nervously.

“Sorry, just me!” you said, smiling broadly. “This garden is beautiful. Do you take care of it all on your own?” you asked curiously, openly studying it with interest. He seemed to swell with a bit of pride at your compliments.

“Yes. The house, too,” he said, shyly pointing to the mansion behind him.

“Wait, you take care of this garden and that giant house? By yourself?” you asked, gaze returning to him, disbelief clear on your face.

He seemed to think he’d said too much, stumbling over his next words. “My step father is a busy man, and my step brother is learning how to run the family business under his tutelage. I… they ask me to take care of the house and garden,” he said quickly.

“My name is Ella,” you lied easily. You didn’t feel like giving him your real name in case he recognized you. “What’s yours?”

“James, my lady. Though my mother always called me Bucky.”

“How does one get ‘Bucky’ from James?” you asked, smiling curiously.

“It’s from my middle name, Buchanan,” he said sheepishly.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, James,” you said, grinning shyly. However, you still had questions. “It seems your step father is quite wealthy. Surely he could afford a couple of people to tend to the house and garden so that you could also learn how to help run your family business?” you said, crossing your arms as your mind worked. Something wasn’t quite right with his story.

“We’re not as well off as we seem, I’m afraid. At least, that’s what he tells me. I haven’t been allowed to look at my family’s books in years.”

“Wait, it’s your family’s business, not your step father’s? What about your mother? Surely she must have something to say about him cutting you out of the management of it,” you said brows furrowed in confusion.

He shifted uncomfortably. “She passed on when I was still a child. She fell ill after marrying my step father, and passed on only a year after saying ‘I do’.” he said sadly, gaze flicking away from you as he was assaulted with painful memories.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. That was terribly rude of me!” you said hurriedly, heart twisting painfully in your chest at the hurt you saw in his eyes.

He smiled, melancholy, at your apology. “It’s alright. You had no way of knowing,” he said reassuringly. He paused before he looked back up at you, a puzzled look on his face. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you all of this,” he chuckled lightly, the sound sending a thrill through you.

You couldn’t help but smile back. “People always say I look like I have a trustworthy face. Can’t get them to stop telling me their deepest, darkest secrets,” you joked, letting out a melodramatic sigh.

He laughed in earnest at that, light pink dusting his cheeks as he responded. “I would have to agree with ‘everyone,’ then,” he said shyly.

You beamed at him, placing your hands flat against the top of the stone wall as you leaned over it. “If you would indulge a bit of selfishness on my part, I would very much like a tour of your garden,” you said earnestly, eyes shimmering with hope. If you were being honest, you also wanted to get closer to him to see if he was as handsome up close as he was from far away.

He looked up and down the street nervously before he looked back at you. As he studied you closely he seemed to make up his mind. He nodded and moved towards the gate, likely intending to open it for you, but you simply vaulted over it, deftly avoiding the lovely plots of flowers on the other side.

“That works, too,” he said, smiling at you.

“Do you enjoy working in the garden, at least?” you asked, as you walked over to him, surreptitiously glancing at him as you studied the plants around you. He was, indeed, just as attractive up close.

He seemed to consider your question a moment, head tilting adorably to the side, gloved fingers absently running over the leaves of the vines next to him. “I enjoy it more than cleaning the house. At least out here I have the company of the animals,” he said quietly. You nodded, but your mind mulled his answer over.

The two of you walked the garden together for some time. He knew the name of every plant and exactly how to take care of it to make it as healthy as possible. The two of you talked about the town once you ran out of plants, but you carefully avoided talking about the royal family. Finally, you just had to ask.

“Why don’t you leave? You don’t seem to be very happy here?” you asked quietly, eyes searching his face.

He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly as he looked around, gaze lingering on the house. “This place is all I have left of my mother. I couldn’t leave it to my Step father and brother,” he said, hint of bitterness creeping into the sadness of his voice. His gaze seemed so far away.

“I suppose I can understand that,” you said, reaching out to place a hand gently onto his arm. His gaze snapped back to you, startled, and you hesitantly removed your hand, afraid you’d upset him. “Not wanting to leave something because you care so much about it, even when staying hurts, too.”

He nodded slowly, a tender smile that made your heart flutter in your chest appearing on his face. “Yes, exactly.”

The two of you stood there, frozen in the moment, before it was shattered by a loud, angry voice from the other side of the house; whoever it was seemed to be on the street, just out of sight

“Cinderbucky! Your brother and I are home! Come take our horses at once! The King has announced a ball where all eligible bachelors of the kingdom are invited and at the end of the night the princess will announce who she’s to marry! We must prepare for your brother to attend at once!” the step father yelled, just out of your line of sight.

He turned to run towards the source of the noise “I’m sorry! I must go, or-”

“James, wait!” The thought of never seeing him again bothered you greatly, but you didn’t want to look too closely at why. “Go to the ball! I work at the castle! I… I wish to see you again!” you said hopefully, lying through your teeth. You don’t know why you continued to lie about your position, other than that you were afraid he’d be blinded by your status.

He looked at you, wide grin spreading across his lips. “I will be there, then,” he promised, though he knew it was easier said than done. “You must go now, though, before they see you!” he urged, head swiveling in fear as his step father yelled angrily again. He seemed torn, but ran away, one of his shoes flying off in his haste. He didn’t even pause to go back for it.

An idea hit you then, and you took the shoe carefully from the ground. While obviously old, he seemed to take good care of it. You shoved it under your cloak before you turned and headed to the edge of the gardens.

With one last lingering look, you spun and vaulted over the stone fence. You ran a short distance before you turned around, but James was no longer in the garden. You sighed, glancing at the fading light in the sky. You’d spent more time with James than you’d thought and you needed to get back soon or risk facing the wrath of your father.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Your father sputtered.

“What I said, father. I’ll marry the man whose foot fits into this shoe,” you said dismissively, holding it up nonchalantly.

“That is a peasants shoe! You’ll do nothing but insult our guests by making them try it on!” he raged, glaring at the shoe as though it had just committed high treason.

“If they are not willing to try on a shoe for a chance at the crown, then they are fools,” you said bluntly. “And I promise that if no one fits it, I will choose a suitor anyway.” It pained you to say it, but you knew it was the only way to placate him.

He leaned back in his chair, mouth working dangerously as he bit back an onslaught of unsavory things, mustache twitching violently below his nose. “Fine! If this farce is what it takes you to willingly marry a man, then so be it!” he said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Now, go get ready! the guests will be arriving in an hour.”

“By your leave, majesty,” you said, curtsying deeply as you made a hasty exit from his study.

You walked quickly back to your room and opened the doors, expecting to see Wanda, but it was Natasha, instead. You loved Natasha, but Wanda was your favorite lady in waiting. Even though you coached your face back into one of polite neutrality, she’d seen you look of disappointment.

“I know. I’m not Wanda. I’m sorry. She had urgent business to attend to and asked me to fill in for her in helping you get dressed tonight,” she said quietly, motioning to the elegant and intricate blue gown you hadn’t noticed a moment before.

“It’s beautiful!” you said, awestruck.

“Wanda made it for you, specially for tonight. She only finished recently. The second she heard the rumors she sprung into action. She can’t be with you right now in person, but her spirit is here with you anyway,” Natasha said, fondly.

“You’re right, Natasha,” you said, smiling at her. You were always thankful of the way she was able to see the other side of things.

“Now, let’s get you ready for your big night!”

 Bucky’s POV

“What took you so long, boy?” Pierce spat as he dismounted.

“Probably singing to all of those stupid animals again,” Brock said venomously as he hopped off his horse.

“Put the horses away and prepare our finest suits immediately. Brock is going to become a prince tonight!” Pierce said proudly, gazing down at his son.

“Yes, father,” Bucky said, quickly following his step father’s orders. The quicker he got them ready the faster they’d leave and he could get himself ready to see Ella again. He was invited to the ball, after all, as an eligible bachelor. He knew he wouldn’t catch the princess’ eye. Not in one of Brock’s older suits that didn’t fit him quite right, but he wouldn’t show up in the rags he wore while he worked. Just for a night he wanted to be a man a beautiful woman like Ella would be proud to be seen with.

As soon as he’d put the horses to pasture he ran into the house, quickly preparing Pierce and Brock’s best suits while they washed up.

Two hours later it was getting dark and the ball was looming closer by the minute. Pierce and Brock were dressed to the nines. Bucky had outdone himself tonight, eager to make them happy so that he might be able to ride with them to the ball. They were waiting downstairs for the carriage to arrive when Bucky came down, dressed as nicely as he could and, for once, mostly devoid of any dirt.

The second Pierce saw him, his face contorted with fury.

“What are you wearing, boy?” he spat. Bucky cringed and froze on the bottom step.

“I- I was hoping I could go to the ball. All the bachelors in the kingd-”

“You’re not going, you imbecile!” Pierce said as he stormed over to him. Bucky didn’t have time to brace himself before his head whipped to the side, cheek stinging from Pierce’s back-handed slap. “The princess would never look at you! You’re an embarrassment to your step-brother!” he raged. To Bucky’s horror, Pierce reached up and ripped the sleeve almost completely off of his dress coat. Pierce wasn’t done though, and Brock cheered on from his spot in the foyer.

“Aww! Little Cinderbucky wanted to go to the ball! How sweet!” he crooned, face twisted with malevolent amusement at the scene in front of him. “But clumsy him! He ripped his jacket!” Brock said, cackling.

Pierce ripped apart the white dress shirt, buttons flying in every direction.

“You’re a fool, boy! You’re lucky we’re in a hurry, or I would teach you another lesson!” he spat, tugging down the left side of the shirt and jacket to reveal the edges of the ugly scars that continued all the way down his arm to the very tips of his fingers. Bucky nearly shook at the threat, but somehow remained standing.

“This house will be spotless by the time we return! And if you ever make another mistake like this again, you’ll be wishing it was only an arm,” Pierce said dangerously, eyes glinting with malice.

“Yes, father. I understand,” he said weakly.

“The carriage is here, father,” Brock said, still staring at Bucky with condescension. “Enjoy your night, Cinderbucky,” he sneered.

As if to add insult to injury, Pierce spat on Bucky before turning to walk to the door.

The second the door was shut, Bucky sank onto the stairs, head in his hands and he tried to hold back the tears. He didn’t hear the door open and only realized there was someone else in the room when a pair of boots appeared in his line of vision.

He looked up, startled, to see a man standing there. His blond hair seemed to almost shine in the light and his eyes were even bluer than Bucky’s.

“We don’t have time for moping, friend. We need to get you all fixed up for the ball,” he said by way of greeting. Bucky looked at the man, bewildered.

“I’m sorry, but… who- who are you?” he asked, nerves frayed from the roller coaster of emotion that was today.

“Hmm… a friend?” the blond man said, smiling down at Bucky as he extended his hand. Bucky looked at it for a moment, unsure, before he took it. “A friend of mine told me about your situation and I just had to help,” he said, patting Bucky comfortingly on the shoulder. “I’m a little upset I couldn’t get to you sooner, but… we mustn’t dwell on the past! Your life is changing, starting today!” he said cheerfully. “Go check upstairs!”

When Bucky didn’t move and simply stared at him, Steve sighed, and made shooing motions. “Go! Hurry up! The ball is starting soon!” Steve said urgently.

The mention of the ball seemed to startle Bucky into action. With one last confused look at the man in front of him, he went upstairs to his tiny room, opening the door slowly in trepidation.

There, in the center of his room, was the single most stunning suit he’d ever seen. The jacket was pure white with silver embroidery. The shirt beneath it was a gorgeous baby blue with the same silver thread as the jacket. The pants were the same snowy color as the jacket with accents that matched the shirt. Shining black knee-high boots completed the outfit; they were so well polished that they shone like glass. It even came with a pair of white gloves.

“Wow…” he murmured, as he walked towards it. He reached out to it, faltering before he touched it, scared it’d disappear as soon as he touched it or that his hand would go straight through it. He didn’t have to try it on to know it would fit him perfectly.

“Yeah, she really did a great job, didn’t she?” said the man from the doorway. Bucky jumped, letting out an undignified yelp of surprise, and turned to face the man.

“This… this is for me?” he asked, pointing to it over his shoulder with his thumb.

“All yours, friend. Now, get changed. We’re short on time,” he said with a smile as he shut Bucky’s door.

Ten minutes later Bucky emerged from his room, marveling at how the suit hugged him in all the right places, accentuating his best features.

