#lush bath melt

[wallflowerglitter]

Starlight Starbright Bath Melt, Avobath Bath Bomb

[buckysfaveplum]

man of the house

summary: without each other, bucky and you wouldn’t know how to be

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 5k

warnings: descriptions of the reader having breasts etc, bucky’s trauma, fighting, super super SUPER SOFT SMUT, (like not even but mentions) 18+!! (MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE!)

a/n: soooo this one is differentttt, and idk lmk if you like. I love Rachel's new song for Romeo + Juliet and it made me think of Bucky sooooo here we are

masterlist | send requests

How sweet

You're the man of the house to me

Water beads streamed down your back as you stood beneath the shower head. Your hair clung to you in clumps as you soaked in the calm within the tile room. Steam slowly overtook the bathroom, leaving you with smooth breaths and serenity as you scrubbed at your scalp.

You watched from through the glass door as he washed his face. His hand moved roughly without pausing as if he thought to be gentle with himself like it wasn’t necessary. He was never like that with you. His hands seemed to melt at your skin, once hard and cold suddenly silky and fragile on your body.

His left side was empty, his arm long removed and in the wash, as he prepared for the night's end. It took you so long to convince him to remove it around you, to give himself a break from the heavy load constantly being lugged on his side. He did it once for a bit. One time led to another and another. Here you were.

He brushed a lush white towel across his face. Placing it back on the counter, he began to undress. The steaming water ran off you as your eyes followed him. His shirt came off quickly, gently being placed in your laundry bin. Through the fog of the glass, you could make out his most prominent scars, scattered across his back in dark browns and reds. Some raised and a light peach, lighter than his skin. He moved to his pants, undoing his waistband and slipping them off; he discarded them the same as his shirt. 

Your voyeuristic gaze continued as he took a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. You watched as his eyes roamed over his body, clocking each imperfection that he knew you’d kiss in just a moment. Once finished, he turned to see you watching. A small smile crept on his stoic face as he took in your face through the fogged door.

He took a step closer, standing before you and looking at you through the glass. The warmth of your breath had cleared a soft view of your face through the condensation. You glanced up at him, your brows twitching up in a soft and inviting expression. A kind smile grew as you tilted your head at his gaze. Come in, join me.

You stepped back as he opened the shower door. Steam streamed from the entrance, letting in the biting cold of the outside and flushing the bathroom mirror. Clouding it, blocking any more raging thoughts of his.

He stepped inside making the small tile room shrink. He approached you slowly, stalling his movements as he stood before you undressed. He was always like this in the shower. He had no issues with nudity with you, not anymore. Showers were intimate, however. More intimate than sex for him. He’d first felt vulnerable, trapped. His showers, if you could even call them that, under Hydra more so resembled the way you would've hosed off a dog. Bathing was personal and something he never thought he’d share with someone. Until you.

His eyes were glued to your face, his hand itching to hold you close but freezing just above your hips. His brows furrowed as if pleading with you for permission.

“Hi,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. His hand finally rested on you, firmly gripping at your flesh. 

You ducked your head under his chin, resting under him. Your breasts brushed across his chest as you both breathed in the misty air of the room. His hand roamed across your body, up your waist, and to your back, pulling you close. You looked up at him, as he glanced down at you.

“You’re soft,” he said, tightening his grip on your back,

You chuckled and leaned in, beginning to press gentle kisses along his jawline. You lead them further, moving down his neck and below. You paused at the mangled scarring along his left shoulder. You placed a hand tenderly along the tissue, moving slowly across the bumps and ridges of the barrier between his body and the vibranium. As your hand moved, you felt his head press into yours, resting himself on you as you explored his most vulnerable places. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it or even touched it. You’d seen him undressed so often that you barely spared a glance at it. The scarring was just him, just Bucky. You continued your kisses, placing them meekly along the scarring; before leaving a final kiss on the vibranium of his shoulder.

Your hand moved to hold his cheek and take his gaze. You pulled his face to yours, keeping him close under the hot water of the shower. Hot, never cold. Always hot, steaming the room and peeling the paint along the side of the door. You didn’t mind, you could just repaint it.

His hand slowly moved up, cupping your breast gently as he pulled you close. His lips met yours, soft and never pushing for dominance. He kissed you like he wanted to know you like he was holding a deep conversation in the dead of night when the moon’s light was all that filled the room. 

Your hand slipped down his chest, lingering at the curves and dips of his muscles; each time you encountered a scar you simply continued because it was nothing to mull over for you. It never was to you.

“I love you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. It always became rough deeper into the night as his body prepared for rest.

“I love you, Buck,” you said.

Your movement stalled just at the bottom of his abdomen. The trimmed hairs of his lower half tickled your fingers as you paused and sought his permission. He nodded gently but quickly, leaning further into you as you took him in your hand. 

I watch you from the window and I see the good in you

The good in me

That's who you are

And what I need

It's what I need

Your legs stretched before you along the bay window seat as you watched the cars and people pass by on the streets below you. The window was swung open, letting you take in the warm summer air as you sat with your book. Your fingers danced over the pages in your hands, the text inside long forgotten as you watched outside. It had been an hour, he would be home any minute. You always did this, if you could. If you were home and knew he was coming back. You slipped your legs out and rested on the fire escape as you sat on the windowsill.

People continued to pass; laughing friends, businessmen in a rush, couples, and parents chasing their children. You couldn’t help but wonder if one day that would be you and Bucky. 

The trees along the street swayed in the wind, petals of the white flowers dotting their bushes flowing in the breeze. The pigeons sat up along the phone lines, flapping and cooing. The loud car horns below flowed into the air, mixing with the other noises around you and creating the music of your neighborhood.

You’d always loved living in Manhattan, you couldn’t imagine leaving. Until you met Bucky. Maybe it took falling in love with a local to fall in love with Brooklyn. Even if this local hadn’t lived there for 90 years. Maybe that’s what did it, seeing the timeless charm and old beauty of the borough from someone who knew it when it was younger. 

Your thoughts stilled as you saw him coming down the road. Two full bags of groceries filled his arms as he walked the worn cobblestone streets. His leather jacket was gone, a blue henley and jeans. You remembered last summer when he refused to leave the apartment without it, despite the record heat of the city. It was hard to believe that was a year ago.

His face lit up as he saw you. Sat on the window, smiling and waiting for him. He never thought he’d be there in life. Where he could leave and had to hurry home, where someone would be missing his presence and awaiting his arrival.

You leaned forward out the window, holding the metal of the ladder for support. You gave him a strong wave and giggled as he watched you. You could’ve sworn you saw his pace quicken at the sight of you. You stood on the fire escape, resting on the railing as you watched him approach your building.

“Hello, doll,” he said, smiling up at you.

“How was the grocery store?” you asked. 

“Boring, and they didn’t have any broccoli raboni…” he said, struggling to remember the word for the vegetable you had told him you wanted.

“No broccoli rapini??” you said, feigning a gasp and clutching your chest. His subtle laugh slipped out at your acting. 

“Think you could help me with the door? I got more than we needed,” he said.

You nodded with a giggle, slipping back through the window and rushing through the apartment. You grabbed your keys and ran down the stairs. He watched you from the window of the apartment door, placing the bags on the floor in preparation for what he knew was coming.

You raced through the door and down the stoop. You jumped into him, wrapping yourself around him. His arms slipped under you, holding you tight as he gave you a little spin. He paced you back to the ground, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“I missed you,” you said, keeping your arms around his neck.

“I was gone an hour, doll,” he said. He loved teasing you; it didn’t matter how long he was gone, he always missed you. It could’ve been an hour, 20 minutes, or a second. He was always missing you.

“So you didn’t miss me?” you asked, pretending to be offended.

“You know I missed you, babydoll,” he said, tightening his grasp on you and pulling you into a hug.

You rested there for a second, relaxing in his hold in the warm New York weather. The sounds of earlier were louder, rushing into your ears and swirling in your head. Your giggles from just seconds ago joined the music, flooding through neighbors' windows just as it did for you.

“You gonna help me with the door?” he said lightly with a small laugh.

You nodded eagerly and reached for one of the bags. You struggled to lift the overflowing reusable bag, huffing up the stoop and opening the door. 

“Geez, this shit is so fucking heavy!” you said, cursing your way up the steps. Bucky just chuckled as he passed you, taking the back from you into his spare hand.

“Yeah, I never said to take it,” he said.

Do you have doubts?

I curse your name

It brought me pain and now

Without you, I don't know how to be

Hurts so bad it brings me to my knees

I still believe

The scrapping of Bucky’s hand along the hardwoods woke you from your dreams. The usual warmth you’d find in the comfort of your bed had long been rendered cold and empty. He was slipping out of your reach, going backwards; his mind desperately trying to pull him back into the dark place you had found him in. He returned to his makeshift bed in the living room a few days ago.

You tried not to take it personally. You knew it had nothing to do with you. Yet after six days of him sitting at the other side of your bed and watching over you as you slipped gently into slumber, only to leave you alone, it began to take a toll on you.

You’d begged him to talk to you about it, you could feel him slipping between your fingers. He didn’t leave the apartment as much as usual. When he did, you noticed the leather gloves he had long stashed away seemed to reappear magically. He didn’t point out every cute dog he thought you would like on the street, something that often sprinkled your conversations with laughter since you’d met.

His beard, normally just a thick stubble, had begun to grow, alerting you to his deviation from his daily routine; something we had always been strictly religious about. He was struggling, struggling to stay above water in waves that you didn’t even know how to calm. You’d tried to throw him a lifejacket several times, but he just kept swimming away. You didn’t know what to do.

You slid from your bed and dipped from your bedroom and into the living room. He lay beside your couch, a thin spare bed sheet draped poorly over his legs, exposing him in just his sweats. He thrashed slightly, his brows knit tight and face locked in agony. His chest was exposed to the cool 3 am air, coated in a fresh layer of thin sweat. His breaths were rapid and uneven, his dog tags slipping as his chest heaved. His vibranium arm stretched across the floor, scrapping at the laminated wood below as if to try and keep him from harm; to ground him in the safety of his home that he knew somewhere deep in his mind he still was.

Before you could cross the small room to him, he jolted upright. You watched as he struggled to orient himself and regain his composure. His hands gripped his dog tags and he desperately tried to control his breathing. Wiping his hand through the tufts of his hair, dull mutters fell from his lips. You couldn’t make any of it out, but we knew it was Russian. Something that only slipped off his tongue after an especially bad episode.

Without even thinking, your feet moved forward but didn’t get far before landing on the loose and creaky floorboard near the kitchen bar. Freezing in place, hoping your spot in the dark would cloak you from his gaze, your face contorted in embarrassment. Of course, he saw you, sometimes you forgot he was a trained assassin. To you, he was just Bucky.

“Y/n?” he said, turning to see you.

You didn’t respond at first, unsure of how to proceed. Before you could speak, you tried to get closer.

“Please don’t,” he said. Your heart cracked.

“Bucky, why are you doing this to yourself? You always have more nightmares when you sleep alone,” he didn’t respond to you. He knew you were right. Four months ago you had left for a week for a family engagement; he had constantly restless nights shrouded in night terrors.

“Just… just talk to me,” you said. 

“It’s nothing, doll. I just need to get out of that bed ya know? Too soft,” he said, his voice too casual, but the quiver he tried so hard to hide didn’t escape you.

It was bullshit, you knew it. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch next to you, or I’ll sleep on the floor,” you said, trying to reason with him. “I just don’t want you alone. Let me camp out here with -”

“Stop, Y/n,” he said, his voice somewhat harsher as he stopped you “I’m sorry, sorry, just no.”

You watched as he rose from the pile of cheap fabric on the floor, stretching his back as he made his way into the kitchen. It wasn’t lost on you how he passed you without a single touch; no kiss on the cheek, squeeze of your hips, or quick grasp of your hand. He never used to do that, he couldn’t not touch you. But six days ago, those little touches disappeared. 

“Bucky,” you said, following behind him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge you behind him as he poured a glass of water from the sink. “Please, what’s going on? I know you, something happened.”

“I’m fine, doll. Just drop it,” he said as he chugged his drink. 

“Is…is it me? Did I do something? If I did just tell me, I’ll-”

“No!” He spat out, almost stunned you could think that. “No, no it’s not you. It’s never you.”

He came close to you for the first time that night. You could see his hands twitching at his sides, desperately willing himself to reach for you. But he never did.

“It’s me, I can’t…” he muttered, almost too broken and soft for you to understand.

“What, Plum? Talk to me,” you said. 

It was second nature, you didn’t even think. You reached up for him, your hand running along his vibranium arm and briefly brushing against his bare side. You barely touched him, but you could feel it, he’d never tensed like that before.

He stumbled back, softly batting your hand away. Your chest ached as you watched, a sight you never thought you’d have to see.

“Bucky, wha-” he was out of your sight before you could ask what happened. He rushed to your bedroom. You slowly followed, careful to keep your distance. Until you saw him getting dressed and grabbing his keys. Then you broke.

“Honey, what’s going on?” you asked in distress. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“I need to go, now,” he said, grabbing his gloves and boots and slipping past you. 

You rushed after him. He didn’t look at you as he tied up his boots. He knew if he did he’d see tears. He knew if he looked he’d see the way your small hands trembled and pawed at his large henley draped over your body. He knew if he looked, he’d give in. He'd stay. And he couldn’t. He had to leave, for you.

He began to move for the door, prepared to slip out into the night when he heard your soft sob. He froze, his body rigid and hand still as it hovered over the door handle.

“Please stay, Plum,” you said. He could almost gag. He was disgusted with himself. He did this to you. He was hurting you, no matter what he did. You deserved an explanation, of course, you did. But he knew if he told you, if let you in, he’d break. You talk in that way that seemed to quell all his fears, that made everything okay. And he’d stay, because he was weak; always weak with you. 

Not now, he couldn’t be weak now. Not when it came to your safety.

He turned to face you. The look on your face was a sucker punch to the gut. He swore he deserved all the pain under Hydra just for that. For the pain he was causing you.

He stepped forward, you didn’t move as quiet tears slipped down your cheeks. His right hand gently reached out and swiped them away, soaking in every second his skin brushed against yours. For one last time, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. Your hands reached for him, yearning to hold him once. But he was gone from your touch as soon as he was there.

The front door was swinging closed once again before you knew it. He was gone.

You're breaking my heart in the best of ways

How many versions of myself will it take?

How many men I've seen with a similar face

I always look for you in so many ways

The first one to go is the worst to take

With all of my love comes all of the pain

You come and you go and I stay the same

But if you came back now, I'd take your name

The morning came quickly, flushing the apartment in light and leading the way into noon. You didn’t seem to notice. Your body had spent the following hours curled on your old loveseat. You always told Bucky you needed a bigger one. Maybe had he left under different circumstances, that memory would’ve brought a small laugh from you.

The hours since he left were filled with silence. For the first time in a long time, you swore the city was silent. The music of your neighborhood that you had grown so fond of seemed to go quiet at that moment. Like the city was mourning for you.

Maybe you could’ve done more, maybe you could’ve been there for him before it got so bad. Maybe if you hadn’t listened when he said to stay in your bed that first night. Maybe if you had pointed out the dogs to him. Maybe he would’ve stayed. Y

ou knew you should've been mad, but you weren’t. Just worried. Where was he? Where did he go? Was he safe? Was he hurt?

You needed to shower, you needed to move from your spot on the couch. Hours had passed, leaving you to watch the day slip away. You hauled yourself up off the sofa, taking note of the familiar patch on the left back cushion. The haphazard sewing job was the result of the fabric getting caught in Bucky’s arm plates during a more heated intimate moment. You wished you could say it made the moment hotter, but it just ended in laughter and Bucky nakedly struggling to free himself.

He was everywhere. All over the apartment. Each picture frame, each book. Spilling out of the bin with his never-ending dirty clothes. Overflowing in each paint stroke from the days you decided eggshell was too dull and aged ivory would look much brighter. Bursting through the walls, and flowing into each corner of the home you had built together. You couldn’t escape him.

He was the man of the house to you.

The only person you ever needed. Your security, your love, your happiness, your comfort. Your home, he was your home. This was just an apartment.

You stepped into the bedroom to find his sweats from the night before. You gently slid them on, the baggy fit of his spare clothing wrapping your body in whatever you had left of him. As the smell of his cologne and skin surrounded you, you wondered if he’d be back before the smell of him faded.

You found yourself drawn back to your fire escape window, watching the people below. You slid the window up, stepping out onto the iron platform and taking in the crisp fresh air. It filled your lungs and swirled inside as if trying to breathe any bit of life into you.

You watched the people passing below. The familiar faces blended into the crowds as the busy streets went on with their day. The city never failed to remind you how small you were. How as your life crumbled, as your everything was going, the city kept moving. People kept moving. The world kept spinning.

Your roaming eyes froze as they landed on one tall figure, stopped below the awning of the bodega below. The man watched you, a look of longing and despair deep in his blue eyes. You watched as his hands fidgeted with the leather gloves covering them, almost aching to take them off. Bucky was practically wailing as he watched you.

He stepped forward, never breaking his eye contact with you as he crossed the street. The deep dark circles under his eyes stung, all you wanted was to hold him as you both slept. He crossed over to your building, pausing below the fire escape. Your brows furrowed in anguish as you looked at his tired face. His clothes from the night before looked somewhat disheveled as if spending the evening hiking through trees.

Your hands gripped the railing as your body leaned forward slightly. A tight-lipped soft smile was all you could manage as you gazed upon him. His body shook slightly with tremors, his familiar anxiety taking over. You just wanted him close. 

His face spoke for him, pleading for you to invite him in. He needed to know you wanted him back, that he was allowed in. Not back into the home but your life. He needed to know he was welcome. You nodded to the door before slipping back through the window. You caught sight of him racing for the door on your way in.

How does it feel to be God?

How does it feel to be God?

I'm in the palm of your hand

I'm in the palm of your hand

You waited by the door, hands trembling as he slowly slipped inside. His demeanor was nervous and cautious. Too careful to get close to you. He couldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m… I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry,” he said, muttering as he struggled to find the right words. You knew he never would. Bucky was always one to stumble over his words when he cared. Like all the emotions and all that passion was yearning to come out, so much it hindered his speech.

“Bucky, why?” you asked, your voice was faint and tired. He was gutted at the sound.

He took a step forward as he spoke,” I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Last night hurt, Buck.”

His face was devastating, he could hide the pain that washed over him. He knew it, but hearing you say it crushed him. You wanted nothing more than to pull him close. But you couldn’t, you knew you shouldn’t. Not only should he initiate, but he needed to explain.

“I know, I’m… I’m s-so sorry, babydoll,” he said, the strength in his voice wavering. “It killed me, I never wanted to, Ididn’t want to leave.”

“Then why did you?” You asked, stepping closer.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

You took a moment, his head hung low as he spoke. It became clear at that moment. Why he avoided your touch, the bed, why he left. He was afraid.

You slowly came closer, leaving only a foot between the two of you. He shook before you as he fidgeted with his gloves again.

“Can I?” you asked.

He hesitated before meeting your gaze. His hands rose to yours. His eyes watched as you gently stripped the gloves from his hands and placed them on the counter. Your thumb brushed over the plates of vibranium.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice still shaky.

“What’s going on, Buck?” you asked. You continued to stroke his hands, coaxing him to a calmer mood.

“Last week, I-I had a bad nightmare,” he said.

“In the living room?” you asked.

“No, in the bed. I didn’t wake you up. I…I couldn’t.

You didn’t look away or still your hands. You listened, refusing to allow him to think you were scared or unwilling to listen.

“I didn’t know what to do, I’d never- I couldn’t tell you. I just… I was so scared,” he said.

You stepped closer. Your hand moved to rest on his neck, slow enough for him to stop you if he needed to. He didn’t.

“What was the nightmare, honey?” you asked.

“It’s a little blurry now, I was so scared I couldn’t even take it all in. But, all I needed to know was what mattered. I was him again. You tried to help, to help me, but…. I killed you,” tears clouded his vision as he spoke, he willed himself to finish for you. You deserved to know everything.

“I was him again, so easily. And I killed you, I killed you Y/n.”

His mumbling began again, the nerves and fear taking over. You no longer hesitated to pull him close. You tucked his head snuggly into the crook of your neck. His tears soaked the collar of your shirt, his hands gripped tightly at your waist and held you firm. 

It all became clear. The pulling away, the distance, the makeshift bed. The way he flinched from you. He wasn’t afraid of you or mad at you. He was scared of himself. Scared for you.

“Why didn’t you tell me? It was a nightmare, Buck, you’d never,” you said, carding your fingers through his messy hair.

“I was scared that you’d hate me. That you’d be afraid of me. You should be,” he said.

“I’m not afraid of you, I could never be,” you said. His grip on you tightened at your words.

You stood in silence for a moment, allowing the sounds of the street to flood through the window and surround you both. You held him tight as if your grasp could shake each violent and self-destructive thought from his body. You held him for each moment you couldn’t over the past six days.

“Why did you come back?” you asked.

He pulled away to look at you.

“I don’t know, I’m scared I’ll hurt you, I can’t… I can’t hurt you,” he said. You cupped his cheeks and pulled his focus back to you.

“You won’t, Bucky. You know that, I know you do,” you said, your voice unwavering.

“I didn’t leave last night, not really. I couldn’t,” Your brows furrowed in confusion at his words. “I stayed on a bench in the park across the street. I…I couldn’t go far.”

