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sinner-as-saint · 10 months ago

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meaner than my demons

Dark!Bucky x Avenger!Reader au

Run-through: You wake up in a manor in the middle of nowhere with no recollection of how you got there. All you remember is that you and Bucky were out on a mission, and then nothing. Bucky��? This wasn’t his doing, was it? What you didn’t know was that Bucky, of all people, had all the reasons to become the bad guy. To avenge himself, what was done to him, and all that was mercilessly taken from him. Nobody knew just how close he’d gotten to just giving into the twisted temptations that beckoned him over. All he needed was a slight nudge, a purpose – and you gave him that unknowingly. So he went, and he dragged you over to the darkness with him.

Themes: angst, dark!bucky, kidnapping, sort of beauty and the beast vibes, mentions of bucky’s traumatic past as the winter soldier, smut, fluff, praise kink, HEA but slightly ambiguous ending ;)

a/n: the angst is strong with this one. Also, I was merely experimenting with this character so take nothing too seriously <3 ily (p.s: this is long, grab a snack)

There’s a minotaur in the middle of the maze.

That sentence echoed in your head as you slowly blinked your eyes open. Your vision was blurry, your head spun even as you laid down looking up at the shiny, intricate chandelier above the canopy bed you were currently in.

You focused on the bizarrely alluring chandelier, blinking as you tried to bring your vision back to normal, trying to get your head to stop spinning.

It felt like you were waking up after a night of heavy drinking. Slowly, as if not trusting your body, you sat up on the comfy bed.

There’s a minotaur in the middle of the maze.

There was that damn sentence again. What the fuck is even that? Where did it come from? You squinted as you looked around, feeling a throbbing headache forming. Nevermind the strange sentence, where were you was the real question here. How did you end up in this bed?

Panicking you quickly assessed your body. You were still in your mission gear, except none of your guns were in their holsters. Other than that, everything felt fine. You weren’t hurt anywhere, except for a pain at the back of your neck. You moved your head, trying to figure out what the cause of the pain was, but other than some sore muscles, nothing hurt.

You carefully sat on the edge of the bed, planting your boots on the ground and looking around. Judging by the light coming in through the ridiculously large georgian windows, it looked like it was well into the evening. And the room was… beautiful in a gothic, dark way.

Apart from the fireplace within which was lit a small fire, and the golden scones on the walls and the chandelier above the bed, everything else was dark. The walls were dark green, the large canopy bed was all-black with dark grey bedding, the high ceiling was covered in detailed moulding. Dark, wooden coffee table and bookshelves, black leather upholstered sofas, a huge chest drawer in the corner.

If you were kidnapped, you thought, you’d likely be in some dark room with no windows – like a dungeon. Not in a properly furnished, clean bedroom.

You frowned as you tried to go back, trying to figure out how you got here. You got up from the bed and approached the windows, looking out. For a moment you were mesmerised by the view outside. From this window, you could see the sprawling wings of the house on either side of you. A manor, then, not a house.

Situated at the foot of hills which rose behind the manor, partially shrouded in dense fog. Some countryside, then? You tucked that information away as you scanned the area even more. The manor it seemed was surrounded by thick woods. The hills, the fog, the dark green woods, it all seemed like it was a scene out of a mysterious, dangerous novel. The silence, the secrecy…

You looked further around and noticed a walled garden not too far to the right, and to the complete left a… huge hedge maze. You could only see part of it but–

There’s a minotaur in the middle of the maze…?

The memory came flooding into your brain, and you almost lost your balance for a moment.

You had been hiking up these hills for days. But a mission was a mission, correct? You looked behind you and noticed Bucky frowning in deep thought.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked your good friend. You and Bucky had been paired together for many missions recently, all of them successful. You two made a great team. He wasn’t much of a talker, and you enjoyed silence and solitude.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, coming to a stop beside you. “I received solid intel about a house just beyond these woods. The owner deals in illegal substances,” He added in his usual, dark-humoured, self-deprecating tone, “the kind that can create worse creatures than super soldiers.”

“Hey!” You tapped him on the chest playfully, disapproving of his joke. Still you said, “I, for one, am glad they made you.” You added to his weird humour, “I get a good friend and a perfect bodyguard all in one.”

Bucky gave you a rare smile. It made him look boyish and young, and… handsome. You looked away quickly. It always did something to you, that smile. It was a useless little crush you’d been nurturing since that day – months ago – when Bucky took a bullet to his shoulder to save you during a crossfire.

“You can stay here if you want,” Bucky suggested, “I’ll go take a look and come back.”

“No,” You reached into your backpack and pulled out two fancy binoculars, handing one to him, “We just need to get on top of this hill, and then we’ll keep an eye on the house and its ground for a while,” You explained as you began hiking up the hill again, Bucky following you loyally like he had this whole time, “And then we’ll make a plan. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Getting on top of the hill was no big deal. The hike was easy and the hill was high enough that you had a clear vision of the manor and its grounds even with thick woods between the hill and the manor.

You let out a gasp the moment you looked through the binoculars. Bucky beside you did the same thing, not gasping at the beauty of it all though. Then again, few things impressed Bucky. You supposed this luxurious, gothic manor and its elegant grounds weren’t on the list.

“Whoever this is should be ashamed that they’re using this beautiful place for something so dark.” You whispered, looking and taking in the details of the manor. It looked enchanting in the morning light.

“You like it?”

“Bucky, one would have to be an absolute idiot to not appreciate the beauty of this place. No neighbours, no one to bother you. Just foggy hills, dense woods and… ooh!” You exclaimed with genuine happiness, forgetting for a moment that you were here on a mission and not sightseeing. “Bucky! There’s a maze!”

“Really?”

You couldn’t look away. You zoomed as much as you could, trying to take in the details. “Yes, an actual maze and it’s huge!” You had the biggest smile on your face. “Oh this is a dream, and… oh look! There’s a minotaur in the middle of the maze!”

Bucky let out a chuckle. “How cliché.”

You kept watching, letting your guard completely down for a moment. You didn’t see Bucky approaching, you didn’t notice the shift, not until it was too late.

“I’m sorry, doll.”

That was the last thing you heard before feeling a burning sensation at the back of your neck, and then darkness and the warmth of Bucky’s chest as he held you to keep you from falling on the ground.

Fuck.

Bucky?

Why would he do that? You didn’t do anything. You were breathing heavily now, looking around for a way out. These windows didn’t open, and the door must be–

It opened right as you stared at it, and in walked Bucky. Dressed differently. He wasn’t in his usual mission gear. No leather jackets, no gun holsters, not even his knives. Just a casual shirt, and comfy trousers. Like this was normal. Like he was at home.

Your eyes widened as this started to make a little more sense. But you didn’t dare think about it properly. He wouldn’t… right? He was your friend. You two had fought together for years. He was one of the good guys… right?

“Buck?”

He shut the door behind him as he stepped further into the room. “I came as fast as I could when they told me you were beginning to wake up.” He said a little sheepishly.

What? But most importantly, “Who’s ‘they’?” You asked, trying your best to put all your training into practice and keeping your calm.

“My housekeepers.” He answered like it was the most obvious thing.

You noted the way he avoided your eyes, the way he kept flexing his metal hand. Bucky was slightly nervous.

You took a step back, pressing against the cold windows. “What is going on? What is this place? Did you…” Your voice cracked as you asked, “Did you drug me?”

“You wouldn’t come willingly.” He answered, staring deeply at the fireplace as he approached it and placed his metal hand on the mantle above. “And you wouldn’t be willing to listen to me.”

Your heart pounded. What was he talking about? “This place, this house is… yours?”

Bucky nodded.

“And there is no guy dealing in dangerous substances, is there?” You figured this was a trap and you walked right into it.

“No.” He answered truthfully. “There isn’t. This is my home. Well, one of them.”

“Bucky,” You whispered, cautiously. Afraid. Wary. His home? Since when? “Why?”

He finally looked at you. The soft fire in the fireplace lit one side of his face and hid the other side in shadows. Fitting, you thought, despite it all. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He said, almost like he was offended that you would think so. “I would never hurt you, doll.”

“I want the truth, Buck.” You stared deep into his familiar blue eyes, trying to find your friend in there. And he was there, but he was behind a dark smoke screen. “Please.”

Bucky sighed. “Take a seat.” He said softly, settling down on one of the many sofas scattered around the spacious room.

You didn’t. You remained there by the windows, like the distance between you and him would save you from the dangers you weren’t aware of yet.

He sighed again, “Fine, be difficult then.” He got up, and began walking towards you.

You panicked, remaining frozen in place for a moment. But by the time you moved to get away from him, he was too close. You went to run away but his metal hand firmly around your wrist stopped you.

“I won’t hurt you.” He repeated, pulling you close until you hit his chest, then wrapped his other arms around you. “Believe me,” He said.

You shook your head as you looked into his eyes, the hidden darkness in them. “What happened to you?” You whispered, “Why are you doing this?”

He frowned as if you were the one being ridiculous. “Don’t you see? This place is perfect for us.”

For us?

You noted the strange haze in his captivating eyes. Something was different about him.

“What?” You blinked, ignoring the many questions you had. “Bucky, our friends, they need us.” You tried reasoning, though in vain, “We need to go back. And keep fighting–”

“Back to what?” He argued, cutting you off. “Fight for who?”

“The innocent people, Buck. The ones who are constant victims of our enemies, and–,”

“I was a victim too.” He said, silencing you at once with a dark tone. “No one fought for me.”

He rarely ever brought up HYDRA, so this was new territory to you. You approached it carefully, softening your voice as you said, “Steve did.”

Bucky surprised you by scoffing carelessly. Dropping his voice he said, “And yet, all I ever was to him in the end was disposable.”

That shut you up.

For a moment you felt a fraction of the pain he felt. You always empathised with him, even before you started nurturing that little crush you had on him. “But you have the chance now, Buck.” You tried reasoning, calmly and no longer resisting his grip on your wrist. “Let’s go back, and fight so no one ever has to suffer like you did.”

“No.”

The finality in his tone made you shiver. “So what? You’re gonna keep me captive here and we’re gonna let the bad people win?”

Bucky sighed. “They already won. Don’t you see the state of this world?”

You flinched. “That’s your goal then? To punish the world and everyone in it?”

“Punish it?” He scoffed. “No. I want to see it try and fend for itself. Or watch it die trying.”

“Bucky…” You didn’t recognise the man you were looking at. “We can make a difference, no matter how minor. We’re the good guys, remember?”

He let go of your hand, turned to face the windows pensively. “I’m done being good.”

You remained frozen in place, assessing the situation quickly. He had his back to you, so he was confident you wouldn’t hurt him. He had shut the door on his way in but never locked it. That must mean even if you got past the door, he must’ve made sure you wouldn’t make it out of this house.

But you couldn’t leave, could you? You believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt you. You wouldn’t leave him here like this. Bucky was hurting, and he was acting this way because of that. But the house? Why bring you here? Why drug you? What did he want?

“Bucky,” You said after taking a deep breath. “You’re my friend, we’ve fought together for years. You rescued me so many times. You took a bullet for me. I know you’re good.”

He shook his head, looking out the window. “I’ve been good, all my life. I was good when I followed Steve and believed in what he stood for. I was good when I was captured, and forced to be a killing machine. I was good, deep down I know I was still good, even when they wiped my mind each time and made me perform however they wanted.”

You flinched, your heart sinking with each word that came out of his mouth.

He continued, as if numb to it all.

“I was desperately good even when I found myself stuck in a wrong, superhuman body. I was good even when everyone around me expected me to get over it and keep fighting like a good little soldier.” He finally turned to you and said, “I’m done, now. What did it ever give me?”

His words hit harder than a punch to the face. “Buck…” You almost comforted him, because there was still your dear friend, broken. But wrong. So wrong to believe there weren't still good things to fight for. “You have people who care for you.”

“Do I?” His tone was mocking. And you didn’t dare reply, so he continued. “I’ve been used in experiments that had no ethical limits. I’ve been a weapon, a commodity. I’ve been a mindless soldier. I’ve been stuck in the body of a murderer. I’ve been a throwaway friend. No one ever cared.”

“I do.”

Bucky was quiet. His shoulders moving just a little as he breathed deeply.

You continued. “And Sam does. And so do all of our friends.” You argued, trying to find something, anything to prove a point, “I mean, all of Wakanda believed in you when they helped you.”

“They did.” He almost smiled in gratitude. “But they never trusted me.” He sounded genuinely sad. “I remained a weapon.” He looked down at his shiny metal arm and added, “So easily dismantled.”

Was this really how you would lose him? To the darkness in his head? Your heart pounded as you looked at him. Standing proud and tall, looking out the window as the darkening evening made the room even dimmer. The last logs in the fireplace cracked. And Bucky was still so beautiful standing by the window, but broken. Like a tortured and grim lord of the manor.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Buck.” You took a step back when he turned to face you.

“No, it doesn’t.” He agreed, weirdly. Then added, “I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t care about the rest of the world, I’m done being a good little soldier. I just want to be a man.” He took a few more steps until he was right in front of you. His handsome face so close to yours. “And be with the woman I want, in our own quiet little paradise.” His hand reached out to gently stroke your cheek. His metal hand found itself on your waist, tugging you closer gently. “Isn’t this perfect, doll? Hmm?”

You were so surprised that you didn’t even properly register the meaning behind his words until you replayed it in your head a few times. “You… what?”

“You know,” He smirked, fingers now tracing your parted lips. “At first I wondered what was taking you so long to realise. I’m not very good at being subtle with my feelings, you see. But you never caught on.” His smirk widened. “And then I found out why in the best way possible.”

You were afraid to ask for some reasons. “Why?” You whispered.

Bucky leaned in, brushing the cold tip of his nose against your cheek, and said, “Because you like me too, and you were too busy hiding your own feelings that you didn’t pay attention to mine. Wanna know how I know?” He chuckled, “I heard you whispering my name under your breath as you touched yourself. Too many times to count.”

You gasped in surprise, unable to move.

“Well,” He said, “That’s a figure of speech, of course I know exactly how many times. I kept count.” He continued, loving the way you began squirming in embarrassment. “It’s the metal hand, isn’t it? It turns you on?” He chuckled.

“You…” You finally found your voice and stumbled on your words, “You had no right.”

He laughed, pulling away to look at you. “To listen to you moaning my name? Not my fault you’re so loud to my very, very sensitive ears.” He teased.

He was so close. His chest, so warm. His arms around you, so perfect that you almost forgot all about the conversation you had before all this.

You stepped away, and out of his embrace. Taking a deep breath, you tried to focus on the important thing here. “What do you want, Bucky?”

He shrugged, “Well right now I want us to have dinner, it’s getting late and you haven’t eaten all day.”

You sighed. “Then? When I want to leave, you’ll stop me?”

Bucky was so very still. It was inhuman. Then again, he was not exactly just a regular guy. “If I wanted you trapped here you would have woken up tied to the bed, doll.”

“So I can walk away from here if I want?” You asked. No. That would be too easy. Wouldn’t it?

“You could.”

Another trap, you figured. For the first time since this absurd evening started, you straightened your back and faced Bucky with a little less fear, and embarrassment. “You won’t win, Bucky. Not like this.”

He gave you a handsome, smug grin and said, “We’ll talk about all that later. Now, do what you need to do, freshen up,” He pointed at the door in the corner of the bedroom, the bathroom you assumed, “And join me for dinner downstairs.” He leaned in and too casually kissed your forehead. “Don’t keep me waiting, doll.”

And he left. Leaving you even more confused than when you didn’t have any answers.

You thought about it as you reluctantly made your way into the bathroom which was just as dark and luxurious as the rest of the bedroom. Dark green walls, a large white and gold tub, mouldings on the ceiling matching the bedroom, large gilded mirrors and sinks. A spacious shower booth, with fancy faucets and shower heads.

You checked the many cabinets and found everything one could need. The skin care products looked inviting but first of all, you needed a hot shower. You grabbed a neatly folded bathrobe and some body wash products and stepped into the booth.

