#fawn f

[but-theylovehim]

"you're somethin' special, you know that, fawn?" he smiled back (not that she could see it). a little kindness goes a long way... she really believed it too which made him smile more.

he paused at her question, subtly (at least he thought so) trying to squeeze his shoulders back out from where they were. he eyed the pipe under the sink-- who knew this was his greatest enemy all along? damn it. travis let out a sigh, setting the wrench in his hands down in what little space there was under there.

"i'm not gonna lie to you fawn... i am very much stuck under here."

"nothing wrong with being a softie" she smiled down at him "the world's harsh enough, a little kindness goes a long way"

while she waited on travis emerging from the bowels of the sink, fawn went about pouring a drink for herself and him, it was the least she could do for him after he had been fixing the sink. "lucky me" she had always found travis to be charming, he always knew what to say. that paired with his good looks was both a winning and dangerous combination. fawn raised an eyebrow at his sudden change of heart "travis? ar-are you stuck under there?"

[fawniswriting]

Fire and Blood

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

This is Chapter 01 of the Faithfully Yours series.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Summary: As the princess of your kingdom, marriage has always been a mere duty to fulfill. You’re well aware of your impending matrimony to the King of Asgard, so why does the rumor of Sir James Barnes’ betrothal trouble you so?

Word Count: 5000-ish

Warning(s): historical royal AU. forbidden love (princess x knight/royal guard). slowburn. mention of arranged marriage. jealousy. panic attack. depictions of battle, explosion, and violence. angst

Hi everyone, my name is Fawn! This is the first chapter of a royal!AU series I'm writing. I used to loveee royal!AU and haven't read any in a while, so I decided to write one myself. I'm planning to update the series at least once a week, but since I just landed a new job (yay!), we will see if the schedule would work on my end. Don't forget to comment, like, and reblog if you like this story!

The barren stonewalls flutter against the unusually loud chatters inside the castle hallways. Murmurs of the long-awaited spring festival and the seasonal price of crops fill the air, although above them, talks of the impending royal wedding have seemingly taken precedence. You play impervious to their eagerness as you walk down the corridors with your maids-in-waiting by your sides, giving the people an agreeable nod while acting oblivious to the subtle sly smiles thrown in your wake.

“It seems that my upcoming wedding has truly become the talk of the town,” you remark.

“Can you blame them, Your Highness? Our beloved princess is soon to be the Queen of Asgard. It’s set to be our country’s strongest alliance in history! The people ought to celebrate,” Yelena responds.

“Moreover,” Natasha adds, “everyone is excited to finally see the King of Asgard himself in the flesh. His Majesty’s reputation surely precedes him.”

“Speaking of His Majesty,” Yelena hums cheerily, “will Your Highness truly not tell us anything about him at all?”

“I told you, Yelena. You will have plenty of time to get to know His Majesty once he arrives for the wedding.”

“But that is not for at least another month!”

You fix a sharp glare at Yelena’s direction, silencing the woman while earning a soft laughter from Natasha.

“If His Majesty takes even longer than that, we could very well have another wedding here before his arrival,” says Natasha.

The corner of your mouth tilts. “Do you already have a prospective groom in mind, Natasha?”

“I was not talking about me, Your Highness.” Rounding up a corner, you are met with a group of workers carrying ancient artworks and sculptures. They bow in respect at the sight of you, and you give them a dismissive wave to send them all on their way. “I was talking about Sir Barnes.”

At the mention of that one specific name, your steps falter.

In the tiniest bit of seconds your composure is lost, the train of your dress has somehow caught between the stone floors and the sole of your shoes. Yelena grabs hold of you before your face could plummet against the ground, helping you back to your still unsteady feet. When your head lifts, both Natasha and Yelena are appraising you in an equal mixture of confusion and worry.

“What happened, Princess?” Natasha asks.

“Forgive me. I was a little distracted, I reckon.” You brush the dust off your dress and continue on your way. “What was it about Sir Barnes you were saying, Natasha?”

Natasha eyes you in a slight skepticism but proceeds to answer, “Sir  Smith was looking for him. Have you not noticed his absence today?”