His words rattled in your ribs and caused your heart to ache. You brushed your thumb along the grown-out stubble along his jawline. Gently, you leaned close and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t….I don’t think I know how to be without you. I-I need you,” he said.

“You think it’s not the same for me?” you said. “Plum, you’re my everything. If I lost you for real…”

Words faded on your tongue, the thought alone clouding your mind with anxieties and dread.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice low.

“I need you here, this is our home,” you said. He rested his forehead on yours, relaxation finally washing over his body in your arms. 

The hairs on his neck pricked at your fingertips as you gently brushed against his jaw. You didn’t mind. Even if it hurt, if it tickled, if it was soothing. You wanted it all, you wanted him.

“Please stay, you won’t hurt me. You know that, Bucky. I know you do,” you said.

He nodded tenderly against you, a faint sob escaping his lips. So soft you almost missed it. His hands grabbed tightly at your back, keeping you tucked firmly against him. So close no one could hurt you.

So close the winter soldier couldn’t even crawl back into his mind if he wanted, not with you beside him. 

“Who else will protect me if not you?” you asked.

How sweet

You're the man of the house to me

--

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[kqutie]

EPIC : THE FAIR MAIDEN (not so platonic ver.)

CHAPTER THREE : THE NEW ISLAND

relations. : platonic various epic characters/reader -- platonic odysseus/reader ; polites/reader ; platonic eurylochus/reader ; platonic elpenor/reader ; platonic perimedes/reader ; platonic odysseus' crew/reader ; hermes/reader

chpt. sum. : You and the crew spend some time on your island, where they try to stay sane from all the crazy antics you pull. One God in particular, however, is having all the laughs, much like his great-grandson.

tags. : reader continues being a disney princess ; female, mute reader ; pure comfort ; reader helps ody get home ; animal crossing new horizons game mechanics ; this chapter is kinda chaotic XD ; the crew are simps ; hermes makes an appearance ; hermes being a flirty menace ; isekai and transmigration ; fix it fic ; characters know their future ; happy ending for everyone!

length. : 6.5k

a/n : I wrote this to feel better from my cold and monthly cramps all at once and I've gotta say, it was the perfect remedy (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)♡ it's just that it may read like the person who wrote this was suffering from sleep-deprivation and if you think that then you're absolutely right! please forgive me (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) i needed something to do other than rot in bed when i couldn't even sleep because it was so hard to breathe without pain anywho~ enjoy!

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Venturing onto the island, you lead the way and invite Odysseus, Polites, Eurylochus and the crew to explore. You know that your island is safe, so you turn to everyone with open arms and a bright smile as if to say ‘Welcome! Please make yourselves at home’. Polites couldn’t help but grin at your obvious invitation, his heart-warming over the ‘open arms’ message he has managed to pass onto you. 

“Thank you, fair maiden,” he takes a knee and bows, prompting everyone else, even Odysseus, their king, to follow his lead, “Thank you for welcoming us here,” The bashful image of you they look up to makes their hearts melt. Soon enough, they were happily setting out to explore the island, taking in its beautiful scenes while you venture off on your own, too. 

You had one goal in mind: setting up a bath. Nothing is more relaxing than having a hot bath to soak in and getting to feel refreshed and new when you’re done washing up. Finding a secluded location, you design a bathing area composed of three outdoor baths with lots of bamboo surrounding it for privacy and equip the general area with the amenities needed, such as baskets full of bath towels and dispensers for shampoo, conditioner and body wash. You even set up a section of shower booths, where you plan on demonstrating how to use the shower before they get in the hot springs, for sanitary purposes.  

The entire time you were putting things together, the crew had settled down, enjoying stable ground for the first time, in a long time. They had never seen such lush grass and thriving wildlife before. However, it only made sense. This was your island, after all, their fair maiden, who only seems to bring peace and comfort. Naturally, your home island would be a paradise.  

“How wondrous,” Polites voices in awe, spotting an orchard of fruit trees and a crop field across the river where a beautiful wooden bridge arches to cross the gap. He’s never seen such elegant architecture quite like it before and speculates that it may come from the distant East. 

“What a beautiful place,” Eurylochus comments, also in awe of the island’s gorgeous scenery and herbage. It was an unknown place that they were exploring for the first time and yet, he’s never felt safer. 

“Where is our fair maiden?” Odysseus asks his nearest crew member, unable to admire the landscape for long, his mind too occupied by where you’ve disappeared off to without warning. Over the few days he’s spent in your company, Odysseus has grown a strong feeling of protectiveness over you. It’s a feeling he can comfortably liken to one he feels over Ctimene, his younger sister. Immediately recognising the warm tenderness and unable to deny it, he falls fully into the emotion instead. He’d happily take on another sister. It’s needed, especially with 600 men surrounding you.

“I believe I just saw her speed by,” Lycaon comments, making the Captain raise a brow. 

“How fast could she possibly be running to—” Odysseus was cut off, however, when he catches your speeding visage in his periphery. Astonished, everyone close by stands still for a moment to observe your activity. One minute, you were racing one way, and the other minute racing the other way. And then, you stop in front of a tree, where the crew are convinced that you’re finally done with your zooming about — that is until you suddenly materialise an axe and begin chopping at the tree, earning you perfectly chopped logs of wood. Some log piles are differently coloured, clearly coming from a different type of tree, but you were hacking your axe at only one tree.

“Huh?...” Elpenor asks, confused as Perimedes stares at you with a blank look on his face. 

Everyone’s jaws collectively drop to the floor. Was a beauty like you always capable of such strong feats of strength? And were the trees here as magical as you?!

“H-how is that possible?” one crew member asks nobody in particular, scratching at his head. 

“She’s the fair maiden, it’s best not to question anything,” another man comments loud enough for all surrounding persons to hear and hum in agreement over. 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Odysseus chuckles fondly with a shake of his head. Just before you are off zooming again, Odysseus comes up to you and politely asks, “Fair maiden, may we have some of the fruit from the orchard?” smiling, you happily give your consent with a nod, “Thank you,” he bows his head slightly, “do you have a preferred method of how we should go about collecting the fruit?” 

You think for a moment before deciding it won’t harm them much to learn how to shake trees. It’ll save you the hassle of getting them the fruits whenever they feel a little peckish. With a nod, you lead the men over the bridge to your orchard and step up to a pear tree with three ripe and incredibly large pears on it. From a distance, the men watch as you move your soft hands to grip the tree’s trunk and begin violentlyshaking it until the three pears drop, unbruised, from their perch. Their only reaction was stunned silence. Again, had you always been this strong? 

(From a distance, Odysseus can swear he hears a familiar, brain-tickling giggle.)

“I-I assume you want us to keep away from the crop fields’ produce,” Polites asks, stuttering through his stupefied state. 

As expressive as always, you nod, gesturing to the neighbouring crop fields before tapping your chest, as if to say, ‘Yep! That’s mine,’, you then wiggle a finger at them with a teasing shake of your head: ‘Not yours,’ you make an ‘X’ with your arms and then gesture to your hand, ‘Don’t touch,’. Nodding, Polites agrees and spreads the word with instructions on how you want the crewmen to harvest the fruit trees but to keep away from the crop fields. 

“I wonder what you’ve been up to while we’ve been exploring Fair Maiden?” Eurylochus asks, curious about your hidden activities. By now, a majority of the crew have fed back to comment on the things they’ve found about the island, talking about its geography, the landscape, its large variety of vegetation from flowers to overgrown weeds, the path of the freshwater, drinkable rivers, the waterfalls, the large lake and lack of natural threats. This was an island paradise, perfectly safe, as is expected from the island you call home. How lucky they were to have met you and to have landed on your island.

Happy he asked as you were just putting the final touches to the outdoor bathing area, you lead Eurylochus, Odysseus, Polites and some of the crew to the established bathing nook you’ve built. What you show them is nothing like their Greek public baths but it was familiar enough to get their hearts racing with excitement. Bathing in warm waters was always a rejuvenating experience, helping many soldiers with aching muscles and low spirits regain their strength and mental wellness. After their battles and journey, everyone was eager to have a long, hot soak.  

“This is incredible!” Odysseus laughs in his joy, going up to you and fondly messing up your hair, “Did you really set all this up for us?” There were fresh towels in baskets, a nearby waterfall for a cold plunge and three sizeable hot water pools surrounded by heavy rocks. There was even a table provided for their belongings next to an area with alien contraptions and small bottles. Odysseus could only guess that those bottles held the appropriate soaps they needed for a thorough wash. 

Playfully, you nod but huff and cross your arms, gesturing to yourself with a look that says ‘Yes but it’s for me too,’. Your gestures only made Odysseus laugh more, his warm, brown eyes looking fondly at you with a touch of gratitude. 

“Of course, of course, for you as well,” Polites laughs as Eurylochus smiles with his arms crossed, “but I wonder how we should go about using this apparatus…” he points to the shower area you set up on one side, next to the small waterfall — hoping that the association with the waterfall would help them learn that the showers functioned the same way. 

Happily, you demonstrate how to turn the water on and off, doing your best to tell the men to shower first before soaking in the hot springs. You even go so far as to show them the different dispensers for their different washing needs. Everyone has since grown attentive to observing your movements and expressions so it was easy enough to understand which coloured dispenser did what and the order they should go about using them. It was quite novel in appearance but familiar enough that navigation would easily become second nature. Everyone was excited to finally wash the salt off their skin and feel refreshed again. Once they were clear on how things went, you led them out of the area and see if they were satisfied with the privacy the bamboo trees offered along with the strategically placed bamboo partitions. Firstly and most importantly, however, your instructions on how they should use the baths needed to be met strictly. 

“Understood,” Eurylochus voices in his usually strict tone, “I’ll make sure everyone else knows what to do,” gratefully, you nod at him and move to get out of their way but are stopped by Odysseus. 

“Now that you’ve shown us, I believe you should be taking the first bath, Fair Maiden,” he nods towards the showers, “you’ve done so much for my men and me thus far, you are the first of us all who deserves a relaxing bath,” you give him a questioning look, asking ‘are you sure?’. “We’re sure, don’t worry,” he smiles at you kindly before a shout cuts through the tender moment. 

“I will guard the Fair Maiden while she bathes!” a distant hand is raised within the crowd of men, the shout coming out so sudden and loud that it visibly startles you. Seeing your frightened expression, however, gets Odysseus visibly irate and he readies himself to give that particular crewman the tongue-lashing of his life. But before anything can be said, a conflict has already started. 

“No! I will guard the Fair Maiden!” 

“I am better with a sword, I can protect her better than you!”

“There’s nothing to protect her from on this island. I am a great conversationalist, I’m sure she would appreciate the talk while she bathes—”

“Don’t be so stupid, who’d want to listen to your stupid voice while bathing?!” 

Not long into the argument, a fistfight breaks out, but even before that, Polites has already helped you sneak into the baths, making sure you were settled before heading out, promising that he, the Captain and the second commander would take care of things so that you can relax. With a loud shout and a fierce look, Odysseus has the crew behaving again, feeling no sympathy for those showcasing visible black eyes, bruises and swelling cheeks. 

“I expected more of you two,” Odysseus shakes his head at Perimedes, who had a black eye, and Elpenor, who sported two painfully swollen cheeks. Elpenor tried to explain their motivations, but with both of his cheeks swollen, his words were barely decipherable and can be best described as incoherent nonsense. 

“We only fought back because someone dragged us into the fight,” Perimedes explained  before uttering under his breath, “it’s not like anyone else could take better care of our Fair Maiden…”

“Can you really say that after your antics at the boat earlier?” Polities appreciated that the two, at least, had the decency to look bashful. 

“Eurylochus and I will guard the Fair Maiden,” Odysseus announces firmly, leaving no room for argument as Eurylochus stands tall beside him, arms crossed over his chest and making his appendages look all the more muscular — a silent threat to his own men, “Anyone who would like to challenge that is free to prove themselves in a one on one fight with either of us…” obviously, nobody would dare to openly oppose their captain and second commander. “Nobody?… Good, you know your place. Now set up your camps! Polites will supervise you,” Polites nods when Odysseus meets his eyes and happily goes along with his duties, herding the crew away from the bathing area. 

Bathing first really was a good idea. It allowed you to test out the functionality of the baths and provided a rare quiet after days spent with the crewmen. It was so relaxing you didn’t think you would ever leave, but alas, you were getting hungry, and if you were hungry, then the crew were hungry too. You’ll look into your storage for tonight, but tomorrow, you will begin gathering more ingredients again for freshly cooked meals. After your bath, you pull out your wand and easily magic yourself into a new outfit. This one was something you prepared beforehand that matched your new cottage core theme. This outfit featured another custom-designed dress you made. This one was also long and was designed based on the 1804 French evening dress, with a ribbon tied just under your breasts and delicate short sleeves to give you a square neckline. It was a beautiful dress that made you feel like a water sprite. It took you ages to design but, looking in the full-length mirror to one side of the baths, you were happy with the results.

Stepping out of the baths, you greet Odysseus and Eurylochus with a smile, both of whom return the greeting kindly. 

“You look refreshed,” Eurylochus comments with a curt nod of approval. 

“I must say your sense of fashion is very nice, Fair Maiden…” Odysseus’ words make you tilt your head curiously. You wonder where he was going with this, he’s not usually the type to make such comments about your appearance, unlike the other unmarried men of his crew, “Do you suppose you have some similarly styled clothes I can offer to my wife, Penelope?” His words make you beam with excitement, nodding enthusiastically, which makes him grin in return, “You do?! And you’re willing to give them to my wife?” you nod again, “Thank you so much!” 

You wave off the King’s gratitude casually as if you were saying that it wouldn’t be a big deal, and it really wasn’t. It was then, however, that you catch Eurylochus’ shy expression. When you turn to him curiously, Odysseus seems to already know what he wants to ask and has the biggest, teasing grin on his face as you patiently wait for the second commander to explain himself. 

“W-would you be able to do the same for my wife Ctimene?” excitedly, you nod your head as well, instantly wiping away Eurylochus’ worries and making the large, imposing man, grin widely.

Group by group, Odysseus and his crew all take turns soaking in the baths. The only problem after was the clothes they would have to change into knowing that their current attire wasn’t any good. But you had an easy solution to that. Wanting to give them clothing items that seemed familiar, you offered clean Chitons, thankful that you had access to the catalogue from your Nookphone, which was always helpfully tucked away in your back pocket. Conveniently, there was no waiting time needed here, and your orders appeared before you immediately. You save the differently coloured Togas for Odysseus, Polites and Eurylochus to help differentiate them from the rest of the crew members. Odysseus was wearing his signature purple sash, whilst Polites and Eurylochus wore red sashes. Thankfully, you were right to assign the clothing like this, and everyone was thankful for the relaxing bath, clean clothing and the delicious meal you had prepared afterwards: a delicious novel dish (to them) of Fish and Chips. There were satisfied hums and complimentary remarks made all throughout dinner, with everyone taking the chance to look towards you in appreciation at some point in the evening.

“Polites and my crew have informed me of a house on the northeast side of the island,” Odysseus casually brings up as you eat your portion of fish and chips beside him. “Would that happen to be your home?” having perked up at his words, you nod. So your house was still standing… you wonder why your villagers’ houses aren’t, nor the other buildings on the island. “Polites made sure nobody broke in unnecessarily. Tonight, I’m sure you would appreciate sleeping in your home. My men and I have made our camps about the island already, so don’t worry about us,”

You smile at his thoughtfulness and bow your head gratefully, “None of that now,” Odysseus hurries to lift your head, “at this point, we all stand on level ground. You’ve done more for me and my crew than I think you’re aware of,” growing flustered under his high praise, you look away with a bashful smile. Truly, it wasn’t hard for you to do the things you’ve done, you loved playing animal crossing and it’s a joy to experience it in real life, especially when you get to offer the help your favourite characters need at just the right time. It would feel wrong if you didn’t offer your help knowing you had the power to.   

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The next morning, you spend your time making fishing poles for everyone so that they can fish for their own meals and help you speed up the cooking. They were all more than happy to help you, and eager to learn from you as well. Elpenor especially; he doesn’t seem to have any technique working in his favour. Perimedes, on the other hand, has already caught his dinner and handed it over to you, but, as a faithful friend, he had vowed to stand beside Elpenor until the hopeless fool finally catches a fish himself. Sometimes, the taller blonde was tempted to pull the fishing pole from Elpenor’s useless hands, impatient in his helpfulness, but wanted his friend to feel the achievement of catching the fish himself first. 

“Are you going to fish with us?” Eurylochus asks, turning away from the ocean to look at you curiously. Several other men were set up close by, also waiting for fish to take the bait. Nodding enthusiastically, you look forward with determination as the crew members look on curiously from where they’re stationed. Odysseus and Polites had already caught their fish, and you had helpfully stored away their catches for them. The two stand by, simply observing and eying your flowing dress curiously. You seem to have a habit of doing chores in the most unexpected attire. They suppose it’s because you are that exceptional — no item of clothing will hold you back from the things you want to do, even if they are long flowing, beautiful dresses. 

“If the Fair Maiden catches a fish before you,” Perimedes begins, playfully jabbing his friend’s side with a sharp elbow, “I would begin to question your masculine prowess, dear friend,”

“The Fair Maiden catching a fish before me doesn’t bring my masculinity into question, Perimedes,” Elpenor huffs with a slight redness in his cheeks, “It only attests to the Fair Maiden’s greatness,” 

“I suppose you’re right,” Perimedes shrugs, and they both watch you from their periphery, as is the habit of every crew member whenever they see you nearby. They just can’t help themselves; you draw their eye easily, and they are weak to beauties like you. Beauties with the kindest heart known to man. They yearn to bring you close but are well aware of their self-deficiencies — no man alive is worthy of someone as fair and wondrous as you. Not even the king himself. 

Not long after you’ve cast your fishing pole you get a tug and everyone watches with baited breath as you fight with the fish at the end of your line. Everyone silently cheers you on until their jaws slacken at the monstrous creature you pull out of the water and proudly present to them, carrying it as if it weighs no heavier than a leaf. 

A whale shark! This will earn you good money when you sell it to Tommy and Timmy. 

“Wh-what sort of ocean creature is that?” Polites asks in disbelief, adjusting his glasses as Odysseus laughs from beside him, clutching his stomach as tears of laughter fill his eyes. The kind had long since abandoned all need to find an explanation for your ‘odd’ behaviour, he’s learned to shrug it off and, instead, find joy in the astonished, jaw-dropped, eye-bulging expressions of his crew members. Never before has he laughed so much, and he has you to thank for it. Odysseus wasn't finished laughing, however, as another wave of surprise exclamations, shock and disbelief flooded his crew when you casually stored away the gigantic creature in your back pocket. 

(From a distance, Odysseus hears another familiar giggle overlapping with his own laughter.)

“H-HOW?!” Perimedes shouts with his hands clutching at his head in disbelief, his eyes wide as his brows have flown to his hairline. However, everyone knows that his question will never be answered as you flash him an innocent smile. You can’t speak; they just have to accept things as they come from you. 

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Savouring the stable ground and the grand scenery of your island paradise, the crew members observe you zipping around the land as if you have all the energy to spare, hitting rocks over and over to draw out raw materials unlike they’ve ever seen anyone else do. It’s as if Mother Nature herself wanted to provide you with everything you need; she was at your beck and call, and it was astonishing to witness. You even manage to draw out solid gold chunks from ordinary rocks, making the crew’s eyes bulge before they furiously rub at them in disbelief. Of course, they don’t confront you about it; it would be extremely rude to do so. They also don’t want their Captain and commanders breathing down their necks about any disorderly behaviour towards you. It’s clear to everyone that you are someone they care very deeply about, and all three have grown especially protective of you, so not only are you the most ethereal being to exist, but you’re also the most protected and secure. 

It was a little scary now that they think about it…

Some of the men have come very close to openly protesting against you, however, especially when several have seen you burying sacks of gold after digging up a glowing area of land a fellow crew member had pointed you towards. Those who witnessed your strange behaviour were very vocal in encouraging you to dig the sack of money back up, but you were adamant about refusing, no matter their sound reasoning. All those men quickly shut up under their Captain’s sharp eyes, their second commander’s growling but firm command to stop, and their third commander’s scary, silent smile. Several days go by, and the crewmen realise that they hadn’t just seen you bury gold coins uselessly but they’ve actually witnessed you plant and grow a money tree. 

As you’ve done many times before, once the tree has grown to its full size, you go up to the trunk and violently shake it to make the three large sacks of money fall from its branches. Before anyone could utter a word, however, you’ve already collected the money and zipped away without a single penny left behind. You were like a greedy little chipmunk, who had looted all the nuts and hurriedly sprinted away without an ounce of remorse at the fact that you left nothing for the others. All the could do was watch with sagging shoulders and depressed expressions as you ran into the sunset, happy with your bountiful haul. 

Sadly, that money tree doesn’t sprout sacks of money again…  

(Distantly, you hear laughter that tickles your brain just right, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.)    

The crew also silently observe as you passionately shake trees every day for sticks and fruit as well as random items ranging from small, miscellaneous trinkets that don’t typically belong on trees to fully built furniture. They’ve all experienced small heart attacks every time, worried for your wellbeing when they see a large piece of furniture emerge from the branches and soundly drop. Thankfully, all items conveniently drop a safe distance away from you. But that’s because you’re the Fair Maiden. They don’t believe they have the same luck as you and it’s deterred a majority of them from shaking trees unless they know what would be dropping down, limiting them to shaking only the fruit trees in your orchard. 