Then you spent your time thinking about everything. What did you know as of now? That Bucky owned this place, it was his home. That Bucky was done fighting, he had plans to say ‘fuck it all’ and retire. That he liked you back? Fine, he did. He wanted you to stay here with him? And never fight again? That was a whole other thing you had to worry about. But first, how to get out of here?

Also how did Bucky afford this place? Had he always been filthy rich?

What was the endgame here? And if he managed to keep you here, would any of your friends come looking for you? No one even knew where you were, that’s how much you trusted Bucky. The moment he brought this fake mission up you agreed to come with him immediately. Alright, your little crush had had an influence on your decision making but still.

Could you trust Bucky now? It felt foolish to admit, but yes. Yes you could. Bucky would never hurt you.

So you got out of the shower, with more questions and made your way back to the room and found neatly folded clothes on the bed. Soft, comfy, casual clothes. You put them on and took a deep breath before you stepped out of the room.

As you made your way down one of the two ornate staircases, you hoped you’d find Bucky again somewhere down here. Meanwhile you couldn’t help but admire his home. It was… hauntingly beautiful. It was more dark than lit. Rich colours: dark green, dark red, black. Gilded picture frames along the hallways, large foyer, high ceilings, carved designs on almost all the furniture. Everything screamed luxury, expensive taste, old money, and like a home out of another era. An older era.

You couldn’t see any of the housekeepers, but you soon found Bucky sitting at the head of a ridiculously fancy dining table in the dining room.

“There you are,” He said, placing his wine glass down, “I was beginning to think you must be trying to get away.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes and then quickly took in the room. Just as spacious as the rest of the house. A fireplace in a corner, tall arched windows, dark red curtains which allowed just the briefest amount of moonlight to come in. The room was well lit, and you couldn’t miss the grand chandelier above the adorned table and chairs.

Sitting at the head of that table, Bucky reminded you of a bored prince – surrounded by unexplainable luxury which suited him too well.

You took a seat at the other end of the table, facing Bucky fully. He noted your tactic and smirked. Then you said, “I didn't know you were rich.” Because surely super soldiers aren’t getting paid this much.

He shrugged like it was no big deal, “I’m over a century old, doll. I would be an absolute idiot if I didn’t amass a fortune that could last me a couple more lifetimes.”

You also noted the way he used your own words against you, but kept quiet. “Right. But how exactly?”

He explained. “A lot of the people I was asked to... get rid of for HYDRA were influential people. Rich, wealthy, borderline royalty. And they would always try to bribe me just to be spared. They offered me everything I wanted if I let them go.”

He sighed, almost in annoyance of the memories.

He continued, “I couldn't let them go of course, but they always revealed all their secrets during their last moments.” His stare was distant. “And after the job was done, whatever they left behind, whatever they offered, locations of their hidden wealth and riches, it was all mine for the taking.” He added, “And since I was a good little machine, HYDRA never looked too deep into what I did as long as I got the job done.”

Everytime Bucky opened up about his past, you realised that there was so much about him that you didn’t know. “That’s a lot of secrets.”

“Indeed.”

“And this manor? It’s one of the secrets left behind by someone you got rid of as well?”

“No,” He said, “This was built from the ground up. Decades ago.”

Decades. Again, another reminder of how many lives he had lived in the past century. It was almost fascinating. You opened your mouth to ask another question, but the door behind Bucky – which you hadn’t noticed earlier – opened and in walked two ladies with full trays in their hands. One of the trays filled with food, including a glass of wine, was brought over to you.

You eyed the tray for a moment before you sent a questioning glare at Bucky.

“What? Is it a surprise that I know what you like?” There was that smug grin again on his handsome face.

Hunger won over confusion and anger, so you took a bite out of some food before you asked, “How did you put up such a good façade? For so long?” Hiding all of this couldn’t have been easy, right?

“I didn't.” He answered. “I thought a broken soldier was what I needed to be, all I could ever be.” He smiled, “Then I met you and for the first time, I craved a simpler life. One where we could have nothing but time to do what we wanted, and no longer have to partake in fights that aren't ours.”

You genuinely wanted to know, so you asked softly, “Is this truly what you want, Buck? To sit here and say to hell with the world outside?”

“Isn’t it peaceful?” He questioned, “No meetings, or briefings. No country out to get us, no enemies out to kill us.”

You remained quiet. For a little while, you both ate in silence. You could feel Bucky’s eyes on each one of your movements. He kept quiet though, and then you asked, “Why is no one out to get you? Given who you are and who you used to be, one would assume you’d have the most enemies out there.”

“I have friends in all the right places.” He answered.

You frowned. “What does that mean?”

He smirked, “Now, I can’t give away all my secrets, can I?” He said as he stood up, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I have some things I need to do, you’ll find your way back to your room?”

You nodded, though suspicious at the sudden freedom.

He whispered a quick ‘good night’ and left. Which made you frown in confusion because why would he leave you here? When you could easily walk out? Was he expecting you to try and escape? Was he hoping you would?

You got up from the table, and carefully walked out of the dining room, stepping into the hallway. You didn’t take the time to admire the scones on the walls, the paintings, anything. All you saw was the foyer and beyond which was the grand entrance of the manor.

Even from the inside you could see the foggy air outside. The fog swirling around like smoke. It looked cold out. Even if you made a run for it, you would be sick and frozen by morning.

You stood there for a moment, steps away from the foyer. There were no cameras, that was the first thing you looked for in the house. None of the housekeepers could be seen, you realised they made themselves scarce.

You should’ve taken the staircase and gone back up to the bedroom. Maybe you’d question Bucky tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow he’d listen. But the front doors looked tempting. And that part of your brain which always went seeking trouble, the part that always pushed you into doing bold things, that part made you move towards the doors.

Chances were that Bucky was watching, and you almost wanted him to see. To see that you couldn’t be kept here. So you went for it. You waited for some kind of alarm to go off as you turned the door knob and pulled open the door, stepping a foot out and then the other. But no alarm came.

The fog messed with your vision, you couldn’t see further than the white marble steps. It was cold and you had no extra layers on. This was stupid. And yet, you took a few more steps down the marble stairs which led to what you assumed would be the front yard.

You were about five steps down before you stopped. There was the silhouette of a male figure standing at the bottom of the stairs, engulfed by the fog. The moonlight made him look like a dark villain. Yet the shiny metal arm gave him away. “I thought you said I could walk away.” You tested the waters.

“I did say you could.” He took a step up the stairs, “I didn’t say I would let you get too far.”

You scoffed, trying your hardest to hide how you shivered in the cold night. The fog was all around you by now. All you could see was the faint outline of Bucky and the white stairs.

“Get back inside,” He ordered. “It’s cold out.”

“I won’t let you make a prisoner out of me.”

“That’s not my goal here.” He sounded reassuring.

“Then let me go.”

“You know I can’t do that, doll.” He took another step, getting closer. You could tell by his stance that he was ready for it, should you want to fight your way out of here.

And you did. You went for it.

First a punch, then a kick. It was hard to keep your balance on marble stairs, but you did your best, just like when you two used to spar while training.

You gave it your all, you tried your hardest to get him off his feet and on the ground and possibly make a run for it, but he anticipated each punch, each kick. You put up a decent fight for a few minutes, grunting at each failed punch and kick.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” He growled, blocking yet another one of your punches.

You didn’t stop, you kept trying until it hurt. Until he managed to have you pinned to the ground, your back hurting against the marble stairs, metal hand around your throat, his muscular body straddling yours right there on the cool marble stairs, the edge of the steps digging into your skin, making you hiss in pain.

“Let go!” You spat bitterly at him, looking up and finding him glaring down at you. His breath fogged against the cold air.

Bucky chuckled. “You forgot you trained you, doll? Hmm? You forgot who taught you everything you know about combat?” Bucky smirked as he leaned down. His face was directly above yours, his nose touching yours. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to walk away all hard after sparring with you?” He leaned just a little closer so his mouth hovered over yours. “It turned you on too, didn’t it? I could smell it then. And I can smell it now.”

That did it. You managed to find enough energy to push him off of you, you were on him the moment his body hit the marble floor, straddling him and pinning him to the ground by the throat just like he did you. You could tell the edges of the stairs were digging into his back too by the way he hissed. But you didn’t let go.

“Enough.” You tightened your grip around his throat. “I won’t play this little game with you.” You breathed heavily, exhausted by now, “You want to stay here and pretend to be some tortured, gothic lord of the manor? Fine! Go ahead. But let me go.”

“You don’t want to go.” He whispered, confidently. He just laid there, under you. Arms limp by his sides even though you knew too well that he could flip you around at any moment he wanted.

“Oh yeah? Is that what you think?”

He smirked. It annoyed you how handsome he was. “I know. If you so desperately wanted to get out of here then by now you would’ve used the knife you snuck into your pocket from the dinner table.” He chuckled. “Can’t do it, can you?”

Damn him. And here you thought you were being slick. You didn’t realise his hands had moved, no longer limp on his sides but now on your legs, fingers reaching for the crease of your thighs, rubbing your skin through the thin PJ pants you wore.

You gasped when his metal hand found its way between your parted legs, caressing you through the layers of clothing you wore. “Don’t you see?” He said, cold fingers moving along your waistband, “I’m doing this for us.” His fingers slipped into your pants, making you gasp even louder as you felt him touching you.

Your face burned as you thought about how many times you’d dreamt of this moment. How many times had you pretended it was his hand touching you. But it was never in these circumstances. Never had you thought it would happen on marble stairs, surrounded by dense fog, in some mysterious manor.

“Bucky,” You whispered, feeling his fingers slowly separating your wet folds, inspecting your slit before he slid one, then a second metal finger into you.

“Yes, baby?” His other hand wandered all over your body as you straddled him, reaching up to cup your face. His thumb traced the shape of your mouth while his two metal fingers slid so perfectly in and out of you, making you ride his fingers just briefly to chase the feeling of them against you. “Doesn’t it feel good? Hmm?” He thrust his fingers deeper into you, his metal thumb gently rubbing your clit, “Does it feel better than your fantasies?”

Damn him.

You couldn’t help but grind against his hand, wanting more and more. You didn’t care about anything right now, all that mattered was how good it felt. How much, much better than your fantasies it was. But you wouldn’t tell him all that.

He didn’t need to be told. He could see it. The way you moved your hips, the way you bit your lower lip to hold back your moans and whimpers, the way you clenched around his fingers. “Come for me, doll.” He whispered, feeling your grip loosen around his throat. “Come all over my fingers like a good girl.”

You hated how quickly you came, grinding against his hand and riding his fingers like a desperate woman. The cold, the fog, your knees digging into the hard marble, none of it mattered as you came, panting and trying your hardest to catch your breath.

“We should head back inside,” He said, catching you just in time as you were about to collapse on top of the stairs, cradling you carefully. “Don’t want you to catch a cold.”

—

Two days later, Bucky asked you during breakfast if you wanted to see the walled garden.

The two of you hadn’t talked much these past two days. You only saw Bucky at meal times, and kept to yourself mostly. The weather had been mostly rainy as well, even thunderstorms at night. It suited the foggy environment really well.

Neither you nor Bucky brought up that night you two fucked. You crossed paths with him these past two days in the dining room, the hallways, and the main living room, but you didn’t say a word to each other. It was painfully awkward.

You didn’t hate what happened. You just didn’t understand. You didn’t understand him, nor this situation. None of it. How can Bucky just switch like that? How did he manage to hide all this? What else could he be hiding?

And this morning, now that the rain had temporarily disappeared and a soft sun was shining, when he offered to show you around the walled garden, it felt like he was extending a peaceful hand. So you agreed immediately. You could use some fresh air. Plus, you figured, you and Bucky would have to talk at some point.

So by mid-morning, you followed him out into the yard. The walled garden was closeby, and it was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. It was huge. The landscaping was incredible, you could tell a lot of care went into it.

This is...," You couldn’t come up with the right words.

There was a pond in the middle. The four stone walls were covered with vines and the tiniest little flowers. The entrance was a moon gate, the entire thing was filled with brick pathways, a small section was dedicated to herbs, but most of the space was occupied by well trimmed hedges and bushes.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" He looked around, as if trying to see what it looks like from the eyes of someone seeing it for the first time. "I spend a lot of my time here." He sounded so calm as he said it. Like it brought him genuine happiness.

"It's so peaceful here."

You could hear the birds in the nearby trees. You could feel the breeze. The sweet smell of the flowers and slightly stronger scent of the herbs. The cool, damp ground while the smell of the rain lingered. The lush green vines surrounding the walls of the garden. It was more peaceful than it was breathtakingly beautiful.

Its owner looked no less breathtaking. Dressed in simple dark trousers and a dark green sweater, he looked every bit the master of these grounds. He looked so different now, compared to the Bucky you used to know.

"We should talk, Buck." You looked down, playing with the fabric of your soft sweater.

"Yes," He agreed. "You've been ignoring me." He accused.

You couldn’t look up at him, not even when he stepped closer. “Not ignoring you, I just… it’s hard to understand you, Bucky.” You explained. “One moment you were someone I knew for years, a constant in my life and now you’re… I don’t know this new you.”

He remained quiet, listening.

You continued. “Plus you talk about us living here like it was the plan all along.”

“Wasn’t it?” He said, clenching his jaw then unclenching it. You hated how much you liked that. “Finding peace and a home. Wasn’t that the end goal? Or did you plan to sacrifice yourself in combat?”

“Our job is to fight, Buck. We–”

“Who said that?” He argued. “Haven’t we fought enough? Haven’t we given enough?”

You sighed, looking away at the pond like it would have some answers. Then you said, “We can’t just live out here, away from everyone, leave the world to burn and pretend that this isn’t selfish, Buck.”

Bucky shrugged, “Why? Nobody batted an eye when Stark did it.”

“It was different for him.” You said, taking a few steps to reach the nearest rose bush. It had no flowers but you admired it all the same. “He had a family, a kid. He was a married man.”

Bucky scoffed, “That’s it? That’s what it’ll take, then? I can marry you and give you a child.” He sounded partially playful. And it made you roll your eyes.

“Shut up, Buck.”

He chuckled. For a moment it sounded like the many bickerings you two always had as friends. For a moment all of this felt normal, comfortable.

But it couldn’t be, could it?

“You’re gonna have to let me go at some point.”

“No.” He answered, sounding sure of himself as he pulled you into his arms. “I won’t let you go back and fight till it kills you. All so you can protect a world or its people who won’t even care that you died for them.”

“That’s not your choice to make.” You looked up at him, unable to help yourself as you looked down at his soft lips, wondering what they tasted like.

“It is.” He argued, leaning in so his mouth brushed against yours. “We could live normal lives, away from all that. Just you and me. We could travel, see whatever little beauty is left in this world. And just be free. Be us.”

You pushed him away even though all you wanted was to be close to him. “And then what?” You asked, “We’ll be together forever? I have a couple more decades at best. I’m human, remember that.”

He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and said, “You could change that.”

You frowned. “What does that mean?”

Nothing could’ve prepared you for what he said next. “I have vials of the serum used on me. Not all of it was destroyed over the years.” He sent a curious look your way. “Maybe if you–,”

You shook your head, rushing past him and almost running back into the house. “You’re insane, Bucky Barnes!”

Bucky ran after you, “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that, baby. I didn’t mean right now!”

“No!” You stopped and turned to face him, pointing a finger at his face. “After all that you told me the other night, about being trapped in an alien body and all, now you suggest that you’ll have me take the serum just so you can live out this sick, twisted fantasy you created of us in your head?”

Bucky stepped closer to you, reaching out with his metal arm and pulling you closer to him. “I’m saying you’d have the choice. I would never force you. And you know that.”

You were quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you stared into his deep blue eyes. You didn’t know why, maybe it was the stress of these past few days and this conversation you two had just had, but your eyes burned as you began tearing up. “What happened to you, Buck?” Your voice cracked as you asked.

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. You felt his face getting closer and closer until he pressed his forehead against yours, both his arms circling around you.

“I’m sorry,” He said, “I shouldn’t have said that. I… I don’t know how to keep you close to me.”