You refrain from replying. You cannot possibly admit in front of your whole entourage that not only did you notice Sir James Barnes' absence, your head has also been preoccupied with the thoughts of his whereabouts ever since you left your chamber this morning. His presence as your royal guard is hard to miss, for you have grown accustomed to having his face being one of the first you see at the start of your day. It's a constant you greatly cherish.

“What did Sir Smith want with him?” you inquire, unable to quell your soaring curiosity.

Natasha's voice drops to a whisper, “The housekeepers claim that Sir Smith is looking for a potential match for his youngest daughter!”

Yelena gasps. “Miss Dolores?”

Your skin prickles. You know the young Miss Dolores. Or at least, you know of her. Although she is not a member of the court, her father's position within the royal guard, along with her elder sister's recent nuptials with a renowned baron, have resulted in an exceptional boost to her prestige. She is young and beautiful, with an impeccable reputation to go with it. The perfect woman of every man's dream.

“I must say, they do make quite a good pair together, do they not?” Yelena notes.

You try to fight off the sinking feeling in your stomach, alongside the image of Sir James Barnes—valiant and tall—next to a dainty Dolores Smith. Yelena's observation is correct: the two do make quite a good pair. It's a knowledge that leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Soon, the gloomy castle walls give way to a blue sky and a tapestry of half-finished grandeur. In the heart of the castle garden, stone fountains stand dry, awaiting water from nearby springs. Marble statues, veiled in white sheets to protect them from the weather, loom like silent ghosts among freshly turned soil. The air smells of damp earth and fragrant flowers, all evidence of the lavish restoration set to complete just in time for the King of Asgard’s arrival in your kingdom.

You step gingerly over a pile of bricks, spotting your older brother, the Crown Prince, leaning against a wheelbarrow as though he were a commoner. His own entourage stands not too far behind. 

“Tell me, Brother,” you begin, “is this your grand contribution to Mother’s vision? Supervising that pile of gravel?”

The Crown Prince straightens with faux offense. “Supervising is an art, Dear Sister. Someone has to ensure the gravel does not rebel and pose a threat to the kingdom.”

You laugh heartily, bumping his shoulder with yours as you claim a place next to him. “You are doing a fine job, truly. That gravel has not moved an inch.”

“Your mockery wounds me.” 

The two of you stand in silence as you watch the bustling scene before your eyes. Gardeners and laborers alike scamper to set up flower beds and plant various shades of gardenias, roses, and hyacinths. The garden is a long way from what your mother, the Queen, has surely envisioned, but you know without a doubt that by the time the Asgardian royal court arrives at the castle, this garden would rival even the legendary courtyards of far-off kingdoms.

A moment passes before the Crown Prince speaks, “I heard chatter from the servant quarters. Is it true? About Sir Barnes and Sir Smith’s daughter?”

“Words do travel fast in this place,” you ponder. “And yet, I always seem to be the last one to come upon them.”

“I am afraid that is entirely on you, Sister. If only you would accept my invitation to visit the kitchen every once in a while.”

“And watch you make eyes with every young scullery maid on the staff? I would rather surrender my soul to the Gods.”

“I shall let you know, they are wonderful companies, perhaps even better than the Gods.” You chastise your brother with a roll of your eyes. “But earnestly, how are you feeling?”

“About what?”

“Sir Barnes. The engagement rumors.”

Your chest burns. “I fail to understand what the correlation between the rumors and my feelings is, Brother.”

“You know very well what the correlation is!” your brother exclaims incredulously. “You may be able to fool everyone else, Sister, but you cannot fool me. I was there. I have watched you and Sir Barnes since we were all children. Back when he was still Jamie to you, and you were—”

“Stop.” The edge of your voice shatters like ceramics on stones. It takes every part of your being to stop your hands from trembling, to keep your limbs upright when all your body desires is to crumble into pieces above the damp soil under your feet. “What are you doing?”

“Sister—”

“I am to be married in a month, Brother. The King of Asgard himself is preparing to journey to our kingdom as we speak. You know what this matrimony means for us, for the future of our people. I have a responsibility to ensure this union, or have you forgotten?”