There was a time when you had shaken a tree, and a bee hive fell, sending everyone into an immediate panic as the angry bees rose in anger. Without thinking, Elpenor jumps in the way just as you’ve raised your net, taking the horrible storm of bee stings for you. You fall to the ground with him, holding him close as your apology is clearly expressed in your features, your brows furrowed and tears in your eyes. You want to call him an idiot so badly, didn’t he see your net?! 

…What a loveable fool he was… 

You see that he wants to smile in assurance from where you hold him in your arms but the bee stings make it close to impossible. His lips and eyes are swollen, his cheeks too and his arm and neck! Goodness, everywhere you look there are bee stings! This is much worse than in the game! Frantic, you lay his head on your lap as Perimedes falls to the ground beside you and takes his best friend’s hand in his own. 

“How idiotic can you get Elpenor?!” Despite his words, you can tell the blonde is far from annoyed. Rather, he is more worried for his friend than anything else. 

“The fair maiden was in danger…” Elpenor answers simply, his voice strained but you both shake your heads at him, silently asking that he don’t overtax himself. 

Flicking through your storage, you bring out the bag of medicine you always prepare for emergencies. Usually, you would simply press the ‘take medicine’ option, however, now that this was real life, you were having to reach inside the bag. When you do, you bring out a simple balm, but the case is empty of any instructions or labels. Everyone watches closely as you take some of the balm onto your fingers and spread the ointment over their youngest crew member’s visible stings. All those who are watching, visibly awe at the immediate effects your medicine has on Elpenor. The balm barely stays on for a second to sink in before Elpenor’s injuries completely disappear, his skin no longer swollen, the concerning redness of his stings gone, and his boyish smile has returned. 

“What is this…?” Perimedes asks, eyeing the medicine in disbelief but it had also disappeared along with Elpenor’s injuries. “I can’t believe it…”

“Fair maiden,” Elpenor turns to you with a bright smile, ready to express his gratitude and astonishment but is cut off when you jump into his arms, hoping your tight hug will convey the amount of gratitude you had in your heart for him. He was so brave but what a fool! You hope he never jumps in front of danger like that again!

“It’s okay,” you feel Elpenor gently brush his hand along your back, “I wouldn’t mind taking all the bee stings for you. Especially knowing that you can cure me instantly,” his happy smile can be heard in his words as you bury your face into his broad shoulder. 

“You’re an idiot…” Perimedes laughs as you meet his fond gaze from over Elpenor’s shoulder. You give his much taller friend a look to convey your thoughts somehow and Perimedes nods, “The Fair Maiden doesn’t want you to do that again, so promise her right now or else you will incur her wrath!”

Elpenor laughs bashfully, “I-If that is what the fair maiden wishes,“ he reaches for your hands and kisses your knuckles to seal his promise. 

Those who stood by watching gaze at you in unfiltered amazement. Never before had they seen medicine heal at the rate and effectiveness you have just demonstrated. Every day, they realise just how otherworldly of a person you are. Are you even a person? Maybe they were closer to figuring out your true origins when comparing you to the Gods and Goddesses, after all. 

“None of you are allowed to speak of this to anyone outside of those here, got it?” Odysseus utters, appearing to materialise out of the crowd observing the scene. His sudden appearance startles everyone, but they silently agree with him the instant his words process in their minds. A dark look had overtaken their captain, and it wasn’t one they were fond of. Nobody asked questions, nobody harassed you, nobody stood out of place awkwardly. They know that acting out would only endanger you, making you a target of the gods, much like the way their captain had been targeted in the potential future they were forced to witness through song. There was a silent agreement among them that they weren’t letting anything like that happen again. Not if they could help it. And that means keeping quiet. 

Seeing the amount of things you were doing daily on the island, however, had the crewmen itching to be productive. You understand they want to prove themselves helpful so after you collect the crops, you hand them watering cans to water the crop fields for you, you even teach them to make ingredients such as flour and sugar from the permanent outdoor cooking area you’ve set up. You’ve also helped them use your workbench to create tables and chairs to set up around your cooking area so that food can be eaten more comfortably. Everyone has gotten into the habit of catching their own fish and rationing the fruit so that everyone gets a piece. After only a short time, a functioning routine had been built amongst you, all centred around the chores you would typically do each day about the island but now, you had more people helping you, meaning that you could concentrate on stocking up supplies, cooking good meals for them and creating fun memories of all the wonderful people on Odysseus’ crew. 

Everyone was just doing their part to contribute and make your task of taking care of them that much easier. This was your island, after all; it was the least they could do. If only you weren’t constantly stunning them with your strange antics. At least not any ordinary day goes by. 

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ 

After a week or so spent on the island, you were on the right track to filling up your storage with the right amount of food and ingredients, and everyone had gotten into a good routine. Hermes, however, was just itching to make an introduction. The mischievous god had been observing you for a while. Ever since the rumours began amongst the crew, his curiosity had been piqued, and Athena’s subtle ways of dismissing the gossip only worked at making him all the more curious about you. The messenger god was glad he took the time to investigate you himself; never before had he laughed so much and been so entertained. Despite never having interacted with you, he’s grown a fondness for you already, he delights in your innocent but outrageous displays, leaving the 600 men in your wake with bulging eyes, slack jaws and racing minds that still come slow to comprehend what they were just witnesses to. 

He’s waited long enough, and quite patiently, he’d like to add. It was about time he finally revealed himself to you. And what better time to do so than while the sun sets and you had just said your farewells with the crew for the night, starting your way back home alone? He can’t miss this opportunity.  

“My my, what a beauty~” he coos, doing his best to suppress a giggle at the stunned look on your face when he suddenly floats down from his high perch. “I say, is your name really ‘Fair Maiden’?” seeing the recognition on your face, Hermes flings his luscious, brunette locks over his shoulder with a coy smile, “I see you’ve heard of me~ yes, it is I, Hermes, the God of merchants, thieves, travellers,” his eyes glow a pure white beneath the shadow of his hat, staring at you for one knowing, uncomfortable moment as a large grin occupies the unshadowed part of his face. “And these dashing good looks of mine, of course~” he ends on a cheeky note, winking deviously as you try to muster a smile despite the chill lingering in your spine from his earlier expression. Does he know?

“Of course, I know~” he looks at his nails with admiration, “I was one of the few gods who knew of you the instant you came here,” Hermes flies down, his feet up in the air as he lowers his face to level, leaving only an embarrassing inch of distance between you, “You’re quite the hot topic you know. Athena has her hands full, keeping talks of you to a minimum up in Olympus. I suppose you two have some sort of deal going on between you…” Hermes carefully inspects you as you avoid his eyes. How adorable you are~ So cute! 

It’s not like that…

“Oh? Explain it to me then, pet~” he coos with fondness, reaching up to play with your hair innocently as you try not to get too bashful. Not only was he an intimidating presence, but he had a very handsome face. You can see where Odysseus got his admirable features from. It was in Hermes’ handsome-framing hair, his golden, sun-kissed skin, his charming but disarming eyes, and his pretty lips meant for more than just pleasant words… “Don’t leave me waiting now~ Beauty and sweetness can only get you so far when it comes to wasting the time of a god~” he giggles, leaving his remark suspiciously suspended between humour and a serious threat. 

I- uh… 

“Just kidding!” he giggles into your temple, nuzzling your head affectionately and displaying something similar to cuteness-aggression, “I know you’re only captivated by my gorgeous face, so feel free to take all the time you need in answering me darling~” Hermes wraps his arms around your neck, using you as his anchor to the ground. He continues nuzzling his face into your temple as he kicks his legs in the air like a teenage girl reading her favourite ‘x reader’ fanfiction in bed. Hurriedly stepping away from his dizzying nearness, you take a moment to gather your thoughts, avoiding his teasing grin as you catch your breath. 

Athena and I only share a similar goal. We find that it’s best to work together to achieve it. There isn’t a single bargaining chip put down from either side. You explain in your head as the god nods along, seeming to hear your thoughts telepathically. You suppose all gods have a way of communicating with you. 

“I see~ That’s good! That’s very good actually,” he flies forward, his face inches from your own once again, eager to keep the close proximity as you slowly back yourself into a nearby tree. “That means you don’t have Athena’s blessing,”

N-no, I don’t…

“Fabulous!” Hermes throws his arms up, finally drawing back and striking a celebratory starfish pose whilst suspended mid-air. However, just as quickly as he celebrates, he just as quickly moves closer to you once again, his face so impossibly close that you’re falling into the glow of his eyes and feel the brush of his lips against your own as he speaks, “then I will be giving you my blessing, darling. A great honour, I know~” he suppresses a giggle and affectionately tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before placing his palm against the tree trunk beside your head, effectively pinning you in place, “No need to thank me, pet~ But we do need to seal the deal, somehow,” he talks at such lightening speed that you barely have the time to register his words before he’s capturing your lips in his own, his large hands softly holding your face in place and drawing out the kiss for as long as he wishes. You don’t know whether to push him away or deepen the kiss further. 

Wh-why—…?

“All great travellers are mine to take care of,” he explains in a firm whisper, pulling away as he licks his lips and coos at the stunned, flushed expression on your pretty face, “Call me whenever you need, darling! Take care now~” Hermes begins to float up and slowly disappears into the night sky, revealing from behind him another one of your storage sheds.

Hermes had left your brain in shambles and your heart in a dangerous race with itself. You don’t know how long you stayed slumped against the tree that mischievous god had just claimed your lips against but the sunset had long since passed. 

After calming your racing heart, you step up to the shed and curiously look inside. It looked like any other one of your storage sheds but the black void within was more ominous looking… was this Hermes’ doing? Or was it just because it was nighttime and dark outside? 

A sudden nudge in your back makes you fall into the black void with a yelp, and you fall for a moment before dropping forward onto a hard, cold, wooden floor. Looking around, you take in your surroundings and recognise the layout immediately. You’re on Odysseus’ ship, on the top deck, and in front of your open storage shed. This one was the first you had fallen out of and into this world, which you had kept on board, knowing that you just had to look for your home to access your full storage again. And you had plenty more storage sheds to spare, there was no need to do all that moving about. 

Did you just…? 

Rushing to the shed, you hold your breath and throw yourself forward before you have the chance to second-guess your actions. The same blackness consumes you as a rush makes your head spin but, this time, you fall onto soft grass — you’re back at that other storage shed now. Gasping silently, you admire the grass beneath your hands as your heart begins to race at the incredible gift Hermes had bestowed upon you. 

“What’s the latest, Sulky?” a cute voice enters your ears, making you shoot your head up and gasp at the sight of your villagers. They were not the anthropomorphic cute avatars from Animal Crossing that you were familiar with, but stood before you as normal animals— only, they’ve managed to retain their unusual colouring and patterns. 

“Marshal?...”

navi. | series m.list |

next | four. the washed-up stranger →

next | small imagine : you didn't have to kiss her hermes →

a/n : phew~ I hope everyone had a fun read! I loved writing Hermes hehe~ and if anyone's curious, I imagine his design from Zieru's 'Dangerous' animatic on YouTube. Also the villagers will be appearing in the next chapter but I don't know whether to base it off my villagers or take some favourite villagers suggestions... either way we're definitely having Marshal as a villager!

For those of you who are curious about who my villagers are, here's the list for you: Fauna ; Shino ; Poppy ; Filbert ; Marshal ; Chrissy ; Fang ; Boots ; Gaston ; Mitzi

taglist : @bluepanda08 @doodle-with-rhy @sunshinedaisy21 @jolixtreesunn @ellaprime7 @marcelemry @nishayuro @celestialzdiviner (almost forgot the taglist phew~)

[jmliebert]

♡ hot and bothered ♡

Summary: You took a deep breath as you walked toward the bathhouse pool, your towel barely covering your body. The steam from the hot water wrapped around you, but it wasn't enough to hide from Halsin's gaze... enjoy

smut with fluff?

Word count: 1,900

Tags: p in v, smut (shameless), fluff and lots of wet flesh :))

Warnings: explicit content (18+)

Author's note: oh, halsin what did you do with me?

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

You took a deep breath as you walked toward the bathhouse pool, your towel barely covering your body. The steam from the hot water wrapped around you, but it wasn't enough to hide from Halsin's gaze. His eyes steady and intense, following your every move with a kind of quiet curiosity that made you shy. He saw your body before, you felt his eyes on you countless times, still you couldn’t stop the feeling that was growing inside your belly.

It had been a long day for you both. So when Halsin suggested visiting a secluded bathhouse in the inner city, you eagerly agreed. It was so long since it was only you and him. Being somewhere nice, relaxing and spending time together like normal people do.  

The bustling streets of Baldur's Gate seemed to blur around you as you and Halsin went through city's winding pathways, your hands entwined. Each step felt lighter, as if the weight of the world had been lifted just by his presence. The sounds of the city—merchants calling, carts creaking, and people chattering—faded into the background. All that mattered was this moment, just the two of you, walking side by side.

As you paused, Halsin turned to you with a warm smile, his grip on your hand gentle yet firm. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him softly, his lips warm and tender against yours. There was no rush, no urgency—just a shared moment that seemed to stretch on forever. When you pulled away, his eyes sparkled with amusement, and you couldn't help but laugh at the joy of just being with each other. You felt so young and carefree, happy. 

In love. 

The bathhouse was as grand, but cozy. White stone gleamed in the dim evening light, and intricate marble sculptures of water nymphs and mermaids adorned the walls. High ceilings and lush greenery created an atmosphere of relaxation quiet luxury. The scent of rose petals and aromatic oils filled the air as steam rose from the various pools.

You rented a private room with a bath as large as a small pool. The water was hot, steam rising and swirling in the dimly lit room. The scent of herbs and roses filled the air. As you stepped into the area, you saw Halsin already there, his long hair tied into a messy bun. He leaned back in the bathtub, his large arms spread out at the edges, his muscles taut and defined, veins visible on his forearms. His head was tilted back, eyes closed in quiet relaxation. He looked divine. 

When you entered, Halsin's eyes opened, he looked at you and smiled warmly. The moment your eyes met his, your poor heart skipped a beat. He looked so effortlessly handsome, the soft light accentuating his strong features. His smile was inviting, promising. All you wanted was to melt in his body and turn into nothing, just for a moment. 

You let your towel drop to the floor, the sound barely a whisper over the bubbling water. You took a deep breath and slid into the bath, feeling the heat swallowing you. You slowly moved to sit beside Halsin, your head leaning on his broad arm. His hand found yours, your fingers intertwining, grounding you in his gentle touch.  You closed your eyes, enjoying simple closeness of his body. For a long time both of you didn’t say a word, you didn’t have to. 

Then Halsin broke the silence, his voice low and soothing. “You know,” he said, tracing gentle circles on the back of your hands. "I don't think I told you today how beautiful you are. I could spend an eternity just looking at you.”

You felt a smile tugging at your lips, your chest feeling light. “You’re always so poetic,” you teased, giving him a soft kiss on the shoulder. 

Halsin chuckled quietly, his voice a low rumble. “Maybe it’s because you inspire me,” he replied. His hand traveling to your nape. "Being with you feels like coming home, and it's a feeling I never want to lose,” he added after a moment, his words barely above the whisper. 

Something in his voice as he uttered those words, made your heart swell. You kissed his shoulder again, then his collarbone, feeling his body tense a little under your touch. You couldn’t see it now, but Halsin’s gaze darkened slightly, his gaze focused on you, tracing the lines of your lovely body. 

His hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing your skin. “Can I kiss you?” He asked his voice laced with anticipation

“I thought you’d never ask,” you replied with a playful wink.

So he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The initial contact was gentle, almost hesitant, but as your lips moved in sync, the heat between you grew. You felt the warmth of the water envelope you both, amplifying the sensation of his hands on your skin, tracing delicate patterns along your back. Your fingers explored the broad expanse of his shoulders, feeling the powerful muscles beneath his skin.

You shifted to straddle his lap, bringing your bodies closer, your chests pressed together. Halsin's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even tighter against him. It felt so good you gasped. Then Halsin pulled back just slightly, his breath warm against your lips. 

"Can I kiss you again?" he teased with a smile and you nodded. The kiss deepened, his mouth pressing firmly against yours. It was like he was trying to drink in your essence, his lips capturing every sigh and moan that escaped you. The rhythm of the kiss quickened, each touch more electrifying than the last. His tongue teased yours, and the heat grew almost unbearable. 

His hands wandered, tracing the line of your spine before settling on your hips, guiding you into a slow, rhythmic motion. 

The heat of the bathhouse combined with Halsin's embrace made your head spin. The steam seemed to grow thicker, filling the air with a humid intensity that left you feeling lightheaded. The sensation of his lips on yours and his hands roaming your body sent waves of warmth coursing through you, and you found yourself melting into him.

Your hips began to move with a subtle rhythm, a slow, instinctive sway that spoke to the need building within you. You could feel Halsin's arousal, his stiffening length pressing against your belly, the hard tip nudging your skin. It made your heart race and your pulse quicken. The growing tension between your legs was of a desperate need of more friction,  tightening with each passing moment.

You could feel Halsin's breaths growing heavier as he pulled you even closer, his lips trailing down your neck and over your collarbone. Every touch, every brush of his lips against your skin, sent sparks of desire racing through you. You couldn't help but press yourself closer, the need for him almost too much to bear.

Breathless and flushed from the heat, Halsin brushed away the damp strands of hair sticking to your forehead with adoration written on his face. His eyes held a silent question and you answered without a word, your hand sliding down to touch his hardening shaft.  Your lips yet again closing in a kiss. A low groan escaped him, the sound resonating with desire.

But then you moved away, leaving him aching with the sudden loss of your touch. Halsin's eyes followed you with renewed intensity as you leaned over the edge of the bathtub, presenting your back and curving your hips invitingly. Tonight you wanted to be fucked rough.

Halsin didn't hesitate. His hands gripped your hips, strong yet gentle, pulling you back toward him. He kissed your shoulders, his lips trailing down your spine, pressing against each vertebra with reverence. As he reached your nape, he nipped it gently, the sensation sending shivers through you.

Then Halsin's grip tightened, his body aligning with yours, and you could feel the heat of him against you, his hardness pressing insistently at your entrance. With a deep breath, you relaxed into his touch, feeling the warmth of the water mingling with the warmth of his body.

As Halsin pressed into you, his hard length entered smoothly, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, the way he stretched you sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His groan in your ear was primal, animalistic, and you couldn't help but respond with your own moan, each sound feeding the other's desire, your loud breaths echoing through the walls. 

His hands tightened their grip on your hips, and he began to move, each thrust deep and powerful, his hips slamming against yours with a force that made the water splash around you. Halsin's pace grew more urgent with each passing moment, his movements raw and unrestrained. 

You arched your back, pushing into him, welcoming the intensity, craving the roughness. Each thrust sent a jolt of ecstasy through you, and you could feel the tension building, coiling in your core. Halsin's breath was hot against your skin, his moans growing louder as he found his rhythm, each stroke deeper and more determined than the last.

It didn’t take long for the waves of pleasure to pull you under, each thrust bringing you closer to your peak. Your legs grew weak from the relentless intensity, your inner walls clenching tightly around Halsin's hard length, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. His eyes shut tight, the sensation almost too much to bear. You told him you were close, and he wrapped his strong arms around you, holding you firmly against his chest. Your hands no longer leaned against the edge of the bathhouse tub; instead, you knelt on your knees, completely at his mercy, leaning   your back on his chest.

With one hand, Halsin cupped your face, gently turning you toward him to capture your lips in a kiss, his tongue tasting your moans as he pressed his other hand to your belly, feeling each of his movements deep inside. It was intense, almost suffocating, but in the most delicious way. 

You came hard, your body convulsing around him, the intensity of your orgasm making you cry out into his mouth. Halsin's pace became more erratic, his thrusts growing sloppy, and you could feel the warmth building deep within you as he reached his climax. Thick ropes of cum filled you, the pressure of his release making you both gasp with satisfaction. His forehead pressed against your shoulder as you both caught your breath, the intensity giving way to a comforting stillness. The bathhouse grew quiet again, save for the gentle splashes of water and the sounds of your breathing, slowly calming as the aftershocks of pleasure coursed through your bodies.

As you both left the bathhouse, your bodies felt relaxed and warm, the heat from the bath still lingering on your skin. The night summer breeze was a refreshing balm, soothing your heated bodies as you stepped out into the cool air. It felt like a gentle caress after the intensity of the bath, and you welcomed it with a contented sigh.

Halsin's hand found yours, his fingers interlacing with yours, and you walked slowly through the quiet streets. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

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

[happilyhertale]

A Night to Remember – Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You return home after a long day at work. It's your anniversary and you find that Daemon has transformed your house into a landscape of candlelight. You know that a night of passion and tenderness will follow.

Pairing: Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Lap sitting

Author’s note:

My first smuff Daemon story of the year! I'll start easy, so no real smut, just a fluff story with a little heat to get things started.

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.1 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The rhythmic hum of your car engine fades as you pull into the driveway of your home. The modern architecture gleams under the moonlight, a blend of glass and steel softened by warm wooden accents and the lush garden surrounding it. You step out, heels clicking on the cobblestones as you approach the door, anticipation fluttering in your chest. It is your anniversary—a day that always held an air of mystery when it came to Daemon.

Unlocking the door, you step inside and are immediately enveloped in a tranquil hush. The house is dark, save for the soft glow of scattered candles casting playful shadows on the pristine walls. A faint, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and amber lingered in the air.

“Daemon?” you call out, your voice echoing softly in the vast space. But there is none, only the quiet crackle of a candle’s flame.