You didn’t say anything. You just let him hold you, while you felt that inner turmoil growing.

—

You ignored Bucky again for the next week or so. You stopped showing up to join him for meals, so he resorted to having your food sent up to your room for you. In that week of silent treatment, you’d began talking to the lovely ladies who worked in his home.

The oldest of the two was the most affectionate, and she always brought you extra servings of your favourite desserts. Which you had been ignoring.

One night as she brought your dinner in she said, “He hasn’t been eating well either, you know?”

You pretended you didn’t care. So you didn’t say anything.

The kind lady spoke again, “He’s not bad at heart.”

You couldn’t help but ask, “How long have you known him?”

She smiled fondly, “Decades. I came looking for work when the house was being built. I’m from the nearby town, you see? And my family… Well, they disowned me after I had a child out of wedlock. I had nowhere to go. But James took me in.” She chuckled, “Of course, I’ve grown old since.”

But he remained the same.

She continued, “He’s always been kind. A little cold, maybe. But he’s kind.” She paused and added, “And he’s lonely. He’s trapped, you see? In a world he should’ve never been in. Companionship, perhaps, would make this a little more bearable for him.”

“It’s not so easy to give up what he’s asking me to. He’s asking me to give up everything, to leave it all behind.” Granted there wasn’t much to leave in the first place. You had no family, and the only friends you had were the ones you fought alongside with.

She carefully reached out and touched your cheek. The warmth of her hand made you smile faintly. “We all make sacrifices for love, don’t we?”

You sighed, “I think he’s hurt, and confused.”

She laughed quietly, “Oh James is many things, confused isn’t one of them.”

You frowned. “Do you not see that he’s wrong?” You sounded unsure of yourself for a moment there.

“For choosing to live his life how he wants to? For wanting a better life for you? No.”

Fine then. “What about how he’s keeping me here?”

She smiled again. “You know, he always talks about you since the day you two first met years ago. And he always told me how brilliant you were, how strong and brave you were in combat. How well you did in training and how easily you took down men twice the size of you.” She smiled proudly, even though she’d just met you. “And you know what I think?” She paused, “I think if you really wanted to leave, you would’ve fought your way out of here already.” Then before she left your bedroom she added, “Don’t underestimate how much that man loves you.”

You didn’t sleep all night because you kept replaying that conversation in your head. Over and over again. Were you here, truly, on your own volition after all? Did you subconsciously want this over the violence?

—

The next morning, Bucky was surprised to find you making your way into his library. He watched quietly how you paused at the doorway, wide-eyed and startled.

“You have a library.”

It sounded less awe-struck and more like an accusation. Like how dare he have a whole ass library and not show it to you earlier? Bucky saw a glimpse of the normal you, and he couldn’t help but smile. This was a gift after a whole week of you ignoring him and him pretending like he wasn’t walking around sulking. “Did you lose your way or did you mean to ruin your streak of giving me the silent treatment?”

He smirked when you glared at him.

Damn, his smirk. The way it lit up his handsome face… it had been too long since you’d come. And given he had admitted to having heard you masturbate before, you didn’t dare do it under his own roof. So it was safe to say that you were, maybe, just a little touch-starved and needy.

And him looking this good early in the morning was not helping. Tight black t-shirt, and soft, grey PJ pants. How dare he look this good while you were barely able to make sense of all that was happening?

“We should talk. Properly. No fighting, no arguing.” You said.

Bucky nodded, leaning against a nearby bookshelf. “What about?”

You took a deep breath, “I think I know why I haven’t fought my way out of here yet. Because let’s face it, I could kick your ass if I really wanted to.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You took a few steps around the room, eyeing the many shelves. It was a grand, two-level library. With ornate metal stairs that led to the top level. It would take a couple of lifetimes to read all the books here. Or maybe just one long super soldier lifetime.

“Because I’m curious.” You admitted. “You were simply my friend before. But–”

He added pompously, “One you have a crush on.”

You ignored that, for now. “But now you’re… someone I don’t know. It’s hard to– it feels different. You feel different. And I can’t help it, but I want to know more. About this life you’re choosing to live. How is it so easy for you to make that choice without any guilt? I want to know.”

Bucky took a moment to process, then asked, “Are you giving me a chance?”

“I’m tired of being angry at you for kidnapping me.” You said, sighing. He opened his mouth to argue but you raised a hand to stop him. “I don’t agree with the way you did things, how you’re keeping me here, but I… I miss you, Buck. I miss us.”

Well, since you were having an honest conversation, Bucky felt comfortable to ask, “Do you still like me?” There was a rare vulnerability in his tone.

You allowed yourself to take a step closer to the shelf he was leaning against. Inching closer to him you murmured, “I would’ve stabbed you that very first night if I didn’t.”

He smiled. You smiled back.

—

Things were gradually getting back to normal after that. Well, about as normal as things can get when you’re forbidden from leaving the grounds of your friend’s manor.

You’d missed your usual morning runs, so you resumed going on runs in the mornings. The grounds were more vast than you thought, it took you days to finally map out the entire place. All except the maze. You always ran by it, or around it, never daring to go inside it. Not yet.

After your runs, and a quick shower, you’d always join Bucky for breakfast. Over time, you learned so much about him and the life he had here. It wasn’t just this magnificent home he owned, but numerous farms and multiple businesses in the small town nearby.

Your ‘relationship’ with him changed as well. While the two of you didn’t have sex again, the tension was beginning to get too much to ignore. Quick kisses in the mornings, and lingering kisses at night. Oftentimes you were tempted to ask Bucky to spend the night with you, but you thought it’d be best to wait. After all, this was all so new.

For the first time in years, you were actually contemplating leaving the ‘superhero’ duties behind and choosing yourself. It was hard not to constantly taste the guilt whenever you found yourself so close to giving into Bucky, and choosing what he was offering.

—

“Do you really have the serum?”

You asked one morning, while the two of you chose to have breakfast in the library. It was a rainy morning, and the library had massive windows so Bucky suggested you spend the morning there, knowing how much you liked it when it rained.

You agreed. Who would say no to breakfast, good books, and a rainy morning?

Then you got curious, and asked about the serum.

Bucky nodded. “I managed to get my hands on a few vials.”

Your eyes widened. “A few? How the hell did you do that?”

Bucky had a humourless smile on his face. “They tended to give me some freedom whenever I took part in their…more peculiar experiments.”

You were quick to say, “We don’t have to talk about it if–,”

He cut you off and explained nonetheless, “They were trying to see if they could create a new generation of super soldiers naturally.”

You wanted so much to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Not out of pity, no. Just to remind him of how strong he is and how far he’s come. How he didn’t deserve all that he went through.

“I had the chance, and I just took some of the vials and hid them out here.”

“Can I ask why?”

He kept that same humourless smile. “Out of desperation I guess. I secretly hoped that one day someone might want to be with me. And if needed, I could keep them with me for longer than their human life would naturally allow.”

“Oh, Buck.”

You couldn’t help yourself then. You stood up, walked around the small coffee table and sat on the arm of the sofa Bucky was currently sat on. Behind him, rain hit the window mercilessly as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into you.

He leaned into the hug for a moment, before pulling onto his lap then properly hugging you. He shoved his face into your neck, just breathing. His arms around you were not letting you go anytime soon.

“I need you.” He murmured against your neck, beginning to lightly kiss your skin. “Please,” He whispered.

The desire in his voice couldn’t go unnoticed, and you were barely able to hold back either so you quickly straddled him properly. Thankfully the dress you’d chosen for today allowed you to move comfortably.

Bucky hands were eager, touching you everywhere he could, greedy for more. He grabbed you by the hips and pressed you down, onto his prominent erection. He watched how you whimpered, how your hands found themselves under the tight fabric of his shirt, pressing against his chest, feeling him.

Bucky smirked when he felt your hands moving down his chest, further down until you were rapidly undoing his pants and freeing his throbbing cock. He caught the way you whimpered under your breath at the sight of him, then you went on to wrap your hand around him, slowly stroking him, making him throw his head back and groan under his breath. “Fuck, that feels good, baby. That’s it, keep going.”

You leaned in close to him again, “I want you,” you whispered against his lips and then pressed your mouth to his. You slipped your tongue past his lips and slowly stroked the top of his mouth, unable to pretend any longer.

He growled into your mouth, into the kiss as his hands rubbed up and down your sides lovingly. “Take me then. I’m all yours.”

You didn’t waste any more time. You pulled away from the kiss briefly, lifting your lower body off his. Bucky helped by pulling your thin underwear to the side – both too impatient to properly take your clothes off – and he watched how you slowly lowered yourself down on his cock.

Your body resisted just a little to fit him inside, but then he pulled you down till you sank down on him completely, both of you moaning at the feeling.

Bucky grabbed your hips in place and gently thrust his hips up and you moaned wantonly as you felt him fill you up. “Fuck, baby… such a good girl for me.”

You whimpered as the tip of his cock reached sensitive places you never knew existed. You took a good look at the man beneath you. He was beyond beautiful. Lips parted, breathing heavily. It gave you a warm rush to see him this worked up knowing you were the reason why.

You moved faster then, impaling yourself down on his cock. You whimpered shamelessly as you felt him filling you up completely each time, feeling him reach deeper into you with each thrust. His metal hand slipped between the two of you and found your clit, he rubbed it lazily.

“This little cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?” He groaned, looking up to watch how you frowned in pleasure. “All for me…”

You leaned down to kiss him, biting down and tugging at his bottom lip while you sped up, and his cock stretched you out each time he filled you up. “You feel so good,” You mumbled.

Bucky pulled your warm body closer to his. Your lips brushed against his each time you moved up and down his cock. “You’re mine.” He said. “You hear me?”

You nodded, feeling him stretch you out as you stared into his eyes. Bucky held you at your waist and rhythmically thrust his hips up each time to match your movements. Brows furrowing and panting while you rode his cock.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He panted against your cheek, kissing the side of your face and gripping your jaw with his hand. “Tell me you’re mine to fuck, to love, and care for. Tell me.”

“All yours…” You didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, and he kept thrusting his hips up into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came, hard, feeling your walls squeezing and clenching around him as you came undone. You panted and leaned forward, pushing your face into his neck to catch your breath.

Bucky came right after you, his warm load spilling inside of you, filling you up as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed your trembling body closer to him.

You laid your head on his shoulder, catching your breath, as you thought of a lot of things. The main one being, you didn’t hate this at all. You wouldn’t mind if this was your daily life. Maybe it was the post-sex brain but, this felt so right and you didn’t ever want to leave this moment.

—

It was hard keeping your hands to yourselves for the following days. You and Bucky began sleeping in the same bed.

On days when the weather was good, Bucky would take you out and show you around the little town. It was cosy and perfect, and had the best bakeries in the world. Then he would take you to the many farms he owned, and you saw genuine happiness on his face. Like this calm life was indeed all he wanted.

And time just flew by. You no longer kept track of days.

One evening, Bucky asked, “Have you been in the maze yet?”

You linked your elbow to his as the two of you made your way downstairs, and said, “Not yet. It looks… I don’t know, intimidating. And it’s huge, I worry I’ll get lost.”

Bucky chuckled. “Want me to take you?”

“Right now? But it’s getting dark.”

“Come,” He led you to the front door, crossing the foyer, “It’s prettier at night anyway.”

It was dark out, but there were golden lights placed all around the tall hedge maze. It wasn’t too lit up but just enough to create the right ambiance and allow one to roam around comfortably. It was colder inside, you realised as you held onto Bucky’s hand and let him guide you deeper and deeper inside.

The fog was beginning to float around, settling just above the ground the deeper you went inside the maze. You shivered, despite the coat Bucky insisted you wore before stepping out of the house.

“Don’t be scared, baby.” Bucky reassured you as he wrapped his arm tighter around you. “I’m right here.”

The maze wasn’t creepy by any means. Like everything else on these grounds, it was hauntingly beautiful. Timeless. Like it knows too much, like it was alive and it remembered. It was inviting, even as you went deeper and deeper until you reached the middle. And faced the gigantic water fountain, in the middle of which, placed on a stone pedestal was the minotaur statue.

It felt alive too. Like he was waiting for a command to move.

The middle area was spacious, tidy and beautiful. With alcoves, benches, bird feeders, and brick pathways. And in the dark, with fog swirling around, it looked like a scene from a movie.

Bucky stood back and let you take it all in. He watched how you slowly walked around the fountain, admiring the intricate details, admiring the statue.

Then you asked, “Why the minotaur?” You stopped at the other side of the fountain, watching Bucky through the soft streams of water that fell.

Bucky smiled. “For dramatics, mostly. I like the myth.”

You chuckled. “I see.”

Bucky shoved his hands into his coat pockets and asked, “You ever wonder what truly happened to the maidens that were sent into the minotaur’s maze?”

“They were never seen again. He either ate or killed them according to the myths.” You answered.

He nodded, “Or maybe he didn’t hurt them. Maybe they just never wanted to leave.”

Ah. So he was speaking in riddles again. “Like how you don’t want me to ever leave?”

“You won’t.” He sounded too sure, yet again.

“You sound very sure.” You watched him carefully.

Bucky smiled, “You forget that I know you, doll. Better than you know yourself.” He paused, then added, “You find comfort in the darkness too.”

“Comfort?”

Bucky remained on the other side of the fountain as he spoke, the fog swirling around him almost like he ordered it to. “You think I don’t know you have trouble sleeping? That the nightmares bother you too? Of all the missions we’ve been on, the people we’ve had to kill for some greater good? Cities we demolished? Houses and families we tore apart? All in the name of being altruistic heroes?”

Suddenly you had trouble breathing.

Bucky continued, this time walking around the fountain and slowly getting closer to you, “That’s why you like running, isn’t it? You pretend you’re running from it all. You pretend you’re free. That you can finally escape it all and put an end to it. You run till your legs get numb, till your lungs burn. Till each breath hurts. So it can finally feel like well-deserved punishment.”

“Stop.” You audibly gasped for air this time, as your eyes began watering. You no longer felt the cold. No longer felt the dampness of the fog. Nothing, but the ache in your chest.

“I’ve been there, doll. No matter what you do, it doesn’t go away. The guilt doesn’t go away. Not until you stop and walk away from that life.”

“Bucky, please…” You turned around, not able to face him anymore as the tears fell down your cheeks. You heard him getting closer. You felt his warmth against your back as he placed his arms around you, pulling you in.

“Maybe that’s why the maidens never left the maze.” He said. “Maybe they realised that his darkness was better than the cruel world who reduced their pure hearts and souls to being mere sacrifices.”

The night had gotten colder somehow. The wind had picked up, like it was about to rain. The fog clinging to the hedges was thicker now.

“Stay with me.” He whispered into your ear. “It’s chaos out there. Stay here with me.”

You sniffled quietly. “I’m scared, Buck.”

The rain came then. Light drizzle, then slowly getting heavier. Bucky pulled you to the nearest alcove and kept you safe and warm between the stone wall and his muscular body, sheltering you from the rain.

“I’m here.” He reassured you.

“I’m scared.” You repeated, holding onto him like he was the only thing you’d ever hold.

Bucky pressed his lips against your forehead, “I know, baby. I know.” He murmured. “But I see you. You'll never have to pretend with me. I know you’re tired, of fighting, of being good and getting nothing in return. It’s okay to stop, baby. We’ll never have to fight or kill again.” He sounded hopeful. “We’ll be happy here.” So hopeful, and pure that it hurt. “I’m here, doll. It’s okay.”

You couldn’t help but kiss him. Bucky kissed you back ferociously, like he’d held back all those times before, but now he no longer could. His hands wandered, pulling your dress up quickly as he knelt in front of you before you could even process it.

He pressed his lips to your inner thighs, kissing you wherever he could as his fingers lowered your underwear down to your ankles. You stepped out of it as his mouth got closer and closer to your dripping core.

“Bucky…” You sighed, as you felt his breath against your wet folds. You couldn’t help but slide your fingers into his soft hair, as he brought his mouth over to your clit, sucking on it hard enough to make you squirm in pleasure, your back digging into the stone wall of the alcove.