The line on your brother's jaw tenses. He casts his eyes on a faraway speckle beyond the clouds. “You chastise me of responsibilities, Sister, when I know all too well about it. It is my whole life. Our whole lives. I am not asking you to escape your duties. We are not the sort of people who possess such luxury. I am merely asking you to be honest with yourself, to listen to your heart for once.” The Crown Prince turns to you and takes a deep breath. “You have the rest of your life to be the Queen of Asgard. You do not have to live it full of regrets.”

Your brother gives a comforting squeeze around your shoulder before leaving the castle garden with his entourage. In his absence, his words echo louder in your head, forcing you to ponder whether his advice actually holds any avail.

Lady Brunhilde moves leisurely throughout the library, perusing the towering shelves filled with rare books and ancient scriptures. You sit at the head of the long table in the center of the room, pen in hand, working through the list of questions on Asgardian political affairs that she has prepared. Across the way, she plucks a tome from the Astronomy section, idly flipping through the pages before settling against one of the window nooks, where the sunlight catches the metal plates of her armor, sending fleeting glimmers all across the room.

You were first introduced to Lady Brunhilde two winters past, several weeks after the wedding date was ordained. She is an apprentice of the Valkyrie—Asgard’s elite order of warrior-maidens—stationed in your kingdom alongside her instructor at the residence of the Asgardian ambassador. It was King Thor himself—your betrothed—who appointed her four months ago to school you in the knowledge of Asgardian laws and politics. Before Lady Brunhilde, a governess was sent to teach the subject of Asgardian science and health, while the previous one was responsible for handling the subject of Asgardian history, culture, and arts.

Moments pass, and you find yourself staring out of the window as Lady Brunhilde examines your work. From this vantage in the library, you have an unobstructed view of the field just outside the castle walls. The distance has rendered people into the size of grains, but you can still make out the shapes of children playing and running on the grass, their laughter lost to the wind. The sight tugs at both your lips and your heartstrings.

“Twenty for twenty,” Lady Brunhilde announces at last, closing your work parchment with a satisfied nod. “Not too bad, Your Highness. At this rate, we may well have our final lesson by week’s end.”

“You speak nonsense, Lady Brunhilde.” You shake your head, though the teasing lilt in your voice stammers. “I still need you here, at least until His Majesty himself sets foot in our humble kingdom.”

“Not too long from now, then.”

You bite your bottom lip and look away, refocusing on the children playing a ball game on the distant field. The reminder that your wedding is fast approaching has your heart galloping faster than your beloved horse, Sparrow. You pray to the Gods in heaven that Lady Brunhilde does not notice your unease.

“I shall take my leave, then,” Lady Brunhilde declares. “I will see you tomorrow, Your Highness.”

“Thank you for today, Lady Brunhilde.”

The guards at the entrance push open the heavy doors, allowing Lady Brunhilde to pass through. One of them follows to escort her out of the castle, leaving you alone with the remaining knight. You recognize the young man beneath the armor—Peter Parker is his name. Knighted only last month, he spent years as a squire under Sir Anthony Stark, a general within your father’s army. 

“You.” Arising from your seat, you surround the long table to approach the young knight. “Sir Parker, is it?”

“It is, Your Highness.”

“Relay a message to everyone—I will not be dining with my family tonight. I shall remain here, in the library, and I am not to be disturbed,” you proclaim. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The doors close softly behind him, and at last, you breathe a sigh of relief. Your shoulders are ten pounds lighter, and the hush that settles over the library is a balm to the searing pain in your temples. Moments of solitude are very few and far between in your world, and the rare times they do come, you make sure to use it to your full advantage.

Accompanied by one book after another, you let time slip away until the sky outside dims into a dark abyss cluttered with stars. Your nose remains buried in a tale of forbidden love—of a sailor entranced by a mythical siren—when a sudden knock shatters the silence in the room. Before you can instruct them to come in, the doors swing open, revealing the tall, handsome figure that has been clouding your mind for the better part of the day.

“Your Highness.” Sir Barnes inclines his head in greeting.