The trail of candles guides you past the grand staircase and into the open living space, their flickering light leading you toward a doorway partially veiled by a sheer curtain.

Pushing it aside, you enter a softly lit room. The large windows are draped, and the room feels intimate, bathed in the golden glow of more candles arranged artfully around the space. And there he is.

Daemon stands near the center, his lean figure framed by the warm light. He wears a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the top few buttons undone to reveal the silver chain resting against his collarbone. His silver-gold hair falls in soft waves, untamed as always, and his violet eyes glint with mischief when they meet yours.

A glass of wine shimmers ruby in his hand as he steps closer. “You’re home,” he says, his voice low and smooth, carrying the faintest hint of a smile.

Your lips curve as you walk toward him, your fatigue melting away with each step, “I see you’ve been busy.”

“I couldn’t let our anniversary pass without something special.” He extends the glass to you, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

You sip the wine, savoring its bold flavor, your gaze never leaving his. Daemon reachs out, his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you gently closer. His lips find your neck, pressing a warm, lingering kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. You close your eyes, letting yourself melt into the moment.

Then, you feel the cool touch of something against your skin. Your eyes flutter open as Daemon steps behind you, his movements deliberate yet unhurried. He holds up a delicate collar—soft black leather with a single silver charm dangling from it. It is understated, elegant, and undeniably Daemon.

“I saw this and thought of you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. His hand brushes your hair aside, and you feel the collar encircle your neck, his fingers deftly fastening it. “Perfect,” he whispers, his hand sliding to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing your skin.

Your breath hitches as he presses his lips to your earlobe, his teeth grazing it lightly. A soft moan escaped you, and you lean into him, your heart racing.

“Daemon…” you begin, but words fail you when his hands roam down your sides, grounding you in his presence. His lips trail down your neck before he pulls back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

He smiles then, a rare, genuine smile that makes your chest ache with love.

Daemon takes your hand and leads you to a low seating area by the window where a plush blanket and cushions await you. He sinks down first, pulling you to straddle his lap. Setting your wine glass aside, you rest your hands on his shoulders, your fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone through the fabric of his shirt.

The evening unfolds in perfect harmony. Daemon brought out a tray with an assortment of their favorite treats.

The tray is a masterpiece of indulgence, a testament to Daemon’s thoughtfulness. A selection of rich, dark chocolates, their glossy surfaces catching the flicker of the candlelight, nestled among plump, glistening berries.

His eyes lingers on you as you bring a berry to your lips, your teeth sinking into its ripe flesh. A bead of juice escapes, and before you could react, Daemon leans in and brushes it away with his thumb, his gaze never leaving yours. The intimacy of the gesture sends a flush up your neck.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you tease, reaching for a piece of chocolate for yourself. But Daemon is quicker. He snatches it from your hand, his laughter low and full of mischief. Before you could protest, he bites into it, then leans forward to kiss you, letting you taste the chocolate on his lips.

Your laugh dissolves into a soft moan as he deepenes the kiss, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the warmth of his mouth. When he pulls away, your eyes flutter open, your breath coming quicker than before.

“You make everything taste better,” he says, his voice roughened by desire.

He traces the edge of your lower lip with his thumb, his fingers lingering on your chin. You don't hesitate and enclose his thumb with your lips, sucking on it gently.

“Careful,” he said, his voice a husky warning, without breaking eye contact. “You’re playing with fire.”

“And you’re the one holding the matches,” you shoot back, after you release his thumb from your mouth with a slight plop, emboldened by his reaction.

His laughter rolls through the room, warm and genuine, as he leans back against the cushions. His hands settles on your waist, steadying you as you adjusted to the position, leaning closer. Your faces are inches apart, your shared smiles giving way to something deeper as your breaths mingle.

“You’re intoxicating,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to the curve of your jaw.

Daemon’s fingers play with the hem of your blouse, your skin tingles where his fingertips linger, his touch deliberate yet teasing.

His fingers trace the line of your arm, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. But you can't answer when he pulls you closer to him and you feel the beginning of his arousal pressing against your core. A slight whimper escapes your lips.

Your heart skips a beat as his lips brush your jaw, trailing down to the hollow of your throat. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding on as he works his particular brand of magic.

“Daemon,” you say, your voice a breathless whisper.

“Hmm?” he hums against your skin, his teeth grazing your collarbone before he leans back, just enough to meet your gaze. His violet eyes glint with mischief, daring you to look away. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible,” you breath.

“And yet,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with a single finger, “you’re still here,” he counters.

Your lips part to reply, but before you could, he captures your mouth in a kiss that is anything but gentle. It is consuming, a clash of desire and devotion that leaves you breathless. You melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to elicit a low growl from him.

Daemon's hands wrapped around your hips, his touch firm but never intrusive as he guides your movements, letting you grind against his now obvious hardness, which makes you whimper again. The line between teasing and surrender blurs as the air around you thickens, charged with unspoken promises. His lips find your neck again, lingering just below your ear, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you.

“You’re trembling,” he whispers, his tone equal parts observation and satisfaction.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you quip, though your voice betrays you as it wavered.

“Too late,” he says, his laughter warm against your skin.

Daemon’s hand slide up your back, his touch deliberate as his fingers trace the delicate line of the collar he’d fastened earlier. The smooth leather feels cool against your warm skin, and the weight of it is just enough to keep you acutely aware of its presence.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive rasp, “how stunning you look wearing this?”

Your breath catches as his hand lingered at the nape of your neck, the silver charm resting against your skin cold under his warm fingers. It is a simple thing—elegant and unassuming—but in his hands, it feels like a crown, a declaration of something deeply intimate.

“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” he admits. His thumb brushes over the clasp at the back. “But seeing it on you now…” He lets out a low, appreciative hum, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “It suits you.”

Your cheeks flush under his gaze, your voice unsteady but teasing. “You have a thing for collars, do you?”

“For this collar, on you? Absolutely,” he replys. His hand shifts, sliding forward to rest at the base of your throat, the collar snug beneath his palm. His grip is light, more a suggestion of power than a claim of it, but it steals your breath all the same.

“You’re enjoying this,” you accuse, your words faltering as his thumb traces a slow circle against your pulse.

He tilts his head, his smirk softening into something more primal. “And you’re not?” His voice drops lower, the challenge in his words evident.

Your lips parted, but the reply catches in your throat as his fingers tighten ever so slightly—a mere whisper of pressure, just enough to make your heartbeat race beneath his touch. Your eyes flutter shut, and you lean into him, your body instinctively responding to the heat between you. He guids your movements again – his hand on your hip encouraging you to take what you need. You feel the throbbing, you need more. His hardness twitches as you grind against it, a slight growl leaves his lips.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet against your ear. His thumb grazes your jawline, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. When your eyes open, the intensity in his violet stare left you utterly undone.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was maddeningly slow, his hand never leaving your neck. The collar, the candlelight, the feel of him – all of it combined into a symphony of sensations that leaves you dizzy.

When he pulls away, his hand lingers his fingers gliding along the curve of your neck, savoring every inch of skin beneath the leather. “Do you know why I chose this for you?” he asks, his tone contemplative, though his eyes still burns with unspoken promises.

You shake your head slightly.

“Because it’s beautiful, bold, and it commands attention,” he says, his hand slipping down to rest at your collarbone, his thumb stroking idly. “Just like you.”

Your cheeks flush, and for a moment, you was grateful for the dim lighting, though you suspect he could still see the way you react to his words. “Daemon—”

He silences you with another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier, his teeth catching your lower lip as if he couldn’t get enough. When he finally pulls back, you are breathless, your thoughts spinning.

“Wear it for me tonight,” he whispers against your lips, his hand tightening briefly on the collar before sliding away. “Let me show you just how much I adore you in it.”

You smile and bite your lip slightly, before your hands find their way beneath his shirt, palms gliding over his toned chest as his muscles tense beneath your touch. The simple act makes you feel powerful, like you hold some measure of control in this exquisite game. But Daemon is nothing if not a master of turning the tables.

Before you could press your advantage, he shifts, laying you back against the cushions and pinning you there with his body. His weight is a comfort, his presence an anchor as his hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

You pull him down into a kiss, your lips moving against his in a way that tells him everything he needs to know. His control frays, but he hold the line, teasing you with just enough to make you crave more.

And then, as if sensing the perfect moment to leave you wanting, Daemon pulls back. His smirk is infuriating, his hair disheveled, and his breathing uneven. He looks like chaos incarnate, and you hate how much you love it.

“Daemon,” you protest, reaching for him, but he is already standing, his hand extended to you.

“Patience, my love,” he says, helping you to your feet. “The night is young.” He leads you toward the grand staircase, the candlelight flickering as they passed. His hand lingers on your back, guiding your step by step, his promise unspoken but unmistakable.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Heyo! I love how you write stories with Logan with animals because they’re so beautiful!! I was wondering if you’d write another one please? The reader is a shy mutant with nature powers (grow all kinds of flora, manipulate the elements, live harmonious with any kind of animal), she’s basically like Mother Nature. She has a big secret place where she often goes to. She created it to keep all kind of creatures save from humans and mutants, especially exotic ones, and are very dear to her. He tried to follow her once, but others cannot find the place except for her or if she allows them in. One day, she wants to show it to him and have him meet her family and one of her oldest family members, a gigantic dragon. The dragon is quite intelligent and doesn’t seem impressed nor does he seem to like Logan and constantly tries to kindly kill him/play pranks on him whenever she’s not looking (e.g. pushing him into a pool of mud, taking up all her attention for him, etc.). You can also add Wade to the story if you want to. Thank you so so much and hope you’ve a beautiful day!! 💙

The hidden Sanctuary

Wolverine had always been a lone wolf. Even as part of the X-Men, he kept to himself, preferred the company of silence, and embraced the solace of solitude. But there was something about Y/N that intrigued him. Maybe it was her shyness or the way she melted into the background, rarely speaking unless spoken to, or perhaps it was the powerful, almost mystical energy that seemed to ripple off her in waves whenever she was around nature. Whatever it was, Logan found himself drawn to her in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Y/N was a mutant with powers unlike any he’d seen before. She could grow entire forests with a wave of her hand, manipulate the elements like it was second nature, and animals of all kinds flocked to her as if she were Mother Nature herself. Logan had seen her turn a desolate wasteland into a thriving ecosystem in seconds, and yet, she remained so modest about her abilities.

He had tried to follow her once when she snuck out of the mansion, curious as to where she went when she thought no one was watching. But no matter how closely he trailed her, she always managed to lose him, disappearing into the forest like a whisper on the wind.

Eventually, he let it go. If she wanted to keep her secrets, he wouldn’t pry… too much. But the more time they spent together, the more Logan found himself wanting to know everything about her. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he wanted her to trust him enough to let him in.

One evening, as they sat on the mansion’s roof, watching the sunset, she turned to him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of anxiety and excitement. “Logan, I… I want to show you something. It’s important to me, but you have to promise not to tell anyone about it.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, surprised by her sudden openness. “You know you can trust me, darlin’. I won’t say a word.”

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Okay… follow me.”

The journey was long and winding. They traveled deep into the forest, far from the mansion and any sign of civilization. The trees grew denser, the air richer with the scent of pine and earth. Logan stayed close, his senses on high alert, but Y/N moved with a confidence that made him feel oddly at ease.

After what felt like hours, she stopped in front of a large, ancient tree with sprawling roots. She placed a hand on the bark and whispered something he couldn’t make out. To Logan’s astonishment, the tree seemed to shimmer before it slowly began to part, revealing a hidden pathway bathed in golden light.

“This way,” she said softly, taking his hand and leading him through the opening.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as they stepped into a paradise beyond imagination. It was a hidden sanctuary, a place untouched by the modern world. Lush, vibrant plants of every color covered the ground, towering trees stretched high into the sky, their branches heavy with fruit, and a crystal-clear waterfall cascaded into a sparkling pool surrounded by delicate flowers.

Exotic creatures roamed freely, some so rare that Logan had only heard about them in legends. There were unicorns grazing by the water’s edge, phoenixes perched in the trees, and even a small family of griffins playfully wrestling in the distance.

“This… this is incredible,” Logan breathed, his voice laced with awe.

Y/N smiled shyly, a blush coloring her cheeks. “This is my sanctuary, a place where all creatures, mutant or otherwise, can live in peace. I’ve spent years creating and protecting it. It’s… it’s my home.”

As they walked deeper into the sanctuary, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way the animals greeted Y/N as if she were their queen. She interacted with them lovingly, whispering words of comfort, stroking their fur, and laughing when they nuzzled her affectionately.

But then, they reached a clearing, and Logan’s senses immediately went on high alert. A massive shadow passed overhead, and he looked up just in time to see a gigantic dragon circling above them, its scales shimmering in the sunlight.

The dragon landed with a thud, the ground shaking beneath its weight. It was an ancient, majestic creature with eyes that glowed like molten gold, and it was staring directly at Logan.

“Logan, this is Drakon. He’s one of my oldest friends,” Y/N said, her voice filled with affection as she approached the dragon without a hint of fear. “He’s been protecting this place for centuries.”

Logan nodded, trying to keep his cool, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that Drakon was sizing him up, and not in a friendly way.

“Nice to meet you,” Logan said gruffly, extending a hand. The dragon huffed, a plume of smoke curling from its nostrils, clearly unimpressed.

Y/N laughed, completely oblivious to the tension. “He’s just being protective. Drakon, Logan is my friend. You can trust him.”

The dragon narrowed its eyes, but finally gave a reluctant nod. Still, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that the dragon didn’t like him very much.

Over the next few hours, Y/N showed Logan around the sanctuary, introducing him to all the creatures and explaining how she had come to find and protect them. Logan listened intently, more captivated by her passion and love for this place than the creatures themselves.

But every time Y/N turned her back, Drakon would make his displeasure known. The dragon would nudge Logan toward a pool of mud, causing him to stumble and fall face-first into the muck, or he’d suddenly swoop down to land between Logan and Y/N, cutting him off and demanding all of her attention.

At one point, Drakon even “accidentally” knocked Logan off a ledge into a thorny bush, earning a surprised laugh from Y/N when she turned around to see Logan tangled in the branches.

“You alright, Logan?” she asked, rushing over to help him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Logan grumbled, glaring up at the dragon, who looked away innocently, a satisfied smirk in its golden eyes.

Logan wasn’t easily intimidated, but this dragon was really starting to get on his nerves.

As the sun began to set, Y/N and Logan sat by the edge of the pool, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange. Drakon rested nearby, keeping a watchful eye on Logan, though he pretended to be dozing.

“I’m glad you brought me here, Y/N,” Logan said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “This place… it’s a part of you. I can see why you wanted to protect it.”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve wanted to show you for a while now. I trust you, Logan. I know you’d never hurt this place or the creatures here.”

Logan felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. “I wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’. I’ll protect it just like you do.”

They sat in contented silence for a few more moments, but then a voice broke through the peaceful atmosphere.

“Hey, lovebirds! Mind if I join the cuddle fest?”

Logan groaned as Deadpool suddenly appeared from behind a tree, his red and black suit standing out starkly against the natural beauty of the sanctuary.

“What the hell are you doing here, Wade?” Logan growled, his patience wearing thin.

“Oh, you know, just following you guys. Figured you’d need a chaperone. And what do I find? A magical Disney wonderland! Seriously, you guys have been holding out on me!” Deadpool exclaimed, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the sanctuary.

Before Logan could retort, Drakon let out a deep growl, his eyes narrowing at Deadpool. “Oh, big guy, relax! I’m just here for the hugs and maybe to steal a unicorn for my apartment.”

The dragon let out a jet of flame that narrowly missed Deadpool’s head, causing him to dive for cover behind a boulder. “Yikes! Tough crowd! Guess I’ll stick to pestering Wolverine.”

Logan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Y/N, I think we’ve got enough trouble with the dragon. We don’t need him making it worse.”

Y/N giggled, watching as Drakon continued to eye Deadpool suspiciously. “I think Drakon likes you more than Wade, at least.”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’ll take what I can get.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sanctuary glowing in the soft light of twilight, Logan realized that, despite the dragon’s antics and Deadpool’s unwelcome appearance, he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Here, in this hidden sanctuary, with Y/N by his side, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known in a long time.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to get along with that damn dragon too… as long as it stopped trying to push him into the mud.

As Logan and Y/N prepared to leave the sanctuary, Wadw trailed behind them, trying to coax a reluctant phoenix into his backpack. Drakon, still suspicious, hovered nearby, ready to intervene if necessary.

“Come on, little birdie, you know you want to—ow! Okay, okay, no stealing the mystical creatures,” Deadpool muttered, nursing a singed hand.

[brunchable]

Winter King, Chapter 8: Bad Blood

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Queen!Reader Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: Talks of assasination. Summary: Tensions rise as everything begins to unravel. A/N: It's here. It might feel a bit boring since this is focusing on the more serious stuff. I didn't want to go into detail though, because everything seem to be straight forward about who the bad guys are and their intensions. The first few part is a flashback and will be in 3rd person since I find it weird to be in a pov of a six y/o. Uhhh i might've miss people who wanted to be tagged. Sorry? I really need to post a form lol. Also not thoroughly reviewed, so all mistakes/inconsistencies are all on me.

The sun bathed the Zienna palace gardens in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows across the lush greenery. It was Y/N’s sixth birthday, and the celebration was as grand as it was beautiful. The scent of jasmine filled the air, mingling with the laughter of children and the murmur of noble guests who had gathered from across the realm to honor the princess.

Amid the festivities, Y/N stood in her lavender gown, twirling absentmindedly as she waited for her mother, Queen Seraphina, to finish speaking with one of the advisors. Her father, King Marc, was nearby, engaged in conversation with a pair of visitors—two regal figures, their posture straight, exuding an air of quiet authority.

“Y/N, come here, darling,” her mother called softly, her graceful hand motioning for her to approach. Y/N immediately perked up and hurried over, her small steps light as she reached her parents.

Standing beside the queen and king were two young boys, about eleven years old, each dressed in fine clothing that marked them as nobility from a distant kingdom. They stood tall, though their expressions were contrasting—one with a warm, open smile, and the other with a reserved, watchful gaze.

“Y/N, we have some special guests,” her mother said gently, her eyes filled with love as she introduced the boys. “This is James, and his twin brother, Isaac. They have traveled a long way to join us for your birthday.”

King Marc placed a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder, his voice rich and silky. “Their father is an old friend of mine, from the northern kingdom. It is an honor to have them here.”

Y/N looked up at the two boys, her eyes wide with curiosity. James, with his bright smile and calm demeanor, immediately put her at ease. He stepped forward, giving a slight bow, his manners polished beyond his years. “Happy birthday, Your Highness. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Y/N blushed slightly at the formality, offering a shy smile in return. “Thank you.”

Isaac, standing just behind his brother, offered a curt nod, his sharp blue eyes briefly meeting hers. Though he remained silent, there was an intensity in his gaze that Y/N found both intriguing and intimidating.

“Why don’t you three go play?” Queen Seraphina suggested kindly, glancing toward the gardens. “The other children are by the fountain, and there are plenty of games.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, glancing up at her father. King Marc gave her a reassuring nod. “Go on, darling. Have fun.”

James offered his hand to Y/N, his smile widening as he led the way toward the garden. Isaac followed closely behind, his steps measured and composed, though his eyes never stopped scanning their surroundings.

As they walked deeper into the garden, Y/N’s initial shyness began to melt away. The gentle rustling of leaves and the bubbling sound of the fountain made the space feel like their own secret world, separate from the grandeur of the palace behind them.

Birds sang in the trees, their melodies adding to the soft laughter of children playing near the fountain. Y/N, her lavender gown fluttering as she walked, led James and Isaac through the garden paths.

As they wandered away from the main celebration, Isaac finally broke the silence, his voice casual but carrying that sharp edge of curiosity. 

“James is going to be king one day, you know,” he said, glancing at his brother with a slight smirk.

Y/N looked up at Isaac, her brow furrowing in confusion. “King? What do you mean?”

Isaac’s smirk widened, and he nudged James with his elbow. “I overheard them talking about it. They said James will be king, and…” He paused, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “That you’re going to marry him.”

James’ face reddened slightly, and he shook his head quickly. “Isaac, stop. You shouldn’t listen to everything people say.”

But Isaac was undeterred. “I heard it clear as day. One of the advisors said that when James is king, he’ll need a queen, and who better than the Princess of Zienna?”

Y/N blinked, her mouth slightly agape at the idea. 

“Me? No, thank you,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “I want to stay here in Zienna, with my brother.”

Isaac chuckled, clearly amused by her reaction. “You don’t want to be queen?”

Y/N crossed her arms, her voice resolute. “No. My brother Marc is here. I’ll stay with him. I don’t want to leave Zienna, even for a crown.”

James, being polite, gave Y/N a gentle smile, though his cheeks were still tinged with pink. “You don’t have to marry me, Princess. You should do whatever makes you happy.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “But what if they try to make you?”

Y/N scrunched her nose, looking quite determined for a six-year-old. “Then I’ll say no. I’ll tell them I’m going to stay here forever with my brother, and no one can make me leave.”

James chuckled softly, but Isaac’s mischievous grin remained. “Well, you’ve got a lot of time to decide, I suppose.”

Y/N gave a confident nod, her resolve unshaken. “Exactly.”

As the three children continued to wander through the vibrant garden, young Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she admired the clusters of flowers swaying in the breeze. Her small fingers brushed over the soft petals of a nearby bloom, curiosity lighting her face.