The mysterious blond man was waiting at the bottom of the stairs and beamed at Bucky when he appeared at the top of them.

“All ready to go, then?” he asked, admiring his handiwork.

“I… I think so,” Bucky said nervously as he made his way down the stairs, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair, which he’d tied into a small ponytail at the back of his neck.

“One second, you’ve got just a bit…” the mystery man muttered, bringing his thumb up to swipe a smudge of dirt off of Bucky’s cheek. “There, perfect. Now, the carriage is outside waiting!”he said, motioning grandly to the doorway.

“Carriage?” Bucky asked, glancing at the doorway.

“What, did you think we’d make you walk there, or something?” the man asked, grinning.

Bucky looked confusedly from the door to the man and back. “Who… are you?”

“Not important, Buck. Now, go get the girl!” he said, giving Bucky a gentle but firm shove towards the door.

Bucky wanted to press him for an answer, but he was right. Time was slipping away. He had to get to that ball.

What he saw when he opened the door made him stop. Not only was there a carriage, it was extravagant. Four white horses pulled the highly decorated thing and there wasn’t just a driver but also two servants on the back, and two more men were waiting just ahead of it on white horses of their own.

This was an entourage fit for a prince or a wealthy lord, not the cleaning wretch of a lesser noble.

One of the servants hopped off the back and lowered the small step built into the underside and opened the door a half second later.

“Your carriage awaits, sir,” he said gesturing grandly to it.

Bucky swallowed nervously, taking a few hesitant steps towards it, expecting any second for his step father and brother to pop out and punish him for his shameless hoping. When he stepped inside and the door shut securely behind him, he breathed out a sigh he didn’t realize he’d been holding in.

With a gentle jolt, the carriage was off towards the royal castle.

 Your POV

You sighed as yet another suitor approached your dais.

“Your highness,” the older man began, bowing deeply. “It is an honor to be in your presence. We’re so thankful for your invitation to the ball tonight. Allow me to introduce my son, Brock.”

You thought you’d recognized his voice the moment he started speaking, but the second he said his son’s name your suspicions were confirmed. You tried to fight back the grimace you felt creeping onto your face at their presence.

Brock stepped forward, the sharp lines of his face contorted into a slimy smile. “Princess. You look absolutely stunning. Truly all the stars in the heavens must be jealous of your beauty,” he said unctuously, bowing deeply as he took your hand and placed a sloppy kiss onto your rings.

“Thank you for coming. I take it you’ve heard of my new request?” you said, gently but firmly tugging your hand from his grasp to gesture to the shoe sitting on the cushion beside you. “Any who fit it have the opportunity to dance with me tonight.”

“Yes, of course, highness,” Brock said, bowing his head in acknowledgement. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the shoe.

“That is why it is there, Rick,” you said, patronizingly. Brock’s smile faltered for a moment at your tone and the fact that you got his name wrong, but to his credit he held it together, sitting down in the provided chair to try on the shoe.

And boy, did he try. He sat there for probably thirty seconds, trying to squeeze his heel into it, but to no avail.

“I do not believe it fits you, sir,” you said pointedly.

Both Brock and his father looked at you, their stubbornness plain on their faces, but one look at the guards standing beside you seemed to change their minds about arguing. Brock set the shoe back down a little harder than he had to and put his own back on. They both bowed deeply, their oily smiles not quite enough to hide the anger behind their eyes.

“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” you said by way of dismissal, inclining your head slightly to them. They stalked off, straight for the table that held all of the food. It seems they would try to get their revenge by eating half the food in the hall.

“Have someone keep an eye on them,” you told your guard, Steven, surreptitiously, eyeing them coldly.

He nodded. “Understood, princess,” he said quietly, signaling one of your other guards, Clinton, with discreet hand motions to keep an eye on those two. You didn’t know exactly where he was, but you knew he was around somewhere. He was nicknamed Hawkeye for a reason; he worked better from a distance.

You went through countless suitors like that. Some fit the shoe and were added to the list of people you would dance with later in the night, but none of them were James. You hoped he would come. You had Natasha on the lookout for him in the servants’ areas and directed her to send him up immediately if he showed up. As time passed, though, it seemed less and less likely that he would show, and you had to bite back your disappointment.

“Princess,” Steve said softly in your ear, jerking you out of your troubled thoughts. “Look,” he said, pointing to the entrance of the castle on the opposite side of the room from you.

Everyone else in the room was looking, too. Every head was turned to see who had just entered, a wave of whispers breaking out among the crowd.

He was easily the most stunningly handsome man in the room, putting every other man in attendance to shame.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest.

James. It was James. Even from across the hall you could see his bright steel blue eyes searching for you; the servant Ella, not the princess (Y/N). His gaze slid over you as though you weren’t there and you had to fight how much that hurt. He looked divine in his white and blue suit; completely different but just as amazing as the dirty, down-to-earth man you’d met earlier.

“Make sure he comes up here,” you told Steven urgently. Steve nodded, giving your other guard, who everyone affectionately called “Rhodey,” a nod before he disappeared in the swarm of people.

 Bucky’s POV

Bucky weaved between the other guests nervously, aware of how many people were staring. He wished they wouldn’t; He was already nervous enough as it was. He was about to sneak out of the main hall when a hand on his arm stopped him.

His gaze snapped to the man attached to said hand and he nearly shouted in surprise. It was the mystery man.

“You!” he said, trying his best not to yell.

“Me!” Steve said jovially, dropping his arm. “Your girl’s not in there, lover boy. And I have to insist that you come with me. Every eligible bachelor must meet the princess today,” he said with a wink.

“But Ella-”

“Trust me, Bucky,” Steve said, earnest smile on his face.

Bucky looked between Steve and the doorway, torn. Steve hadn’t led him wrong before, but meeting the princess would take away from time he could be using to be with Ella.

But it wasn’t every day you got to meet a princess, right? Maybe he’d be able to meet two in one day; Ella was a princess in his eyes.

“Fine,” he conceded. Steve beamed and led Bucky to the far part of the room where the princess was meeting suitors. There was a long line of men waiting for a chance to talk to the princess, but Steve literally shoved Bucky to the front of the line.

Bucky protested weakly, not wanting to offend all of the powerful men in the room, but one look at the princess made the rest of his protests die in his throat.

Even though she was wearing an elegant blue dress and her hair and makeup were done to perfection, there was no mistaking the woman in front of him, even though the last time he saw her she’d been in peasant’s clothing.

“Ella,” he breathed, awestruck at the vision of beauty in front of him.  

You were beaming at him, but seemed to remember yourself, coaching your expression back into a slightly more subdued smile. His feet moved of their own accord, stepping up onto the dais upon which your throne sat.

Suddenly remembering etiquette, he stopped just out of your reach, bowing deeply, eyes on the ground. “Your highness,” he said quietly, amazed.

“And you are?” you asked politely. James looked up suddenly, hurt you didn’t recognize him, but you were smiling playfully at him, eyes shining with happiness.

Ah, you did recognize him. “James Buchanan Barnes, princess,” he said, gently taking your hand in his gloved fingers to place a tender kiss on your knuckles. The difference between his kiss and Brock’s was night and day. Your heart fluttered in your chest, and it took everything in you to keep calm.

“Have you heard about the request I’ve made of all of the suitors here tonight?” you asked as he released your hand. You immediately missed his touch.

“No, your highness,” he said, brows furrowed in confusion.

“The man I choose to marry will be able to fit into this shoe,” you said, gesturing to his shoe where it sat on the cushion just a few feet away.

He looked to where you were motioning and when he saw his own shoe sitting there on the pillow it didn’t click right away what was happening.

Then, it hit like a tone of bricks.

He turned back to you, eyes wide in shock. “You mean-”

You held up a hand, gently silencing any questions. “Please, try it on,” you said earnestly, a knowing smile on your lips.

He gulped and took a seat on the opulent chair, removing his right boot carefully.

He’d been wondering where his other shoe had gotten to. He guessed he had his answer now.

He didn’t realize how quiet the room had gotten, too engrossed in the task in front of him. But you and everyone else in the room was watching him closely.

He looked up at you as he slid his shoe on. Although a couple men before him had managed to squeeze it on or walk around without it falling off, it fit him perfectly.

The smile that graced your face was blinding and Bucky couldn’t help but smile back.

“Steven,” you said quietly without taking your eyes off of Bucky.

“Yes, princess?” the blond mystery man said, appearing at your shoulder.

“Alert the musicians. It is time for the first dance,” you said happily. “You may want to put that boot back on,” you said cheekily to Bucky.

“Yes, highness,” Bucky said quickly, smile on his face as he clumsily removed his shoe and tugged the boot back on.

He stood hastily, rushing to your side.

He held his hand out for you to take, nervousness clear on his face.

“I would be honored to have this dance with you, highness,” he said earnestly.

You smiled, taking his hand as you stood. “Please, call me (Y/N),” you said quietly enough that only he could hear. “And it would be my pleasure to dance with you, James.”

He turned a truly adorable shade of pink, nodding slightly. “You can call me Bucky, if you like,” he said as the two of you made your way towards the dance floor.

The guests parted before you, expressions ranging from surprise to anger to awe (you supposed you and Bucky did make a striking pair).

“Bucky, then,” you said fondly as you arrived at the center of the floor and turned to face him. He smiled brilliantly at the sound of his name on your lips.

The music played the prelude and you bowed to each other. You were about to begin dancing when an angry voice rang out in the hall, causing the music to screech to a halt and make everyone’s heads turn towards the source, including yours and Bucky’s.

“You get away from the princess!” Franklin Pierce yelled, storming towards the two of you. Brock trailed after him, face murderous. Bucky placed himself protectively between you and the angry men, but he paled considerably. “I don’t know how on earth you got that outfit, but you won’t defile the princess, swine!” Pierce spat, stomping towards Bucky.

Steve appeared in front of him before he made it within ten steps of you and Bucky, sword drawn and pointed directly at Pierce’s throat. “No closer, sir,” Steve ordered, saying the last word sarcastically.

Pierce looked like he was going to try and deck Steve, but looked past him to level a glare at Bucky.

“You broken piece of garbage. I should have left you to starve after your mother died!”

Buck turned in on himself, shoulder’s and head slumping, and it almost seemed as though he was getting smaller at Pierce’s words. You placed a hand gently on his shoulder, glaring at Pierce.

“Does her highness even know about your disfigurement, you monster?” Pierce asked, malevolent smile on his face.

“Yes, I bet you didn’t show her that, did you, Cinderbucky?” Brock said venomously, sneering down his nose at Bucky.

Bucky glanced behind himself at you, eyes filled with fear and hurt at their words.

“Go on, then. Show her. Show her what you look like under that pretty white jacket!” Brock jeered.

Bucky turned his back on them to face you, eyes dull.

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do,” he said quietly, slowly removing the glove from his left hand. It was better he lose you now than later, he thought.

It was lined with scars from burns and cuts, some looking nearly as old as he was. He rolled his sleeve up as far as it would go, revealing even more angry marks.

“They go up to my shoulder,” he said, tone flat. He was sure you would never look at him again, and he wouldn’t blame you. A beautiful princess like you deserved someone who was as whole and wonderful as you, not some broken, disfigured shell of a man.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts of self hatred that he didn’t realize you were reaching out to touch his arm until your fingers ghosted over the angry, scarred skin. He flinched at the touch, nearly pulling his arm away from you.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked first. Does it hurt?” you asked quietly, eyes swimming with tears. Who would do this to such a kind, gentle man?

He looked at you in confusion. Surely you were crying because of how ugly he was, but your words… your words were kind. Slowly, he shook his head. “Not anymore, highness,” he whispered.

“May I?” you asked, nodding your head towards his arm, fingertips close enough to feel the heat of his skin.

He nodded warily, hope creeping back into his mind unbidden.

Your fingers ghosted over his innumerable scars, a single tear escaping and making a track through your makeup as you contemplated the horrors he likely had to go through to get all of them. He closed his eyes at your gentle touch, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“Did they do this to you?” you asked suddenly. Bucky opened his eyes, meeting your steely gaze.

He swallowed thickly, adam’s apple bobbing nervously. After a moment he nodded, eyes flicking away from you.

Rage ignited inside of you, white hot and all-consuming.

“Steven. Take those ‘guests’ and throw them in the dungeon. I will deal with them later,” you said loudly enough for Steve to hear, gaze never leaving Bucky’s. Bucky looked up at you then, confusion clear on his face.