It has been no more than a day since you last saw him, and yet, the sight of James Barnes right in front of your eyes—so near yet so unreachable—arouses something in the depth of your chest. Your heart calls out to him. Your fingers, as if possessed by their own will, ache to trace the lines of his face, the freckles scattered like constellations across his skin. In a perfect world, you would have taken him straight into your arms the moment he stepped into the library. In a perfect world, you would tell him that you missed him, that you are glad he has returned to your side.

Unfortunately, this is not one of those perfect worlds.

“I have not seen you today,” you murmur.

“I had personal matters to attend to, Your Highness. My sincerest apologies.”

The book in your lap closes with a dull thud. You set it atop the towering pile on the table, rising to your feet to snuff out the candles you lit up earlier. 

“Is it true, then? About you and Sir Smith’s daughter?” Without the candles’ flame, half of the room is now encompassed in darkness. You angle your face towards the moon outside, chasing for its light. “Are you going to marry her?”

A silence stretches between the two of you, ponderous and unyielding. You brace yourself as you turn back, staring at the statuesque man whose face is now swallowed by the darkness. There is no way of discerning what emotions he is wearing on his countenance—what he is thinking. Then again, James Barnes is not exactly a man who wears his heart proudly out of his sleeves.

“Princess—” his voice is thick, heavy, “—I have come to escort you to the dining room.”

“I informed Sir Parker that I would not be dining tonight.”

“Your family is expecting you.”

A humorless laugh escapes your chest. With every echo of your step, you erase the distance between you and Sir Barnes, close enough until you can make out his sculpted jawline despite the darkness. “I shall be retiring to my chambers. Do not follow me. That is an order.”

The castle hallways fly in a blur as you rush out of the library. The spring wind flickers against your skin, guiding you through the maze of corridors that forge your home. You take the grand staircase in a careless sprint, each step barely landing beneath you, until at last, your foot misses one altogether.

You have fallen down these stairs once before, when you were but fifteen. The injury kept you in bed for half of summer. It was easily the longest, most agonizing several weeks you ever spent in your entire life.

As your body tenses, you prepare yourself to suffer the same fate once more—only to find the impact never comes. Instead, your feet remain planted on solid ground, your hands hanging onto something sturdy, clutching for dear life. Your breath catches as your eyes lock with another pair in blue, dark in the center but light as the ocean as they expand. Sir Barnes is gazing at you in fervent, his arms tightly secured around your waist, studying your face in an unreadable intensity that sets your pulse ablaze.

You wrench yourself from Sir Barnes’ embrace with a firm shove towards his chest. “What do you think you are doing?” He stumbles back two paces, drawing that maddening distance between the two of you once more. “I ordered you not to follow me.”

“Apologies, Your Highness, but I cannot do that,” he mutters, eyes fixed upon the ground. “My duty is to ensure your safety. In order to do that, I must remain by your side. Always.”

A scathing scoff escapes your lips, cutting through the stillness of the night. "Duty? Is that what you call it?” 

Sir Barnes stiffens, but you press forward, unwilling to let him slip away behind his armor of stoicism. "You speak of duty as if it binds you to me, as if it dictates your every move. And yet, you were gone for the better part of the day. Absent. Unaccounted for." He remains silent, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps I should ask again. Were you truly occupied with personal matters, or were you simply tending to more pressing obligations? Such as, say, securing a future with Sir Smith’s daughter?"

You regret the accusation the moment it flees your lips. It tastes sharp and acrid, laced with something bitter and dangerous. Fingers curl into your palms, sharp nails branding crescent moons into your skin. You struggle to understand this anger—where it stemmed from, why it was there in the first place. It froths inside you at the sight of James Barnes, at the image of him together with the young and beautiful Dolores Smith.

The weight of Sir Barnes’ stare anchors you in place, his silence louder than any retort he could have given. The tension between you thickens, stretching taut like a bowstring on the verge of snapping.

And yet, he does not snap.

Instead, after a long, unbearable pause, he exhales. "What would you have me do? Tell me, Your Highness. How can I make amends?" His gaze never wavers, piercing through the darkness and the venomous red consuming your thoughts. "Tell me what I must do, so that you might find it within yourself to forgive me."