James, standing a little ways behind, noticed the way she lingered on a patch of delicate white daisies. With the shy determination only an eleven-year-old could muster, he glanced toward Isaac, who was busy exploring the garden himself. Quietly, James crouched down and carefully picked one of the daisies, holding it gently in his hand.

With a quiet step, he approached Y/N. 

“Here,” he said, his voice a little hesitant but filled with sincerity. Before she could take the flower, James hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer, his movements careful and uncertain.

He held the daisy up, and with a boyish smile, he brushed back a loose strand of her hair. Gently, he tucked the flower behind her ear, his fingers barely touching her skin. 

“Now it looks perfect,” he whispered, his eyes darting between the flower and her face, as though making sure it was just right.

Y/N blinked up at him, her small hand reaching to feel the flower now tucked into her hair. Her cheeks warmed with surprise, and a smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you, James,” she whispered, her voice filled with the kind of simple, heartfelt gratitude that children often expressed.

James shrugged a little, trying to act casual, though his face flushed a deeper shade of pink. He scratched the back of his neck and looked down, suddenly feeling awkward. “It’s… nothing. I just thought it’d look nice,” he mumbled, kicking at the dirt with his shoe.

Y/N smiled brightly at him, her happiness infectious. “It does,” she said softly. “It’s really pretty.”

James looked at her again, his heart beating a little faster in his chest, but he nodded, his boyish confidence returning. “Good,” he said simply, but the warmth in his voice revealed more than the words did.

Isaac, having noticed the interaction from a few feet away, grinned to himself. He didn’t tease, though—something about the quiet sweetness between James and Y/N made him pause. He simply watched for a moment before turning back to his own wandering.

James glanced once more at Y/N, stealing a look at her with the flower in her hair. He felt proud, like he’d done something important, even if it was small. And as Y/N beamed up at him, that small, simple act felt like the most special thing in the world.

× × × × 

The soft notes of Queen Seraphina’s lullaby floated through the air, wrapping around the room like a warm blanket. Y/N’s eyelids grew heavy, lulled by the gentle melody her mother had always sung to her. As the last few notes faded into the evening, Queen Seraphina brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N’s forehead, smiling down at her daughter.

“Is that better, my darling?” Seraphina asked in a soft, tender voice.

Y/N nodded, her small fingers clutching the edges of her blanket. But there was a thoughtful look in her young eyes, something more than just sleepiness lingering behind them. After a moment of quiet, Y/N spoke up.

“Mama… what’s it like to be queen?” Her voice was curious, but there was an innocence to her question—a child’s simple wonder about the world.

Seraphina blinked, slightly taken aback by the question, but her smile never wavered. She gently stroked Y/N’s hair, her eyes thoughtful as she considered how to answer. 

“Well,” she began softly, “being queen is many things, my love. It’s a great honor, and with it comes much responsibility.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, listening intently.

“It means always thinking of others,” Seraphina continued softly. “Of the kingdom, of the people. You must be strong when others need you, even when you’re tired. You must be kind, but firm, and always fair, even when it’s difficult.” She paused, her gaze softening as she looked into her daughter’s wide eyes. “And sometimes, it means showing mercy to those who have wronged you.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly, the concept of mercy still foreign to her young mind. “But… why would you be kind to someone who hurt you?”

Seraphina smiled gently, her hand brushing through Y/N’s hair in soothing strokes. “Because mercy is a strength, my darling. To punish is easy. But to offer mercy, even when your heart aches from the wrong done to you, takes great courage. It shows that you are not ruled by anger or vengeance, but by wisdom and compassion.”

She sighed softly, her eyes distant for a moment as if recalling her own struggles. “There will be times when people hurt you, betray you, or make you feel small. But as queen, it’s your duty to rise above that hurt and show grace where others would only see opportunity for retribution.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide with curiosity. “But won’t they do it again?”

“Perhaps,” Seraphina admitted. “But mercy doesn’t mean allowing someone to hurt you over and over. It means giving them a chance to change, to be better. And if they fail, you act as needed, but without letting cruelty taint your decisions. To be a queen is to understand that your strength lies not in how harshly you punish, but in how wisely you show compassion.”

She looked down at Y/N, her gaze softening. “But mercy, my love, is also a sacrifice. It requires you to set aside your pride and your pain for the greater good. And that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “is what makes a true queen.”

Y/N nodded slowly, though the weight of her mother’s words still swirled in her young mind. She thought of Isaac’s earlier comment about marrying James, her confusion slowly giving way to a new understanding of the responsibilities that came with such titles.

Y/N’s eyes shone with wonder, but a flicker of concern crossed her small face. 

“Why do you ask, little one?” Seraphina asked gently, tilting her head with a knowing smile. “You seem very curious tonight.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then shyly glanced up at her mother. “Prince Isaac said… he said I’m supposed to marry James. He said I have to.”

Seraphina’s eyes widened in surprise, and then, much to Y/N’s confusion, she let out a soft, musical laugh. Her laughter was gentle, filled with love, as she shook her head slightly. 

“Oh, did he now?”

Y/N nodded earnestly. “Yes, Mama. He said that because James will be king, I’ll have to marry him.”

“Well, my darling, sometimes little princes have big ideas. But don’t you worry yourself about that just yet.” Seraphina chuckled again, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She leaned down and kissed Y/N’s forehead softly.

Y/N’s eyes, still wide with curiosity, searched her mother’s face. “But… do I have to, Mama?”

Seraphina smiled warmly, brushing her fingers through Y/N’s hair. “You’re still so young, my sweet one. Right now, all you need to do is enjoy being you. Who you marry, what path you take—that is for the future to decide.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile. She shifted slightly under the blanket, her hand brushing against something tucked beneath her pillow—a small, delicate daisy that James had given her earlier in the day. She had held onto it all afternoon, not sure what to do with it, but when night had fallen, she had placed it under her pillow for safekeeping. Now, as her fingers brushed against the soft petals, she felt a warmth bloom in her chest. 

“I like staying here with you and Papa. I don’t want to leave.” Y/N murmured, her fingers gently closing around the flower.

Seraphina’s heart swelled with love for her daughter. She kissed Y/N’s forehead again, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. “Then that’s all that matters right now,” she whispered. “You’ll always be our little girl, no matter where life takes you.”

Y/N’s eyes grew heavy again, the soothing sound of her mother’s voice lulling her toward sleep. Queen Seraphina stayed by her side, stroking her hair gently until Y/N’s breathing evened out and she drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

With a soft smile, Seraphina whispered one last time, “Sleep well, my love. You have plenty of time to decide who you’ll become.”

× × × × 

You sat on the balcony of your chambers, the soft evening breeze tugging at the edges of your robe as you slowly brushed your hair. The view of the gardens below, where your mother had once walked, usually brought you peace. Tonight, however, the air felt stifling. Your brother’s words still hung in the air, their weight pressing down on your shoulders like an unwelcome burden.

Marc stood in the doorway, watching you with that same stern expression he had worn since he became king. He had been pacing, delivering his decision like a royal decree, but you hadn’t been listening—not fully, anyway.

“You’ll leave for Monte Lune in a fortnight,” Marc repeated, his tone firm, as if trying to break through your defiance. “You are to marry James Barnes, the King of Monte Lune.”

You huffed, dragging the brush through your hair with a little more force than necessary. 

“Are you serious?” You shot him a look over your shoulder, your eyes flashing with irritation. “I haven’t even met the man.”

Marc’s expression didn’t waver. “Yes, you have. You met him on your sixtg birthday.”

You laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. “Oh, that day. I barely remember it, Marc. His face is a blur. That was years ago.” You set the brush down, turning fully to face him, leaning back on the chair with your arms crossed. “And now I’m supposed to marry him?”

“Yes,” Marc said, his voice calm but unwavering. “You cannot refuse. The arrangements are already in place. The council has approved it, and I’ve given my blessing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your frustration bubbling over. “So, that’s it? You and the council decide my future, and I’m just supposed to smile and play along? What if I don’t want to leave? What if I want to stay here?”

Marc sighed, his patience clearly thinning. “Y/N, this is bigger than you. It’s about the kingdom, about securing our alliances.”

You stood abruptly, your frustration giving way to defiance. “And what if I don’t care about alliances? What if I’d rather stay here and—what was it you called it once?—become a spinster?”

Marc’s brow furrowed, but you could see the hint of exasperation in his eyes. “You’re not going to be a spinster, little sister. Stop being ridiculous.”

You smirked, stepping toward him, arms crossed. “Why not? Sounds like the only way I’ll get any freedom around here. Or maybe I’ll join a convent of nuns. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Peace, quiet, and no royal decrees dictating my every move.”

Marc’s face tightened, his voice growing more stern. “This isn’t a game. You can’t just—”

“Oh, I know it’s not a game,” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “It’s my life, Marc. I’m not just some piece on a chessboard that you can move around as you please. I love it here. I love this place, being surrounded by the memories of Mother and Father. And now you want to ship me off to some foreign kingdom to marry a man I don’t even know?”

Marc stepped closer, his voice softening, though his resolve remained firm. “I know you love it here. But you have a duty, Y/N. We all do. You’re my sister, and I love you, but this is what’s best for the kingdom.”

You shook your head, turning back toward the balcony, your fingers gripping the edge of the railing as you looked out over the gardens. “What’s best for the kingdom,” you muttered bitterly. “Always what’s best for the kingdom.”

Marc placed a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentler now. “I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important. You know that.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon, the weight of his words sinking in, though the fire of your defiance still smoldered inside you.

× × × ×

“To be a queen is to understand that your strength lies not in how harshly you punish, but in how wisely you show compassion.” 

Your late mother’s voice echoed in your head. But compassion felt like a distant concept now. How could you offer mercy when the very people you trusted had sought to control you, to weaken you, to strip you of the future you had hoped for?

The revelation of the poisoned tea still churned in your stomach, the betrayal sharp and unforgiving. They hadn’t just denied you the chance to conceive an heir—they had poisoned your very body, seeding destruction where there should have been life.

You clenched your hands at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you stood next to the Queen Dowager, your posture rigid. Everything around you felt distant, as though you were watching from outside your body, the events unfolding without your true presence. A trance had settled over you since the announcement at the Queen Dowager's birthday—since Bucky had declared Wanda as his consort.

The murmurs of the nobles like distant echoes. Your eyes were on the center of the hall, not really fixed on a certain space. Wanda, in a simple yet elegant gown, approached Bucky with the grace and poise she had always carried. She moved with confidence, but you could see the guilt of this moment in your friend's eyes. There was no joy here—only duty.

Bucky’s gaze flicked briefly toward you, you caught his gaze but you quickly looked away, and for a heartbeat, you thought you saw brokeness flash in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the mask of a king fulfilling his obligations.

Wanda reached the center of the room, bowing deeply to Bucky. He acknowledged her with a nod, his eyes dark and unreadable.

The court official stepped forward, holding a scroll in one hand. His voice, clear and commanding, filled the hall. 

"Lady Wanda Maximoff, you have been chosen to stand as consort to His Majesty, King James Barnes. Do you, of your own will, accept this role and pledge your loyalty to the crown and the king?"

"I accept." Wanda lifted her head, her voice steady though soft. 

Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave her face as she spoke. You could barely breathe, your heart heavy in your chest. You knew this was coming. You knew what had to be done. But it still felt like a slow, torturous unravelling.

The official continued, "Please state your vow, Lady Maximoff."

Wanda straightened, her voice clear yet solemn. "I, Wanda Maximoff, pledge myself to the service of the crown and the king. I vow to stand beside you in loyalty and devotion, offering my counsel when sought, my presence in moments of celebration, and my discretion in matters of state. I do not seek the crown, but I offer my heart and my service to the good of the realm."

Bucky remained still as the official turned to him. "Your Majesty, do you accept Lady Wanda Maximoff as your consort, to stand beside you in loyalty and support, as a companion in duty?"

Bucky’s voice was firm, though there was a slight tremor that only those closest to him could detect. "I…accept."

Just as Bucky's voice finished echoing through the Great Hall, a loud crash reverberated from the entrance, the heavy wooden doors slamming open. All eyes turned as Prince Isaac strode in, dragging Sharon Carter behind him. Her dishevelled appearance and the shock on her face made the council members murmur in confusion. 

Isaac's expression was one of cold fury, and his steps were unrelenting as he shoved Sharon forward into the center of the room, where the officiating ceremony had been taking place. 

The Queen Dowager sat straighter, her sharp eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation. Bucky’s gaze immediately hardened, his entire posture stiffening as he watched his brother’s entrance with a dark suspicion.

Lord Carter, standing just to the side of the council members, blanched but quickly masked his shock. His face returned to a composed, unreadable expression, though his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edges of his coat. The flicker of recognition in his eyes did not go unnoticed by Isaac, who let out a humourless chuckle, his grip tightening on Sharon's arm as he forced her to her knees.

Steve, near the entrance, straightened, his arms dropping to his sides as he glanced between Isaac, Sharon, and Bucky, ready to intervene if necessary.

Isaac’s voice was cold, cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but I thought you might want to know exactly what kind of games have been played behind your back."

Sharon tried to stand, her face pale, but Isaac’s grip held her down firmly. She winced, but her expression was one of defiance mixed with fear. The nobles around the room watched with baited breath, their eyes shifting nervously between the royal brothers.

Bucky’s eyes, now dark with rage, flicked to Sharon and then to his brother. 

"Isaac," he began, his voice dangerously low, "what is this about?”

“Go on, Lady Carter,” Isaac's voice was calm, almost too calm, as he spoke again. “Why don't you enlighten everyone?” 

He jerked her arm slightly, forcing her to kneel lower as she flinched. Her breath hitched, panic clear in her eyes. Sharon's gaze flickered once more toward Lord Carter, silently pleading for some kind of guidance, but her father stood unmoving, his face cold and composed. It was clear she was on her own. 

Isaac's patience snapped.

With a quick, ruthless pull, he tightened his grip on Sharon's arm, his face darkening with an ominous threat. He leaned down, his lips dangerously close to her ear. 

“If you don't start talking in the next five seconds, Sharon,” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "I'll make sure every secret you've ever tried to bury comes spilling out right here.”

Sharon’s chest rose and fell rapidly as the pressure built around her, Isaac’s grip relentless and his whispered threat still hanging in the air. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting from Isaac to her father. Panic twisted in her gut, and finally, the words tumbled from her lips, desperate and frantic.

“I—I was following orders,” she stammered, her voice cracking. “I didn’t have a choice! My father—Lord Carter—he told me to lace the queen’s tea with contraceptives—I never knew it was mixed with poison!”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Every pair of eyes turned to Lord Carter, the weight of accusation crashing down on him. For a moment, the room seemed frozen in time, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

Lord Carter blinked, his expression quickly shifting from surprise to calm composure. He stepped forward, his posture straight and regal, addressing the room with a voice that dripped with sincerity. 

“My lords and ladies, this is a grave accusation,” he began, shaking his head slowly, as if the very notion were absurd. “Why would I, a loyal servant of the crown, seek to undermine my king and queen in such a way? This… this is madness.”

He turned to Sharon, his face twisted in disappointment, his voice now filled with a fatherly reprimand. 

“Daughter, I understand the pressure of the court can be overwhelming, but to lie—to attempt to place blame on your own blood to save yourself? That is truly unbecoming.”

The murmur of the court grew louder as Lord Carter’s calm demeanor and measured words began to sway the room. His voice was smooth, convincing, and there was a flicker of doubt creeping into the faces of the nobles.

Sharon’s eyes widened, her jaw tightening as she realized what was happening. Her father was throwing her to the wolves, sacrificing her to save his own skin. Rage boiled beneath her trembling exterior, her hands balling into fists.

“Liar!” she spat, her voice trembling with fury. She struggled against Isaac’s grip, her eyes locked on her father. “You told me to do it! You wanted me to—”

Lord Carter shook his head again, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. 

“Enough, Sharon. You’ve already done enough damage with your wild accusations.” His voice remained calm, but there was a coldness beneath his words that made Sharon’s blood run cold.

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, the room divided between the seemingly composed Lord Carter and his increasingly frantic daughter. Sharon’s breathing grew heavier, her heart pounding in her chest as the realization set in—she was being betrayed by her own father, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

As the room descended into chaos, the murmurs of the court growing louder with every passing second, a storm brewed inside you. The revelations of the past few days—the poisoned tea, the betrayal by those closest to you, the endless charade—had all built up like a tidal wave, threatening to crash over everything you held dear.

Sharon’s panicked pleas filled the room, her accusations piercing through the tense air, but it was Lord Carter’s cold, manipulative calm that sent a surge of fury through your veins. His smooth, convincing words aimed to bury the truth, to cast doubt over his daughter’s confessions, but you could see through him—his lies, his deceit.

The storm inside you was blinding. Your vision blurred, and all you could see was red as you charged forward, your gown billowing behind you like a cloak of fury. The rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins, every fiber of your being fueled by the injustice, the betrayal, and the lies that had suffocated you for too long.

Before anyone could react, you reached Lord Carter, your fist flying through the air with a force that surprised even you. The sharp, resounding smack echoed through the Great Hall as your knuckles connected with his face.

The court gasped in unison, shock rippling through the nobles as Lord Carter staggered back, a red mark blossoming on his cheek where your hand had struck him. His composed mask cracked, rage flaring in his eyes as he stared at you, dumbfounded.

“How dare you!” he sputtered, voice tight with humiliation as he raised a hand to his cheek. But you didn’t flinch.

The anger in your chest blazed into an uncontrollable fire. With a sharp intake of breath, you lunged forward, seizing a fistful of his hair. Your grip was ironclad, your fingers digging into his scalp as you yanked him closer, his composure entirely shattered. His startled shout echoed through the hall, his limbs flailing as he tried to pry himself free from your hold.

“You disgusting, spineless coward!” you spat, each word drenched in venom. “You poisoned me! You tried to control my body, my future—you think you can get away with that? You think you can deceive everyone here, twist the truth to suit your treachery?”

Around you, nobles shifted uneasily, a few trying to step forward to intervene, but you were a whirlwind of fury, your grip unyielding. “You’re nothing but a coward! A filthy traitor!”

Lord Carter clawed desperately at your hands, but you only yanked his head back harder, a fierce satisfaction in seeing him squirm under your grasp. He tried to speak, tried to muster some words of protest, but you gave him no chance, your words a relentless assault.

The hall erupted in chaos. Gasps, hurried whispers, and scattered pleas for calm filled the air, but you barely heard them. In the back of your mind, you registered approaching footsteps, felt a hand brush your shoulder. Yet you didn’t relent, leaning in closer to hiss through gritted teeth, “I won’t let you worm your way out of this!”

Suddenly, a firm arm looped around your waist, pulling you back with a surprising strength. You fought the hold, thrashing against it, but another arm wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, thrashing against the unyielding grip, your fists still reaching out toward Lord Carter as he stumbled back, visibly shaken. “I’m not finished with him! That vile—"

“Enough,” a familiar voice murmured in your ear, gentle but firm. Bucky’s grip was unbreakable as he pulled you away, carrying you from the scene with your feet barely brushing the floor.

“Put me down!” you protested, your fury still burning hot as you twisted in his hold, casting a final, scathing glare at Lord Carter. “He doesn’t deserve to stand in this court! He’s a fraud—a poison!”

But Bucky’s hold didn’t loosen. He murmured your name softly, a quiet plea for calm as he tightened his arms around your waist. Despite your anger, the heat of his embrace began to seep into you, grounding you even as your chest heaved with fury.

You stilled, the last shouts of rage fading into breathless silence as he held you close, his presence the only thing keeping you from breaking free again.

Lord Carter’s face paled, the full weight of your words settling over the room. The tension was palpable, and for a brief moment, no one dared to speak. Even Isaac, who had been holding Sharon in place, watched you with a newfound intensity.

“Enough.” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. 

All eyes turned to him. His eyes darkened, a flash of the Winter Soldier rising to the surface for just a moment.

But he couldn’t lose control. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky stepped forward, his movement demanding immediate attention. The hall fell into a heavy silence as the tension grew thicker. His eyes locked on Lord Carter, and though his voice was calm, the barely contained fury was evident beneath every word.

“Lord Carter,” Bucky began, his voice cold, dangerous. “These accusations—whether true or false—are not something to be brushed aside with mere words.” His gaze flickered briefly to Sharon, who remained trembling under Isaac’s grip, before returning to her father. 

“If you think you can use your daughter as a shield to deflect responsibility, you’re gravely mistaken.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, the desire to lash out clear in his stiff posture, but he forced himself to remain steady. 

“There will be an inquiry, a full investigation,” he continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if any trace of treason is found—whether it leads to your daughter or yourself—you will both answer for it. Personally.”

The last word was a low growl, a promise rather than a threat. Bucky’s icy blue eyes never left Lord Carter’s, the weight of his authority and rage palpable. He was no longer just James Barnes—he was the king, and he wasn’t going to let this treachery slide.

Turning his attention briefly to Isaac, Bucky gave a curt nod. “Take them both to the dungeons. We’ll get to the truth soon enough.”

As Isaac moved to drag Sharon out of the hall, Bucky’s gaze flickered to you. There was a brief, almost imperceptible moment where the cold mask he wore cracked, and a hint of the man beneath—the one who hated seeing you caught in this mess—shone through. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the king who had a court to manage and a betrayal to uncover.

He turned back to Lord Carter, who stood frozen, his calm demeanor now visibly strained. 