His tongue slid up and down your folds, teasing your entrance, occasionally flicking your clit. “So fucking good,” He whispered, hands caressing and groping your thighs as he ate you out. His tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit.

He parted your legs further as he slowly brought a metal finger up to your clit, watching it sliding agonisingly slowly down your slit, parting your wet folds.

You shivered under his cold touch, then bit your lip to refrain from moaning too loudly. You sighed, then gasped audibly as he slid a metal finger inside you, stroking your walls gently while he placed his mouth back on your clit. “Please…” You begged, wanting more.

Lips brushing against your wetness he asked, “Will you promise to stay here with me? Forever?” He growled as you kept whining and squirming under his addicting touch, “Answer me.”

“Yes…” You whispered, breathless and wanting. “Yes, I will.” You moaned.

He smirked against your wet skin before standing back up, enjoying the way you whined in protest. “You’re mine.” He said.

You whined again, “Bucky, please…”

He chuckled and undid his pants before picking you up and kissing you deeply as he pinned you to the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist and his cock briefly brushed against your wet folds, making you shiver at the brief contact.

You couldn’t take the teasing anymore. Moaning into the kiss you said, “Bucky please,” You begged, “I need you. I need you… please.” You whispered.

Bucky kissed down your neck, peppering it with kisses as he aligned his throbbing tip with your entrance. Slowly, he pushed himself into you. His fingers digging into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours holding on to his shoulders as he filled you up nicely.

“This is all you wanted? Hmm?” He groaned, moving just the slightest bit. “You’re so perfect, baby.”

He held you up against him as he sped up into you. He dipped his head into the crook of your neck and mumbled, “You’ll always be mine.” He growled, “And we’ll be happy forever here.”

Behind him, just beyond the shelter of the alcove, the rain was getting heavier. Louder. But with your heartbeats echoing in your ears you could barely focus on it.

You whined just a little louder this time and his mouth soon found yours again. He nibbled on your bottom lip and you let out shaky breaths as he kept fucking into you relentlessly, earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls perfectly.

Bucky nibbled on the skin under your ear and you lost it. Your thoughts became cloudy and all you could focus on was his body and his cock inside of you.

You whimpered, “Can I please come?”

“Go on, baby.” He mumbled softly against your skin while he fucked you like an animal, “Come all over my cock,” He spoke, fucking you harder and deeper.

Your throbbing clit rubbed against his pelvic bone each time he buried himself completely in you and it was hard to even think coherently.

He quickened his pace, whispering, “Mine… ” in your ear as he pounded into you as fast as he could, your back slamming into the stone wall with each thrust.

You could hear the sounds of your skin slapping against each other over the heavy rain. Your legs started to shake around him as he quickened his pace, now pounding into you mercilessly.

“Come for me, doll.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you came undone around his cock, whining and whimpering. Walls clenching around him, nails scratching down his neck and a strained moan escaping your mouth as you came hard. More tears streaming down your face.

He came right after you did, cock throbbing against your pulsating walls, moaning into your ear when he felt your walls clenching violently around him.

He didn’t pull out immediately. He just kept his cock carefully buried in you. He relished your warmth and leaned in to kiss you again, passionately, much more gentle than before. “I’ve got you,” He murmured. “You’re safe with me.”

The epiphany of it all made you unable to stand on your two feet for too long. You briefly remembered Bucky carrying you all the way out of the maze, into the house and up the stairs.

You fully came back to your own body only after Bucky had submerged you in a warm bath. With him seated behind you and caressing your spent body.

“Are you okay, doll?”

You nodded, sitting with your back to his chest. “I’m okay.” You whispered.

Bucky’s hand rubbed your back in a soothing way that had you sighing in bliss. Then he said, “I’ll take you somewhere nice tomorrow.”

You smiled with your eyes closed, leaning into his touch. “Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“How many more secrets have you kept from me?”

He chuckled. “Enough that it would take you a lifetime to uncover them all.”

“You have a lot of faith in the durability of this relationship.” You teased.

“Hmm, I do.” He sighed as he left soft kisses all over the side of your face. Outside the rain was getting harsh and loud again. But here, everything was warm and perfect. “You can’t run from me.” He teased.

Couldn’t you? You sighed. Did you even want to anymore?

Maybe you would end up finding comfort in the darkness with him. In the familiarity of his arms. In the warmth of his touch and smiles. Hell, maybe you’d be willing to take the serum one day. But all that for later, being here was all that mattered right now.

You leaned your head back onto his shoulder, back pressing against his chest as you let him hold you.

A lifetime… yeah that didn’t sound too bad.

Bucky kissed your forehead as you leaned your head back, resting it on his shoulder. Safe, satisfied, and in his arms. He often dreamed of this. He kissed your forehead again as he smiled. He knew what you must be thinking about. He could almost hear it.

He knew you were having a slight hard time accepting all this, choosing it. The guilt would go away in time. He would do whatever it takes to help you adjust to your new life. And everything would be perfect then.

There was a small voice in his head that told him that he shouldn’t ignore the possibility that this could be a ruse. That you were playing along, trying to earn his trust, waiting for him to have his guard down so you could run from here.

Bucky smirked as he leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, his arms firm around you as you both soaked in the last few moments of the warm water before it got cold.

He wasn’t stupid, and you were a very smart woman, so of course he’d thought about that possibility. And though he knew the chances of this being true were very slim, he couldn’t just sit and wait. Could he? That’s why he took all the precautions he could beforehand.

He made sure, even if you were to leave him and run back to what used to be your ‘normal’ lives, that there was nothing left for you to go back to.

There was no one left. Another secret of his, tucked away.

But he would always be here for you. Bucky turned his head and kissed your forehead again. He vowed to love you enough that, like the maidens in the myths, you’d never want to leave his maze either.

Fin.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #marvel #avenger!reader

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brunchable · 3 months ago

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

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

Flashback: Edges of the Country

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Few days before: at The Siren’s Song

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back in the Square: Rumlow’s Speech

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

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

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

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

Private Meeting in Annecy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish, brother.”

× × × ×

Present

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

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

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

You were tired of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I?”

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

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

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

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

He let out a soft sigh, reluctant but understanding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had an image to maintain, after all.

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

But then something shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Having some trouble there, Lord Pierce?"

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

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

Isaac chuckled softly, making no move to help.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you wish for?” Bucky asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not for yourself. . .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

It was the day of officializing the Consort.

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

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

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

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

“I’ll visit her before the Ceremony.”

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

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

Scott glanced at Steve, then back at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not like a schoolboy anymore, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Majesty… are you still drinking tea?”

You blinked as confusion crossed your features.

“Tea? Y-yes, but not often why?”

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

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

“Why do you ask?”

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

Isaac recalled and nodded twice.

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re really becoming quite the nuisance, aren’t you?” Isaac’s voice was low, dripping with dark amusement. His thumb brushed lightly over her throat, sending a shiver through her, though there was no mercy in his eyes. His grip tightened slightly, making her gasp.

Behind them, Monica's hands were still weakly reaching toward her throat, gasping for breath, but Isaac's focus remained solely on Sharon.

Sharon struggled in his hold, her eyes wide with shock as she grasped at his wrist, but Isaac didn’t budge. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You should have known better than to try something like this under my watch,” he murmured, his voice a soft, lethal purr. “Now, tell me… was this your own idea, or are you following someone else’s orders?”

Sharon’s chest heaved, her breath shallow, jaw clenched as she refused to answer. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening.

“No? Well then, perhaps I’ll give you a moment to reconsider before I lose my patience,” he added, his voice like silk, though there was a lethal promise hidden beneath the surface.

For a moment, Sharon struggled to breathe, her eyes darting between Isaac and the doorway, her mind racing for an escape. But Isaac’s hold didn’t falter—he was in complete control, and he knew it.

Finally, after a few tense seconds, Isaac loosened his grip just slightly, enough for her to gasp for air. He raised an eyebrow, watching her intently, waiting for her to speak.

"You have a choice here, Sharon," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with barely contained menace. "Answer me… or I can make this much worse for you.”

Tags: @theendofthematerialgworl @httpb3a @spiidergirlsworld @sebastians-love @stevesbbgorl

@targaryenhues @almosttoopizza @scott-loki-barnes @brckenmemories @vicmc624

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@melsunshine @barnesxstan @singsosworld @kitsunetori

@im-normal-about-characters @hayleythecannibal @tallaennatargaryen @honeywithemoney

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alovelywaytospendanevening · 4 months ago

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Sassoon and Graves in 1920.

When Robert Graves walked into C Company mess on 28 November 1915 on some errand, he noticed an unexpected book on the table. It was a copy of Post Liminium, a collection of essays by the late nineteenth-century poet Lionel Johnson. The army was not noted for its Lionel Johnson readers; a 'military text-book or a rubbish novel' were more the order of the day. Graves took a discreet look at the name on the flyleaf. A glance round the mess was enough to indicate 'Siegfried Sassoon': the tall, lanky, shy subaltern. Graves, also tall but anything but shy, quickly struck up a conversation. Both being off duty, the two were soon walking into Béthune for cream buns, busy talking poetry. Sassoon and Graves had a good deal in common. Both were conventionally unconventional public school products, trying to turn themselves into competent army officers and into the kind of poets Eddie Marsh would publish in his Georgian Poetry anthologies. Both, anxious about being insufficiently manly, had cultivated a tougher, sportier side: Sassoon through fox-hunting and cricket; Graves through boxing — he had been the school middleweight champion. Both were lonely and in love (Sassoon with David 'Tommy' Thomas, Graves with George 'Peter' Johnstone). Both were almost certainly still virgins. The friendship necessarily developed in fits and starts, and owed some of its intensity to that. Long conversations, the uninterrupted exchange of poems and confessions, were a rare luxury. Graves gave Marsh a humorous but probably not very misleading account of their difficulty 'in talking about poetry and that sort of thing': 'If I go into his mess and he wants to show me some set of verses, he says: "Afternoon Graves, have a drink… by the way, I want you to see my latest recipe for rum punch."' He also made it pretty clear to Marsh that it was not just poetry they had to be careful about discussing openly: 'I don't know what the CO would say if he heard us discussing the sort of things we do… His saying is that "there should be only one subject for conversation among subalterns off parade." I leave you to guess it.' There was obviously a secret thrill in these surreptitious exchanges, a sense that Graves and Sassoon were like two naughty schoolboys, hoodwinking their peers and those in authority.

— Harry Ricketts, Strange Meetings: The Poets of the Great War (2010)

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daughterofyore · 2 years ago

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{{Drabble}} George and his anxiety.

wc;; 661

summary;; George has anxiety about an upcoming speech and you calm him down.

contents;; fluff, sweet nothings, loving caresses, stressed George and signs of mania.

a/n;; although I do write smut mainly I wanted to start filling up my repertoire of work. So, I decided to add in a very small lil drabble for ‘just George’. :)

!!W!!;; none really, signs of his mania? (Shaking hand) and anxiety.

George, sweet loveable George. He sat in the upholstered leather chair at the large mahogany desk in his study, his thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t raise his eyes to meet yours, he didn’t even glance up as you walked into the study. Your dress hissed along the ground, it’s brilliant floral design cascading down the sides, bedecked with jewels and your hair in a very fashionable up-do. A very classic Georgian era outfit.

You approached his desk, placing a gentle hand on his back between his shoulder blades. “What troubles you dearest?” You question him softly, beginning to rub small circles on his back. He looked up at you, brows scrunched together and eyes glassy. Had he been crying?

“I am… frustrated my dear.” He slapped a hand on top of papers, a quill lay discarded to the right. Ink leaked along the table, threatening to spill off the edge and onto the expensive carpets below. “I have to ready a speech for government. Make my presence known and make sure they remember me.” He scoffed incredulously, shaking his head as if it was hard to believe. “Yet, my nerves will not settle. I am beginning to panic and-“ you noticed his hand began to shake, the tell tale sign of an episode threatening to take hold of him. You squatted down at his side, gently placing a hand on his knee, demanding his unwavering attention.

“My love, I will help you be the best you can be. I know you will do excellently for there is nothing you can’t do.” A small smile tugs at your lips and his quiver in response, fighting back a wave of emotions. “You will be amazing, an excellent king and a wonderful speaker. You need not worry about how they perceive you. You are George, King of the United Kingdom’s.” You stood, taking his face in your hands. Cupping his cheeks and whispering, “And you are my husband.” His shoulders slumped and he stood, now towering over you. He held your gaze, smiling.

“My beautiful wife.” He brushed his fingers along your cheek, they no longer shook. “What would I ever do without you?” His voice broke a bit, but he held firm in not allowing tears to fall. You reached up and squeezed his hand.

“I’m sure you would be fine, I am merely a help.” He shook his head, making a disgusted face.

“You are absolutely not! Yes, you may help me but you are so much more. You are my wife, my love, the mother of my children you-“ He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to be flush with his front. “You are everything and more. Venus could not compare to your divinity.” You hid your face in his chest, trying to conceal the blush creeping along your face.

“Come darling, let’s go and get some tea to settle ourselves.” You spoke into his chest and he chuckled at your shyness, tenderly grasping your shoulders and pushing you back so that he may see you.

“I love it when you blush. You look so cute.” He smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead and taking your hand in his. He began to walk towards the parlour. He told Reynolds to bring you tea and confectioneries, once he had vanished down the hall and around a corner George spun to you and scooped you into his arms. He began to rush down the hall, eliciting screams and giggles of joy from you.

He pushed the door open with his foot and lay back on a chaise longue, placing you on top of him. He began to trace lazy circles over your stomach once you were both settled. His other hand playing with your fingers. Before the servants knocked on the door with the tea he whispered into your ear, his breath hot and titillating.

“I love you, my beautiful wife.”

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #bridgerton smut #bridgerton spoilers #king george bridgerton #king george iii #king george x f!reader #king george x reader #queen charlotte #bridgerton fanfiction #king George drabble #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton fic #bridgerton men #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton family

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hillwoodhouse · 3 months ago

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One of a pair of matched Georgian side tables. Circa 1800.

#interiors #interior designs #furniture

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flash-the-readies · 9 months ago

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Building a house in the sims 4 but every room is a different pink floyd album

I built this ages ago and it just now occurred to me that I could share this here. I was inspired by a lilsimsie video where she did the same thing except each room is a different Taylor Swift album.

So I built this shell of a house with 14 rooms (+ the exterior so 15 total albums) and then randomised an album for each room and decorated accordingly. Since I wasn't planning on actually playing in the house I didn't bother with landscaping lmao. Sorry for the awkwardly wide shots, I got lazy taking screenshots.

Anyways I suggest making it into a game by going through the photos first and trying to guess which album they are before reading. Let me know if you get them all and what references you catch

As a bonus I added the interior design styles I was vaguely inspired by

Here's the downstairs and upstairs floorplans

The exterior: I cannot make this up. I got the Wall, I was cackling

Style: I wanted English cottage but not in a thatched roof way.. in a Georgian way... and then I remembered I started complaining about Georgian cottages so I added more...shape and ended up with this... eh...

The Entryway: Ummagumma

Style: a bit transitional, she's homey, she's relaxed

I started off thinking I was going to make a relatively ordinary house

Downstairs hallway: Endless River

That basegame gradient wallpaper was actually perfect. This is the second room I did and slowly started dropping any pretenses that this was going to be an ordinary house

Downstairs Powder room: Momentary Lapse of Reason

Style: coastal but in an extra silly goofy way

THIS is where I finally decided to embrace the chaos. Unfortunately I didn't get a bedroom for this album but I actually like how it turned out.

The dining room: Wish You Were Here

Style: brutalism and minimalism

I'm actually obsessed with how this one (pls notice the grate behind the table)

The kitchen: Meddle

Style: Rustic, cottage

This was difficult...I was heavily relying on the colour scheme and references to the lyrics since the album cover looks like.. well... that...