“Princess-”

“(Y/N),” you corrected him.

He looked at you guiltily. “(Y/N). I… my step father is right. I am a monster. I don’t even deserve to be in your-”

“He is the monster, Bucky,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his left arm gently. The other hand went up to cup his face and he couldn’t help but lean into your touch. “I do not care about the scars you bear. To me, you could not be any more handsome. It is your heart of gold that has swayed me,” you said earnestly, running a thumb over his cheek tenderly.

“Truly?” he asked, barely daring to hope. “You do not mind… this?” he asked, gesturing to his left arm.

You brought his left hand to your lips and placed a gentle kiss to his knuckles, mirroring his actions just a few minutes ago.

“Truly,” you assured him. The smile that graced his face was blinding, making you smile just as widely in return. You vaguely heard Pierce and Brock yelling while they were dragged away by Steve and a couple of other guards, but all of your focus was on the man in front of you. He stared down at you and it was likely only the room full of people (some of whom had pointy metal people-killing sticks) that kept him from embracing you then and there.

The music picked up again, just slightly before it left off, snapping you and Bucky out of that moment.

However, what followed was even better.

He lowered his sleeve but left his glove off and took a half step back, bowing deeply to you, and you curtsied, smile on your lips.

Then, he stepped forward, placing one hand gently on your hip, the other lacing together with your hand. You placed your hand on his shoulder and, just like that, the most magical dance in your entire life started.

The world fell away until it was just him and you on the ballroom floor. Your dress flowed gracefully whenever you spun, mesmerizing every person watching as Bucky expertly guided you around the room. The music swelled and you let out a delighted giggle as he placed both hands around your waist and lifted you in a graceful arc in front of him, earning excited applause from the audience (though you and Bucky didn’t even hear it). As the dance progressed, the space between you lessened until the last few chords of the song rang out and you found yourself pulled to his chest just before he dipped you gracefully backwards, arms holding you securely aloft.

All at once the hall erupted in applause and cheers. Bucky lifted you back upright gently, awestruck smile on his face, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening (he couldn’t). His gaze was momentarily pulled from you by Steve, who was jumping and waving his arms to get Bucky’s attention, just beside you in Bucky’s range of vision.

Once he realized Bucky was looking, he patted his chest frantically in one spot. Bucky raised an eyebrow confused. Steve sighed, slumping over for a half second in annoyance before he straightened again. He pointed to Bucky, then to the same spot on his chest again (this time even more forcefully and… pantomimed pulling something off his chest? Then pointed to Bucky again, eyes wide and frantic. He seemed to be pointing to a specific spot on Bucky’s chest… the same one he’d pointed to on himself.

Bucky looked down. Sure enough, there was a breast pocket on the jacket. With one last confused look to Steve he reached into it, freezing when his hand touched metal.

He looked back at Steve, eyes wide with fear and anxiety. Steve was smiling broadly, giving him an encouraging nod. He could see him mouth the words “do it.”

Bucky looked back at you. The exchange with Steve had lasted a few seconds at most, but for Bucky it felt like it had been minutes. You were still smiling up at him as though he was the moon and stars themselves.

“(Y/N),” he said slowly, causing one of your brows to quirk in question.

“Yes, Bucky?” you asked cautiously, confused by his sudden change in tone.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked, all caution thrown to the wind. He wore his heart on his sleeve and trusted you not to break it.

You beamed at him, nodding vigorously. “Yes, I do.”

His heart thudded in his chest and he severely hoped he could make you say that word again. Slowly, he sunk to one knee, holding your two hands in one of his large ones. Without taking his eyes off of you, he pulled the ring out of his pocket, inwardly balking at the giant rock set into the center.

“Princess (Y/N), you would make me the luckiest and happiest man alive if you would do me the honor of being my wife,” he said earnestly, eyes alight with hope and adoration.

To his surprise you sunk down in front of him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“Yes! Yes, I will! I will gladly be your wife!” you said, pulling back enough so you could smile at him, happy tears making tracks down your face.

Bucky laughed along with you, happy smile lighting up every inch of the room as he slid the ring onto your finger (it fit perfectly, of course). You smiled at it, then at him, cheeks heating with all of the excitement.

Around you, your people cheered. Their princess was finally getting married.

Then Bucky did the one thing he’d wanted to do since the moment he met you. He pulled you in for a gentle but passionate kiss. It was everything you wanted it to be; your lips melded together perfectly as his arms wound around your waist. Your arms found their way around his shoulders and you lost yourself in his kiss and the feeling of him against you.

“Ahem,” came a stern voice from next to you.

You broke apart, startled, and looked at the newcomer.

“Your majesty!” Bucky said, abruptly standing to bow to your father. His gaze turned back to you, harried, and he quickly helped you to your feet.

“Father!” you said warily. You placed a hand on Bucky’s arm and he slowly straightened up, eyes darting from you to him nervously.

The king studied Bucky critically, eyes narrowed as he took in every detail.

“This is the man you wish to marry?” he asked, voice carefully neutral.

“Yes, father,” you said quickly, reaching down to lace your fingers with Bucky’s. You gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“Your majesty, I wish to marry your daughter. Please-”

The king held up a hand and Bucky’s words quickly died in his throat. He studied the both of you, gaze lingering on your interwoven fingers.

“What is your name?” the king asked coldly.

“James Buchanan Barnes, your majesty,” he said quickly. To his credit, he didn’t quail under the king’s gaze. He stood tall and proud next to you.

The king stared at him for a few moments longer, gaze unreadable. Then, all at once, he let out a great sigh and turned his back on the two of you.

You were about to reach out and stop him, protests on the tip of your tongue, when he spoke again. “Let it be known across the kingdom. In one week’s time, my daughter Princess (Y/full/N) and James Buchanan Barnes shall be wed in holy matrimony!” he proclaimed to the assembled guests.

Immediately, the hall erupted in cheers. It took you and Bucky the same amount of time to process his words, gazes snapping from the king to each other in unison, matching smiles of surprised happiness on your face.

You jumped into his arms and he caught you, spinning you around as you both laughed happily. You kissed him again, knowing now that you would be happy for the rest of your days with him by your side.

   Have faith in your dreams and someday  

   Your sun will come shining through  

   No matter how your heart is grieving

   If you keep on believing

   The dream that you wish will come true 

          and they lived happily ever after

[alj4890]

None But You

(Thomas x Amanda) set in a Regency Era time period as requested by @pixieferry

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) a Choices Red Carpet Diaries Fan Ficition

A/N Well, here we are. Our hero is finally acting the way we want. Lord Thomas Hunt, the Viscount of Kirkwood has declared himself as Lady Amanda's suitor. One would think it would be smooth sailing from here, right? Then again, Lady Amanda is not necessarily the easiest to convince. I love it when that happens, don't you? Let's pick up directly at the end of the previous chapter and watch the sparks fly.

Summary: After his declaration, Lord Thomas and Lady Amanda begin their courtship. Is the lady though, pleased by such? And will the gentleman not only be honest but also able to win her heart?

@graceful-popcorn @krsnlove @alleksa16 @hopelessromantic1352 @pixieferry @emceesynonymroll @buzz-bee-buzz @hopefulmoonobject @cora-nova @rainbowsinthestorm @lxaah11 @dr-nancy-house @friedherringclodthing @aworldoffandoms @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

Masterlist

Chapter 7

"I beg your pardon," Amanda began. "Did you say you are going to be my suitor?"

"I did and I am." Thomas stated once more. "I am done fighting against my feelings."

Amanda checked to make certain the world was still right side up. Lord Thomas Hunt was now a suitor? Her suitor? Her elation at hearing what had been a secretly held dream began to lessen when she focused on his last sentence. Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. 

"You are done fighting your feelings?" She was unable to hide how much his words hurt her. "What is it about me that you must wrestle with yourself over?" She knew what she looked like, and goodness knows after being sick she certainly did not look attractive. Yet, she wasn't causing small children and animals to run in terror with her face and figure.

Thomas realized his error as he thought back to how the Duke and Lord Comery had spoken to her. "It was not you I fought, more my own ideas that marriage was not for me. Not for a long time at the very least. I had not expected to meet a lady that I would want for a wife."

"Well, I am sorry that your plans have been disrupted." She mumbled. "Perhaps your luck will change and you will see you had it right at the beginning."

Thomas narrowed his eyes at her. "I am not a man who changes easily, as you well know."

Amanda sighed. Now I've insulted his pride. "I did not mean it in that fashion. I know you are steadfast in nature, which makes you a desirable friend to have." She looked up into his eyes. "But if you were so set against marriage and me being who I am...then I would understand you deciding against making me your vicountess."

"What the devil do you mean by me being who I am?" He nearly yelled. Thomas caught himself in time and harshly whispered. "If you dare insult your appearance after I have more than said how desireable you are, then I will not be held accountable for what I do next." He stepped closer to her and made certain that it looked like he was causally leaning against the same tree she was. Being so close to her was affecting them both.

Amanda swallowed nervously and looked away. "It does not make it any less true. My coloring and figure do not match what is considered attractive by the ton. You know that even the Earl said--"

"Do not quote that buffoon to me!" He bit out. He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him, further into the grove.

"My lord! Slow down, I can barely keep up." She ran into him when he stopped behind some hedges. She couldn't see anyone and immediately became quite nervous. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I warned you." He reminded her in a dangerously low tone. "Yet, you persisted with that idiotic notion."

She opened her mouth then closed it. She wasn't certain if she wanted to argue or not over this. It was her appearance after all.

He nodded in approval. "I see you finally agree." Thomas pulled his gloves off and cupped her face. Her eyes grew large as she stood frozen in place. His fingers gently smoothed her cheeks and he ran his thumb slowly over her plump bottom lip.

Her breath hitched with the sensation combined with his heated gaze. "Thomas?" She didn't know what she was asking though something deep within her believed he was the only one who knew how to answer.

His attention lifted from her lips to her eyes. "Do you accept me as a suitor?"

Her eyes stared into his. "I...I think perhaps you should reconsider this--" Her lips parted and her eyelashes fluttered closed when he tenderly kissed her cheek.

A hint of a smile was on his lips as he stepped closer. He lowered his head to kiss her--

"Lord Hunt? Lady Amanda? Are you in there?"

Amanda's eyes flew open. Thomas dropped his hands and cleared his throat. "We are here Matthew."

The Conde poked his head through the brush and smiled at them. "Forgive my interruption but Lady Bridgerton is anxious to return home."

"Thank you, my lord." Amanda smiled at him. "I shall come directly."

He bowed and left them alone. Thomas took her hand and pressed a kiss to it before setting it on his arm.

"I am your suitor." Thomas stated firmly as they left the privacy of the hedges. "We will not continue to argue over it."

Amanda's lips firmed in a frown. Nothing prodded her temper quite like being told that there was going to be no more discussion on an important matter. It was her life that would be affected. He thought his kiss could be used to make her fall in with his plans. Well, he was certainly in for a rude awakening. And as much as she wished it was not so, his touch did cause her to lose all rational thought. She refused to succumb to him through such methods.

He led her back to the carriage and bid them both a good day. "With your permission, may I call tomorrow?"

Lucy ignored the slight shake of Amanda's head. She was determined to see her niece with Thomas. After the servants informed her how the Viscount had devotedly cared for the young lady while she was ill, she was ready to send the couple to Gretna Green this very evening. "We look forward to it, my lord."

______________

Lucy finished her lists of items to be purchased and chores to be completed before they were to leave for a week in the country for Lady Millie’s house party. She glanced over at her niece who was trying to not stare at the door while working on her embroidery

"Dearest, he will most likely arrive within the hour. No need to worry." Lucy didn't bother to hide her delighted smile. Of all the possible suitors, Lord Hunt was one she had most hoped for Amanda.

"Aunt Lucy?" Amanda struggled to keep her temper in check. Her aunt had waived off her desire to refuse Thomas's suit. It was time to find another avenue to convince her that she should not accept him. "Do you not find it strange that he has changed his mind so suddenly? Can his heart be that fickle?"

"My dear, most men have the notion that they possess all the time in the world when it comes to finding a wife. Many believe that one woman is as good as another. Though I hate to admit to such about our own sex, I do believe the ton has created a great number of the same type of lady. There are too many empty headed creatures that are lovely to look a, yet are unable to string two complete thoughts together. Their lack of substance causes an intelligent gentleman to wait until he is at death's door before marrying and producing a needed heir." Lucy shrugged when Amanda appeared surprised. "I'm afraid that is our fate in life."