“You,” Bucky commanded, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. “You will remain here until this is sorted out. Any attempt to flee will be seen as an admission of guilt.”

Before Lord Carter could so much as draw a breath, Steve stepped forward from his post near the entrance, his face set in stone. His voice was firm, carrying the weight of an order. “Guards, seize Lord Carter.”

Lord Carter’s composure cracked as the guards moved in, their hands firm on his arms as they began to escort him away. His face flushed with indignation, and he jerked his arm free from one of the guards, standing tall as if reclaiming his dignity.

"This is absurd!" he barked, his voice ringing through the hall. "You dare to lay hands on me? I am a loyal servant of the crown, and this is nothing but slander from a panicked girl trying to save herself!"

He turned sharply, his eyes darting between Bucky and Steve, his expression a mix of outrage and desperation. "There is no proof of these claims! No evidence! I will not be treated like a common criminal based on the hysterical accusations of my own daughter!"

Despite his protests, the guards tightened their grip, their movements unwavering as they led him toward the exit. Lord Carter struggled slightly, attempting to shake them off, his voice rising in anger. "You’ll regret this—mark my words! You’re making a grave mistake, Your Majesty!"

But Bucky remained unmoved, his cold gaze fixed on the scene, his jaw clenched as Lord Carter’s protests echoed behind him. The court watched in tense silence, the weight of Lord Carter’s protests doing little to sway the inevitable.

× × × ×

The hall fell into an eerie silence, the echoes of Lord Carter's protests fading as the heavy doors shut behind him. The tension hung thick in the air, the nobles exchanging uneasy glances as they tried to comprehend the spectacle they had just witnessed.

Pietro, standing close to Wanda, broke the silence with a tentative voice, his usual confidence faltering. 

"What happens now?" He glanced at Bucky and then at the official standing awkwardly with the scroll in hand. "What happens with the ceremony?"

The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for someone to speak, to bring clarity to the chaos that had disrupted what should have been a momentous occasion.

From the side of the room, the unmistakable voice of Nick Fury cut through the quiet like a knife. His arms were crossed, his one good eye sharp as it flicked between Bucky and the council. 

"Well, that’s up to you, Your Majesty," he said, his tone carrying the weight of the decision. "You want to finish this ceremony, or does this little… interruption change things?"

All eyes turned to Bucky, the unspoken weight of his decision settling over the hall.

Bucky's eyes flicked toward you, his queen, the only steady thing in the storm that had just erupted in the hall. For a moment, his gaze softened, the weight of the decision pressing down on him as he searched your face for reassurance, for guidance. You met his gaze with unwavering calm, silently offering the support he needed.

Drawing a deep breath, Bucky squared his shoulders, and when he spoke, it was with the strength of both a king and a man who had made his choice.

“This ceremony was meant to be about loyalty, about securing the future of this kingdom,” he began, his voice steady yet carrying the unmistakable edge of conviction. His gaze moved from you, then to Wanda, lingering just long enough to acknowledge the turmoil she was feeling. “But it’s become something else entirely—a spectacle tainted by deceit.”

Wanda, standing beside Pietro, visibly tensed, her breaths shallow as if she had been holding onto the pressure of the moment. Bucky’s next words cut through the room like a blade.

“The ceremony is canceled,” Bucky declared, his voice firm, allowing no room for challenge. “I will not tie this kingdom’s future to a decision clouded by lies and manipulation. Wanda, you deserve better than this mess, and until the truth is fully revealed, we won’t move forward.”

Wanda’s shoulders sagged in visible relief, her lips parting as she let out a breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding. Pietro cast a glance at his sister, his own tension easing slightly as the room shifted uneasily.

Bucky's attention swept back to you, his eyes filled with gratitude and a silent promise, before turning back to the hall. 

“Let this be clear,” he continued, addressing everyone now. “We will uncover the truth, and only then will decisions about this kingdom’s future be made. This ceremony is over.”

The room remained in stunned silence, the finality of his words echoing in the grand hall. Bucky had made his decision, and no one dared challenge the authority behind it. Wanda’s relief was palpable, and though the weight of unresolved matters still hung in the air, it was clear that Bucky had chosen the path that honored not only his kingdom but the trust he placed in you as his queen.

× × × ×

Bucky stood in the war room, leaning heavily against the grand oak table, his hands braced on its surface as he spoke in a low, determined voice. Isaac sat across from him, his arms crossed, watching his brother carefully. The Queen Dowager, Winnifred Barnes, was seated at the head of the table, her regal presence commanding the room, her sharp eyes flicking between her two sons.

“The Queen needs time away from this chaos,” Bucky began, his words laden with concern. “Everything that’s happening—Lord Carter, Sharon, the consort—it’s taken a toll on her. She wants to go to Zienna to recover, and I think it’s the right desicion. She deserves some peace.”

Winnifred’s gaze softened at the mention of Zienna. 

“It’s a place of healing,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Yes, it would do her well. But Bucky, with matters still unresolved here, can you afford to leave just yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ll stay and see this through, for her sake and for the kingdom. But once this is handled, I’m going to Zienna to be with her. She shouldn’t have to endure all of this alone.” Bucky shook his head, a firm resolve settling in his expression.

Isaac’s brows knit together as he listened, then he leaned forward, his voice cautious. “You’re certain you can resolve things here in time? Lord Carter and Pierce won’t go down easily, and the court is still on edge.”

The Queen Dowager arched a brow, her tone matter-of-fact as she asked, “And then, who will run the kingdom in your absence? Even a week away is a long time during a crisis like this. You can’t simply leave without a strong hand at the helm.”

Isaac shifted in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught the slight pause in Bucky’s words. He could already sense where this conversation was heading, and his expression hardened slightly.

Bucky straightened, his gaze drifting toward Isaac for just a moment. It wasn’t long, but it was enough to make Isaac’s shoulders tense. His younger brother narrowed his eyes, already understanding the weight of what Bucky was about to ask.

“Isaac,” Bucky started, his tone careful, but firm. “You’ve always had my back, always supported the crown when I needed you. And right now, I need you more than ever.”

Isaac’s jaw clenched as he sat up straighter, the realization hitting him fully. “You’re asking me to become Prince Regent, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Just for a short time, when I’m away. The kingdom needs stability, someone they can trust to lead in my place.”

Isaac’s eyes darkened as he leaned back in his chair, considering Bucky’s words. “You’re putting a lot on my shoulders, brother. Not just running the kingdom, but stepping into your role, even temporarily.”

“I trust you, Isaac,” Bucky replied, his voice unwavering. “And the people trust you. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you were the best choice.”

Winnifred, who had been watching the exchange silently, finally spoke, her voice measured. 

“This is no small request, Isaac. Becoming Prince Regent means carrying the weight of the crown, and everything that comes with it.”

Isaac’s gaze flicked between his mother and his brother, the gravity of the situation settling heavily on him. He was a soldier, a warrior, but this—ruling in Bucky’s stead, even for a brief period—was different.

“You’re sure about this?” Isaac asked, his voice low but steady, his eyes locked on Bucky’s.

Bucky nodded, his expression sincere. “I am. There’s no one else I trust more.”

Isaac exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he mulled it over. He knew the responsibility, the risk. But he also knew he wouldn’t let his brother down.

“Alright,” Isaac finally said, his voice firm. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your Regent in your absence. But you better make sure Y/N gets the peace she needs. And don’t take too long.”

Bucky’s expression softened, gratitude evident in his eyes. “Thank you, Isaac. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Isaac gave a brief nod, though there was a flicker of reluctance in his gaze as he glanced at his mother. Winnifred’s eyes were sharp, watching her sons with a sense of pride, though there was also a hint of concern.

The Queen Dowager spoke once more, her tone gentler now. “You both know what’s at stake. The kingdom will need to see unity in this time of uncertainty. Isaac, you must be prepared for whatever may come. And Bucky…” Her eyes softened as she looked at her eldest son. “Take care of Y/N. But don’t forget—you are still king, and your people will need you to return.”.

“I’ll keep the throne warm for you, brother. Just don’t make a habit of this Regent business.”

“I won’t.” Bucky chuckled softly, the tension in the room easing just slightly. 

After Winnifred left the room, a heavy silence settled between Bucky and Isaac. Their conversation lingered in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Isaac sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned back in his chair.

“So, that’s one down,” Isaac muttered, referring to the traitors, his tone low and tired. His sharp eyes were still clouded with thoughts about the looming investigation, but there was also a simmering reluctance buried deep inside him.

Then, as if trying to shake off the seriousness, he shifted, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Bucky. 

“Sooo… Prince Regent?” Isaac asked, his tone light but the underlying tension unmistakable.

Bucky could feel his brother’s reluctance, the hesitation in his words. Isaac had always preferred to be on the battlefield, not tied to the throne. Bucky chuckled softly under his breath, leaning against the table as if to ease the seriousness of the situation.

"If I’m not successful in securing an heir, eventually, I’ll have to name you the heir," Bucky said, a smirk playing on his lips, though his voice carried a hint of truth beneath the jest.

Isaac froze for a moment, his expression darkening at the joke. His eyes flicked to Bucky, clearly not amused. 

“Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking, Isaac.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, his tone shifting to something more serious.

Isaac stiffened, the idea clearly unsettling him. "You are the king. You have the duty to secure the throne’s future, not me. I’m no heir. I never wanted to be."

“I know you didn’t. But if something happens, if I’m gone, the people will need someone they can trust. That’s you.” Bucky’s expression softened, but he didn’t back down. 

"You’re not going anywhere, Bucky. And you will secure an heir. That’s not my responsibility." Isaac shook his head slightly, frustration evident in the lines of his face.

Bucky met Isaac’s gaze head-on, his voice calm but unyielding. "You’re my brother. If anything happens, I trust you to take care of things. Even if it means stepping into a role you never wanted."

Isaac’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He hated the thought, the very idea of being king. It went against every instinct he had. But the way Bucky looked at him—earnest, unwavering—made it clear this wasn’t just a hypothetical conversation.

“I won’t let it come to that,” Isaac muttered, though his words lacked conviction.

Bucky gave a small, knowing smile. 

“Neither will I.” 

But the unspoken truth hung in the air between them—neither of them could control everything, and the future was always uncertain.

After a moment, Bucky pushed away from the table and clapped Isaac on the shoulder, the brief moment of tension passing. “But for now, just take care of the kingdom when I go. That’s all I’m asking.”

Isaac huffed, shaking his head but relenting. “Fine. But don’t get too comfortable when you follow her to Zienna. I’m not planning to wear a crown anytime soon.”

Bucky laughed softly, the tension easing as he gave his brother a lighthearted grin. “I’ll be back before you can get used to the title, Your Highness.”

Isaac groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

× × × ×

The morning air was crisp, a cool breeze sweeping through the courtyard as Bucky stood near the stables, watching you prepare for the journey. Dressed in riding clothes, you held yourself firm, though the weight of recent events settled heavily on your shoulders. Nearby, a carriage stood loaded with supplies, but it remained untouched—you’d insisted on riding, preferring the speed and maneuverability of a horse in case of an ambush. Around you, the best warriors waited in silent readiness, forming a protective entourage. Scott, a trusted friend, adjusted the reins of his horse beside yours, prepared to accompany you to Zienna.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you, taking in the determination in your eyes and the tension you couldn’t fully hide. As you approached him, he stepped forward, his presence grounding and warm.

“My love,” he murmured, reaching for your hand, his fingers gentle but firm as he held your gaze. “I know things haven’t been easy. But I need you to know—I’ll join you in Zienna as soon as everything is settled here.”

You nodded, looking down for a moment, your fingers tightening around his. 

“I understand,” you replied softly, voice tinged with the exhaustion you’d been holding back. “But why do I feel like we’re always meant to be seperated. . . I don’t have a good feeling about this, James.”

His hand rose to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Everything will be fine, then when I’m finished here, I’ll be there. I promise.”

You managed a small, wavering smile, meeting his gaze with a quiet resolve. “I’ll be waiting for you, Bucky.”

He smiled gently, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, letting your breaths mingle in a shared, comforting silence. 

“I wish you Godspeed,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Scott and the others will keep you safe, but still… take care of yourself.”

Blinking back the emotions that threatened to surface, you nodded. “And you. Don’t let them wear you down. Remember, I’m waiting for you.”

His hand tightened around yours, a silent reassurance. “I won’t let anything stop me from coming to you,” he vowed, the weight of his promise heavy between you.

For a moment, you stood there, suspended in quiet intimacy, until Scott cleared his throat gently. “Your Majesty, we should get moving if we want to reach the first checkpoint before nightfall.”

You nodded, your gaze lingering on Bucky’s as you reluctantly let go of his hand. With one last look, you turned and mounted your horse, steadying yourself as Scott and the warriors took their places around you.

As you rode through the gates, you glanced back, catching Bucky’s gaze one final time. He lifted a hand in farewell, his expression both resolute and tender—a silent reminder of his promise.

× × × ×

In the war room, Bucky stood at the head of the long, ancient table, his gaze hardened and his hands clenched at his sides. The air was thick with tension, the weight of recent revelations pressing down on everyone in attendance. Prime Minister Fury, Lord Stark, Lord Thor, and Lord Pietro surrounded him, their expressions equally grave. Isaac, who had been coordinating the efforts on the ground, stood beside Bucky, arms crossed, a look of fierce resolve in his eyes.

Lord Carter’s arrest had been a momentary victory, but it had sent Pierce scurrying into hiding, an alarming development that left Bucky with more answers. Sharon’s confession had revealed Haynesworth’s involvement—a coward now willing to cooperate under pressure. Yet despite this, the scale of Pierce’s plan remained daunting.

Isaac broke the silence, his voice a steady cadence of grim pragmatism. “My men and I have been able to weaken Pierce’s forces. The mercenaries we’ve detained have given us some insight into his network, but it’s clear we’re still facing a significant threat. Pierce has more men, well-funded and positioned, not just mercenaries, but soldiers loyal to him and his cause.”

Lord Thor frowned, the muscles in his jaw tightening. 

“A coup,” he murmured, barely containing the disgust in his voice. “He’s not simply out for power; he’s mobilising the people, stirring resentment. He’s been playing on their fears for longer than we realized.”

“Indeed,” Fury added, leaning forward. “The arrests, the reduced supplies to outlying towns, the instability—he’s planted seeds that we’re only now starting to see bear fruit. He’s crafted his campaign to draw as many as he can to his side, creating the appearance that the crown is to blame for their struggles.”

Bucky’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as he processed their words. His kingdom was under attack from within, and the loyalty of his people was being manipulated by a man willing to incite chaos for his own gain. 

“We can’t let Pierce continue to spread his poison,” Bucky said, his voice low but resonant. “If he manages to incite a full-scale rebellion, we risk losing not just the throne, but the very unity of this kingdom. . . Luckily Lord Starks provision of food and supplies weakened his campaign?”

Isaac nodded in agreement, his expression cold and focused. “I’ve had my men infiltrate some of Pierce’s hideouts, and we’re intercepting his communications where we can, but it’s not enough to turn the tide. If we’re to shut him down, we’ll need to identify his main camps and disrupt his resources—especially his connections to sympathetic lords who may still be in hiding.”

Lord Stark, ever the strategist, leaned back thoughtfully. “Pierce’s resources are formidable, but he can’t stay on the run without outside help. There’s a network feeding him, sheltering him, financing his troops. We’ll need to isolate and dismantle that network, one link at a time.”

Isaac’s voice took on an edge. “It’s not only Pierce’s direct allies we need to worry about. He’s stirred unrest among the common folk. They believe his lies about the crown, and that loyalty to him could grant them relief from the hardships they’ve suffered. That’s why he’s growing stronger.”

Fury added, “The situation’s delicate. If we move too brashly, we could reinforce Pierce’s narrative that the crown’s oppressing the people. But if we delay, he gains more ground. We’re working against time—and perception.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, frustration simmering just below the surface. He knew they had to strike with precision, neutralizing Pierce without alienating the kingdom they sought to protect. His gaze flicked toward Isaac, the only one who fully understood the precarious balance between strength and subtlety that Bucky faced.

“Isaac,” Bucky began, his voice resolute, “you’ve already done a damn good job of weakening their numbers. But we need more. I want a detailed strategy. Find their supply lines, their contacts in every town on the kingdom’s edge. Cut them off, quietly. And Haynesworth—press him until he reveals every name, every hideout, every ally Pierce has.”

Isaac gave a grim nod, the hint of a smirk touching his lips. “Consider it done. Pierce’s men may think they’re loyal, but everyone has a breaking point. We’ll use it to our advantage.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted to Stark and Fury. 

“And we’ll need to address the people’s concerns. Show them that the crown isn’t neglecting their needs. Send more food and relief to the outer regions. Make it clear that Pierce’s attempts to block supplies were part of his campaign to weaken the kingdom.”

Fury’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A good move. If we can reach the people directly, we can begin to counter Pierce’s influence. But it’ll take more than supplies. They need to see a strong, united crown—one that stands in defiance of Pierce’s lies.”

Bucky clenched his fists, determination etched into every line of his face. He wouldn’t let his kingdom fall to traitors, nor would he allow Pierce’s influence to taint the loyalty of his people. With Isaac, Fury, Stark, and the others, he would strike hard and fast.

× × × ×

Lord Alexander Pierce sat in the dimly lit chamber of his hideout, his face a mask of restrained fury as he processed the recent setbacks. His usually composed demeanor was fractured, his jaw clenched tightly as he seethed over the news of Lord Carter’s imprisonment and Haynesworth’s cowardice. He had carefully woven his network of allies over the years, a web of loyalists and useful puppets, yet one by one, they were beginning to unravel.

“Imbeciles,” he muttered, his gaze cold and distant as he paced the room. He knew that with Carter locked away and Haynesworth under palace protection, his own position was more vulnerable than ever.

Pierce’s attention was drawn to a shadowed figure near the doorway. One of his most trusted operatives, a man whose services were as lethal as they were discreet, waited silently, prepared for any orders. Pierce’s gaze settled on him, the weight of his decision already clear.

“Haynesworth has betrayed us,” Pierce said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “He has exposed us to the crown, and he knows too much. We can’t allow him to hide under palace protection and think he’s safe.” He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with dark intent. “See to it that he and his family are eliminated.”

The operative nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “It will be done, my lord.”

Pierce waved him away with a flick of his wrist, his mind already spinning with plans to stabilize the crumbling foundation of his revolt. But his contemplation was interrupted by the entrance of another figure—the leader of the mercenaries he had enlisted, a hulking, scarred brute with wild eyes and a snarl that twisted his face into something menacing.

The mercenary leader stomped forward with heavy, brutal steps, his broad, muscled arms crossed over his chest. His gaze fixed Pierce with an unyielding stare, the barely concealed rage in his eyes making it clear he was not a man of patience.

“We had a deal,” he growled, his voice like the scrape of iron on stone. “My men and I have risked much for you, but the royal vaults remain untouched. My men are getting restless. They want blood and gold, not empty promises.”

Pierce clenched his teeth, forcing himself to keep his composure. “And you shall have it,” he replied smoothly. “But we must act with precision. Rushing into the palace is not an option yet.”

The mercenary leader let out a guttural laugh, baring his teeth in a fierce grin that was anything but friendly. “We’ve been patient enough. Your plan’s unraveling, and my men won’t sit around much longer. If we don’t strike soon, they’ll get their gold elsewhere—even if it’s from the crown’s own coffers.”

Pierce’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. He knew he had to maintain control over these mercenaries—they were his strongest line of offense. But he couldn’t afford an all-out assault on the palace until the right moment.

“You will have your prize,” Pierce said, his tone icy and firm. “But we do this on my terms. You’ve seen the chaos I’ve sewn within the court; the crown is weakened, and soon their defenses will be as well. An attack on the palace will come—but it must be swift and decisive.”

The mercenary leader leaned in close, his breath reeking of ale, his voice a low, savage rumble. “I’ve lost good men holding back for you, Pierce. We want our share, and if you won’t give it, we’ll take it ourselves. We’re done sitting on our asses.”

Pierce held his gaze, unflinching, though inside, he felt his grip on the situation slipping. He couldn’t allow a reckless assault that might undo all of his careful planning. But he couldn’t lose control of the mercenaries, either.

With a deep breath, he straightened, his gaze hardening. “Very well,” Pierce conceded, though his mind was already working through contingencies. “Begin preparations for an infiltration. We will test the palace’s defenses, probe for weaknesses. If we find a vulnerability, we will exploit it.” His lips curved into a thin smile. “But remember—do not underestimate the crown. This kingdom will fall by our hand, but only if we strike with precision.”

The mercenary leader’s barbaric grin returned, revealing broken, jagged teeth as he gave a curt nod. Without another word, he turned and stomped out of the chamber, leaving Pierce alone in the dark, the weight of the plan settling heavily on his shoulders.

Pierce clenched his fists, his mind sharp and focused as he considered the stakes. The royal vaults, the crown, the kingdom itself—they would all be his. But first, he would have to make every piece on the board move exactly as he commanded.

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[doumadono]

🌹🌹🌹 COOOOOONGRATULAAATIONNSSSS 🌹🌹🌹

Can I get a cone with vanilla flavour, topped with M&Ms and maple syrup? I want to ask for snow leopard Shoto 🐆

A/N: thank you so much for your ongoing support! I really enjoyed writing these headcanons for you, and I hope you'll like them as much as I do :3

MY HERO ACADEMIA

Snow leopard!Shoto, who usually maintains a dignified demeanor, turns into a playful goofball when he's alone with you.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who often finds himself fascinated by his own fluffy tail, can be seen chasing it in playful circles. Whenever he catches it, he looks at you with a triumphant glint in his eyes, as if he's just accomplished the greatest feat.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who senses whenever you're feeling down or stressed, and curls up beside you, purring softly, his warm fur offering comfort and solace.