Your breath stutters, but before you can summon a reply, he adds, "I will do anything, Your Highness. Anything, save for leaving you. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever."

He takes a step closer. Not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel the gravity of his presence, to sense the warmth radiating from him despite the chill of the evening. “I swore an oath to protect you. Not only to the King and to the kingdom, but also to myself,” he utters, soft and careful, as if reciting a sacred vow. “I will always keep you safe, even if it means standing where I am not wanted.”

The silence that follows is nearly suffocating. But underneath the thickness, it conveys a great deal of unspoken admissions. Things you do not dare name, things that sparkle in the profound blue of his eyes. His oath lingers in the air, tethering you to a truth that you never asked to bear. And despite the frustration and the confusion, you feel the formidable wall around your heart beginning to wane, its sharp edges softening.

Your lips part, the beginnings of a response forming. “James—”

A crash. A resounding, erupting boom.

Somewhere in the distance, people are screaming.

You blink.

The distant shouting is increasing in magnitude, although their cries have mangled with the shrieks of something eerily similar to metals being torn apart. It doesn't register immediately. It’s too far and too foreign. Something that does not belong here, in the safe haven you call home.

Then, the walls tremble.

Your stomach plunges as a low, daunting vibration rattles through the stone beneath your feet. Chandeliers sway above your head. A tremor jolts through the castle’s bones following a faraway explosion, deafening and shuddering, as real as if it has originated inside your own bloodstreams.

The realization hits you like a lightning strike. 

This is not some misheard noise or some late-night disturbance that will be dealt with by the guards. This is real.

The castle is under attack.

Before you can form a single word on the tip of your tongue, Sir Barnes is already moving. His expression has darkened, his stance shifting instantly into something solid and unrelenting. He grabs your wrist, not harshly, but with unshakable purpose.

"Stay close,” he adjures.

You do not resist, not because you understand, but because your body is moving without your mind’s consent. You stumble after him as he navigates the halls with urgent precision. Shouts ring from left and right, north and south, somewhere beyond and inside the corridors. Footsteps, too many of them, thunder against the ground. The pungent scent of smoke slithers into the air, creeping into your lungs like a deadly poison eager to take claim of your life.

Your mind struggles to catch up.

This is home. These halls, these walls—they were the silent witnesses of your journey since birth. You know every crevice, every nook and cranny, every secret alcove where you once hid from your governess as a child. This place has always been a sanctuary, a fortress untouchable by the outside world.

And yet, there is fire.

Yet, there are screams.

Yet, your feet are racing over the stone floor, the thumping of your heart loud and erratic as your body shrivels under the clutches of fear.

A gasp tears from your throat, and suddenly, the simple act of breathing has become a chore. The walls are closing in. The corridors are too long. The air reeks of fumes and the rotting smell of death. A phantom shackle wreaths itself around your ankles, locking your body and halting your steps. Sir Barnes notices your lack of movement and stops, so abruptly that you nearly collide into him.

"Breathe," he orders, his voice as stern as it is calm. "We do not have time for this. Look at me."

You try to follow his command, but the world around you is tilting and morphing into something entirely incomprehensible. You claw at the curve of your neck, yanking at the invisible garrote that seems to have expelled the air straight out of your lungs. The voice inside your head is screaming, crying out for help, begging to be let out of this heinous nightmare.

Before your legs can give out, you finally feel it—warmth.

Sir Barnes’ hands are pressed against each side of your face. They offer solace to your icy cold skin, sturdy and rough from years of labor and exertion.

"Listen to me," he says, pinning you in place with the resolute look in his eyes. "You are safe. I am right here, and I will not let anything happen to you. But you need to breathe, and you need to move. Do you understand?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, silently giving him a meek nod.

"Good. Now follow me. In," he instructs, taking a long breath before exhaling, "and out."

You force yourself to comply. In and out. Breathe in, and then breathe out. It’s not perfect, not nearly enough to settle the storm raging inside you, but it’s enough to finally make you move. 