Her niece set her sampler down and went to the window. "Yes, but why has he decided now to pursue me? He has had ample opportunity to realize his feelings."

Lucy joined her by the window and wrapped a comforting arm around her waist. "It is more than likely that he has felt a great deal of affection for you. I believe that he has a rather definite stubborn streak."

Amanda snorted softly. "Mulish come to mind."

Lucy bit back her smile at the pot calling the kettle black. "Be that as it may, a man of his temperament is quite shocked to find themselves falling for a slip of a girl."

Her niece continued to look at her skeptically. The countess placed her hands on her hips. "Your uncle was the same way."

Amanda's lips parted in surprise. "What? Uncle Nicholas? But, he told me about your courtship. He said--"

"Oh I know exactly what he said." Lucy interrupted. "The dances, stealing me away out in the moonlight, the flowers and poetry...rubbish."

"Aunt Lucy!"

"Now darling, I know this comes as a shock, but your uncle was very set on the plans he had made before he met me. He was going to travel and study the world. He wanted no responsibilities and thought himself above needing a wife and permanent home." Lucy grinned to herself as she thought of the grand speeches he would make about his future.

"Well, he clearly changed his mind." Amanda muttered.

"Yes he did." Lucy dabbed at her eyes when she remembered the night he confessed he loved her. "I do not wish to see you make my mistakes. I gave your uncle a difficult time in the beginning over my foolish vanity not being stroked right. I wanted him to have known he adored me from our first meeting. He swore he did, he simply refused to accept or admit it to himself."

Amanda thought that she knew that type of gentleman a little too well. Should she cut her nose off to spite her face? Or, should she see where his courtship took her? She softly sighed as she contemplated her future.

Hudson entered the drawing room. "My lady? Lord Hunt is here to see you.

"Do send him in. Lucy replied.

Amanda turned around and felt her heart stutter. Why must he be one of the handsomest men at court, she wondered.

He bowed to Lucy and kissed her hand. He then turned to Amanda. A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “Ladies, I hope you are doing well this afternoon.”

“We are. Thank you.” Amanda muttered.

“Lady Bridgerton?” Thomas kept his eyes on the young lady as he spoke to her aunt. “Just so there is no confusion in the matter, I am asking your permission to court Lady Amanda. Do I have your approval?”

Lucy was ready to give her blessing and permission for them acquire a special license walk to the church at this very moment. “Yes, of course.”

He bowed his head in thanks. Amanda’s brow creasing in worry was not lost on him. He knew she was still fighting against his change of mind. If she would only accept that it wasn’t a change of his heart, then she would see how right he was for her.

Lucy asked Hudson to bring in a tea tray for the couple while she explained that she was taking tea in the study. “I must finish going over these lists before we leave for the Rawlings’s country home. Are you attending the house party?”

“I am.” He said with a slight smile. “I would be more than happy to escort you both in my carriage.” His eyes remained on Amanda. “I am offering for purely selfish reasons. I would very much like your company for the trip.”

Her lips parted in surprise at his words. He seemed so different now that he had declared himself as her suitor. Lucy beamed at him and said how they would very much like his escort. Plans were discussed between the two as Amanda quietly observed him. 

Lucy gathered her notes and smiled at them as she swept out of the room. Thomas moved to a chair closer to where Amanda chose to sit. He reached over and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “Now do you accept me?”

She grimaced and focused on her hand in his. “It seems I am given little choice in the decision.”

His lips touched the inside of her wrist. Color flared over her cheeks at the tingling sensation. “Of course you have a say.” He decided to force her to admit to herself that she cared for him. Plus he wouldn’t mind hearing her feelings for himself. “Do you find me so loathsome as a suitor?”

Her eyes widened at the uncertainty in his voice. “I do not find you loathsome at all.”

He gently caressed the top of her hand he still held with his other. “Is it my looks? I know some ladies prefer men that have--”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course it is not your looks. You know very well that ladies prefer to look upon you than many of the other gentlemen of the ton.” Amanda pulled her hand from his. She pushed off the settee and walked over to the window.

He smiled at her back and stood. He silently walked up behind her. She jumped when his deep voice was right at her ear.

“What of my personality? I do not have the pleasant, easy temperament that some have like Lord Matthew and Sir Chris. Is that why you do not wish me to court you?”

She dropped her head forward for a moment, tempting him with her graceful neck. “Your temperament...I have preferred it even when we quarreled.”

His hands gently grasped her arms, pulling her back against his chest. His lips brushed her ear while he told her how he hoped she would find him agreeable. “Your opinion is the most important to me.” He softly whispered. She turned her head and looked up at him. Her heart began to pick up speed when he lowered his lips to hers.

Hudson came in, speaking a bit louder than usual. “Your tea, my lady.”

She moved quickly away from Thomas. “Thank you, Hudson.” Amanda resumed her seat and prepared his tea the way he preferred. A smile appeared on her lips when she realized he liked his the same way she did. 

He sat down near her once more and relaxed somewhat as he turned the conversation toward other subjects. Thomas felt his impression of her improve with each topic they discussed. 

By the time his visit was coming to an end, he had her laughing at a story of a well known tonnish gentleman and lady and their unfortunate dip in the Thames. He smiled proudly at having made her laugh so often during his visit. They both looked at the clock on the mantle when it chimed the early evening hour.

"As much as I loathe to do so, I must take my leave." Thomas stood up and took her hand. "I would force my company on you longer, but I have a dinner engagement with Lord Ryan and Sir Chris this evening."

"Oh." Amanda couldn't quite hide the disappointment in her voice. "Will you be attending Lord and Lady Willmington's ball afterwards?"

"Will you be there?" He asked.

She shook her head. "Even though he says I am improving each day, Sir Vincent wishes me to avoid balls and such until the ones that will happen at Lady Millie's house party."

"Then I will not attend any until then." Thomas declared. When her face revealed her confusion, he gently caressed her cheek. "The only reason I have attended such events was to be near you. Hold you in my arms. Talk to you." He took a step closer to her. "You are the very object that draws me to the gatherings that I have avoided over the years."

Her lips parted in surprise at him admitting to such. "I..." She licked her dry lips and lifted her eyes to his. "I do not know what to think of you when you say such things."

"I hope you think fondly of me." He admitted. "I do not say such to simply flatter you, even though it is a compliment. It is that I want you to know the truth about me. I have tried to distance myself from tonnish activities over the years, save for the very few that would insult those that I consider true friends if I did not at least make an appearnce."

Amanda's cheeks tinted a shade darker. "Then I thank you for the compliment." Her eyes lifted to his. "I hope you enjoy your evening with Lord Ryan and Sir Chris."

"Thank you." He pressed a kiss to her hand. He stared at her mouth for a heated moment. "May I come visit tomorrow?"

She looked into his dark eyes and nodded. "I would like that." Her lips trembled with suppressed laughter. "Though I fear that I will not have anything exciting to share."

Thomas smiled and moved another step closer. "Nonsense. Your mind fascinates me."

"I...thank you." She stuttered when his close prescence and unexpected compliments took her by surprise. "You need not flatter me so."

"I disagree." He pressed his lips against her wrist. "I have weeks to make up for my foolish decision to not court you sooner. I will not waste another moment when it concerns you."

"Thomas." She whisperwd when he lowered his head to hers. "I--"

"Oh good gracious! Catch him!"

Amanda and Thomas jerked apart when they heard Lady Lucy's outburst out in the hallway. They rushed to the doorway and peeked out. A goose went flapping by them, honking in anger.

Amanda took a step back and bumped into Thomas. He wrapped his arms around her to steady her. Mirth at the ridiculousness of it all caused her to laugh. Thomas shook his head in laughter when he heard Hudson and the footmen threaten bodily harm to the unfortunate fowl that had snuck in the house.

Thomas stared down at her joyful face lit in the soft candlelight and felt his heart fall for her even more. Before another interruption could occur he gently captured her lips in a tender kiss. She stilled in his arms. Right when his mind thought she might not like his kiss from her lack of response, her lips softened and she slipped her arms around his neck.

Amanda sighed softly when he ended the kiss. He pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes. Having her in his arms and the feel of her lips still making his own tingle, it had been more than he hoped. How could he ever have thought of her being with Matthew or any other man for that matter?

He opened his eyes and looked down into hers. "I must leave." He whispered. Thomas didn't move away from her.

She smiled at him. "I look forward to your visit tomorrow."

He pressed another kiss to her lips.

"You can come out dears!" Lucy yelled. "The goose is back outside and I daresay he will be gracing our table before the week is out."

Thomas and Amanda laughed in the midst of their kiss. He took her hand again in his. He led her out into the hallway and said his goodbyes to her and Lucy. The latter was thrilled that he was planning on returning the next day.

"You must dine with us one evening you are free." Lucy replied. "With Amanda recovering, I know she would prefer to have a change in company."

Thomas bowed his head in thanks. "I shall allow you ladies to decide the date. After tonight's dinner, I will have free evenings until we depart for Lady Millie's."

He kissed Amanda's hand on his way out the door. He held his lips against her skin for an extra moment and focused on her lips. Thomas lifted his eyes to hers to see if she understood.

Her sudden blush was his answer. He smiled and wished her a good night.

[ayearinfaith]

𝗔 𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝗙𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵, 𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟯𝟴: 𝗢𝗱𝘆𝘀𝘀𝗲𝘆

The 𝘖𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘺 is the second oldest complete literary work in European history, preceded only by its prequel the 𝘐𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘥, both written by the Greek poet Homer in the 8th century BCE. It tells the tale of the hero Odysseus’ 10-year journey back home after the Trojan War events of the 𝘐𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘥. It is a highly influential text in Western cultures and the source of the English common noun “odyssey”.

𝗢𝗱𝘆𝘀𝘀𝗲𝘂𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗜𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗰𝗮

Before the setting of the 𝘖𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘺, Odysseus was a hero of the Iliad and likely a widespread figure of oral mythology. The Roman name for him is Ulysses, and the distinction between Greek and Latin terms implies traditions of Odysseus beyond and predating Homer. If the Romans had just inherited the myth directly from the Homeric account, they would have named him more similarly but instead have used a variant that may have come from other Greek dialects or from neighboring non-Italic speaking people like the Etruscans. The actual etymology of Odysseus’ name is unknown, though Homer and other poets made many puns or allusions with it, normally giving it regrettable meanings such as “hated one:, “lamentable one” or, most fittingly, “lost”. In accounts of the Trojan War, one of the most significant events in Greek mythology, Odysseus is portrayed as a very different hero from the other major figures, like Achilles, Ajax, or Agamemnon. While most of the Greek and Trojan heroes are renowned mostly for their physical abilities and have generally passionate and headstrong personalities, Odysseus is cunning and able to keep a cool head. He is both one of the leading Greek tacticians and a diplomat, able to maintain the unity of the Greek forces despite their constant squabbling. His most famous tactic is the Trojan Horse, in which the Greek’s hid a retinue of soldiers inside a giant wooden horse and then appeared to sail away. The Trojan’s, believing the siege at an end, pulled the Horse inside as a trophy. At night, the retinue came out of the horse and opened the city gates for the rest of the army, thus ending the 10-year conflict with a Greek victory. Prior to the war, Odysseus was king of Ithaca. The exact location of Ithaca is unknown, though it is commonly believed to be an island west of the Greek mainland. Odysseus was no demi-God, unlike many other famous Greek heroes, though he was not totally without divine heritage, being 1/8th a god on his mother’s side, by way of Hermes. He is the favorite of Athena, goddess of wisdom, who comes to his aide many times over the course of his life.