The office: A Saucerful of Secrets

Style: 60s space age and Mid-Century modern

I was so thrilled to use that 60s space age chair

The living room: Obscured by Clouds

Style: traditional

I shared this with my dad and this room made him laugh.. I too was cackling while decorating it

laundry/utility/mudroom: Division Bell

Style: .......... fuck if I know

pls tell me you see the vision because this was a struggle

Upstairs hallway: More

Style: Spanish revival, Spanish colonial

uh... there wasn't much to do here but that's what I had in mind. Not pictured is a nice wooden chandelier above the stairs.

.......... I take it back. This was even more of a struggle

Bedroom 1: Animals

Style: Industrial

This is probably my second favourite room

Bedroom 2: Atom Heart Mother

Style: She's rustic, she's farmhouse

I HAD to use that topiary

Bedroom 3: Dark Side of the Moon

Style: If I had to choose one I would say contemporary even though it's not actually reflected in the room

Discover University actually came with a Dark Side inspired poster so I KNEW I would be using it

Bedroom 4: The Final Cut

pls tell me why the two kids' rooms ended up being colour-drenched in black..

(the bed is a military cot....)

Upstairs bathroom: Piper at the Gates of Dawn

style:... she's ...... eclectic

Saved best for last. The Sims has a gnome obsession and I FINALLY got to use them all

#So more about me I guess... I love playing the Sims... both building and gameplay #I also REALLY like interior decor and would consider redoing the album and design style associations #^^ especially since this one was heavily based on the visuals of the album covers and just whatever I thought was hilarious #My regular builds are better than this I promise ;-;#this was minimally decorated and also a joke build #pink floyd #meme energy #sims 4 #irving rambles #photo post #had the albums out beside me while I was decorating

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oddly-sims · 2 years ago

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Hello everyone! I know it has been such a long time! (I left, I came back etc. etc.) Soooo, anyway! I came to your timeline with a build today! I made this house for my story and I'm in love with it!

I hope y'all like it too!

(NOTE: The house doesn't come with the CC’s 😔)

This house has 6 bedrooms & 5 bathrooms (the 6th bedroom is on the 3rd floor!)

30 x 30 on Copperdale

Lot Type: Residental

Value: § 207.671 (It's spicy, I know)

I try to make it as gameplay safe as possible!

(Please use “bb.moveobjects” when adding the house into your game!)

I use “debug” items & these creators contents:

ORJANIC by: @harrie-cc & @felixandresims (I literally use everything from this collection!)

BAYSIC by: @harrie-cc & @felixandresims

Domaine du Clos by: @pierisim (I only put the link of Part 2, the collection I use the most!)

Maison Meulière by: @pierisim (Only the front beams!)

Winter Garden by: @pierisim (Mostly flowers, decorations, etc.)

Clapboard Sidings by: @peacemaker-ic

Board and Baton Sidings by: @peacemaker-ic

Austere Build Set by: @peacemaker-ic

Graciously Georgian Build Set by: @peacemaker-ic

Whilloh Kitchen by: @peacemaker-ic

Throw pillows by: @peacemaker-ic

Hamptons Getaway by: @peacemaker-ic

Hamptons Builtin by: @peacemaker-ic

Hinterlands Living by: @peacemaker-ic (Only the sideboard 🤷‍♂️)

Hinterlands Dining Room by: @peacemaker-ic

Hinterlands Bedroom by: @peacemaker-ic (Only the bedside table)

The Lighthouse Collection by: @charlypancakes

Garden at Home by: @maxsus

Poolside Lounge by: @maxsus

Cozy Backyard by: @maxsus

Folklore Set by: @lilis-palace

Nora Living by: @myshunosun (Only the basket 🤷‍♂️)

Simmify Music Nook by: @myshunosun

T.O.U. - Please give me full credit - Please do NOT put my creations behind ads or pay sites - Do NOT re-upload without my permission - Do NOT claim as your own work

Thank you :)

Download: SimFileShare

@maxismatchccworld @emilyccfinds @sssvitlanz @troublefind @ruefinds

#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #s4 #simblr #the sims 4 #ts #simmer #house building #sims 4 build #sims 4 house building #copperdale #download

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pareidoliaonthemove · 11 months ago

Note

DAY 20: truth serum - With Kayo and/or Penny

Tête-à-Tête

The punch to her stomach drove all the air from her body, allowing her captors to manhandle her onto a chair, and fasten thick straps around chest, wrist and ankles before she could recover.

Kayo Kyrano gasped behind the blackout hood and gag, desperately trying to get enough air into her body to allow her to fight back, even while part of her brain acknowledged that she was trapped beyond her ability to escape.

Her only hope now was her adopted family would be able to rescue her; and no, the irony was not lost on her.

All she could do was gather intelligence, enough to put her captors behind bars for a long time once she was rescued – provided the rest of International Rescue didn’t end up tied up alongside her. After all, she was their Head of Security, and Covert Ops Agent, and she had been scooped up like a bumbling amateur.

It was embarrassing.

Kayo grunted behind the gag as the fit of the bindings were tested, and extra straps pinioned her upper arms to the chair back, and her legs just below the knee to the top of the chair leg.

Absolutely no way of escaping. She all she could move was her head and her fingers.

It was more than embarrassing; it was mortifying.

Scott would never let her live this down.

A hand grabbed her breast and squeezed roughly, before suddenly being ripped away. There was a snapping sound and the sound of pain – male, if the tone was any guide – indicated that her assailant’s … ‘liberty’ had been noticed and objected to.

“I’m paying you – and handsomely – to bring her to me. Not to satisfy your animal urges. Get out of here. I will deal with you later.”

Kayo froze. She knew that voice. Virgil had once described it as ‘the aural equivalent of an oil spill in an ecological preserve’.

The Hood.

Her uncle.

The fabric covering her head was removed, and Kayo blinked in the light. The room she was in was a tacky exercise in overstated wealth. Clearly located in some kind of industrial facility, the back wall with its riveted metal, pipes, and louvre panels clearly showed that, the panels and riveting on the roof had been transformed into a kind of faux Georgian detailing with gold paint, with a row of Greek columns along the side of the room, transferring the half-pipe into a rectangular shape, and the immense Persian carpet – with the right degree of wear and raggedness to be a genuine antique – lay before an oversized wooden desk behind which hung an enormous gold-coloured ceremonial gong obscuring most of the metal wall. All told, it was the standard ‘rich villains’ lair right out of a B-grade movie.

“Is the light too bright, my dear niece?” her uncle asked, removing the gag.

Kayo looked up at the – undoubtedly genuine crystal – chandelier. “Only the light reflecting off your head … Uncle.”

His eyes flamed momentarily, before he got himself back under control. “Very amusing, I’m sure.”

A snap of his fingers and three minions hurried into the room, two depositing a red leather wing chair before her, and another with a carved wooden incidental table on which stood a bottle of water, a crystal decanter of amber-coloured spirit – probably some obscenely expensive whisky – with two crystal tumblers.

And a hypodermic spray injector and a phial of straw-coloured liquid.

Kayo felt her breath catch in her throat. Whatever was in that phial, it wasn’t anything good.

The Hood seated himself in the chair, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers before him. “Now my dear, I invited you here –”

Kayo lifted an eyebrow. “Invited? Don’t you mean ‘kidnapped’, ‘abducted’ … or is it just ‘stole’ to you? Am I just another possession, like your tacky self-portrait herm?” She indicated the waist high pillars with her uncle’s sculpted head in gold-coloured metal that sat between the columns.

Again The Hood visibly had to reign in his anger at the interruption. “I would much rather it have been an invitation,” he conceded. “But you persist in being … misguided … in your loyalties; so much so that if I desire a tête-à-tête, I am forced to take extreme measures.”

Kayo stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“So tell me, my dear,” he continued, reaching over to pour a generous measure of the water into one of the tumblers and hold it out to her, “how are you these days?”

She glared at him. “Well, Uncle,” she said, injecting all the sarcasm she could into the title, “I’m a little tied up at the moment. It’s not the best time for your little catchup.”

He forced held the tumbler to her lips and tipped it slightly, Kayo kept her mouth closed and a dribble of water ran down either side of her face. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“This is, however, the best time for me,” he commented. “So I’m afraid we’ll not be … rescheduling.” He returned the tumbler to the side table and poured the spirit from the decanter into the other glass, taking his time to coat the inside of the glass with the liquid, before taking a sip. “How is your dear father these days?”

She clenched her jaw, glaring at him fiercely. “How dare …”

He sighed and replaced the glass before picking up the hypospray injector and phial. “Very well. I tried so hard to avoid this, Kayo, but if you insist on being stubborn …”

He expertly loaded the phial and uncapped the applicator end, before coming to stand at her left side, one hand firmly holding her head tilted toward her right shoulder to expose her neck. A soft pfft of sound, and a vague stinging in her neck told her the drug – whatever it was – had been administered.

Kayo worked to calm her heartbeat. A slower pulse meant slower dispersion throughout the body, meaning that whatever it was would have less time to work its undoubtedly malignant effect.

Her uncle recapped the injector and removed the phial, setting the injector back on the side table and resuming his seat. He held the phial up and thoughtfully rolled it between his fingers, the light catching on stray beads of the liquid to create a miniature halo effect within the bottle.

“It cost me a good deal of money and effort to source this,” he said conversationally. “Worth every cent, of course. A brand-new truth serum, guaranteed to make anybody tell anything, without those pesky side-effects of previous formulas.” He smiled, contented. “And of course, I’ve already made a handsome profit off this little investment.” He tutted. “You would not believe how many politicians and business-men indulge in dirty little habits that they would pay massive amounts of money to keep secret.”

Kayo snorted. “So that’s it. You’re back after the Thunderbirds. I don’t know any details of schematics, I can’t tell you anything.”

The Hood placed the phial back on the table. “No, but you know the security systems,” he said. “You know how to circumvent them.” He smiled, a self-satisfied, predatory smile, the cat that had the cream. “And you would tell me, willingly, with this drug in your system. I could take Tracy Island, the Thunderbirds, and all their secrets.”

Kayo snarled, but her mind was racing. She had had some interrogation training, at her father’s insistence. Even been exposed to different truth serums, so she could learn how to fight them, humiliating sessions which had involved her divulging her rather teen girl crushes. But this felt … nothing like them. The fuzziness, the ‘floating’, the disorientation … all missing. Nonetheless, she fell back on her old training, and clung to her anger. It had always seen her through in the past. It would work now.

And this time, it was easy.

He paused, taking another mouthful of his drink and savouring it, before swallowing. “And so, Kayo, my beloved niece … how are you these days?”

Kayo blinked, “What?” It took every ounce of her self-control not to blurt out an answer, but the utter absurdity of the situation gave her enough of an edge to maintain her control.

“I told you, my dear, I just want to catch up with you.” He stared at her, earnestly. “So, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you.” The words rose unbidden.

“The Tracys are keeping you busy? Not too busy, I hope. It wouldn’t do for you to be overworked.”

“Not so much the Tracys as your Chaos Crew. Any ‘overwork’ I’m experiencing is entirely your fault. Why not give yourself up? Give everyone a break.” That answer was easier, and much more satisfying.

Her uncle chuckled. “Unfortunately, I have plans – very intricate plans, that necessitate the use of those … rather blunt tools.” He eyed her. “Of course, you could always come work for me, and we could accomplish the end result with much less … collateral damage, shall we say, than Havoc and Fuse invariably create.”

“And what would that end result be, exactly?”

He smiled indulgently. “Why, power, of course. Wealth and power. The only two things worth pursuing.”

Kayo raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought love was the ultimate good in life,” she said. A thought struck her. “Haven’t you loved?”

The look he gave her chilled her to the bone. “Oh, yes, my child. I have loved. Three times, I have loved, and three times my heart has been broken. Two are beyond my reach now forever. But the third … I may yet have hope for the third.”

Kayo stared, as the Hood contemplated something only he could see. Her heart beat faster. Three loves, who could they be?

A distant memory of her father’s voice came to her. “Your uncle, he is not a good man, Tanusha. His avarice outweighs his sense of duty. One day, daughter, you will come to understand; but for now it is enough that you know that he would do us harm.”

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, her uncle spoke again. “And how is your dear father? It has been a very long time since I have had news of my beloved half-brother.”

“He is in good health,” Kayo responded, even as she tried to hold her tongue still. “But he still grieves for the people he has lost, and those who have betrayed him.” She managed glare at that last.

And was satisfied as the Hood gave in to anger. “Impertinent child!” He slapped her, a backhanded strike that split her lip and rocked her head to the side. “I betrayed no one!” he hissed into her. “Not even my brother! I was the one betrayed! Over, and over, I was betrayed by my so-loving family, my so-called friends!”

He stormed away to stand behind the desk, hands planted on its surface and leaning towards her, his face contorted in anger. “I was betrayed!” he repeated. “Time and again. And everything I have done, everything I have become, is to reclaim what is mine by right!” He glared at her. Daring her to contradict his claim.

Kayo smirked at him, and tested the damage to her lip with the tip of her tongue. “If you say so.”

“Anyone would say so – anyone who is not my betrayer.”

Visibly calming, the Hood walked back out from behind his desk. As he drew nearer he clicked his tongue in annoyance, and pulled the kerchief from his jacket pocket. Dipping a corner into the tumbler of water, he squeezed the excess off, and reached out to her face.

Kayo jerked back, trying to evade his touch, but he grabbed her head with his other hand before gently dabbing at the injury.

“I truly regret that,” he said softly.

“Regret what? Staining your kerchief with blood?”

The Hood sighed, and slumped back into his chair, Kayo stared. She had never seen her Uncle look so … defeated. There was no other word for it. Even when captured, in handcuffs, hell, even in gaol, there had been a defiance, an air of control, as if it was all part of his plan. But now …

“You won’t believe this, but I do care about you, Kayo. I miss you.”

I miss you, Uncle, rose in her throat, but she managed to swallow them down. She missed the man he had been when she was ten. That man was dead, killed by knowledge of his actions. By what he had done.

Who he had killed.

“And I worry about you. I know Jeff Tracy is gone –”

“Which was your doing! You killed him!”

Another sigh. “If he hadn’t been trying to play the hero, Kayo, he would still be alive.”

She stared, disbelieving. “Millions would have died. If the Zero-X had exploded …”

“But it did, didn’t it? A great big giant explosion, turning both the Zero-X into atoms, and Jeff Tracy along with it. But where was the wreckage? If the explosion was going to be as big as they said it would be, how did Tracy get it far enough away? He was only gaining altitude for seconds. Not enough time for the blast radius to clear the earth, not at the speed it was doing, even if he accelerated. So where were the fatalities? The GDF planes were right underneath it, why did they survive?”

Her Uncle stared at her now, earnest. “Unless the explosion was never going to be as big as they said it would be. Unless they lied, Kayo. Why would they lie? What would they get out of it?”

Kayo just stared. She had no words to fight him with. It was a lie, she knew that, but it would be so easy to believe it.

And that scared her.

“You were young when this happened, Kayo; you believed your father, what he told you. I understand that. You didn’t really see Jeff, but I did. I was once his friend, but we fell out. He says it was my fault, but Kayo, I could see. I could see him. I could see where his path was heading, and it scared me. I tried to stop him. I’m still trying to stop him.”

He paused, calming his breathing. “You live with his sons, you call them your ‘brothers’. You think they are good men. I hope they are, Kayo, I really hope they are. But all I can see is their father, posturing and posing and seeking out the fame. Maybe they are good men, their mother was a good woman. A good person. But they were so young when she died, and they were left with him.”

A sigh. “And you were left with them.” Softly, sadly.

He paused, and checked his watch. “Our time, my dear, is nearly up. I wish we could talk longer, but as they say, time and tide wait for no man. There is just one more thing I would ask you.”

Kayo stared, struggling to understand what she had just heard.

“I love you, Kayo, my little Tanusha. Do you still love me?”

Her head still reeling for his previous words, Kayo was only half aware that she spoke: “Yes, Uncle. I still love you.”