Sir Barnes does not waste another second. He guides you towards a particular section on the wall where he presses a specific stone before twisting one of the wall lanterns to an angle, triggering the hidden mechanism. The wall splits with a groan, revealing a narrow passageway devoured in a total state of darkness.

"Inside," he commands.

The secret passageway smells of dust and humidity. Something brushes your arm as you enter, possibly a cobweb or a bug, but you are too distracted by the ringing in your skull to care. It is quieter here once Sir Barnes seals the entrance, even if the rumble persists throughout the walls and the ground. With his sword drawn at his side, he leads you deeper into the hidden passage, traversing the path with only the help of the small lantern in his hand. 

Eternity seemingly passes before the exit finally appears. Sir Barnes pushes the concealed door ajar using his shoulder, just enough for you to slip through. You hurriedly sprint past him to chase the outside air, only to regret it soon enough when the horrific scene that greets you promptly stops you dead in your tracks.

Flames lick at the edges of the courtyard, lighting up against the night sky in streaks of gold and red. Soldiers clash, the clang of metal against metal as their swords strike one another. Shadows weave between the chaos—some friend, some foe, all indistinguishable amidst the madness.

"We have to keep moving,” Sir Barnes avers. His strong fingers around your wrist are the only thing keeping you from slipping into another bout of panic.

The two of you glide along the edge of the battle, tethering yourself to the shadows where every inch of movement is shrouded by the night. A few paces ahead, you see the stable looming through the thick haze. You dart inside without thinking, every part of your body trembling as you gravely reach for support around a wooden beam. Behind you, Sir Barnes is locking the entrance, keeping the stench of blood and combat safely out of the perimeter.

“Sister?”

The familiar sound of your name echoes throughout the vicinity. You whip your head, seeing your brother emerge from the dark corner of the stable with Sir Steve Rogers, his royal guard, standing by his side. 

“Brother,” you croak out.

The Crown Prince wastes no time to pull you into his embrace. He scans your entire body once he withdraws, shoulders deflating in relief when he ensures that every part of you is unharmed.

“We don’t have much time,” Sir Roger interjects. “The northern gate is compromised. We need to take the southern course through the woods.”

“The woods?” you repeat. Immediately, worry gnaws at you. The woods are not for the faint of heart, with its treacherous terrain full of thick undergrowth and uneven paths. There is a reason why they have become the setting of many spooky fables in your kingdom.

“It is our only option,” your brother affirms. “The main roads will be crawling with enemies. We will not stand a chance.”

As you nod, Sir Barnes works quickly. He leads Sparrow and his own horse out of their stalls, tightening the saddles and securing the reins on each of them. “We ride fast and keep to the shadows,” he proclaims, grazing his fingertips with yours as he hands you the reins.

“Wait.” You stop in your tracks and turn to your brother. “Mother and Father?”

Your brother stills. 

The stable is eerily quiet save for the distant screams beyond the castle walls. You watch your brother’s throat bob as he swallows hard, his grip tightening around his sword.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice thick with restraint. “We were separated in the Great Hall. I tried to go back, but the enemy was closing in. I don't even know if they—”

He stops himself.

The ground beneath you sways as a rush of horror and disbelief surges through you. As much as you want to bury yourself hiding from it, you know that you cannot afford to do so right now. Instead, you take a deep breath, mount your horse, and turn to your brother, “We will find them. I will look for them myself.”

The Crown Prince nods, placing his reassuring hand on top of yours. “We will find them,” he repeats, squeezing your hand with determination. “But first, you must get yourself to safety.”

Moments later, you find yourself riding into the night, plunging into the depth and darkness of the forest. The sounds of battle keep fading behind as the surrounding trees extend higher, their skeletal branches scratching at the sky. The four of you ride in silence, every passing hoofbeat a reminder of the urgency pressing against your ribs. Sir Barnes leads, your brother close behind, with Sir Rogers taking up the rear.

Just as you are about to let out a relieved breath, something suddenly catches your attention.

A snap.

The sound of a branch breaking underneath deliberate footsteps.

Sir Barnes pulls his horse to a sudden halt. Your pulse hammers uncontrollably in your throat as you follow behind, trying to listen for something beneath the eerie stretch of silence that surrounds the group.