𝟮𝟬 𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗔𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗱

Though not a part of the Homeric account, later tales of Odysseus display him as unwilling to go to war with Troy and feigning madness as an attempt to escape his oath to aid his fellow Greeks. He is unsuccessful in this gambit and must join his fellow kings and heroes on the journey to Troy, in what is modern day Turkey, for a war that would last ten years. At long last his tactics provided a Greek victory and the heroes could begin the journey back across the Aegean Sea. Homer’s 𝘖𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘺 does not actually begin with Odysseus’ journey, but rather with his son, Telemachus (literally "distant war"), now 20 years old, ten years after the end of the war. Though Odysseus is assumed dead, he and his mother Penelope have not lost faith and are fending off suitors wishing to claim Odysseus’ estates and kingdom. Athena comes to Telemachus and convinces him to voyage out himself to seek his father. Telemachus does so, taking him on his own journey across Greece meeting much of the surviving cast of the Iliad. Odysseus, meanwhile, makes his appearance washed ashore in the kingdom of Phaeacia, not far from Ithaca itself. Here he is found, nude and barely alive, by the princess Nausicaa who take pity on him and takes him in. Once restored, he recounts the events leading up to this point and the 𝘖𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘺 truly begins. One could summarize the journey as a tale of warning to those who do not properly venerate the gods. First Odysseus is separated from most of his fleet by a storm sent by Zeus as punishment for the deceitful nature by which he ended the war. Next, he lands at a lush island which turns out to be home to one of the terrifying one-eyed man-eating giants, the Cyclopes. Odysseus uses his cunning to escape the cave of the Cyclops (whose name is Polyphemus) first by telling the monster that his name is “nobody” and then blinding it. After his men escape, hiding below Polyphemus’ flock of sheep, Polyphemus calls for help from his brothers, but they do not credit his claims that “nobody has blinded me”. Odysseus’ misadventures might have ended here, except as he leaves, he taunts Polyphemus and reveals his true name. Polyphemus then asks his father, none other than the god of the sea Poseidon. Poseidon curses Odysseus and though the hero does not realize it, he cannot return home until the sea god is appeased. Odysseus then has his boat blown of course by a magic bag of winds, is attacked by more giant man-eaters (though not Cyclopes), and winds up on the isle of the demi-God sorceress Circe, who turns all his men into pigs. Here Odysseus finally receives some aid from his great-grandfather and messenger of the gods, Hermes. Protected from her magic by Hermes gift, Odysseus forces her to restore his men. Circe still manages to seduce Odysseus and convinces him to stay with her for one year. After this, she aids him in summoning the spirit of a dead prophet, Tiresias, who advises Odysseus on how to placate Poseidon. It seems Poseidon’s wrath is almost at an end, so long as Odysseus and his men can survive a few more trials which Circe and Tiresias advise him on. Thus, he is able to survive the hypnotic call of the Sirens (by having his men plug their ears and tie him to the mast) and successfully navigates the whirpool, Charybdis, albeit suffering some loses to the nearby sea monster, Scylla. Finally, the last trial is upon them. All Odysseus and his crew must do is avoid eating the sacred cows on the island of Thrinacia. Odysseus’ men, who so far have been as much a plague to him as any god, eat the cattle, enraging the sun god Helios who has Zeus strike their boat with lightning and send them all careening baack into Charybdis. Odysseus, protected by fate, washes ashore on the island of Ogygia where he is found by the nymph Calypso. Calypso wishes to make Odysseus her husband and keeps him trapped with her for seven years. Finally, with all the gods having forgotten their ire, Athena is able to free him. Poseidon does have one last laugh, and shipwrecks Odysseus one last time leading to his washing ashore in Phaeacia.

𝗛𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝘁 𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁

Odysseus is given a boat by the Phaeacians and finally returns home, just as Telemachus returns as well, having been unable to find his father. Through some plotting, disguises, and divine intervention by Athena, Telemachus and Odysseus reunite and hatch a plan to oust the suitors. Penelope announce a final trial for any man wishing to marry her: they must string Odysseus’ famed bow and shoot an arrow through 12 axe heads. None can do it but a disguised Odysseus. It is uncertain if the stringing of the bow was impossible for others due to a lack of strength or because only Odysseus knew how to properly string a recurve bow. Regardless, the deed is done and Odysseus reveals himself. Along with Telemachus, he slays the suitors and some unfaithful servants. The tale ends happily, with Ithaca at peace and Odysseus on his throne, reunited with his family.

Image Credit: Odysseus and Polyphemus, Arnold Böcklin, 1896

[u-u-d-d-l-r-l-r-b-a]

You could be forgiven for thinking Michael was in a state of petrified urgency with how frantically he guides his best friend into the garage. His footsteps are erratic, light and lacking any sense of actual rhythm even as he skips down those three small steps into an atmosphere punctuated by oil and rest. The lighting is minimal at best – fli-fli-flickering above their heads as though jittering along to the beat bleeding through bare walls. Rich sure knows how to throw quite the fiesta; a collision of dizzy strangers with greedy fingers and mass volume and cheap cups dotted throughout every available surface as though they were part of a furniture.

Michael’s never seen a party from the inside before.  It’s different. It’s intense. It’s utterly wild in a way he never would have imagined and yet he’s not entirely adverse to that sense of community.  

 Still, he’s grateful to have found a place of c a l m, an eye in the middle of an all-encompassing storm. Even if he’s surrounded by empty cardboard boxes from classic board games and plastic containers full of long-forgotten memorabilia from Rich’s long-forgotten aerobics days. Michael remembers them well.

 “Are… are you okay, Mikey?” Jeremy whispers, lower lip knotted up underneath the slip of his teeth. “Why’d you bring me here?”

 Michael’s pupils are blown so wide they have become a galaxy, sparkling profusely underneath curled lashes despite how his brow levels in utmost concentration. His fingertips nurse one of those pesky little solo cups filled with one of the weird-smelling beverages Rich offered to make him; pineapple and rum and rum and pineapple and fuckin’ Toto jokes. Drugs he can handle like an absolute champ - alcohol is another story.

 He can still see the flames in Jeremy’s gaze from how he looked at Madeline. Can still see the film of gloss blossoming around his mouth from her kiss. And Michael is happy for him, he truly is. But he wants to fulfil Jeremy too. Douse him in goosebumps.

 “Y’said you were like confused, right dude?” Michael’s free hand drops to rest against the unholy swell of Jeremy’s hip, an eager thumb tracing deliberate semi-circles into jutting bone. “About fuckin’… ‘bout how guys make you feel, right? An’ I’m a guy. I’m your best friend. Who better t’try it with, huh?”

Jeremy would gasp if it were not for the pressure of Michael’s forehead falling to rest against his own, the spirals of his hair tickling over rosewater cheeks. The bow of his lips parting just a fraction to release something of a dreamy sigh. Cartoon angels and airborne hearts. The whole shebang.

 “H-here?” Jeremy gasps, his eyes darting swiftly toward the garage door.

 “Yeah. It’d be jus’ us, promise. I wanna be there for you like you’ve always been there for me, Jer.”

 A step forward, easily guiding Jeremy toward the abandoned pool table sitting in the centre of the floor. Wide palms cradling underneath magnificent thighs to ease him up onto the faded surface. Jeremy’s senses are absolutely heightened. Every single nerve bursting with a frantic electricity. His lips ablaze with the collision of a phantom kiss. And his legs spreading on pure instinct.

 Oh, if his Squip could see him now.

 Michael finishes his drink in an instant, lips smacking against the bitter aftertaste fizzling clinically across his palate, before tossing his cup aside. He hooks his fingertips within one and other – pushing forward into they crack pleasantly - and then brings his hands down to rest at the cinch of fabric pulled taut against Jeremy’s pelvis. The material opens easily and yet there’s a certain resistance when fighting against the breathlessly beautiful curves and swerves of his body.

 Jeremy quivers helplessly when his flesh is finally exposed. His thighs ache with the urge to close, fighting for modesty, only for the notion to become utterly diluted underneath the pressure of Michael’s lips. The kiss is warm and quick and deliciously chaste; saccharine in its swiftness but somehow strangely familiar. It never occurred to Jeremy how frequently Michael’s pockets would crinkle whenever he’d delve into them, but the sudden arrival of a lubricant certainly clears things up. Of course Michael would have lube with him at all times. Let’s face it, he’s positively smothered by suitors.

 The texture of rough, slick palms enveloping Jeremy’s cock is almost unnerving. A simultaneous collision of too much and not enough and every nuance in-between and he’s positively captivated by the motion. Michael is the epitome of a gentle lover (although, Jeremy cannot bring himself to even imagine such a word in relation to his best fucking friend), stroking his cock from base to tip without stopping nor accelerating. He’s got just the right amount of pressure – squeezing toward Jeremy’s head and easing off as he massages his way down. Jeremy’s knuckles scrape frantically across faux grass, his legs kicking out on pure instinct.

 Michael does something with his thumb which makes Jeremy’s eyes roll. His spine threatening to collapse in on itself from the motion alone. He presses his ankles into the structure of Michael’s calves simply to beckon him closer. Ease himself into what pleasure is being so graciously gifted to him.

 Jeremy’s hands move as though coerced by translucent marionette strings, wandering weakly toward the swell protruding from Michael’s far-too-tight jeans. His inexperience translates into stuttering palms and a willingness to wrench those skin-tight jeans down around Michael’s ankles; and he’s unbelievably grateful that he chose to forsake his underwear in the name of fashion. His cock fits perfectly inside Jeremy’s slender fingers, and despite how hard he tends to squeeze, how broken his downstroke tends to be, Michael lives for the discomfort and how it ebbs into transcendent bliss. He feels anchored like this. Tethered to the person he has always cherished most.

 Imagine how Rich would react to this moment. If he could watch Michael cradle Jeremy’s balls so tenderly. If he could see how Jeremy’s fingertips wrap eagerly around Michael’s curved cock and pull him inward. Maybe, if he were to walk through that garage door, he’d even consider joining.

 Jeremy doesn’t make much noise beyond broken murmurs and elongated whimpers, the sounds getting caught in the back of his throat - reverberating through porcelain teeth; his face, however, contorts in absolute heaven. His brows furrow. His lips part. His teeth chatter into the otherwise still atmosphere. His lashes flutter and his hips stir.

But Michael can hear it in the quickening of his heartbeat, rapid pulse ricocheting through heaving ribs and down into his weeping cock. How his breath comes in quick, short bursts. How his hand twists around over Michael’s head as though he were unable to keep himself steady.

 He’s going to cum. And he’s going to cum hard.

 Michael carefully pushes at the loose material draped like curtains over Jeremy’s petite torso, causing the shirt to bunch up across his chest, and in the same movement works his cock that bit quicker, anticipating the moment when his boy will twist all the way up.

 And when he does, Michael is there. Covering his cock with the heel of his palm to keep him from spraying his own chest and thighs. His senses are overloaded. His mind is a mess. His body succumbing to the ecstasy he never thought he would face at the hands of Michael fucking Mell of all people.

 “Easy, Jer…” Michael coos, his eyes gleaming with pure wonder. What a vision Jeremy is like this, cheeks stained crimson and skin dusted with sweat. His fingertips twitch with the urge to t a s t e, a feeling he attempts to smother. He wouldn’t want to scare Jeremy away. Not now.

 Michael makes a move toward the rusted sink in the corner. Yet, before he can make a single step out of line Jeremy is whimpering, fingertips crooking in a motion to usher Michael forward. Back in place. He’s not finished. Not yet.

 He clasps Jeremy’s cock with both of his hands, twists them around without purpose nor certainty. The sensation of calloused fingertips squeezing at Michael’s length is enough to cause his stomach to flip with absolute gratitude. It is better than he had ever fantasised before – more passionate than he was prepared for. The full Jeremy Heere experience he had always longed for.

 The fullness of his own palm slaps heavily across Michael’s open lips, squeezing tightly, trapping all those earth-shattering howls which threaten to escape; tapping into his innermost kink of being silenced – of being controlled.

He cums with a smothered shout over the caramel of his shaking highs. Full body s h i v e r i n g into the roll of Jeremy’s wrist. The stars illuminated beyond crimped lashes are breathtaking – shades of silver and gold and rouge all wrapped up into one wicked flare. Swaying back and forth from foot to foot, Michael wipes his hands on the crook of his knees. Removing all traces of their brief rendezvous all caught up in an evening of music and cocktails.

 His lips find the purse of Jeremy’s own with a natural ease. Clinging for just a moment before his retreat.

“How do you feel?” He keeps his voice low. Affectionate.

 “I uh… pretty, uh.. awesome actually”

Simplistic words and yet they thoroughly massage his ego. Stoke the tangerine flames crackling brightly within his abdomen.

 “Cool. So, we still on for the Apocalypse marathon on Friday?”

 “You know it!” Jeremy grins, pulling his pants back up his legs. Bringing himself to settle on uneasy limbs. “Get ready, though, cos I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Yeah, dream on Jer.”

 Michael brings an arm around Jeremy’s slender shoulders. A certain spring in his step. And they dip out back into the enthusiasm of the crowd.