Snow leopard!Shoto has a penchant for being a bit goofy at times. He'll pounce on fallen leaves or playfully bat at floating feathers, his playful antics never failing to bring a smile to your face, and you can't help but laugh at his playful clumsiness.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who absolutely adores playing with balls, especially when you roll them across the floor for him. His mismatched eyes light up with excitement as he chases after them, his graceful leaps and bounds a joy to behold.

Snow leopard!Shoto and one of his favourite pastimes which is taking leisurely naps in the sunlit spots of your home. You often find him basking in the warm glow, napping with his head placed on the tip of his fluffy tail. You snap photos of him snoozing and send them to your friend with a captions like, "isn't he just adorable?!"

Snow leopard!Shoto, who is particularly fond of belly rubs, melts into a puddle of contentment when you stroke his soft fur, his purrs rumbling in satisfaction.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who also has a particular fondness for chin scratches. He tilts his head upwards, his eyes closing in bliss as you scratch under his chin, his purring intensifying with each loving touch.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who is deeply protective of you, often stands guard by your side, his watchful eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger.

Snow leopard!Shoto is deeply attuned to your emotions, sensing when you need a comforting presence or a gentle nudge of encouragement.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who loves his nose being booped by you!

Snow leopard!Shoto, who values your companionship above all else, often nudges your hand with his head, silently asking for your attention and some head pats.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who is fond of exploring new places, and enjoys going on adventurous walks with you.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who absolutely loves rolling in the soft, lush grass. The sensation of the cool blades against his spotted fur brings him pure joy, his contented purrs filling the air as he revels in the simple pleasure.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who absolutely despises baths, will do anything to avoid them. At the mere mention of bath time, he'll slink away, his tail bushing in defiance as he seeks refuge in the farthest corner of the room.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who detests having his teeth cleaned, becomes a picture of stubbornness when it comes to dental hygiene. He'll clamp his jaws shut firmly, refusing to cooperate as you attempt to wield the toothbrush with patience. "Come on, Shoto, open your muzzle, I don't have the entire day!"

Snow leopard!Shoto, who prefers to maintain his grooming routine on his own terms, will often retreat to a secluded spot to lick his fur clean with meticulous care, glaring intently at you, making sure you're not trying to give him a bath.

Snow leopard!Shoto, who is quite picky about his food. He can and will be the drama king when it comes to his meals. You might present him with the fanciest of gourmet feeds, only for him to theatrically gag at the mere scent. For him, nothing quite compares to the delight of raw salmon or a juicy steak.

[monster-disaster]

[lion rakshasa] Dain

lion rakshasa!Dain x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Summary: Dain needs a massage.

With a sigh, you open the door to let the warm breeze run through the small cabin. The scent of oils, candles, and cleaning supplies mix with the dry smell of the night. The rush of air caresses your cheeks and plays with your hair as you lean against the door jamb. You cross your arms in front of your chest. Your gaze wanders over the view of the resort.

The other cabins around you are closed. Their windows are dark. You are not surprised, though. It's already late, and you feel the tiredness in your bones and the soreness in your muscles. You almost laugh. You could kill for a massage. Rolling your shoulders, you straighten your posture. The familiar throbbing between your legs is almost painful, and you wish for nothing more but a warm bath and your comfortable bed.

Lush greens and colorful flowers bloom on the side of the road, leading to the pools on your left side. There is a small waterfall that falls from one to the other. The sound is relaxing and seems loud in the silence. The crystal-clear water sparkles under the silvery glow of the moon. Your gaze moves up to the sky, pausing on the glinting stars before dropping on the hotel nearby. Light filters through a few windows. One side of the building is covered with greenery. You can barely see the sand-colored wall underneath the leaves, waving in the rhythm of the wind.

And behind everything, there is the desert with its ever-changing form. Under the cover of the night sky and the stars' gentle glow, the endless sea of sand spreads out as far as the eyes can see. It looks like it melts into the darkness at the horizon. In the distance, grand dunes emerge from the ground with elegant edges and slopes.

"Hey!" A deep voice breaks the silence, and you almost jump from the surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to frighten you. You are the masseur, right?" You smile and shake your head. "It's fine," you tell him. "You are Dain, I hope?" He nods, and you step away from the door to let him in.

The male is burly, even for a lion rakshasa. His mane is a few shades darker than the fur covering his body. He is a mix of muscles and fat. His shoulders are broad, but a slight belly is bulging under the white towel around his waist. The fabric stretches around his trunk-like thighs.

He looks good. He definitely looks good.

You close the door behind you with a soft click.

"You can take off the towel if you want to," you tell him. "And lay down on the table." The male grunts, and with a quick tug, he takes off the towel and puts it on a chair nearby. You can see the muscles of his thighs working as he moves. His tail sways to the side in a gentle rhythm. Your eyes are glued to the hard flesh of his bottom as he lies on his stomach on the massage table. "It won't break under me, right?" He asks. His voice is muffled. "No," you assure him. "You will be fine, I promise."

As you start to work, the soothing scent of the oils you use fills your nostrils. The inside of the massage cabin is covered in an orange hue from the candles. Small flames dance on top of them. The dim light makes the color of his fur darker. They are soft under your hands. His tail still sways left and right, and from time to time, you can hear a deep purr rumbling out of his chest. You can feel it in your core.

Using your body weight, with the heel of your hands, you stroke down the line of his spine until you reach his tail. You knead the hard muscles of his back, changing the motion of your hands every now and again as you watch his reactions. Dain's breathing is calm and even, and slowly but surely, you can feel him relax under you. You circle your thumbs on his shoulder blades, going up to his shoulders. Your fingers dig into him, finding every nerve and knot on your way. When you are done with his upper body, you move to his legs, using your thumb to massage and rub his muscles. "I'm sorry," he grunts when his tail curls around your arm for the second time. You let yourself laugh a little. "It's fine." Your finger slides over his tail, reaching the base. You are careful and gentle as you stroke it. He jumps at the sudden contact but doesn't move to get away. Another rumble breaks through his chest. "Is it good?" You ask him. "Yeah," he grunts. "But it starts to hurt." For a second, you panic, letting go of his tail immediately. "I'm sorry," you gasp. Dain shakes his head. "Not that," he replies, turning to the side, then onto his back. "That." "Oh."

Oh.

A lazy smirk pulls on your lips at the sight. Dain's hard cock bobs as he moves. He is thick and wet from the pre-cum that slips down his shaft. A drop follows the line of a vein on the side of his cock. His balls are heavy between his legs.

You continue your session. Moving from Dain's legs to his upper body, you work on his muscles, letting him relax and enjoy the silence. Your gaze lands on his erection every now and again, but you don't make a move yet. You tease him and massage him all over.

His eyes are closed. An amused smile plays on his lips. "You are the devil." His voice is hoarse. "Am I?" You grin, smoothing your palms down his chest. His fur shines under the dim lights with the lotion you used on him. His cock jerks when your fingers brush the base. Another drop of pre-cum drops down his shaft. "Gods, woman!" Dain groans. You laugh but decide to have mercy on him. He was still more patient than most of your guests.

Your fingers curl around the base of his shaft, squeezing the flesh softly. A low groan echoes off the walls, and you can feel him twitching under your hold. Dain is warm and soft under your palm. The lotion and his pre-cum mix as you move up. Your other hand rests on his thigh. His muscles are tense with anticipation. You feel it too. Need burns your insides as you pump his shaft lazily. You use your thumb to smear his juices even more on his cock, following the thick vein on the side up to the head. Your nail grazes the sensitive skin. The rakshasa shudders under you. His breathing is labored. "Are you sure you are not a cat?" He asks with humor in his voice. "You play with my cock like a new toy." You grin, leaning closer. The air escaping your lips is warm on Dain's erection. "But it is my new toy." His deep laugh ends in a snarl when you lick up on his length from the bottom to the top. You flick the soft skin under the head. His taste is strong on the tip of your tongue. It's salty and makes you want more. You lap up on him again, once, twice, three times. "Fuck!" He growls. The sound vibrates through the air, going straight between your legs. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you force a smug grin down and take his cock into your mouth. You go inch by inch, letting your lips stretch around him. Keeping your hand on the base, pumping him slowly, you lick and suck on his crown, pressing your tongue into the tip. You can feel him snapping any second, but you are not done yet. You squeeze him, making him snarl again before his breath is taken away as you slide him down deeper into your throat. You hum around his length, letting the vibration of your throat rush up his spine. "Fuckfuckfuck!" Spurts of pre-cum fill your mouth, dripping down on his cock and balls. His hips push up against you, wanting to fuck your mouth. You hum again in agreement, hollowing your cheeks some more. Tears burn your eyes as he starts to move up and down. He thrusts into your mouth hurriedly, chasing his pleasure in your warm, wet mouth. Your tongue is flat against the underside of his cock. "You born for this," he growls. "A warm mouth for all the monsters who come here." You are slick between your legs. Your pussy throbs with desire even though you are already sore because of your previous guests. "You feel so good around my cock! Fuck!" Your free hand from his thigh slips to his balls. They are heavy in your palm as you start to play with them. His cock twitches in your mouth more often than a few seconds ago. "I'm going to cum," he warns, still pushing his hips. Your jaw and throat ache. You let him use you to reach his high. Your hand on his cock jerks him faster, and you bob your head against his thrusts. You want him to lose his mind when he comes into your mouth. The cabin is filled with his groans and moans.

"Fuck!"

He floods your mouth, and you gulp down everything he has to give you. The work of your throat squeezes his cock even more, pushing him harder and harder into his orgasm.

The male needs long minutes to come back to his senses. "Will you be there tomorrow?" He asks, still panting. His voice is hoarse, and his cock lays soft on his thick thigh.

You really want to know how it feels inside you.

"I will write you up."

- Masterlist Mirage Resort Masterlist Patreon

[wallflowerglitter]

Shoot for the stars

[alornights]

⟢ sleepovers and treatments

➜ in which ! kyle enters the world of lush and beauty.

💌 ﹫kyle broflovski.

✩ 🎸 warnings﹗none.

🍓 ⟡ notes — i need to get my lush life together tbh

kyle never was that interested in skincare or beauty if we're being real here, seriously guys, be honest.

of course he takes care of his hair but, very minimal.

so when he starts dating you and is invited for a sleepover at yours, he's beyond shocked at what he witnessed in your bathroom.

"Why do you have so much stuff." He murmured in disbelief, jaw dropped at the sight of your bathroom.

You laughed pulling out two face masks. "It makes me feel good, I feel accomplished and it makes me feel pretty."

He rolled his eyes, "I don't think you need all that though."

"Probably," You joked pushing him so he was sitting on the toilet, walking between his legs to start putting on his face mask, "But it's fun, it's cool, and it's trendy. And you feel like you aged down 50 years so I say that's a win."

"Oh really?" He questioned, his arms dragging you closer to him by your waist, giving you a kiss on your collarbone. "We'll see about that."

and see he did.

usually he would just, not do this. like he would just refuse.

but something about the way you just lit up whenever he let you do something had his heart melting.

so he let you put all kinds of products on his face, and tbh, took note of what might work, for research purposes ofc.

you even managed to get him to realize how bad his hair is and how he needs to bring it to its glory. lord knows how much he needed your advice on that one.

one of the main reasons he let you do this though, was because of how close you would get to him.

he loves you. which means he loves being around.

so the fact that you're so up and close to him most of the time sends butterflies to his stomach and almost gets him to giggle.

if you're standing while he sits, he'll let his hands rest at your hips to circle them or draw/write things into your skin.

extra points; he kisses any skin he sees to make you flustered.

extra extra points; you sitting in his lap so whenever he wants hell just start kissing your neck, whispering sweet nothings.

this whole ordeal lasts fucking hours. let's say you start at like 7, this shit will take up until 11 or 12.

why? either you two get distracted talking about gossip or kyle is being dramatic and refuses to do something.

"Do I have to?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow, watching you take out your nail equipment.

"Yeah, your nails are horrendous to look at. You have some hot hands, they can be even hotter with good nails." You explained with a smirk, "And it's not like I'm going to color them unless you want me to."

"... What colors do you have?"

ended up not doing any color nail polish sadly, one day you'll get him though. don't worry, time is unlimited.

"All this... for a bath." He uttered turning to you in shock seeing what you had laid out for him.

He tilted his head as he watched the bath continue to steam up. Looking to the end of the bath he realized there was a stool with a few things on it.

For one, his favorite drink was in a wine bottle. Ice and mini umbrella included. Then there was a radio with old classic hits playing, some grapes, a lit vanilla candle, and a bunch of different varieties of bath bombs.

All this, for a bath.

You simply smiled, "Welcome to the lavish life."

he will be doing this at home any chance he gets.

or he'll just go over to your place. either which works.

you tried for funsies to try and do his makeup and he simply refused knowing it would somehow get passed around.

but, he wanted to do your hair to see if he was any good (totally not bc he wanted to do it for you every day in case you didn't want to). and how could you deny your boyfriend?

you started off with braids and he was surprisingly good at it for his first time. a few mistakes but overall pretty good.

this is just a silly lil thing but i imagine the two of you listening to barbie, specifically can you keep a secret while doing your routine.

NO ACTUALLY I LIED, IT WOULD BE FABULOUS, SHARPAY EVANS. JUST IMAGINE DANCING TO THAT SONG IN FRONT OF MIRROR OH LORD. KYLE GOING ALL SASSY-

by the end of the night, he feels like a new man.

he's never, and in his words, "felt so clean"

"So...." Kyle murmured climbing onto the bed to lay his head on your chest.

You smiled immediately letting your hands play with his curls, "Hmm?"

".... When are we doing this again?"

[ailecheri]

gn!reader x ran : recovering from trauma + dealing with mental illness (hurt/comfort)

was feeling down, so i wrote ran haitani comforting gender neutal mentally ill reader!

TW: mental illness, implied suicidal ideation, mentions of abuse, mentions of therapy, reader masking, gender neutral

ran can tell somethings wrong, when you get home. he always notices. youre the type to mask your feelings, hide the frustration and sadness coiling in your chest... but youve been dating long enough, you cant fool him anymore the cheerful "hello" and tight hug from you dont convince ran. even your little peck to his cheek as you grin and ask about his day... your eyes seem empty. he can see how close to breaking you are

ran knows you try not to do this. its a longterm habit from dealing with toxic and abusive relationships - you cant break it overnight. still, it hurts... less because its a lie, and more because ran knows even you dont realize how much youre hurting.

but he can tell you need to decompress, so he doesnt push... not yet. offers to cook one of the few meals he can make without your help (hes trying to be independent, but hes a lazy spoiled brat) and you accept ... but the sparkle in your eyes is dull

ran does what he can. runs you a bath before he starts dinner, picks out your favorite towel and comfiest pjs. he lights that candle you love but never use, and drops in one of his prized lush bath bombs while hes at it. puts on a relaxing spotify playlist... at this point, youve caught on. still... the hard shell youve donned starts to melt, even as ran leaves to cook ran isnt as surprised as he should be when you glom onto him from behind while hes cooking, freshly bathed and smelling like rose. hes thankful the sauce just needs to simmer.

he also isnt surprised when theres a wetness on his back he knows is tears, not bathwater. he hums softly, turning off the stove burner before picking you up and carrying you into your shared bedroom

ran gently runs his long fingers through your damp hair, murmuring reassurances and praise as you sob incoherently about your stressors. you are so strong. you want to do the best by everyone. its alright if you make mistakes...

clinging tightly to him, warm and safe... it feels like the anchor you could only dream of for so long. youre in therapy, and you do everything you can. but you need support, and ran does everything he can to help

your life is so much better, but maybe that is scary, too. you dreamed so little, didnt believe youd get far. and ran and your friends believing in you is terrifying. you sometimes feel undeserving.

but here, buried in ran's warm embrace... the smell of his home cooking, his cologne and signature smell, the bath bomb he shared with you...

your breathing begins to calm, albeit your chest aches. you smile up at ran with teary eyes. he smiles back.

it will be okay, after all... it really will.

[honeycollectswhump]

PLEASE aftermath of the shock collar piece?👉👈 back to normal? back to ashtray being loved and lovingly used for his normal standard purpose? so he knows he in fact didn't do anything wrong? and he's a good boy? MAYBE... MAYBE EVEN... merciful mistress mireille checking on him to make sure he's gonna be alright?🥺 because maybe she's worried she went a bit too far with all the shocks?🥺

-🪷

Citrine Kisses

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, cigarette burns, past torture (referenced)

When her servants carry in the ashtray the next day, no amount of makeup they have desperately seemed to apply can hide his condition. As Mireille lounges on her velvet couch, worth someone’s fortune, she can’t help but notice his sickly sweet, pale tone and the occasional twitch he tries and fails to hide. It’s unbecoming of such a luxurious good as him, laughable for the price she paid for him to be pretty. 

It almost makes her want to ring her stupid servants back and have someone, anyone, answer for ruining her scene with a pathetic excuse for a golden ashtray. And yet…

And yet she doesn’t. 

Despite it all, he still looks beautiful, doesn’t he? There is beauty to be found in his alabaster skin, no matter if it was caused by the thick collar around his pretty thin neck, which has still left imprints like two pricks of a vampire. The thought makes her laugh, elegantly like chiming bells, like candlelight and a passionate kiss. No, Mireille wouldn’t mind being a vampire.

Twirling a lush black lock around her finger, a cigarette between her lips, she leans forward, taking in the sight of her ashtray. If he were a diamond, she’d hold him in her hand against the light, letting rays of sun play with the rainbow. What happened yesterday, it too was like seeing a rainbow illuminate her walls, each gasping scream echoing in her mind like a marvellous symphony. 

Under her gaze, the ashtray goes still like a marble statue. He never raises his eyes, just like it should be. Silently worshipping but never being brash enough to gaze upon her. 

Mireille bathes in the knowledge that the ashtray’s biggest fear must be displeasing her. That is all he was made for after all. Maybe… maybe that is why he now holds himself differently, but it’s not like she could expect a simple thing like him to understand the aesthetic intention behind the shock collar, the joy and entertainment so unlike a punishment. Of course, the ashtray is too simple to get that.

It almost makes her feel bad, if only for the unappreciated amusement getting drowned out by his pleading devotion. He had been good yesterday, had been less an ashtray and more a diamond yet to be polished. She is merciful, Mireille thinks with a slight smile, and his pretty screams have earned him a reward.

Gracefully, she takes her cigarette from her lips, gazing at it for a moment, before delicately placing a hand on his shining golden locks. Immediately, the ashtray leans into her touch, imperceptively stretching himself to press himself into her palm. 

He was made mindless but a simple drawled “Ashtray” is enough to get his attention fully on her. Melting under her gracious touch, her thing turns towards her, lowered and on his knees. Mireille pets his head a couple of times, like she has seen with her friend’s lapdog. She much prefers love as an act of passion, of art and burning.

The ashtray shivers under her touch, as she lets her long fingers glide down his jaw and tilt his head up to meet her eyes. “You love that, huh?”, she chuckles, and that alone seems to give him to strength to hold himself straighter. 

“You’ve been a good boy, a very good boy. Your screams have been delightful, you’ve done so well.”

A hazy smile appears on his lips as if drugged, and for a moment she considers the fun in that. Instead, though, she holds out her hand, beckoning him to lay his hand in hers. Of course, the ashtray complies, it is all he knows, eager to please like a dog or something less.

Holding eye contact makes her ashtray flush sweetly, and he shivers again. This, she thinks, is also art. 

“You are my favourite toy, I want you to never forget that.” Mireille purrs, lightly holding his hand like a prince would a princess’, his fingers curled around hers. “A reward would only be fitting, don’t you think? Something to commemorate this?”

She turns the cigarette between her fingers until it feels right, before placing the glowing end of it on the ashtray's pale skin, pressing down until the citrine gets swallowed up by ash. 

Never once does he flinch, steadily looking at her. A practice of worship, the greatest price of them all.

Soon, when her servants wash away the dirty ash, a bright red spot will remain, burning through skin and tissue, a kiss his body will never be able to heal. And her ashtray, her stupid little ashtray, will look at it in doglike adoration, his most precious possessions are the scars she allows him, and he will be thankful. 

Sometimes Mireille wonders if the ashtray pities her servants for their lack of burning, wonders if her little lamb prides itself in the red scarf wrapped around its neck, telling a story of how the butcher will one day cut its throat.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox, @whumpshaped, @clickerflight let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[pursuitseternal]

“Tempting:” nsfw update to “Our Blood is Thicker:” ETL Astarion x Tav (OC)

Astarion x Fem OC | E | 5.2 K Astarbation and longing

Summary: Bloody from their battle, Cordehlia tales her party across the river, to wash away their scent and to wash away the stains of her violence. And while she wishes to bathe, Astarion has other ideas. Other, more tempting, ideas.

CW: Astarbation, romantic voyeurism, caught with his hand down his pants literally, lost memories recovered, shared night watch with feelings, trauma dumping (mutual), hurt comfort, ear stroking, How To Pet Your Angsty Vampire ™️

Previous Chapter | AO 3 | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 3: Tempting…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Who knew you were so bloodthirsty?” Astarion purred as the party paused to catch their breath and clean their weapons.