Right in front of you, the Crown Prince curses under his breath. “We’re being followed.”

Sir Rogers draws his sword. “What do you want us to do, Your Highness?”

Your brother stops to think. When he finally makes a decision, it’s one that makes your heart drop in horror. “I will stay behind,” he declares. “Sir Rogers and I will hold them off.”

“What?” You twist in your saddle to face him. “No! Absolutely not!”

“Listen to me,” he instructs, reaching for your hand. “If they catch us now, none of us will make it out alive. But if we split up, you will have a chance.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You must.” He squeezes your hand, and for the first time since this night began, his expression softens around a rueful smile. “I’ll come find you, Sister. I promise.”

“Please—”

Your voice is lost around a stifled sob, but your brother is already releasing his grip around your hand, not giving you a chance to protest, to persuade him to rethink his decision. You watch helplessly as he angles his horse towards the direction of the castle, his sword drawn and ready at his side. 

Before he rides off, he casts one final look at Sir Barnes. “Take care of her,” your brother commands.

“With my life,” Sir Barnes avows.

The next thing you know, you are being spurred forward, further away from your brother and the battle that will decide his fate. All you can do is look back, watching as his figure grows smaller in the darkness, until the thick cover of the forest finally swallows him whole.

[delicatebaby777]

[coco-cinnamon]

FIRST TIME WITH YOU

౨ৎ Warnings: cursing, smut, virginity, oral sex, mentions of sex, some fluff, 18+ MDNI.

౨ৎ Pairings: Steve Harrington x Fawn!Reader.

౨ৎ Summary: In which Steve and Y/N have their first time together.

౨ৎ Author's Note: I'd just like to put out there that, the first part of this fic shows that Y/N feels kinda shameful about being a virgin but seriously.. there is nothing to feel ashamed or embarrassed about when it comes to being inexperienced. Everyone is ready at different times, some sooner than others but it's okay not to be ready right away 💗

coco-cinnamon. please do not steal, copy, modify, repost, or translate my work.

While making out with your boyfriend Steve at his place, you planned to stay the night, as it was the weekend. Though you had spent many nights at his house before, this was the first time your kissing had become so intense and heated. Feeling inexperienced, you were unsure how to proceed, as you had never been in such an intimate situation. Steve was aware of your relative inexperience, though unaware of the full extent of it.

You pulled away from him mid-kiss, avoiding his gaze. "What's wrong?" He asked, his brow furrowed with concern. He could always tell when something was bothering you.

You let out a heavy sigh. "Well, it's just... I mean, I'm inexperienced." You admitted, sounding slightly embarrassed.

"I already knew that, babe." Steve replied, tilting his head as he tried to discern the root of your unease.

"Yeah, but you only know a little of the truth." You said.

"What are you talking about?" He asked.

You felt embarrassed, but knew you had to tell him eventually. "Well... I'm still a virgin." You said quietly.

Steve sat in silence, leaving you worried about his reaction. As an experienced sexual partner, you feared that revealing your virginity might turn him off for good

"Are you mad?" You finally asked, breaking the awkward silence. Steve looked over at you, his expression puzzled. "Mad? Why would I be mad, sweetheart?" He asked.

You averted your eyes. "Well...it's because I'm a virgin and...I never told you until now." You said quietly.

Steve's brow furrowed as he took your hands in his. "Oh, baby," he said softly. "That would never upset me. It's completely fine that you're a virgin, and I would never pressure you to have sex before you're ready."

You bit your lip. "But you're so experienced, and I have no experience at all, other than making out." You said with a frown.

"I understand," he said reassuringly. "Everyone starts out inexperienced. But when you decide to have sex and with whom is entirely up to you. If you want to wait, that's your choice. Everyone's different, but you should never feel ashamed about being a virgin or inexperienced." He gave a small smile.

"About being ready," you said, looking up at him. "I am ready to have sex. I trust you, and I know you're the one I've been saving myself for." "Wait, are you sure?" He asked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "Because it's okay if you aren't ready. You don't need to have sex with me just to make me happy."