[yeoldontknow]

It Was The Night: 1

Author’s Note: welcome to part 1! this is hopefully going to be a short mini series that remains uncomplicated (she says, writing 3 more parts and adding to them as she queues this omg) enjoy! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: drama; historical au; romance; suspense Rating (this part): G Word Count: 2,046

I.

In the summer of 1826, the very last of my relatives surrendered mind, body, and soul to the hands of consumption.

As any typical eight year old girl, the true meanings of anguish and despair were lost on me. Often I regret, in my old age, to admit that I did not mourn the loss of my Great Aunt Thérèse. Nor did I not, as many children do, grieve out of a twisted sense of fear for my lack of parentage or even for myself. Instead, I felt a small pang of longing whenever I craved the warm arms of reassurance, or perhaps, when I fancied myself a pirate and sought a crew for my ship. I coveted, at times, those large families, filled with siblings and wild imaginations, like the other children at my school.

Her absence, I found, had commenced long before the withering of her body or the slow decay of her lungs. I remember her now less as a person and more as pieces of an ideal, images woven together throughout time to construct a memory of love, the sensation of care, the fleeting notion of safety. She appears to me now as a shadow, something hollowed, a thing I yearned for but eventually moved beyond, carrying with me instead not the soft touch of her hands but the rigidness of the posture she ingrained within me.

In the end, Aunt Thérèse became a memory of authority, a rule I was meant to follow rather than a family member to love. Instead, my sense of protection and comfort had been projected onto a tattered stuffed elephant named Claude, a birthday gift from Aunt Thérèse to love once she had become too weak to spare a fragment of emotion. Or, rather, when she decided that loving me was too strenuous, my existence a burden of charge rather than a pleasure.

Without any sort of family to love me and no kind neighbors to take me in, even as an extra hand for work, I was taken, by the state, from the fields of Berentin to a monastery in Rouen for lost and disadvantaged children. They always used the word “disadvantaged,” as though “orphan” was somehow shameful, as though it was my fault I had been so abandoned. 

I don’t believe I ever forgave dear France for dressing the term in false clothes, for attempting to force my young self into a sort of ignorance regarding the sad reality of my situation. Perhaps, even more, for attempting to gloss over the true position of my station in the new city I was meant to call home. Though in truth, I doubt I would have needed such language when there were older, more tormented children at St. Christie’s to remind me just how lost we all were.

Companions at the monastery were arduous to come by, my predilection for continued, silent observation ostracized me. My playfulness took shape in the form of imagined personas and universes, alternate worlds I felt lingered just beyond my small reach. The noise and gregarious loudness of pranks and teasing did not suit me, my version of gaming born out of compulsory solitude in golden fields. And so, suddenly surrounded by children my age, I found myself profoundly lonely rather than merely alone.

As part of our keep, it was mandatory we all sang in the choir for church  mass. We were to learn music, the traditional hymns and prayers, and were given the opportunity to master a separate instrument to broaden our musical education with papacy approved contemporary pieces. With few friends and little to entertain me beyond my daily chores, I devoted myself to my studies, quickly finding that my skills in languages and biblical translation lent themselves to the language of sight reading. It was, as to be expected, not long before I was the most advanced child in the choir, as well as in the chamber orchestra with my selected instrument, the violin.

Words escape me now, dissipating at the memory of my first touch of the ebony and tiger wood instrument. In the days of my youth, I called it fate, the current of pleasure and excitement that flowed through me as my fingers grazed over the body. Nor can I describe the thrill of longing that pressed against my heart at the sound of the bow against the strings. Instantly, I felt bonded to it, as though its voice was my own. Between us an understanding had been birthed, the music my voice, the body of wood my body - firm, unyielding, desperate to be heard and loved.

And so, by the time I was ten, I had received more solos in place of the older, more experienced girls. This, of course, was a way for one to be noticed by both the church, the public, and by children with little control over their envy. In the wake of my solos, I found my already terribly lonely childhood to be impossibly lonesome. Children teased me, threatened to shatter my instrument out of envy and jealousy. Not long after this, I took to sleeping with my instrument, terrified to wake one morning and find it gone from me, warped and broken at the hands of someone else.

My talents placed me in a bitter spotlight but they also, for reasons beyond me, caused my skills to be noticed by one Monsieur Park. I shall never understand why he chose me, why he was so profoundly adamant in his opinions, but his presence at our mass resulted in my life being changed, irrevocably.

In all my years, I seem to be unable to forget the gleaming pattern of the buttons on his waistcoat the first, and only, time he stood before me. I had given a rather whole-hearted performance of Je Chanterai that left me with clenched fists and shaking hands, eyes wet with the words of Psalm 89:1 echoing in my mind behind the lyrics on my tongue. When mass completed with its usual major chord extravagance, I shuffled, with bowed head, toward the doors of the monastery quarters when a man with strong fingers and pure white hair stopped me and Father Ezekiel in our path.

Almost immediately I sensed the conversation was not for my engagement, that much was clear by the way the stranger spoke in clipped words to Father, so instead I busied myself with the gold of his buttons. I’d never seen a man dressed in such finery, not even on the modest men who did not wear the cloth of God, and certainly not in Berentin. Mine was a humble upbringing, featuring muslin dresses and shoes of thin leather. My wealth had been given to God the moment I entered the world. Yet here was a man, draped in silks, satin tights that glistened beneath the stained glass windows, and a posture so severe I imagined him grounded to the Earth where he stood.

And the buttons, sparkling under the watchful eye of Mary, remained at my eye level as though they were made solely for me and, for the first time, I felt the slow burn of desire.

That evening it was explained to me I would be departing the next day for Le Palais Comédie Français in Paris, by far the most distinguished theatre in the country with a legacy extending well beyond my comprehension of my own bloodline. I was to join their choir, earn a working wage as a member of staff, a wage I would not be given access to until I reached an age suitable for marriage, at which time I would be given the opportunity to audition for the Opera or take my earnings as a dowry should a suitor ask for my hand in marriage.

Having spent the last year expecting to be a child of the church, having spent the last ten years being passed from adult to adult, I adamantly protested the notion, instantly felt the crippling weight of an uncertainty that had never before gripped me. In my mind, I saw myself as a transient thing, something that neither belonged nor existed within France. Forced into a somewhat nomadic existence, I had no sense of self, no sense of home, no sense of safety, and all over again I was being forced to shift my understanding of the world to meet the expectations of men far older than I. My cries proved to be futile, and, the next day, I boarded a sleek, black coach with the most incisive looking horses I had ever seen, and left to start my new life as a choirgirl popular.

Monsieur Park did not let me bring my violin, stating I would not need it. The monastery did not let me take Claude, stating there would be a child in my place who would need it more.

I sniffled as we passed through village after village, though I did not regard Monsieur Park, not directly. Allowing his domineering, stoic frame into my field of vision felt painful, thrust upon me the responsibility of questions and conversation that felt heavy, imposing, far too important for the uneasy silence that had settled in the carriage, and so I chose to watch the world as it passed. Of the trees, I asked my questions, begged their roots for answers. In that moment I envied them, their stability, their strength, their stillness. How I wished my skin would be bark, my feet claws that could bury their talons into the Earth, and proudly declare that I shall be unmoved.

It was not long before the fields and woods between villages became narrow streets, the canopy of foliage traded for a skyline dotted with domes of cathedrals. Quickly, I learned Paris is a city of distractions, bewildering and loud. We passed through market centre, slowly and pressed between homes, people, stalls, and even in the carriage the intense aroma from the fishmonger permeated the finery of the small space. Monsieur Park buried his nose in his ascot, while I and the other girls pressed ourselves to the windows. My fingers idly clutched the velvet of the curtains, clinging to their softness and their tangibility as I struggled to process all I saw before me.

Mine had been a quiet life, one filled with the silence of prayer and the cadence of hymns, entertainment held only within our music lessons and the transcription of bible verses. Never before had I been confronted with such cacophonous activity, my skin swimming with the stimulation of voices just beyond the window. All at once, I was enamoured with it. The noise of the city was difficult, yet thrilling, my heart pulled suddenly towards the chaos of anonymity and the firmness of identity. All my life, i had been told that the city was a Godless place, wracked with sin and debauchery, and little else. But, to me, the city felt vibrant, thriving, so alive that its soul pressed against the carriage in desperation to be touched.

And, here, even the women seemed strong.

It was the gold of the Opera House I saw first, perhaps because the only time I had seen such a glimmer of wealth was on Monsieur Park’s waistcoat. This, I think, was the moment he became synonymous with the opera, draped in gold and firm, just as the building itself. But those small circles were eclipsed in proportion of the gold lining the top of the Opera, gleaming in the light of the sun. Beside me, a young girl who had been weeping feel silent, awed by the sheer beauty of the architecture. Extravagance had been limited in Rouen, even in the construction of its buildings, and all at once I felt myself a heretic.

I found I coveted this life, felt a surge of pride that this was to be my home, although looking back I fear it was not the life that thrust upon me the sensation of ardor. After many years of rumination on the subject, I imagine it was the prospect of being chosen for a life, for being offered freedom and choice and chance.

It was not the life that brought me joy, but the prospect of one altogether.

[emilyplaysotome]

Part 48 - The Final Rose

Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole is an ongoing story about our MC, who could easily be anyone in voltage fandom. She woke up in hospital bed only to discover that she’d somehow been transported Voltage universe.

This story is ongoing, so if you missed a part, or are new to the story, please use the link to the masterpost below to catch yourself up:

https://tinyurl.com/k4rrxna

Part 48 - The Final Rose

I waited anxiously for his arrival as I paced in yet another luxurious suite.

It’s fair to say that as hard as the breakups had been, not knowing if he’d agree to come back with me was far more nerve wracking than anything I’d ever dealt with in my life. 

The last time we’d seen each other on the street, he’d claimed to be willing to make the leap, but I wasn’t sure if he’d changed his mind since then. Just as space from him had brought me clarity, I worried that space from me might make him want to walk away altogether.

My heart was overwhelmed with fear that that after everything I’d been through would be for naught, and with every minute that passed I fretted over whether or not he’d even show up.

Last night, my goodbye to Shun had been difficult but necessary. When he realized what had happened, his shoulders slumped and he insisted that we should still have dinner together as friends.

I sniffled through most of the meal, unable to eat much of what was placed before me. At the time he struggled but maintained his brave face, continuing to tease me in an attempt to cheer me up which only made me feel worse seeing as how I knew he was suffering just as much in silence.

He was, on paper, so perfect but at the end of the day I just didn’t feel for him what I felt for the man who I knew was the one. 

He twisted the knife even more during our goodbye, where he asked to hold me one last time outside the McDonald’s garish neon lights, and whispered in my ear that it would be impossible to see me as nothing more than a subordinate tomorrow at work. He thanked me for not leading him on, and teased me again by offering up a night of no-strings-attached sex, “seeing as how it’d been great and all”.

I politely declined, admitting that as tempting as it was, it would only be a burden on my conscience. 

He maintained that brave smile of his, but was unable to hide how crestfallen he was as he held me a bit tighter and told me again that he’d meant every word he’d said and that he still loved me.

We kissed each for what I knew would be the last time, and it was only when we pulled away that I saw on his face how he was really feeling. He hung his head and quickly turned away, not wanting me to see exactly how miserable he was, and I found myself walking in the opposite direction, equally miserable. 

I pulled it together at the front desk of the hotel I was supposed to have spent my last overnight date with Shun in, and checked in to my room before falling apart.

Instead of having a night of passionate sex I collapsed on the bed, sobbing into the hotel pillows as I prepared for what I believed would be my final night in this world.

I opened TalkTime and sent Jin a message letting him know where and when to arrive tomorrow. He immediately saw it and sent a thumbs up emoji which made me chuckle. I knew that he must be just as stressed as I was, but he still responded with a goofy emoji like he usually did. I loved his maturity and the fact that he never felt the need to put on airs. Wearing a small smile on my face, I let him know that I’d plan to see him tomorrow. 

I put my phone back on the nightstand, and took out the card I’d bought at a local convenience store. I started to write my invitation for Altair to give to Zyglavis, outlining when and where to meet, as well as specific instructions for the front desk upon arrival.

With every stroke of my pen, I found my eyelids growing heavier and heavier until I felt compelled to close them. It was then that I was struck by an odd, dizzy feeling which forced me to keep them closed and it was only when I reopened them that I realized I was in the king’s throne room in the Heavens.