Notes:

I had this PLANNED, dammit! But the Hood went off on a tangent and started his rant.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

#thunderbirds are go #kayo kyrano #the hood #fanfic #my fanfic #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday20

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thakefurniture · 2 months ago

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Georgian Side Table, antique side table, mahogany side table : Antique Tables UK - Antique Side Tables - Oak Side Tables - Hall Table

#Georgian Side Table #antique side table #mahogany side table #antique tables #antique side tables

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hannahssimblr · 1 year ago

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Chapter Nine (Part 2)

Town is wild and full tonight, and immediately I find myself among a battlefield of bottles and cans and fast food takeaway boxes. A man runs past me with his top off and swinging it over his head as though it’s not three degrees and drizzling, and on the steps of some Georgian townhouse there are three girls singing a tuneless rendition of Auld Lang Syne. One of them drops an unopened bottle of Mickey Finns down the steps and I instinctively reach out and rescue it before it bounces hard enough to smash.

“Here.” I say as I hand it back to her. “That would have been a waste of a tenner.”

“Aw, thank you hun.” She says, one fake eyelash hanging off her lid. “Happy new year. You’re stunning.”

“Thanks.” I laugh. “So are you.”

Before I can walk away she takes my hand in hers, stares into my eyes and says “You have the best 2012, you deserve to be happy.” And I sort of feel like I’ve just been blessed by this girl, bewitched by the magical powers that only drunk girls have after midnight.

“You too.” I say to her as I slide my hand away. She gives me a queasy smile that makes me wonder how much mine resembles it when I’m drunk like that. I ask her if she knows where the best pizza is.

“Primo.” All three of them say, and one of them points me towards Dame Street. “The absolute best.” She says, and does that little chefs kiss motion with her hand, so I believe her without question.

“Oh I’ve heard of Primo.” I say.

“Hearing about it is nothing, hun. You have to try it.”

“Well I can’t wait!” I say to them, and I continue my journey down the street.

“Get the Piccante!” One of them roars after me, and I can’t help but laugh as I spin around to wave at them as I continue backwards.

“Will do!” I call out. “Thank you, angels.”

The queue at Primo is already out the door and snaking several metres down the street but there isn’t any part of me that cares about that. I join it, thinking only of my rumbling stomach and how satisfying it will be when I get to take my first bite of authentic, stone baked Italian pizza. Besides, I’d rather be in this queue than still be in that awful club pretending that I think Ulysses is a normal man.

When I get inside of the place it’s like a cattle mart, and it’s so rowdy that they have three bouncers standing watch over the crowd. The boy in front of me, one of the short-back-and-sides brigade, starts squirting water from his plastic bottle onto a group of girls sitting in one of the booths and they’re turning around and shouting at him repeatedly, causing the volume of the entire place to rise to a cacophonous level. A bouncer has to come over and confiscate the bottle.

“Sorry,” says the boy. “I was messing.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry.” snaps the bouncer, getting up into his face. “Just stop doing it.” I think that it must be quite cathartic to be a bouncer sometimes, you can just say whatever you want and nobody will do anything about it, even if you punch them in the head they’ll be too drunk to stop you. What it must be like to hold ultimate power over the creatures of the midnight streets.

When I get closer to the front of the queue I get a full view of the staff behind the till working at a frenzied pace whipping pizzas out onto the counter like croupiers at a blackjack table. I watch them, mesmerised. They’re the pinnacle of efficiency, three of them behind the counter buzzing around each other at an incredible pace, nobody getting in anyone’s way, all of them sharp and so quick and so alert that it seems superhuman to me. Through the beads that cover the door to the kitchen I can see the cooks shovelling dough into the hot ovens in a way that reminds me of old footage of men loading coal into steam trains in England. I marvel at this industrial hub they have going for them.

One guy crosses over the doorway so quickly that all I see is a flash of platinum hair, but it’s all I need to be hit with a jolt of recognition. All at once I remember why the name Primo was so familiar to me. This is where Dean Cullen works. That was him. In the kitchen. Dean Cullen is a cook at Primo. I want to smack myself in the forehead because I knew this already, Marnie found out about it and told me a while ago, I guess it just didn’t strike me as important enough to truly commit it to my memory bank. Not until now, at least.

I peer anxiously back there trying to get another look at him, but there’s so much movement that I can’t. Once I start thinking about our final message exchange I can’t stop, and it just swirls around and around in my head as I keep my eyes on those swinging beads on the door. How strange and stilted and awkward it was, how he blocked me just like that, as though I’m the kind of person who’s easily blocked and deleted from one’s life. It bothers me more than I would ever like to admit to somebody out loud. We were getting along alright, finally, and then… he rids me from his contact list just like that? How can he do something so callous?

“Can I take your order please?” Says the guy behind the till, and I blink, unaware that I had even reached the front.

“Um. The Piccante, please.” I say.

“Twelve euro.” I hand him the cash and he tries to move me along but I stay where I am. “Um. Does Dean Cullen work here?”

He stares at me like I’ve sprouted horns. “Yeah.”

“Do you know what time he’s finished?”

The guy sighs loudly so that I know I’m the one who’s clogging up the gears of this well oiled machine with my stupid question, but he whips some clipboard from a shelf underneath him and flips up the front page. “Half one.”

“Oh, okay.” I say. “So not long.”

“Next.” he says, and starts taking the order of the girl behind me. I go over and stand waiting for my pizza.

Half an hour later I find myself sitting on a bench outside Primo, biting into my absolutely divine Piccante pizza while staring very intently at the side door that leads into the restaurant. By the time Dean finally comes out my hands and feet are so cold that I’ve lost all feeling in them, and by the startled look on his face as I come clomping up to him in my chunky heeled sandals I’m sure I must resemble some kind of horrible ghoul.

“Dean!” I say. “Hang on a sec.” I start shoving my greasy pizza box into the little letterboxed sized gap in the nearest bin, and he waits around to watch me struggle gracelessly with it, which I take as a positive sign.

“I want to talk to you.” I say once I’ve abandoned my mission and left it hanging halfway out to come stomping towards him.

“What are you doing here?” He says, obviously confused. “Were you waiting for me?”

“No, I was getting a pizza.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, I got the piccante.”

“Good choice.”

“Yeah it came highly recommended.”

He stands there staring at me with one eyebrow arched. “So… You wanted to talk to me, yeah?”

“Yeah I did… I…” I feel the burst of confidence that overtook my body moments ago make a prompt exit from my body and I feel unbelievably awkward. I should have gone home. What did I even think I was going to say to him anyway? I think I just wanted to channel my outrage and now that I’m face to face with him and he’s not acting like a villain I don’t know what to do with it. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” I decide. “For the whole thing with, you know, Marnie and all. Before Christmas. I hope that whatever she said didn’t give you the wrong impression of me, I mean, I didn’t say anything bad about you. At least I don’t think that I did.”

“Oh.” He says. “That. Yeah, it’s alright.”

“I really wasn’t spreading rumours about you, I don’t know what she said to you.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Honestly, I don’t remember doing any… hand touching stuff. I was out of it. The next day I just didn’t want to deal with any drama about it.” He shrugs and starts looking around like he wants to leave. “Is that what you came here to say?”

“You blocked me.” I state, and he looks at me, his pupils very black in the dark.

“So what?”

“That’s an extreme thing to do.”

“Okay well I’ll unblock you then.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and taps around on it before flipping it around to show me that he actually has, even though I’m sure he understands that the point wasn’t the fact he blocked me. It was the why. He interrupts any potential expansion I might have on the topic by asking me where my friends are.

“We were in Lost Society.” I explain. “I left, Marnie is still there.”

“Lost society?” Dean says with exasperation as if going to Lost Society is a really weird thing to want to do. “Isn’t that just full of eighteen year olds the whole time?”

“Yes, and I am eighteen.” I remind him. “But I hated it there. I left straight after midnight.”

“You shouldn’t have left on your own.” He scolds me. “Do you not know the kind of creatures that stalk this town at night time?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath.

“I will!” I insist. “I haven’t far to go home, sure I live in town.”

“You should get the bus.” He makes a pointed look at my shoes, the straps of which have turned lines of my skin white, and my bare toes poking out of them blue, and I start shifting around on them uncomfortably.

“The night bus is like five euro.”

“Yeah so?”

“Walking is free.”

“You’re a very weird girl.”

“You’re a weird boy.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, who just blocks somebody for like, nearly no reason. That’s weird.”

“Oh, we’re back to that again, are we? I never knew you’d be so affected by it. A block is only a block.”

“I’m not affected.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever.” I say in my best Elle Woods voice and then I turn on my heel and start heading south.

Prev // Next

#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 2

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cariantha · 1 year ago

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Mine

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: Explicit Warning: 🔥NSFW, ⛔18+ Only, contains explicit sexual content Category: Fluff, Smut Word count: 2.1K Prompt: Inspired by this prompt from @liaromancewriter

The nurses’ station was buzzing with activity. Behind the desk, nurses were busy answering patient call buttons. A pair of interns were at the counter, tapping lab orders into their tablets. Across from them, Ethan was poring over a stack of files.

“Hi Maureen, what’s up?” Sawyer asked, responding to the page she received a few minutes ago. “Wow, those are beautiful. Are they for a patient?” she gushed, nodding to a giant bouquet of at least two dozen red roses.

“They’re for you, Dr. Brooks,” Maureen responded. “That’s why I paged you.”

“For me? Really?” An uncontrollable smile spread across Sawyer’s face as she scooted over to the vase and reached for the card.

Ethan's gaze met hers as she lifted her eyes. Still wearing a giddy smile, she subtly nodded her head accepting his invitation. He winked back.

Maureen suddenly popped up in front of her, trying to get a peek of the card. “Soooo, who are they from?”

“Oh, um…” Sawyer quickly tucked the card back into the envelope, trying to think of a response. The worst part about being in a secret relationship was having to lie to keep your secret safe. It made her feel icky, so she always tried to spin the truth instead. “They’re from someone I started dating recently.”

“Anyone we would know?” the nosy nurse pressed further.

“Uh-”

“Brooks! Where are the discharge orders for Mr. Cruz? I don’t see them in his file,” Ethan called across to her, making her jump.

“Oh, I… I must have left them in the DT office. I'll put these away and grab them for you, Dr. Ramsey.”

Sawyer played along, returning the wide-eyed look on Maureen’s face that said, “Oh boy, he’s in a mood.”

Sweeping the vase off the counter, Sawyer cast another glance in Ethan’s direction, giving him an appreciative smile for the quick save.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

A luxury town car dropped her off in front of Ethan’s building the following night.

Sawyer knocked gently on his door. “Coming!” she heard from inside, and a moment later, Ethan answered. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and a kitchen towel was draped over his shoulder. He gestured for her to come in, then helped her with her coat, hanging it on a nearby hook. When he turned back to her, Sawyer wrapped her arms around his waist, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. “Hi.”

Ethan wrapped his arms around her, lowering his head to meet her lips in a sweet, welcoming kiss. “Hi.”

“It smells delicious. What are you making for us tonight, Chef Ramsey?”

“Georgian chicken. Since you didn’t get to try it last time,” he said, guiding her to the kitchen.

Soft music played throughout the penthouse. The living room was dim save for the warm glow cast from the crackling logs in the fireplace. The dining table was set for two, decorated with rose petals and flickering tapers set in coordinating candlesticks.

“Do you want some wine?” Ethan asked, pulling her attention back to the activity in the kitchen.

“Please.” Sawyer pushed up her sleeves. “Okay, put me to work, Chef. Give me a bowl of butter and I’ll give this chicken the best massage of their life. Or rather afterlife?” she giggled.

Ethan chuckled. “Chicken’s already in the oven. I just need to saute the asparagus.”

The pan sizzled as he tossed the vegetables in. He turned them over one-handed, letting Sawyer curl into his other side. With one arm around his back, her other hand drifted up the front of his thigh until she was cupping his crotch. “I guess I’ll just have to put my skills to use elsewhere,” she purred.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he warned, dropping the tongs on the counter. Gripping her waist, he picked her up, turned around, and set her atop the kitchen island. He handed her a wine glass and kissed her forehead. “If you touch me like that, we won’t be eating dinner anytime soon. So you’re going to stay right here until the food is ready. Got it?”

“Fine,” she pouted, taking a sip of her wine. “This chicken better be worth it.”

An hour later, Sawyer had cleaned her plate and set her fork down. “That was so worth it.” She stood and moved around to Ethan’s side of the table. He scooted back to let her sit on his lap. “Thank you,” she whispered, giving him a tender kiss. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck and laced her fingers with his. She fell into a lovely trance, watching the dancing candle flames as Ethan rubbed her back. “Mmm, that feels good,” she murmured.

Ethan kissed the top of her head, then encouraged her to stand. Squeezing her hand, he said, “I’ll be right back. Do me a favor and pour us each another a glass of wine?” Then he disappeared down the hall into his bedroom.

Sawyer poured the wine, then made herself useful, carrying their dirty plates to the kitchen sink. She had just put the leftovers away when Ethan returned.

“What are you doing?” he asked, grabbing the glasses of wine from the dining table.

“Just helping clean up,” she answered.

“Leave it,” he insisted. He tilted his head toward the bedroom. “Follow me.”

When Sawyer stepped into his room, she found a trail of rose petals leading to the en suite. The bathroom was dark, save for the candles glowing around the rim of the tub. More rose petals, hundreds of them, floated on the surface of the steamy water. A fragrant aroma of roses and jasmine filled the air.

Ethan set the wine glasses down next to the tub. “Come here,” he said, reaching out his hand.

Sawyer took it and let him pull her close. “I’ve been wanting to do this with you for a long time,” she confessed.

“Me too.” He lifted her shirt over her head and placed it on the counter. Reaching around her back, he unfastened her bra. Curling a finger under each of the shoulder straps, he carefully pulled it away and set it on top of her shirt.

Ethan’s knuckle traced around the pink centers of her breasts while Sawyer unbuttoned his shirt, then his jeans. She unzipped him, then took the sides of his shirt in her hands and peeled it away.

After removing their shoes and socks, Ethan slowly spun Sawyer around, pressing his warm chest against her back. His hands slid under her arms, finding and loosening the button of her pants. Moving to his knees, he tugged the waistband of both her jeans and panties downward, helping her step out of each leg. As he returned to his feet, he kissed the back of her thighs, her ass, then her shoulders.

Sawyer turned to face him and returned the favor. She pushed his pants and underwear to the floor, letting his erection slide between the valley of her breasts as she rose. Ethan grabbed the sides of her face and crashed his lips onto hers. “Do you have any idea how goddamn sexy you are?”

He stepped into the bath and sat down. Extending his hand to Sawyer, he helped her step safely into the water. Standing before him naked, Ethan admired her body. His eyes trailed from her cherry-painted lips, to her plump breasts, to her smooth sex. He leaned forward and kissed the lines of her hips, then the mound below her belly button. “You’re so beautiful.”

Sawyer lowered herself into the water, positioning herself between his bent knees. She leaned back and melted into his embrace. The warmth of the water, and the feel of his skin against hers, was a comfort like no other.

“I could get used to this,” she said softly, running her hands through the blanket of flower petals floating on the water’s surface.

“So could I,” Ethan agreed, sipping on his wine.

After a few more minutes of blissful calm, Ethan set his glass aside and reached for a sponge. He dipped it in the water, then gently nudged Sawyer forward, swiping her hair to the side. The sponge moved up and down her back, then the length of her neck, and across her shoulder before traveling down her arm. Ethan dragged it across her collar bone, then after another dip under the surface, he squeezed a stream of warm water directly over each of her breasts. Her nipples hardened in response.

When she arched her back begging for more, Ethan tossed the sponge to the other end of the tub. He pulled Sawyer back onto his lap, clamping his mouth to her neck as he reached between her legs. Her head fell back on his shoulder, and she moaned as his fingers stroked her core. With each twitch of his cock against her ass, her arousal grew more intense.

As the pleasure continued to build, she turned her head to the side. “Kiss me,” she demanded. Ethan obeyed. As their tongues met, he plunged two fingers inside of her, curling them right where he knew she'd come undone.

“Oh god… I’m going to come,” she whimpered.

He sucked her earlobe, then his warm breath caressed her ear. “Lasciati andare, bella.”