You smiled. "No, I'm not just saying it, Steve. I really am ready. I know I am. I want to do this with you." He nodded and leaned in, kissing you softly at first. The kiss quickly grew passionate and hungry. You tangled your fingers in his brown locks as you made out. Steve broke the kiss, then stood and scooped you up into his arms, making you giggle.

He led you upstairs to his bedroom and gently laid you down on his bed. He resumed kissing you, trailing down your neck and leaving a trail of hickies on your soft skin. As he continued kissing down your body, he slowly removed all your clothes until you were completely naked. He stood at the foot of the bed, admiring you. "God, you're so gorgeous laid out on my bed like this." He said, biting his lip. Spreading your legs, he took in the sight of your pussy. You propped yourself up on your elbows, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation, wondering what he would do next.

Steve climbed onto the bed and nestled his head between your legs. He licked a slow, sensual stripe up your folds, eliciting a gasp and a sigh from you as you rested your head back on the soft pillow. Encouraged, he licked up your folds once more before gently spreading them.

He looked up at you hungrily before diving in, licking and sucking at your sensitive clit. "Fuck, baby." You moaned as he ate you out with abandon, like a starved man.

The familiar tension began to build in your core, and soon a wave of intense pleasure washed over you, causing your legs to tremble.

You uttered Steve's name breathlessly as you climaxed. He pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his face. "You're so alluring, princess. I can't wait to fill that pretty pussy of yours with my cock." He said with a glint in his eye. You gazed up at him, biting your lip coyly. "What are you waiting for?" You replied. "Oh baby, I'm gonna make sure that I ruin you for anyone else tonight." He said with a devilish smirk.

coco-cinnamon. please do not steal, copy, modify, repost, or translate my work.

[tethrawke]

What about a canon AU where Hawke needs to somehow buy her way into Kirkwall after fleeing the Blight with her family, but working for the smugglers isn't enough? What if Varric needs a wife ASAP before Bianca's family kills him and he hears about this newly washed-up refugee from a formerly well-respected noble bloodline who's been working odd jobs for questionable people to keep herself and her family afloat? What if he decides to take a look for himself and watches her for a few days and realises she's EXACTLY what he needs to deal with dwarven politics? What if he makes her an offer she can't refuse and they're married before the day is over and the Hawke family is moved into Varric's mansion? What if Dragon Age 2 becomes a green card AU?

[but-theylovehim]

"peace, love and daisies," he smiled back. travis always had time for fawn and who wouldn't, right? she was a ray of sunshine. "i'll take two for my trouble but only if you'll join me?"

thankfully she had managed to avoid knocking his phone out of his hand. fawn let out a laugh at him, feeling shy all of a sudden. "i'm all about keeping the peace. please, feel free to take as many cookies as you'd like" she offered.

[ouurdeal]

Hysteric Bambi

[fawnedloser]

stan cuddling rlly close to bill at night just so he can put his freezing cold feet on the backs of his legs

[gossamerg1rl]

[jack-the-fool]

Gotta say one of my Mentopolis finale highlights is honestly the fact that Fanny gets a happy ending too because I was genuinely a little worried about her

[copepodkisser5000]

Sure, you've thought about owning a plushie of your f/o (if you don't have one already!)... now think about them owning a plushie of you!

You can't sleep without snuggling up to them? Well neither can they!

Imagine you make them a plushie of yourself for them to keep, if you're the type for crafts, and you give it to them for the times when you're separated. They message you saying how much better they sleep with at least a version of you to hold, even if it's not the real thing.

Maybe instead... you find out they already have one of you! Which they made themselves! No matter how good or bad the likeness is of you, you're certain they made it out of love, of course! <3 Perhaps you're impressed with their hidden talent of being able to sew. Perhaps you ask them to make themselves too, so you can play with the dolls of you both (✿◠‿◠)

[coquettefawn]

please 💋

[blackholefriends]

Zevunzolia's extremely cool extremely queer gallery/bar feat. Pickman and Jenny Price!

for FaTT pinup week: lingerie

[delicatebaby777]

[kebriones]

Everything reminds me of them

[livinglegend444fawn]

nobody gets it like i get it.