“What a wonderful show you’ve put on for me!” he exclaimed happily. “The drama! The heartache! The tears! And now...you are making your final decision are you not? When should I tell my Chief Minister...or it ex-Chief Minister to arrive?”

“No spoilers,” I said, still sniffling as I tried to get my emotions under control in the presence of the king. 

I handed the king my half written invitation, filling him in on any additional information that I hadn’t been able to write down before being summoned. He snapped his fingers, making sure everything I’d said was in the card, and called for Altair.

The little God was on his best behavior upon entering the king’s throne room, clearly uneasy as he stood before him.

“Your highness,” he squeaked. “What can I help you with?”

“Altair, please give this invitation to Lord Zyglavis.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Altair didn’t say anything more as he approached the king and took the invitation from him. The only time he felt like the Altair I knew was when he glanced up at me just before exiting and flashed me his big, boyish smile. He was so cute that I couldn’t help but give his head a little pat as he walked by.

Seeing him calmed my nerves a bit, and I realized that my sniffling had subsided. With both invitations sent out, all that was left for me to do was wait for tomorrow evening and hope for the best.

Once Altair left, I thought the king would send me back to my hotel room immediately, but instead he ended up letting me know his favorite moments from my week as the Bachelorette. It appeared almost as if he’d become a fan of mine, and considering that we were the only ones privy to the events of the week, he seemed eager to discuss everything that had happened.

Surprisingly enough, the king struck me as a bit of a romantic seeing as how his favorite parts of the week were the parts that were etched into my memory as well. 

Being a bit of an instigator though (and to the surprise of no one), he’d loved the part earlier in the evening when my three suitors had come face to face with each other. Outside of the inherent drama that came with the men meeting, he’d also relished the fact that Zyglavis had gone to Leon for help.

The king gabbed to me as if he were one of my close friends, and I tried my best to entertain him without giving away who I’d be asking home. 

“I think I know who you’ll pick, but I can’t be certain...oh! It’s just so exciting.”

“He could still say no...”

“Of course! That’s what makes this so entertaining. You’ve really done well Goldfish.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied.”

“More than satisfied! I haven’t had this kind of fun in years! And I suppose I should thank you properly...”

With a mischievous look, he snapped his fingers transporting both he and I to Storm Bar where I watched as Shun drowned his sorrows with brandy. 

It was clear that Shun could not see me, nor the king and judging by the empty glasses in front of him it was also clear that this was not his first drink of the night. His eyes were bloodshot and droopy, and he’d unbuttoned another of his shirt buttons causing him to look a bit sloppy.

Truthfully, I’d never seen him in such a disheveled state and it hurt my heart to see him like that.

The kind bartender watched on with concern, finally noting that he thought it might be best if the drink before Shun was his last. As the scene played out I turned to the king, horrified that he’d be so cruel as to force me to watch this heartbreaking scene play out before me.

"Please - I don’t want to see this!”

“Hush, hush. I said I would thank you properly.”

“But...”

The king put his hand up, interrupting my pleas, and just then a young woman approached the dejected Shun at the bar.

“Mr. Tachibana?” she asked with trepidation. “Are you ok?”

“Not really,” he mumbled.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He looked at her, and I watched as recognition flashed behind his eyes.

“You work for me, don’t you?”

She nodded, all the while blushing demurely and he invited her to join him, defenses completely down as he slurred his words ever so slightly. 

He shrugged off his upset, claiming it was just a personal matter and that he’d rather she distract him with a story about herself. She thought for a moment, before tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear and looked bashful once more before admitting a secret she’d no doubt held close to her heart.

“I...have admired you for some time,” she admitted. “There was a commercial you did for a camera...it made me want to make advertisements...it’s why I wanted to work at Addison & Rhodes...so I could work with the man I admired most in this world.”

For a moment, Shun looked emotionless but then, almost as if he had been rebooted, turned towards her with a smile that I’d thought he was only capable of showing me.

To be honest, I did feel jealous of her, but I knew that this for the best and I was surprised that the king had shown me this scene for my own benefit, as a kind gesture rather than a malicious one. He’d surprised me considering I thought that his “thanks” was simply orchestrating another moment of entertainment at my expense for him, but as it turned out I’d misread the situation.

When I turned back towards the king, he merely smiled at me and said, “His heart will recover. Do not worry Goldfish. Just focus on finding your own happiness now.”

With the snap of his fingers, I was back alone in my hotel suite and thanks to his highness’ meddling, I didn’t feel quite as terrible as I had before.

I woke up alone for the first time all week, and proceeded to go about my morning routine.

At kendo, Shu and I said nothing about Namba and focused on the lesson. When it was over, I bowed deeply expressing my gratitude should the king keep his promise and send me back home tomorrow.

Shu wished me well (should I choose to return to New York), and I found myself giving him a hug goodbye despite his obvious aversion to being touched so intimately by his boss’ love interest. I thanked for pushing me to figure out what it was that I wanted, and I also let him know that I’d always think of him fondly.

Even though I’d been chasing a way home since the moment I arrived, I found myself feeling incredibly sentimental about this otome world and the people I’d met in it. 

As the ladies at the salon got me ready for my day, I sent my restaurant club a message letting them know that I was planning on going back to New York for some time and that I hoped they’d continue to meet up without me. I also opened FriendFind and decided to make a quick post that let everyone know I was planning on returning to the states and would most likely be out of touch for some time.

The girl doing my makeup kept scolding me, as I heard the well wishes pour in with every vibration of my phone, causing my eyes to tear up. My entire journey had been an emotional one, and even though I was prepared to go home it was sinking in how much I’d miss the people here.

By the time my appointment had wrapped up, and I was on my way to the office, I’d accumulated personal notes from the bidders, the friends I’d made at Conte, and a few members of the MPD. 

I’d just ordered a latte from the barista when a message came in over TalkTime, and my heart stopped upon seeing the name attached to the note.

“Ami - I didn’t realize you’d be going back so soon (Eiki told me). I now understand why you weren’t ready. I’m sorry if I pushed you - I just couldn’t help but fall for you. If you ever return, I hope we can grab a drink at Station as friends.” - Hiroshi

It was then that tears I’d been holding back fell freely, and I sniffled all the way to the office.

My last day at Addison & Rhodes was spent basking in the afterglow of a successful Tweeter takeover. 

In the morning Toshiaki stopped by to give me his personal thanks for executing the takeover perfectly, letting me know that Mira Black had seen a huge bump in sales and with Revance now attached to the brand everyone was confident that this trend would only continue. Having been praised by the evil exec, my coworkers in my area presented me with their own praise, including Toma. When the accolades had subsided, he’d whispered to me that he looked forward to working with me in the future and I simply nodded in response, too melancholy to lie about a collaboration that I knew would never happen.

Only Shunichiro knew about my plan to go back to New York, and other than a quick glimpse of him in the hallway after lunch, the two of us didn’t interact. We’d said our goodbyes the night before, and with the wound still fresh it was simply too hard to pretend with each other.

I saw him getting out of the elevator on the creative floor, as the woman I’d seen yesterday at Storm bar chased after him. I felt the sting of the jealousy I’d felt the previous night but even so, was unable to avert my eyes. 

Even though I had cut him loose I hadn’t let him go, and seeing him with another woman so quickly after being with me hurt more than I wanted to admit.

It struck me that Shun had always said that he liked my independence and the fact that I didn’t allow him to always take the lead, yet he’d clearly returned to his old ways of dating a woman who gazed at him with hearts in her eyes. As much as I judged him for it, I knew that it was safe and I understood wanting safe after what we’d had.

He turned and saw me watching him from down the hall, and our eyes met for a split second where I saw the same pain in them that I’d seen yesterday. I felt my own vision become a bit blurry thanks to the tears that were welling up, yet I forced myself to smile and whispered, “be happy” even though I had no idea if he’d understood what I said.

He gave me a small nod of acknowledgement that was so slight the woman next to him didn’t even notice, and I watched silently as the two disappeared into a meeting room together.

It was then that I returned to my desk and not caring that it was only 3 in the afternoon, packed everything up and left the building without saying a word to anyone.

It was five past eight, meaning that he was either running late, or wasn’t coming at all.

We hadn’t spoken since I saw him last, and I worried that after he’d left he’d become consumed by his thoughts surrounding my other suitors. I was reminded what Shun had said after my date with Namba - how seeing us together had shaken him, and I worried that he might have felt the same about Shun. 

In his mind, even though he’d said his peace he’d also been under the assumption that I was going on a date and potentially spending the night with another man.

What if he felt led on? What if he decided that I wasn’t worth it after all?

Just then, the phone in the suite interrupted my negative thoughts with its piercing tone, and I quickly grabbed the receiver. The front desk let me know that the gentleman I’d mentioned to them had arrived and was heading up to my room. 

I thanked them, and hung up, only to continue to pace around the room like a wild animal trapped in a small enclosure.

When I heard his knock at the door I practically tripped over my gown, before I gathered myself best I could and let him in with a smile.

Just as I had an hour ago with the man I’d broken up with, I led him towards the lounge where I requested that he let me speak first. It was only fair, considering the past few days he’d poured his heart out and I hadn’t so much as offered anything in return. 

As I started to speak, I struggled to look him in the eyes for fear that he’d come here to end things between us - the time apart making him realize that he was unable drop his everything in his life and return with me.

“Crap. I’m so nervous,” I finally said. “I guess this is karma for what I put you through all week, huh?”

He looked at me and nodded nervously, unclear if he was the last man standing or if I was about to end things. I took a deep breath, mustered all of my courage, and tried to speak from the heart as eloquently as I could.

“In looking back, I liked you from the moment we met. This whole week, I’ve been wrestling with my own emotions - trying to think about what was best for everyone and to be honest, it’s been a struggle.”

I could feel the tears coming but I did my best to hold them in. My voice wavered a little, but I pressed forward with my speech.

“I’ve been so afraid of making the wrong choice and ruining someone’s life but I realized something with you - you’re the only one who from the beginning really understood me. With you, there was never anything to hide. I could just be myself and seeing as how that’s all I’ll ever be, if you love me as much as you say you do, then I will consider myself very lucky to be loved by a man like you.”

I watched as his face lit up with recognition, and he looked at me wearing a cautious expression.

“You mean?”

“Yes. I love you too. I want to spend my life with you. Will you return to New York with me?”

Jin looked up and I watched as he wrestled with everything that he was feeling.

He was wearing his usual suit, having come straight to my room from work and ran his fingers through that full head of hair I loved so much. Even though he was sitting across from me, I could still smell traces of tobacco mixed in with that clean detergent smell.

After I’d finished talking, we’d sat there together in silence. I could tell that my speech had left him a bit shell shocked, and after what felt like an eternity he finally spoke.

“I can’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry that I made you go through all this but...”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s alright Little Bird. You should know that you were worth it.”

“You’re amazing too,” I said, and as I continued, the tears I’d been holding in freely streaming down my cheeks. “I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t love you...because I do.”

“You just love him more.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, hanging my head as I watched the tears fall from my cheeks to the floor.

“So this is really goodbye, huh?”

I felt sick to my stomach, but I had to nod as much as I didn’t want to.

Outside of the McDonalds when the cyclist whizzed by, Zyglavis’ face flashed through my mind.

Right before we’d gone to the planetarium, before I’d run away and before I’d distracted myself with Jin and, he’d saved me from being hit when I hadn’t been paying attention. It was in that moment that I realized I saw him wherever I went - every time I ordered a latte or looked up at the night’s sky, he was in my thoughts.

It was him. It was him all along, and I became even more certain of that fact when I’d smelled the cigarette smoke the cyclist had wafted my way.

Jin was a smoker, and if I was going to ask him to give up everything in his life, it would be some time before I could ask him to give up smoking as well. As an asthmatic, in a small studio apartment, choosing him would be a bit problematic but honestly that wasn’t the real reason why I wanted to choose Zyglavis in the end.

I chose him because I loved him more than anyone.

I realized that I loved him if he were a God or not. I loved him if he sucked in bed, or if he forgot how to kiss the second we got back to New York. I loved him for being this weird mishmash of stoic and sweet, and I realized that he was the only man I could picture by my side for the rest of my life.

If all that wasn’t enough of a reason to pick him, he also happened to be the only man who had offered to return possessing a full understanding of my circumstances.