Sawyer reached behind, gripping the back of Ethan’s head, anchoring as her body shuddered with wave after wave of euphoria. “Uhnnnnn…Ethan…”

Water tepid and fingers pruned, they eventually climbed out of the tub. Sawyer shivered as she plucked a few stuck rose petals from her body. Ethan wrapped a thick towel around her shoulders and rubbed up and down her arms to rid her of the goosebumps. “Let's warm up in front of the fire. We can set up a picnic for dessert," he suggested.

“Dessert? You’re spoiling me tonight.”

Ethan kissed her cheek as he walked past and into his closet. “You deserve it.” He emerged wearing a pair of loose shorts with a t-shirt in hand for Sawyer, but she was already buttoning the dress shirt he discarded earlier. “Fuck me,” he growled at the sight.

“Oh I will... But dessert first,” she smirked, walking past him to the kitchen.

🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁

With perfect timing, a log in the fireplace cracked in two, sending sparks up the chute. “Sawyer!” Ethan cried out as he found his release. Their bodies slick with sweat, he slid off of her and collapsed onto his back, just missing the tray of strawberries and chocolate sauce he had prepared for dessert.

Sawyer rolled to her side and propped herself up on an elbow. Ethan’s eyes were closed as he tried to regain equilibrium. She kissed his cheek and started tracing shapes on his chest. “Thank you for tonight, Ethan… and for the flowers yesterday. Who would have guessed you were such a romantic?” His lips turned up in a small smile. “Though, given your love of opera, I guess it shouldn’t come as such a surprise.”

He opened his eyes and turned his head to her. “I wanted to make up for some of the time I wasted before,” he explained. “Was it too much?”

Sawyer cupped his cheek. “Not at all, babe,” she assured him, using the term of endearment for the first time. “I loved it.” She leaned down and kissed him softly. “You pulled out all the stops. I’ve never had anyone do the things you did for me.”

He combed his fingers through her hair and looked her in the eyes. “You deserve nothing less, Rookie. I’ll have to think of some new ways to sweep you off your feet in the future.”

“Tonight has been incredible, and consider me swept… But Ethan, I don’t need love letters every day.”

“I know, but I like showing you how much you mean to me.”

“That’s easy, babe. Just smack me on the butt and say, ‘I’m glad that ass is mine,’” she laughed.

“That easy, huh?”

“Mmm hmm,” Sawyer hummed. Sitting up and reaching across him, she plucked a strawberry from the tray.

“Good to know."

After dipping the strawberry in the chocolate, Sawyer held a hand underneath it as she brought it to her mouth for a bite. Moving her hand away at just the right moment, the chocolate sauce dripped onto Ethan's abs. “Whoops, my bad,” she smiled wickedly. Licking her lips, she lowered her head, “Let me get that for you.”

🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

Two days later, Sawyer rode the elevator up to the fifth floor with Sienna. When the steel doors slid open, she looked up to find Ethan waiting on the other side. She smiled and winked as Ethan waited for her roommate to exit.

Ethan’s shoulder rubbed Sawyer’s as they crossed over the threshold at the same time. Then… SMACK! Sawyer jumped when the palm of his hand slapped her ass cheek. Safely on the other side, she turned to face him with a questioning look on her face.

Ethan leaned forward to punch the button for the lobby. Then he looked at Sawyer. As the doors began to close, he smiled. “Mine.”

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @peonierose @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction @jerzwriter @queencarb @coffeeheartaddict2 @quixoticdreamer16 @jamespotterthefirst @liaromancewriter @zealouscanonindeer @tveitertotwrites @tessa-liam @youlookappropriate @kyra75 @socalwriterbee @txemrn

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan x sawyer #choices stories you play #choices open heart #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week

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chiropteracupola · 9 hours ago

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the WIPs of your that most intrigue me at present are:

blood of the ash-tree (georgian vampire time!)

hornblower? animorphs?? crossover??? (eeeelaborate pls)

FotH Green Knight (let's Pearl-Poet this canon up)

and EotN fire-breather of hispania (i love all your temeraire AUs and universe expansions)

strong opening with the eternal Request for the Vampiremen. I have not written on them much of late but here is an old snippet...

Rowlandson stumbled on the stairs, his left foot catching against the carpet and tugging it askew. He winced as his leg twisted under him, aching as it often had since he had first broken it falling from a horse, some seven years before. The scar of the bullet-blow that had felled him in the first place still showed upon the opposite shoulder, but it was in his shin and his ankle that the lasting pain had made its nest. Now, in his state of half-exsanguinated exhaustion, the effort required to keep his stride was nearly too great. Rowlandson caught himself against the nearer wall of the stairwell, cursing viciously when the lightheadedness didn’t fade.

the hornblower animorphs crossover is based on the fact that it is canon in animorphs that the animorphs kids were at the battle of trafalgar (as well as agincourt, which is a whole other worm can yet to be investigated). you know who else was at trafalgar? william bush.

<This Hornblower — he is your war-prince, then?> It was an odd way of putting it, but Bush found that it could not be termed entirely incorrect. “Captain is the more commonly used word, Mr. Isthill.” The long eyestalks flicked first to him, and then to Hornblower, who was conferring with the other members of that strange party. Isthill cocked his head to one side, birdlike in his curiosity, but appeared to determine assent.

foth green knight — how could I resist merging two lovely instances of 'happily married estate-owning couple and their impulsive steadfastly honorable third from a distant court?'

It was less a chapel than a tiny shrine cut into the rock, a little alcove carved into the cliff face just far enough that a man might stand within and not feel the wind upon his face. The toppled stones around it seemed to imply it was once greater, that that sacred stillness it held had extended for paces beyond its current bounds. A man in green sat slumped at the chapel’s entrance, his head bowed over his folded hands. One waterfall of liquid birdsong, and then, with a fluttering of wings, the notes trickled away. “…Ardroy?” The man raised his head, his long hair shimmering back and forth from red-gold to green-gold in the frost-thin light. He nodded, unspeaking, sorrow written plainly across his face.

'a fire-breather of hispania' is best summarized as 'what if esca brought home a dragon egg instead of a wolf cub,' and has expanded itself delightfully into... mostly just me gently adjusting the plot to fit a dragon inside it, which is very fun.

The dragonet was a tease and a trouble from the very beginning — he hid among the ceiling beams and descended suddenly on Sasticca when she was cooking, he snuck up on Uncle Aquila’s tired old wolfhound and nipped at his tail while he slept, he made a mess of every room and sent Esca chasing after him, the atrium all a flutter of lost papers where he had been. But Marcus laughed, laughed as he had not since Isca Dumnoniorum. “You have a gladiator for a body-slave, and a dragon for a pet — there was peace and quiet in my house, once,” said Uncle Aquila ruefully, turning a draught-piece over and over in his hand. The remains of his game lay scattered across the floor, the folding table knocked down by an errant tail, and Aquilillus, his head in Esca’s lap, was presently nibbling a corner of the board. But there was merriment in his eyes — merriment that, had Marcus seen both his uncle and himself, was written in the same hand on both their faces.

#em writes stuff #blood of the ash-tree #em is posting about hornblower #heronposting #em is posting about temeraire #hornblowermorphs has stagnated somewhat over the past year due to. need to figure out how bush would describe an andalite.#fire-breather of hispania on the other hand is a joy to write due to the fact that I am not as scared of rome-inaccuracies #when I've already added a dragon...

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roseofithaca · 8 months ago

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Trapped (Final Part)

Credit to @idiotwithanipad for her art and always amazing oc. 🥰

"Gone? As in..." the Georgian woman clenched her fists as they held the heavy folds of her dress.

The Captain nodded, somberly; "Moved on, Kitty. Just like Mary."

"And Annie." Added Humphrey, to his left.

Kitty immediately began to sob, one hand moving up over her face as the tears fell. Pat rushed to her side and put a kind arm around her shoulders, his other hand finding the one at her lap, giving it a paternal squeeze.

He hushed her with gentle words and patient reminders of what they had apparently talked about the last time this had occurred, long before the newest ghost had choked on her energy drink, long before Button House Hotel even existed.

Meanwhile, Amy sat beside Kitty at the foot of the king-size bed in Higham Suite, displaying the polar opposite reaction. There was no sobbing, no tears, not so much as the tremble of her bottom lip. Her eyes were fixed, hard, on Robin, her brow furrowed, as if she were trying to decipher some secret he was keeping from them.

Humphrey watched his adopted daughter, eager to keep his head attached to his body for what he knew to be a heavy moment. One where she would need him to be whole.

"Poppet. You okay?" He asked, softly.

His hand itched to reach out and touch her shoulder. But the past few years of bonding with the odd but sweet young woman had taught him enough to know when she wasn't in the mood to be coddled, as Pat was doing with Kitty.

Amy ignored him.

"You saw her go?" She asked Robin.

The caveman was standing, rather uncertain, his shoulders slightly hunched and his right hand stroking across his furs with his knuckles. Humphrey also knew his friend after many centuries to know when he was feeling guilty.

Robin shook his head.

"I go to her last night. Hear her cry, me think from bad dream." He recounted, "By time me got to bed, Moonah girl no longer scream...Moonah girl no longer on bed. She go..."

He gestured his paws up to the ceiling.

Amy blinked; "How do you know that?"

Each word was enunciated with the most bitter cynicism.

"I...Where else she go?" Robin shrugged; "Me search all around land, Stompy, and every corner of house. She no here. Me can't smell mushrooms or funny herb."

"You're sure? A thousand per cent?!" Amy persisted, "You can't smell her at all?!"

"No. Well...except on bed, but-"

Amy pushed herself up and began walking briskly towards the door, her stern expression that of a girl on a mission.

"Amy, love, hold on a sec." Humphrey dared to try to take her hand.

Predictably, she pulled away.

Before reaching the door, she paused.

"When did this happen?" She asked, not turning around.

The others all looked to Robin.

"...Last night. Eleven dongs on big clock."

"And when did you tell the rest of them, except me and Kitty?"

"...I..."

Cap stepped forward; "Robin informed us at around three a.m."

Amy pointed a finger at the digital clock on the bedside table that read six thirty.

"And you waited another three and a half fucking hours to tell us?!"

"Poppet-"

"Don't 'poppet' me! Our best friend disappeared and you thought that was news that could wait until morning?!"

Kitty was too upset to be angry, by the looks of things, assuming she even felt such emotion. Heartbroken sobs continued to leave her as Pat kept his arm around her back.

The men all seemed to retreat an inch at the sharp rise in Amy's tone. Fanny, Thomas and Julian were absent from the room. Were they grieving in their own way or simply didn't care? It wasn't Amy's top concern right now.

"It didn't seem right to wake you so early for you to get upset-"

"We're not children, for fucks sake!" Amy protested; "Doesn't matter how all you wise old dads - that you seem think you are - look at us like we're silly little girls-."

"That's not-." Humphrey tried to protest but Amy shot him with a look so piercing that it came close to decapitating him a second time. He dipped his head; "...It was wrong of us. I'm sorry. It just seemed like the kindest thing at the time. That's all I can say."

There was more that Amy could say to chastise them for that. Temptation tried to convince her to launch into an anti-patriarchal rant on her pagan friend's behalf.

But the sight of all four men hanging their heads in shame softened her anger, just enough. Especially the sincere exhaustion on Humphrey's face. She'd awoken to find him sat in a chair beside her as she awoke, waiting for her to rise, gazing down at her with a mix of paternal affection and sadness.

There was no way she could stay mad at him.

The other one though...

"I knew something was wrong when you didn't wake me up by shouting 'mornies' in my ear like a fucking bullhorn." Amy snapped towards Robin.

He continued to stare at his boots.

"M'sorry."

For the lack of her usual alarm clock or the awful news he delivered? Or something else?

"I need to go to her bed." She explained, "I have to...see it for myself, y'know, before I can...You can come with me or not, I don't care-."

"Of course we'll come." Said Humphrey.

And this time, when he attempted to link his hand with hers, she allowed it.

Frank and Jeff, the groundskeepers, were just starting to prep the golf course before it could be opened up for use. They went about their daily work, watering the grass and picking up lost balls and discarded rubbish without any awareness of the dead girl in headphones and heavy black boots moving across the lawn, hand in hand with a Tudor Knight in a billowing red cloak.

Robin, Kitty and Cap followed close behind, Pat having gone to speak to the others about trying to get in contact with Alison. Most likely to arrange a memorial.

A memorial? Really? It seemed too soon. Barely eight hours. If no one saw her go then surely it was jumping the fucking gun, no scratch that, jumping a whole arse tank, to just assume she had moved on!

The hand around hers gave a squeeze.

"Listen. It's okay to feel angry, or in shock, or anything you're going through-." Humphrey tried to console.

"I'll go through all that shit and more when I know she's gone. Trust me."

He gave a nod, lips tightening beneath his beard. Christ, did he just think she was in denial? Maybe she was. Maybe it all seemed to happen to quick, and it was only two weeks ago Silver had wished them all a cheerful good night before Robin escorted her to the woods. There had been no sign, no big revelation or change upon her, nothing to hint that...

A niggle of accepting the possibility that her friend is gone begins to poke it's way in and she suddenly feels ready to puke. Fuck, what she would do for a cigarette right now.

All she has instead is Humphrey's hand, which took her long enough to realise she was almost crushing with frustration.

"Sorry!" She bit her lip, loosening her grip.

Humphrey smiled and winced; "S'what I'm here for, Poppet."

She's not prepared for the emotions that hit her like a ton of bricks when her eyes gaze upon the empty bed. Just as Robin had said. Her balance went off kilter, just for a second, causing her to sway on her feet.

Humphrey's hands on her arms steadied her.

"It's all right. I've got you." He reassured her.

Amy sniffed. No tears, not yet. But the threat was rising ever slowly upward from her chest.

"I'm okay." She let go of his hand and took a step forward.

Just an empty bed. It didn't mean anything. She'd looked at it hundreds of times like this when Silver was awake and chattering away at her side.

But everything about how it appeared this morning felt so grim. All the flowers and statuettes and fake candles, along with her plaque, but no sleeping girl in the centre, made it seem all the more like a gravesite.

"See? She gone." said Robin.

"I just can't believe it...We should have all been here." Kitty wept into the back of her hand, "Oh Silver, sweetheart, I'm so sorry you went alone..."

"I'm sure it was peaceful, Katherine." Cap soothed, patting her arm.

"Robin said she was screaming." Amy pointed out, bluntly.

"Amy-." warned Humphrey, lightly.

"Well, he did!"

"Uh, I say she was screaming, then she stop!" Robin clarified, "We no know if she happy or sad before going up."

"Given that everyone you've seen has looked at peace when they left, I think it's safe to assume the same can be said for Silver." Cap pointed out.

"Assuming she's even gone." Amy mumbled, intentionally loud enough for them all to hear.

The rest of them shared weary looks between them while the ebony haired girl continued to stare at the bed.

"Stompy. You smell like me able to." Robin approached her, carefully; "I smell her upon bed but no where else. There no vapor trail she leave if she move somewhere else."

"Maybe you're just losing your hunting skills in your old age." She quipped back.

Robin appeared knocked for six at that remark. Humphrey couldn't help but snort, as technically the ancient furball was only a few years older than his charge.

Amy began to inch towards the bed, nostrils flaring as she inhaled the scent lingering around the bed. Robin was right, Silver's distinct aroma of sage and boiled mushrooms lingered like an invisible fog over the bed. It always reminded her of the New Age shop in her town where she'd sometimes pop her head in. She might not have had an interest in the occult like her friend, but there was often some cool alternate clothes and junk to be oggled.

Another sniff. There was something else, not a smell her friend usually carried with all her witchy scents.

"What you got, love?" Asked Humphrey.

"...Salt? I think?"

"That sweat." Said the caveman, "Not Captain mornies joggy sweat-"

"Hey!"

"Nightmare sweat. Fear." Robin clarified, ignoring the disgruntled soldier.