Jin wiped the tears that fell and joked that should I change my mind, he’d be beside me no questions asked.

“I don’t deserve that,” I said to which he’d kissed me.

It was a soft, sad kiss that was void of the usual passion we shared and when he pulled away he winked and noted, “Yes you do. You deserve everything you want in this lifetime. I’ll miss you.”

Unable to respond for fear of reopening the floodgates I found myself frozen as I watched his silhouette walk towards the door, as he let it close behind him.

He didn’t look back.

“Zyglavis,” I said, worried as to why he wasn’t saying anything. “I love you. Just you. Please tell me you’ll come back with me.”

“Ami Mizuno, I…since I last saw you I spoke with the king. He told me everything - that he’s been watching this play out since the beginning. To be honest, I don’t care to know how much he’s watched, or the amount he’s seen but I know what the stakes are. I came here ready to hear what you were going to say and to be honest, I was worried.”

“Worried? About what?”

“Everything. Being rejected. Being picked. That king of mine has an uncanny ability to meddle as I’m sure you know.”

“I…”

“Please, let me finish. I have thought about the logic insofar as what is best for the both of us, and I’ve come to the conclusion that love laughs in the face of logic. I am better off saying goodbye to you logically, however...I love you. I meant what I said yesterday, and I am...relieved to say the least.”

For the first time in days, I cried tears of joy. 

Zyglavis smiled kindly at me after having delivered such a heartfelt, yet simultaneously logical speech. It was exactly that kind of contradiction that made me love him as much as I did, and I found myself in his arms as I buried my crying face in his chest, relishing in the fact that he was mine from this day forth.

I sniffled slightly as I pulled away from him, gazing up at his handsome face and addressed him, “That speech of yours was perfect...except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“My real name’s not Ami Mizuno. It’s Naomi Lee.”

“Well. I stand corrected. Naomi Lee...I love you.”

My tears of joy, gave way to laughter and smiles, and then sweet kisses followed by passionate ones.

We found ourselves in bed, free from the all the pressures that loomed over us both the last time we’d made love and I relished the fact that my mind, free from its usual chatter, had given itself over to the experience of being with the man I loved. 

It felt like a do-over of our first night together in the best way possible, and I was happy to see that Leon’s lessons in love made our night a pleasurable one.

I stirred the next morning and looked over to see the man I loved beside me. He’d been gently stroking my hair as I slept, and upon opening my eyes retracted his hand, concerned that he’d woken me.

I cuddled up next to him, and inhaled his perfectly clean scent (with just the slightest hint of lavender), as I felt confident that I’d made the right choice.

He was just about to say something when a bright light flooded our hotel room, and we found ourselves properly dressed and in front of the king. 

As always, the king looked at the two of us with his usual, omnipotent smile, and clapped his hands as he praised how moving the finale had been. 

It was just the three of us, as we chatted briefly in his chambers before he announced that there was no need to drag things out any further. From there, he escorted us to a door in the heavens which he assured would lead me home to where I belonged.

When I asked about Huedhaut, and the park in which I was found he merely waved his hand uninterested and let me know that this would do just fine.

“You’ve had your fun in this world Naomi. Now it’s time for you to go.”

I looked at Zyglavis and reached for his hand to which the king smirked and shook his head.

“Silly me I forgot - say your goodbyes. This is the end.”

“Excuse me? But you said…”

“Did you actually believe I’d allow a Goldfish to take him away from me? Do you realize how important he is to this world? To the heavens?”

“But…”

“No. You both had your fun as did I. And now everything goes back to normal.”

I turned towards Zyglavis, and in seeing the genuine surprise on his face realized that we had both fallen prey to the trickster king.

To be continued...in Part 49!

http://emilyplaysotome.tumblr.com/post/161238498622/part-49-theres-no-place-like-home

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Thanks for reading and stay tuned...last chapter will be up on Wednesday!

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[defendersofspaceandtime]

Can you write an Eros and Psyche story with Lance please?

YESI hope you enjoy!

PART I

—————————–

  Roses, daffodils, daisies of seemingly every color had found their way into your bed chamber, lining up your desk, your walls, all in bloom, all from suitors. Love letters sat stacked on top each other, piling up which way and where leaving you positively baffled, unable to hear your sister that spoke from behind. You were in complete awe as to what you had returned to, completely ignoring the other character in the room,

“Psyche? Are you listening?”

  You turned, your shock draining away your face; you straightened yourself, “Sister,” you greeted, attempting to match the much stronger face with your own- it wasn’t working, “I was…I was just in the garden, how did all of this…?” 

  Your eldest sister rolled her eyes, clearly about to answer your question with what she was just saying previous,

 “The maids brought it up of course- they’re all from your adoring crowd, as I’m sure you’re aware,” 

“All from the adoring crowd,” You spoke with a sigh, annoyance filled your tone, “and not a single one of them care to know me from my own name,” Your sister merely looked at you incredulously,

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing! Look around you, Psyche, you have more men and women searching you for a partner than Aphrodite herself! Surely you must-” 

  You grew tense at the goddess’ name, your hand raised in fright to silence her words,

“Don’t speak such things, sister! You know of the gods’ wrath, do you not? Do you wish me to fall ill? Or turn into some, some vile worm that lives alone in the dirt?” 

  She quieted, though not entirely intimidated by your commandment. Instead, she merely tries to deliver her message, 

“Psyche…father and mother are distressed by the fact that you have not found a suitor-”

“Damn what they say!” You cry out, anger and anguish forming lumps in your throat, “All these flowers…all these flowers but no one would care to love me!” 

  You ran to the stack of letters, ripping one open from the stack, “Messages of my fortune, of my immeasurable beauty, but what…what fortune is this?”

  Tears welled up in your eyes, the hole in your heart seemed to grow bigger, loneliness and anxiety taking in every beat, 

“What fortune do I own? A mirror? My reflection…?” You ran your hand over your face, “…my reflection is not permanent. I will wither, grow old like the beggars on the street, the breadmaker’s wife…and die- I will go to the same place as everyone else before me, and after!”

  You dropped the letter that was in your hands, watching as the papyrus flutter to the floor, tears now clouded your sight, you choked,

“How long has it been since you and your husband married?”

  Your confused sister, with a pale face and a voice barely above a whisper, responded, 

“Two years, Psyche,” 

“And our sister married just this past year, correct?” 

“…Yes.” 

  You wanted to stop the ideas before they even started, in your sister’s mind. This seemingly fruitless prospect of being able to find love and marry for it- something of which not many could afford to do- was something that had clouded your mind and eyes. You were never going to find it, 

“There is no love for me,” You say softly, assuredly, slowly seeping onto the floor, tears no profusely gliding down your cheeks, dissolving into nothing more, than melancholy. 

—————-

“…For how can anyone love a flower too beautiful to pick? Such wonders are often left alone by those humans, hm?” Aphrodite taunted enviously, her shining hair wrapped around her finger as she twirled it; looking down from the heavens, the goddess of love and beauty watched with an almost maniacal manner, you falling to the ground morosely, amidst hundreds of letters and flowers that should be reserved for her,

“I mean, look at the wretch!” She called out to the air nymphs that zipped passed the goddess, “Taking all of my offerings, leaving my temples to rot in filth! How dare they! I give them love, and they give me rats!”

“Yes, it is quite the disparity to watch, mother,” a voice spoke from behind, “but perhaps screeching at the nymphs about the mortal isn’t such a good thing, either,”

  The angered goddess met her son’s gaze, Eros, and her eyes only widened, 

“I do as I please, you fool- have you no realization as to what this means? I could fade- fade! All because of some miserable cur, Psyche!” 

“A mortal? Stealing away all of your offerings?” Eros thought aloud, more stunned than anything else at this news, “What trade must that mortal have made with Hades to gain such wits?” 

“None!” The goddess had answered spat, “She sits there thinking, weeping for a love that she believes won’t come to her! Pah! Pathetic!” 

  And of course, that’s when she gained the idea. 

  Because even though the gods were far above our own capabilities as mortals, they’re the very same in the aspect of jealousy, of envy.

  A scheming grin on Aphrodite’s lips, she looked towards the bow that Eros carried upon his back-

“…And I can assure it.”

—————————————————

“Prayers may do some good, yes?” Your mother says quietly, her hands stroking your father’s own, her face shown concern, her voice with comfort,

“We’ve tried so many times, dear- what have we done to anger the gods? Have we not been good, compassionate people?” 

“We have dear, we have,” Your mother continues, you watched on silently, hands folded perfectly still as you stood straight. Your parents were deliberating the shortcomings of you not being able to find a partner; though they loved you very much, and wished nothing more for you to marry for love like they did…

“The Temple of Apollo? In the morning?” Your father spoke softly, his suggestion seemed to bring him only age, “Perhaps the good lord of the sun would bring us a blessing- a sight!”

  You mulled over the idea- though often times you’d prayed to the god at night, before bed, perhaps an offering and tribute may appease him. It was seemingly your only hope,

“I’ll fetch for your sisters- send the messengers out. They should be back by dawn if the word makes it,” Your mother says gracefully, calmly. She looked at you with wide eyes, a big smile on her lips, 

“Things will change for you yet, Psyche, have faith.” 

—————————————————-

  Eros never liked it when his mother was upset. 

  For a goddess of love and beauty, it was often times very hard to find any of those things in herself, her soul. Like starting a years-waged, long war with the Trojans over a girl…

  It seemed to Eros that the only love Aphrodite had for anyone, was merely herself. 

  Don’t have him mistaken, he’s had his fair share of fooling around, of playing with mortals when they least expect it, but what he was, the embodiment of desires, sexuality…those feelings are superficial. Gone within an instant, unreal. 

  Empty was a particularly good word to describe what Eros was feeling at the moment, as he gracefully retracted the bow from his back, an arrow the following suit. 

“A disgustingly, hideous beast,” Aphrodite had told him, “A serpent with wings! Cruel and unusual…” 

  There was a pang of sympathy for the mortal his mother was jealous of- what else could the mortal be, besides themselves?

  Perhaps, Eros thought to himself quietly, he should take note of the other gods and goddesses, and not give a single damn. 

———————————————————

  Apollo held sympathy for mortals. 

  Whether it was to deliver news that a son may not return home from war, or a daughter may never be able to walk again, for her bones were far too crushed to walk the solid ground, or that no matter how hard a mother tries, she will not get her little boy back.

  He was the sun, he was the future, he was music, he was muse.

  As proud as the god was, he could only look on at the humans’ morality, mortality, and watch on as they carried hope. As they carried faith. 

  He knew no such things as these, but by Zeus himself, he knew sympathy. 

  So when your father had walked into his temple hopeful, carrying offerings of herbs and arrows made from feathers of a rare bird, he knew that today was not going to be a good one. 

——————————————————-

  Your father’s eyes were full of only anguish, and sorrow.

  You stood there, your posture straight and tall, a single tear falling from your eyes. Your mother took your hand, 

“’And?” 

“Psyche…” Your father’s voice broke, “…is to go to the summit. Dressed in black. A serpent s-shall b-be…”

  It was your eldest sister that broke first, filling her body onto yours, she wept loudly into your shoulder, your other sister merely gazed out the ground in shock, and your mother closed her eyes in horror, 

“…their partner.” 

——————————————————–

  It was a good a time as any to take the shot. 

  Though his eyes still not had lain upon you, the air was perfect, the sky was clear, all conditions ripe as he found himself closing in on your location by flight.

  He saw what he thought to be your father, first, pulling back the string, 

  3…

  And then your sisters, sobbing, 

  2…

  His eyes had fallen upon your mother- what a beautiful queen she was, 

  1…

  But then he saw you. 

  And the words…all the things that his mother had mentioned, all of the stuff the nymphs had said…

  You were…beautiful. And damn he for not having a better tongue, but words could not describe how you were. He could not compare you to Aphrodite or a flower, because to Eros, that would be unfair. The sun that Apollo charioted across the sky, and Artemis the moon, had both paled in comparison.

  The queen of the underworld would not dare have your glory, for even the most beautiful of creatures could no gaze upon you. Father Sky and Mother Earth were so little to your beauty, both inside and out. 

  It was then that Eros had fallen for you, and it was there that he had decided to not release the arrow but to have you instead,

“Have…faith, Psyche,” he had whispered to himself softly, his heart felt as if it were beating for the first time,

 “I will help you yet.”

TO BE CONTINUED