Amy sat on the bed, glancing at the old lavender pillow decorated with stars that Alison had placed there for Silver's head years ago. Her callous mind conjured the image of her friend writhing and shrieking in unseen torment, all alone in the dark, while they'd all been cosying up in Higham Suite for the evening. While Robin, Fanny and Julian had gone down to watch the comedian, she and Kitty and Humphrey and Thomas had remained in the room. It had been the poet's turn to pick what to watch and, with no Julian to change the channel once he'd set it up, they all had to endure watching the latest season of Bridgerton.

Even Kitty, who lapped up romance like a cat to a saucer of milk, had grown tired of the show as her 'ships' never seemed to get together. Kitty and Amy had both quietly sniggered while watching Thomas and Humphrey get far too invested, before they both fell asleep.

"You should've been with us, dude." Amy spoke to the unused pillow. Never mind if she'd been asleep and unable to join in. No one should die...or move on alone.

Feeling the weight of acceptance begin to grow ever heavier, Amy moved to rest her head face down on the pillow. The scent of her friend, and the emotional torture that had plagued her in those last moments, was thickest there.

The hand that rested on her shoulder blades was soft and slender. Kitty sat with her on the bed, the two friends silently mourning their third musketeer.

I'm here, her mind screamed. I'm right here.

They're barely two metres from where she stands, trapped inside the thick, old trunk of the tree.

One word. One sound. That's all she would need to alert them of her presence.

But the hand of the creature has pressed itself so firmly over her mouth that it's elongated fingers have begun to fuse with the skin on her cheeks. The clamp of its fist around her arm, pinning it to her side, had almost melded into a shared limb.

"Mine. Mine."

Any longer and they'll be nothing of her left.

It has taken a few hours but she's figured out the demon's intentions. The desire is not to own her, but to become her. To make her body its own, perhaps to replace the skeletal, pale and blind one it currently inhabits. Had that once been a person as well, healthy and whole, only to have its spirit drained to the point its physical form resembled the stuff of folklore horror?

Was that her fate? If the creature succeeded in stealing her ghostly body, would she go on to stalk those inside the hotel who suffered the same night terrors?

Fuck...What if it was currently eyeing its next victim?

"Mine. Mine."

Tears continue to fall down her cheeks. It's the only action her body is permitted to do. Cry and be silent. Be still.

Hope, the cruellest jewel of Pandora's box, had blossomed inside of her at the presence of Amy. Amy, her best mate, who wasn't immediately weeping and looking sad like she was gone. Amy, whose brow was furrowed in scepticism and uncertainty. Twenty-first century kids don't buy so easily into bullshit as people think.

But even Amy, now, was kneeling on her bed as if visiting a grave. Her and Kitty were consoling each other, while the men hung back, not making a sound. Silver looked to Robin, whose expression she'd never seen so vacant and lost. While Captain and Humphrey's focus was on their respective surrogate daughters, Robin didn't seem to know where to look, swaying a little as if there was nothing left to ground him to the earth.

Oh it would be the most painful fucking irony if he was taken up at this moment. She'd curse Hermes, Thanatos and Hades for the rest of her miserable existence.

Silver knew he was waiting for them all to leave before he could allow himself to break down. He'd already visited the site again, after having done a sweep of the grounds for her scent, letting out the most pitiful of howls before leaving to inform the others.

Professional hunter. Trained to track and stalk since he was four. And yet he couldn't see what was right in front of him.

What other hope could she have? If the two ghosts who had the ability to smell couldn't detect her then what...

"Fight."

It's not the creature who speaks. It only knows one word, the same one it's been repeating possessively in her ear for the past eight hours.

That voice. It can't be.

"Darling girl, you have to fight."

Silver blinked, and there she was. Translucent, image flickering like a candle ready to be blown out by the wind. But it's her.

"Mary?"

Her own voice echoes out from her mind, her lips still sealed by the demon.

"How...How can you be here?" It wasn't possible. Robin said that no one ever came back after they moved on.

The older woman smiled, reaching out to cup her cheek, past the firm claws of the monster. Her calloused but warm and tender touch contrasted with the cold moisture of the hands imprisoning her within the tree.

"I's promised you, didn't Is? I dids say I woulds not leave you alone. Don't you recalls?"

Of course she did. Every night, whenever she looked up at the stars, to her star. She remembered that promise.

"But you did. You left me." And here she was, alone and trapped.

"No, little'en. Just because you cans no longer sees me, don't mean I be not with you, always. You should know that." That cheeky twinkle lifted the corners of her ashen lips; "Just look at yourself. The livings can no longer look upon yous, yet you doth walk beside them, making me proud by cursing the menfolk."

Silver wished she had the ability to nod. The creature didn't seem to acknowledge Mary's visitation, if it saw her at all. But it still held on tight, constricting her slim body like a hungry Boa.

"And do you doubt the presence of your heathen gods because they be invisibles?"

No. She doubted them when they failed to hear her prayers and left her to endure shit like this.

Unless...this was them answering her.

"If you're really here...then help me. Please." If it was really Mary, her Mary, then there would be no power on heaven or earth or beyond that would stop her from trying.

"I can't get you out, lovely." She said, apologetic.

Silver whimpered internally. She knew it. She knew it wasn't real.

The creature snarls, chilled air wafting against her ear.

"Mine. Mine."

"The only one who can get yous out...is you." Mary told her. "Yous has to fight."

Fight? How the fuck can she fight?!

She can't even move her pinky finger. She can't even utter the smallest squeak. She's fucking useless!

"Now you listens to me, Silver Ravenstar." Mary's tone hardened, as if she'd heard every bit of Silver's self-loathing rant without a word being spoken; "You wills not think of yourself as useless, be that understood?! You is free to choose whatever name you wish to carry, but to me you is as my own child. You is Silver Guppy. And I will nots have you giving up and letting some slimey toe rag of a demon keep you in the dark!"

Silver Guppy. The very name struck a match deep within her. It sounded ridiculous and adorable. A pretty fish.

But that's all she may as well be now, speared on the hook of this creature.

"But how can I fight him?! Tell me!"

"Tosh and flaps, little'en. I thought you be a witch!"

She is. Or was. But it's not as if she has the ability to cast a spell by decorating a candle or drawing a sygil or burning incense. Fuck, she should have asked Alison to pour salt around her bed, at the least.

"You once told me that magic be nought but prayer 'cept 'cooler'. You don't need any wands or cauldrons or idols." Mary pressed her fingers to the pentacle on her neck; "All that ye need is inside you, darlin'. We might nots share blood, but that fire that burned within me is in you too. Pray, believe, whatever you needs. But you find that power and you weild it with all your strength."

As Mary's image began to fade all the more, Silver felt another tear fall.

"Are you...just in my head?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

Mary smiled; "If that be the truth, then so is he. Do with that what ye will, daughter o' mine."

Mary dissolved before her. Through the tiny hollow of tree, her friends remained sitting in silence, oblivious to her struggle for her afterlife. Her freedom.

One finger slipped between her lips and met her teeth.

"Mine..." It whispered again.

Silver bit down on its slimey digit. No fucking way. It released a shriek of pain, inaudible to her friends. All in her head. Just a dream.

She was still asleep.

"Leave me the fuck ALONE!" She visualised that magic, that energy granted to all women by the Goddess, as a beacon within her chest. Its heavenly light threw the creature off of her, its fragile skin far too sensitive to bear the holy brightness.

Free from its hold, Silver inhaled a deep breath.

Artemis, Eos, Athena, Hera, Hecate, Demeter, Hestia, Persephone, Nyx, Circe, Aphrodite, Eris, Gaia...

She chanted the names within her without rhyme or pattern, calling upon each or their gifts and strengths, petitioning them to look down upon her and lend their powers to her. Just for a second. Just for one tiny moment.

That's all she would need.

Fight, Mary's voice repeated in her head, fight. Free yourself, before he comes back. Don't give him a chance. Don't let him win.

Already, in the corner of her mind, she can feel the hairs on her neck rise up. The creature is skuttling back towards her, ready to pounce. Ready to trap her once more. This time forever.

Fight. Fight, Silver Guppy, fight!

Amy thought the sound to be another of Kitty's sobs at first. A tiny, high-pitched squeak.

But when she looked up at her friend, her sobs seemed to have subsided, her devastated face rather still as she rubbed Amy's back. And then it came again. Behind her.

"What is that? Did you hear it?" She frowned, looking up at the tree.

"Probably a mouse or a squirrel." Kitty answered.

Not even the suggestion of a squirrel to chase piqued Robin's interest.

It hadn't sounded like an animal to Amy. She sniffed again, moving closer to the tree.

The scent was stronger there than the pillow.

Salt hung in the air around the trunk as thick as the ocean breeze.

"...She's in the tree."

"What?" Captain asked, all of them frowning at her. Even Robin looked up.

Were they deaf?

"She's in the fucking tree!" Amy repeated.

"No...No, tree living thing. Ghost can't be inside, it be too painful, like when human walk through-." Robin tried to explain, because there's no way he would have missed something so blatantly obvious.

"Painful but not impossible?! Like, if someone wanted to be a complete masochist, they could try hiding inside the body of a living thing? Man or animal or plant?!" Amy asked, rounding on the caveman.

Everyone turned their heads on him for an answer.

"Well...guess so, but...how would Moonah girl get inside tree when she no wake?"

"Maybe someone fucking moved her, it doesn't matter!"

She slid off the bed and stood before the tree. It would be uncomfortable, just to test this theory out. But a few moments of intense nausea would be worth it, a thousand times over, if she happened to be right.

"Silver? Dude, are you in there?"

Silence.

And then, again, the smallest of cries. A single note cut through the air.

Peering into the tiny hollow, barely larger than a single eye, she caught the glimmer of an unnatural sapphire iris, shining with tears.

"Shit." She threw her hands forward, into the tree bark.

"Amy!" Humphrey called out.

They all darted forward, either to stop or to help, she didn't care. Gagging, stomach churning painfully, she resisted the urge to pull back as her hands felt the thin fabric of a familiar overshirt.

"There you are." She sighed, discomfort conquered by relief, "She's here! Guys, she's here!"

A suddenly reanimated Robin all but shoved her aside and into Humphrey's arms as he practically dove into the tree, wrapping his arms around the body of the girl within and hauling her out.

He knelt to the ground with her immobile form cradled in his arms. The emotions he'd been keeping a tight lid on before seemed to erupt with this twist of fate as he beheld her, paws caressing her face. Amy and Kitty moved down on the floor with him, gazing over the friend they thought they'd lost.

Those blue eyes stared up at them without blinking. Skin paler than normal. Were it not for the tremble of her bottom lip and the tiny cries she was uttering, tears still leaking from eyes, she would resemble a corpse.

"Oh, sweetheart! You're here! You're all right!" Kitty beamed, reaching to touch her hair, to check she wasn't a figment of their imagination. "Wait...she's not all right. Why isn't she moving?"

Amy leaned in a little, studying her unfocused gaze. Her short, shallow breaths.

"Silver. Mate, if you can hear me, blink once for me, yeah? Can you do that?"

Those pupils darted towards her.

With great effort, her friend just about managed to shut her eyelids, only for a brief moment before they snapped open again.

"I think it’s sleep paralysis." She said.

They all stared at her as if they'd never heard such a thing. To be fair, Amy was only aware because of a classmate who suffered from them experienced one while they were on a school trip. It had freaked out the whole form group as they thought she'd died in her sleep.

"It's kinda like sleepwalking except the opposite. You're kinda half awake, half asleep, but instead of moving around, you just...can't move, I guess." She wasn't exactly an expert; "Girl I knew said she also saw a lot of freaky shit when it happened. Like waking nightmares."

"That's why she was screaming before Robin found her." Kitty concluded, "Do you think she's still seeing them now?"

"I dunno. Maybe." She knew it wasn't wise under normal circumstances to touch someone when sleep walking or having some kind of night terror.

But these were hardly normal circumstances, as she sat in the woods with a Georgian, a WWII soldier, her adopted Tudor dad and a Neo-Pagan from the early naughties.

She squeezed Silver's hand tight.

"We're here, dude. We've got you, okay?" Amy reassured her. "You're not alone."

Another squeak, tears leaking as Silver's eyes focused on Amy. There was a tiny strain in the corners of her lips. Was she trying to smile?

Kitty stroked her hair back; "Just relax, poppet. Nothing can hurt you now. We'll look after you."

"When we're not assuming you've left us, that is." Amy muttered, apologetic, giving Robin a side eye.

The caveman seemed too overwhelmed with guilt to respond. He was still gazing at the girl in his arms as if struggling to believe she was really there.

"Has this ever happened before, Robin?" Captain asked.

The caveman shook his mane; "...She only have nightmare on new moonah. Never go on walkeys. Never wake up, not even little bit..." His voice broke with sorrow.

"New moon? You mean this happens every month?!" Amy frowned.

Robin then explained the rhythmic nature of the moon's connection to Silver as she slept and how the lack of its reflected glow stopped the comfort of her usually pleasant lucid dreams.

Amy punched him in the shoulder.

"AND YOU DIDN'T THINK TO TELL ME THIS BEFORE?!"

"It my respons-a-billy, Stompy! My promise to her, to Mary!" He defended, "One night, just one, I be an hour late-."

"Well maybe if you ditched the fucking savior complex and stopped treating me and Kitty like dumb kids, we'd have been able to help and be there for her!"

"Everyone, please, hush! Let's not do this now, look at her." Kitty reasoned, nodding to Silver's pained expression.

Amy felt Humphrey's hand squeeze her shoulder as he stood behind her. She looked to Robin and the two nodded in a truce.

"Sorry, mate. It's not exactly helping you to chill out, is it?" She smiled, giving her hand another squeeze.

Silver could only hum slightly.

Robin leaned in to press his forehead to hers; "Me so sorry, my Moonah girl. Robin big sorry."

Amy could feel the tension in Silver's fingers against hers start to loosen, her ramrod body beginning to go limp in Robin's arms.

"That's it, sweetheart." Kitty soothed, noticing the change; "Go back to sleep. Let this all just be a bad dream."

Silver's head rolled into Robin's furs as he held her close to his chest, her eyelids falling naturally, the muscles starting to slacken in her cheeks as the panic melted away. With any luck, she wouldn't remember any of this, just as she always claimed her dreams became a jumbled mess of emotions upon waking.

They waited a few moments, the three of them sitting in silence, cradling her, an obscure recreation of Michaelangelo's Pieta, while Cap and Humphrey watched on. A beam from the early morning sun bathed them in a soft glow while the birds sang above them. Silver's face softened into its familiar look of slumbering contentment.

Despite the tranquility of the current scene, Amy came to a decision.

"How long does a new moon last?" She asked.

"Few nights. It usually only middle one she get really bad, but sometimes more." Robin explained, quietly.

"Then she's sleeping in the room with us." Amy stated, cutting Robin off before he could object; "If the moon isn't around to protect her, then she needs to be with her friends, where we can check on her and make sure she's safe and be close if she needs us."

She turned to the others, throwing her hands up.

"That make sense to the rest of you?"

They all nodded. Had they needed her there to state the obvious? They really were hopeless. No wonder Alison described her life with them as a teacher trying to control a class of idiots.

"Good. Bring her inside then, Robin. We can take her back when the moon is waxing again."

"And she never have to know?" He asked.

"Oh no, she'll know. I'm telling her once she wakes up and if she's pissed off, she can have a go at me all she wants. But we're not doing this secrecy bullshit anymore."

She'd come close to losing her best friend tonight because of one dumb caveman wanting to keep some sacred duty all to himself.

Robin nodded, humbled, and rose to his feet with Silver fast asleep in his arms.

As they returned to the house, Humphrey nudged Amy's side.

"That's my girl. You proper saved the day, didn't you."

"Helps to have more than one braincell than the rest of you."

"Cheeky." Humphrey smiled, putting his arm around her.

She threw a glance back at Silver, that niggle of worry poisoning her relief. Had she gone into the tree on her own? Or had something taken her there? Whichever the case, no fucking way was she going to leave her friend alone in the dark.

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts fanfic #oc: silver #others oc #humphrey bone #robin the caveman #kitty higham

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