There was no more threat. And it felt good for him to be free, to be spattered from the fruits of his labor. Well her labor too. He looked at her glorious form. Her pale skin was blood spattered and sticky. Her chest heaved under that light armor, but she knelt by the monster hunter’s body, praying for his speedy passage from this life. However misguided it may have been.

Cordehlia gazed at her hands, red and tacky as she tried to wipe them in the dead grass. “It isn’t a thirst for blood. When you’ve battled as many armies as I have… when you have made it to victory by the sheer force of your will, you learn to try to find some sort of…”

“Pleasure?” Astarion guessed.

“Healing?” Gale offered at the same time.

The she-elf’s lips quirked at their replies. “Both I suppose.” She avoided the wizard’s eyes. He looked so… concerned, worried.

“I’m sure your battle-wisdom saw the Gur’s death as the only solution,” Gale whispered, bending down to crouch near her, wiping his own bloodied hands on the grass, even if he had seen little blood against the Gur. “I worry though, if your… attachment to the vampire can influence your choices.”

She gave a smirk. “Of course he’s an influence,” she chided, a bit defiantly. “But as are you all. I haven’t stained my hands for centuries with the blood of Orcs, Humans, Sorcerers, and Aliens to ignore the lesson of never abandoning one of your own. And besides, Astarion is not a monster…” she spat the last words. As if the allegation were aimed at her… perhaps it was. Perhaps her pride bore the wounds from long ago, from giving so much to someone who… she shuddered to think of it more.

“It is reassuring to hear of such fierce loyalty,” Gale grinned. “I’d like to think you would do that same for me… for all of us.”

“Of course,” she nodded, a hint of gravity to her tone. “Now, perhaps we get away from the stink of bloodshed and make camp, I’m sure I’m not the only one starving and needing to bathe.”

“There is a narrow river nearby,” Shadowheart joined in. “Good for both washing and losing the stink of blood.”

“Good work,” Cordehlia smiled. “Lead the way then.”

The cleric smiled, heading deeper into the trees.

They moved quickly, pausing only once they heard the soft rushing of water. It was easy to cross, shallow and narrow and clear in the faint sun. But Cordehlia couldn’t help but notice Astarion’s hesitation before planting his feet in the running water.

Hesitation that melted to joy the instant he stepped in. He was… elated. Giddy. Speeding in his stride to join at Cordehlia’s side.

“You seem happy,” she smiled.

“Another gift of the parasite, it would seem,” he crowed. “It doesn't burn like hellfire. I haven’t stepped into a river since… well,” he looked at her from the corner of his crimson eyes, flashing his fangs down at her. “You know.”

“More than you probably do,” she gave him a sad smile. “You loved the water.”

He fell silent, nothing but the sounds of the water’s gurgle and the splashes they made trudging to the opposite bank. The forest was dense, thick, leafy bushes, wide-trunked oaks, so lush and fertile and green.

It made Cordehlia long for home.

It made the longing in her heart for her past all that more painful.

Numbness crept around her, making her skin itch with her victim’s blood. Making her soul crawl with shame at … the monster she had become. Her cheeks burned, every word the wizard had whispered at her… he knew. He saw it in her soul, and Astarion only drew that creature out to play all the more.

The reflection of the same temperamental, vicious, thirsty beast that clawed beneath her skin. For the good of her kind, she had fought. For protection, freedom, for a land of their own again where they could dwell in the light and dance beneath the stars.

It had been… selfless, she had thought, becoming a fighter, a commander, skilled with the blade and graced with the wisdom of her years.

But as she watched Astarion lingering with his boots in the rushing waters of the river, a wide smile on his face as he watched the foaming bubbles swirl at his feet… her heart tore in her chest. Aching.

Being a vampire didn’t make him a monster.

Not any more than being blinded by rash judgments made her.

He hadn't chosen his fate. But she… she did. To escape the pain and grief and loss.

And as she looked at her blood spattered hands, her stomach soured. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Astarion?” She snipped at him.

His giddiness irritated her. Infuriated her. And he rounded with that coy, insufferable smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he purred back loudly, “what, too many clothes on for a romp in the river for you? I’d be happy to shed a few layers if you wish to join me…”

He plodded up the bank, stopping short. He threw of that heavy doublet, letting it land gods knew where.

Hells, his shirt was soaked. Sweat or river water, it didn’t matter. It was sheer, clinging to the rises of his chest, every definition of his hard stomach….

But she was not in the mood. “Go be helpful, you rake. I need to bathe,” she snapped, pointing in the direction of the others, where the sounds of chatter and clattered chests and unpacking echoed.

“Alone?” he crooned, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Yes,” she bit, roughly unclasping the buckles of her armor from her chest to toss away as well. “Gods, yes alone.”

“If that is what you wish,” he purred, eyes sweeping over her own bloodstained chemise. That crimson gaze paused where she felt it stickiest, where it hugged her hips and clung to her breasts. “But since we are alone, it seems… Perhaps you might allow me a bite?”

“What?”

“Just a little, it was so taxing, that fight. You know he wanted me dead… it is a miracle I’m still standing, you know….” Oh how his voice dripped with the honey of manipulation. That sweet edge of guilt softening his ask. “A little of your blood goes a long way for me, you know. And as a spawn,” his teeth flashed, that leering smirk that made her hot in places she wished it wouldn’t, “I’m always, always hungry.”

She hissed a breath, exasperated. “Be quick,” she shushed.

He was quick. Quick to hold her to him with a single arm around her back, hand pressing just above the rise of her ass. The other cradled her chin, turning her perfectly, so softly with a caress of his fingers before he sliced those razored fangs into her neck.

She shook, breath catching and not in just pain. It was still so wonderful, her body stretched and pressed against his. Missing the way it had always felt against her flesh. Hard where she was soft. Tall where she was shorter. Lithe where she was sturdy.

And before she had wished for its ending, he pulled away, licking his lips of her blood. “Just as delicious. I doubt I will ever tire of tasting you, my darling Cordehlia.”

“Leave,” she hissed, wiping her hand over the red wetness that trickled down her neck. “Please,” she added as a single tweak of hurt twisted his brow. As if he really had meant what he said. As if she spurned something that was true. “I feel disgusting. The sooner I wash, the sooner I’ll feel more inclined to a… delightful disposition, I’m sure.”

“You look far from disgusting,” he smiled softly, his eyes losing that lurid sharpness. “Blood spattered… heart racing with the thrill of the hunt… a hint of excitement to have me near, I would even guess. It made you taste all the more wonderful.”

“Please leave…” she sighed. Tired. Her hands fumbling with the rest of the pieces of her armor.

“As you wish, my darling,” he nodded, the tones of a perfect gentleman in his voice, as he turned to head up the bank. Pausing only to grab his coat from the ground before heading into the thick forest.

But there was more than mere reluctance that seemed to compel him to stay.

It was her.

And now, with her blood in his belly, coursing with its fire and flavor and passion in his veins. He throbbed.

In a way he didn’t remember experiencing.

He stopped behind the foliage. Frozen by the sounds of splashing in the river.

And that throbbing grew worse. Lower… prominent. Hard.

Just like last night. The only other time he felt this. That blessing of consuming living blood for once. Her blood rushing right through his muscles, hardening his cock with need. He had been determined to ignore it last night in the dark, his belly too hungry for thoughts of sex or self pleasure. Only thoughts for more blood to fill him.

But now, he wasn’t so distracted. Not from the sweet splashing of water as she swam so close.

Those sounds were… tempting. She was tempting.

For once, he wasn’t hard because he had to be. Wasn’t compelled to seduce or flirt for any reason other than he wanted something.

Someone.

He stopped, crouching into the greenery, slipping soundlessless to the edge of the water. It was so easy. So tempting.

Why not indulge… why not let himself find pleasure for once for himself. Not for his master.

The river was so close, the ripples lapping the shore even at this distance from their source.

From where she rose from its surface. Her skin so pale, hair darkened and wet. One knee into the earth, he crouched with all his stealth and felt his cock pulsing. As if her blood was calling back to its mistress.

By the hells… he had never wanted anything more.

It would be so easy still, just a few laces holding him in where he was so well concealed.

Fuck it, he decided. Fuck it, if he couldn’t fuck her.

And she was so enticing. And frustrating. So stubborn and soft and defensive of him and accusatory of him. All of it. It made his teeth set on edge, made his muscles long to push her against the nearest tree again. To put a blade to her throat or sheath his cock between her legs, he didn’t know which drive was stronger.

But it didn’t matter right now. He could finally do something for himself.

And what was the harm… he would bring her under his charms soon enough. It was what he did best.

Gods… he twitched the second his fingers gripped around his own cock. A spasm of pleasure rippling right to his groin. It would take long, he chuckled to himself as he slowly stroked up and down. Palming the seeping seed from its head, he spread it around a bit. This would be rough, but he couldn’t remember the last time he sought his own pleasure.

This was long overdue.

That’s it… he groaned, watching her slowly rise from the river, watching the water droplets trickling over her pert breasts, running like a stream between them as she stood. He grit his teeth and beat faster. Jealous of the water.

She rinsed her hair, fluffing it to catch in the beams of sun. If she wasn’t a nymph… a goddess of the waters herself the way she moved just as fluidly, as elegantly. He closed his eyes, pressing that image into his mind forever.

Her creamy skin and fiery hair… the thrill of having watched her for so long… of finally seeing more of what laid beneath the cursed swatches of fabrics and yards of gowns that clung to her curves. She was so close, he could hear her breathe… if he strained his hearing. Hoping he was far enough away that the water splashes would hide the dry rubbing of his cock in his fist… He would promise a million lifetimes just to make her his. His for a million lifetimes…

He was close, that tug of climax digging at his groin as he watched her bathing.

Until he heard the sound of boots too close.

Astarion gasped, his cum spilling into the dirt, his cock pulsing and twitching as more seed dripped and shot before him. So good… so very good. He couldn’t remember when he last felt so… happy. Sated.

And then, he gasped again as the cool kiss of a blade caught along his jaw.

“What’s this… a rogue caught sneaking?” Cordehlia hummed in amusement, drawing around from behind where he crept in the undergrowth.

Astarion laughed, low, quiet and tired. “Don’t tell me you’re not flattered, darling…” He glanced to how his cock still stood proudly in front of him. Long and pale and achingly hard in his hand. “…tell me you’re not impressed.”

“Impressed to find my rogue caught literally with his hand down his pants?” She scoffed, “please.”

He looked her up and down as he began shoving it back inside the band of his breeches. That dirty tunic of hers was haphazard, hastily thrown on. And nothing else, he noted with a pang in his groin again. Her mouth may be turned down at the corners, but he watched her pulse in her neck race, observed how her eyes dilated as she looked him over as well. “My my, Cordehlia,” he purred, standing from the ground, arching a single brow, his voice twisting in mischief as well as his mouth. “You’ve seen this before haven’t you?”

She smiled. The minx smiled, casting her eyes away as she resheathed her blade. “A lady doesn’t speak of such things, Astarion.”

“Ah, but you are no lady…” his smirk flashed to show his teeth, “least ways not for me, isn’t that right?”

“You know,” she chimed, clearly changing the subject. “You’re not as creative as you might think.” She just kept smiling like a fool. Swallowing a laugh. Like this was terribly funny. “I suppose you don’t remember,” she giggled. “But this isn’t the first time you have been caught with your weapon out watching me down by a river….”

Those images… she had looked so young… and he… he felt the same. When he had heard the sound of boots in the grass behind him… “Something strangely similar, no coincidence if it happened twice,” he crooned. Her smile faded as she looked into his eyes. “But… wasn’t it your father that caught me last time? I see you’re just carrying on your family legacy.” He smirked as he stood to square his body, daring a step to close the distance between them. “Unless there was something else you were just too tempted not to see…”

He leaned in, creeping in on her, close enough to glance down the collar of that wet chemise. “So, my sweet, what happens next?” He murmured, tempted to wrap his arms around her, to pull her flush against him where she could feel how she still made him hard. And he wasn’t so sure if it was only because of her blood in his body.

“Next?” she hummed, crossing her arms over those pert breasts. “For us?”

“You read my mind…”

“Oh, that’s simple,” she crooned, arching back slightly to look right up into his face. Her lips pouted, her eyes batting those long lashes at his smirking, arrogant, conceited grin. “We go to camp and finish helping, and then you are taking first watch since you haven’t lifted a finger helping in the slightest.”

“B-but...” he sputtered, a whine in his voice as she turned and began to walk away. “I do need rest too,” he fairly whimpered.

“I understand,” she threw a grin over her shoulder, finally breaking back from the forest onto the path. “Which is why I will rest first and come relieve you tonight.”

That’s when she reached the rest of her discarded clothing and armor. Astarion held his breath, watching as she bent over to pick it up from the ground.

“Sweet hells,” he sighed. That hem of her shirt sliding up the backs of her thighs, barely covering the swell of her ass, teasing around what laid between her legs. He forced himself to look away. Not for her sake. For his. One second longer, and he was sure something would be staining the insides of his trousers with cum.

And all he could do was keep his eyes on the grass and listen to her soft giggle as they kept moving.

—————-

Night was quiet, even if the evening had been eventful. Another member of the party appeared out of nowhere. A human warlock come for one of her own, but with her charm and her persuasion and her insight, Cordelia managed to convince the newcomer, Wyll, not to return to his mistress with Karlach’s head in hand.

And now, the Blade of Frontiers had joined the company. One more mouth to feed, Gale had grumbled, lightheartedly, but still a little grieved.

Of course, Astarion had been quick to point out that he didn’t count, of course. A joke that sent everyone giggling nervously, no one more than Cordehlia who avoided the heated look he flashed at her through the mirth. But aside from that near little slip up, he had not made any mention of their agreement. Instead he made a big show of heading out to hunt before his turn at first watch.

By a little after nightfall, as the rest of the party began milling towards their beds, he returned. And not empty handed. With a smile, he handed a pair of rabbits to Gale, some whispered something of a joke that made the wizard laugh quietly.

An unfamiliar sight. An unusual exchange.

And then he sauntered over before where she sat on her bedroll by the fire. “You look so deliciously surprised. You know, I can do something thoughtful from time to time.”

“I knew that,” she taunted in reply. “I just didn’t know if you did.”

He giggled. High pitched and bubbly.

At once, the sound filled her heart with joy. And pain. “I’ll relieve you soon,” she cleared her throat, sliding her legs into the warmth of her bed. “Don’t get yourself… or us… into any trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He withdrew a single step before he paused again. “You know, you don’t have to sleep out here, if you do not wish it.���

She said nothing, turning her back towards him as she rolled onto her side.

“I have a perfectly good tent, comfortable, luxurious even in comparison, you would be more than welcome to occupy.”

Still nothing from her.

“After all, if we are sharing watches, it would only make sense to share more than just a duty. It’s not like I would be there with you while you slept...”

“Good night, Astarion,” she replied. Conversation ended.

He sighed. Continuing on his way back towards that aforementioned tent. And soon, Cordehlia fell into that less-than-restful sleep.

She woke to darkness, a night thick and starless. The fire still crackled, but it seemed faint. Weak.

Soft.

Stretching out her aching legs, her sore back, she slipped from her bed. Finding him at the edge of camp, perched comfortably on the pillows that he had set in the entryway of his tent. His mouth turned softly as she drew before him. A smile as she approached. “Cordehlia,” he whispered her name.

“You better rest,” came her terse reply.

“When there are so many other wonderfully tempting things to do in the dark, my sweet?” he purred, patting the cushion beside him. Beckoning her to sit.

Cordehlia bit her lip. Gods, after sleeping on the earth, if a pillow under her ass didn’t make her body cry and make her mouth water. Carefully, slowly, she sat. Giving enough space between them.

“Nice to see you do indulge yourself from time to time,” he whispered, sliding his body to view her. Simultaneously closing that distance between them just a bit. “I doubt I shall rest for an hour at least,” he drew closer as he spoke. His breath cold on her neck. “Any suggestions for how to pass the time?”

She twisted to face him.

Oh, mistake.

She thought herself ready for something like this, but… the way his hair shimmered in the distant firelight, the way those full lips of his parted and tweaked in the gentlest of smiles…. The way he was so very, very close.

She wasn’t at all stealed over in body, heart, or soul for such a feat as this. She closed her eyes, shutting them firmly as he gave her that soft, low giggle.

Not helping.

“Talk,” she cleared her throat, “ahem. We could talk. Or you could ask me questions of what was from … before.”

Her eyes opened to see him withdrawn. Those hard lines returning to his face, his shoulders stiff and squared as he gazed into the dark behind her.

“I suppose it would help you to know more… given that I’ve already had one monster hunter sent on my trail. I’m sure my old master will be relentless…” then he fixed the intensity of his eyes into hers.

Fear.

Loathing.

Panic.

“Cazador won't stop until he has me back.”

She froze. Careful not to fidget. And yet, he trembled. Eyes wide and voice pressed with rage.

“Of course he would send the Gur after me… that was why I… died. The case that would launch me into power and fame and rise to popularity. Banishing them from the city, making them keep their kind beyond all the walls of Baldur’s Gate, as far as my jurisdiction would allow. That night, I was attacked. Beaten. Left to die in the streets.”

It was Cordehlia that now shivered. The chill of death seemed to steal over her heart as she listened. It was… worse than she had ever imagined. The facts of his death, those she had found all those centuries ago. But this…

“That’s when… he found me. Cazador Szarr… he offered me eternal life, to keep me from bleeding out in the sewer of the street. Little did I know just how long eternity would be as his spawn.”

He fell silent. Chest heaving, throat choking as he tried to swallow. Then he began to shake.

“Shh, Astarion,” she instantly reached for him. As she had a thousand times in their lives.

But he hissed, flinching. “Don’t,” he panted. “Don’t touch me.” His voice little more than a hiss. “Not now… not right now…”

“It’s alright,” she poured her low, soothing voice over him instead. “I’m here,” that made him look up at last. “You’re here…”

His eyes were wide. Wet. Gods, what had they done to him.

“Shhh…” she cajoled again. “If you let me, there was always one thing I could do to help you when… you would feel like this.”

My love. Her heart wanted to add.

He still shook, but he managed a nod. “Gently,” he pleaded.

“There was never another way between us before, Astarion,” she whispered. Slowly she raised her hand, letting her fingers, lighter than air, trace their touch behind his ear. The soft pads of her fingers rubbed over that pointed edge of his ear, softly held between her thumb and finger.

Instantly he stilled. His shaking ceased. His shivers dissipated. Her touch was warm, calming and tender as she caressed his ear.

Slowly.

Lovingly.

His mouth hung open but no words came out. They just couldn’t.

“I can’t even recall how many times you would be worked into a frenzy… by your parents… by my parents… by your overwhelming need to be praised…” she continued quietly, her voice ringing with remembrance. Those soft memories that she had buried deep inside her, finally sliding out as she whispered them for his ears alone. “I tried it once, when you were…” she swallowed, the edge of pain now in her throat as he watched the same contorting her beauty, “when you were resting your head in my lap…”

His eyes flickered, that same sultry fire returning behind their crimson color.

Holding her breath, he did what she most feared… lowering those thick, unruly curls over her thighs.

That same weight pressed into her lap, that same comforting heaviness his body always gave her. Her hands continued to play around his ear, twirling and stroking into his hair.

The night breeze around them… the faint flicker of firelight… if it weren’t for the chill of undeath on his skin, the lack of pulse in his neck as he laid on her legs… she could close her eyes, savoring the balm of him. As if no time had passed. As if they both hadn’t bloodied their hands and dived into the darkness.

He rolled onto his back, eyes closed, breath steady. And her hands couldn’t help but to share the same soothing attentions to both sides of his devastatingly handsome face.

“I…” he started before swallowing. “We…” he tried again, almost pushing back against the way her hands caressed into his hair. But the spell was broken, having worked its charms. He sat up, those eyes narrowed again, peering at her with that pretense of rakish flirtation. “You’re full of surprises aren’t you?”

Her mouth twitched. As if she had a million flirtatious things to reply. But instead she just patted him on his cheek and smiled slightly. “You really should be getting some rest, our kind does still need some sort of …”

He caught her hand in his, his fingers gripping her firmly, keeping her body close to his. Crimson eyes scanned over her, heavy-lidded and lustful. “Resting at night is still such a novelty. Creatures of the dark aren’t used to… resting after sunset.”

Cordehlia smiled, carefully trying to slip from his grasp. But he held tight. She hummed, a nervous smile on her mouth. “Then indulge me and try it. I need you strong come dawn. Druids and Tieflings will abound, and I’ll need a rogue who is sharp in his mind and strong in body.”

His smirk widened, predatory and bright as she held her breath to see those fangs so close. “If you wanted me truly strong you would offer me more than just rest,” he rasped, gaze flickering where her pulse raged in her veins.

She swallowed, “More blood? What was earlier then?”

“Oh that? That was just a little treat… from my little treat,” he leaned closer, his breath so close she could feel it inhaling the skin of her neck.

“You are insufferable.”

His body went rigid, every muscle taught as he barely brushed against her arm, her shoulder. “Well, since I can’t be inside you, darling, the least we can do is for you to be inside me….”

Gods, her belly dropped to her knees, every nerve inside her catching fire and melting, pooling her desire to gather between her thighs.

“I don’t think I’m quite recovered from earlier,” she managed to reply. Only to feel a small, cool bottle shoved into the hand he still held. “What’s this?”

“You know your potions, She-elf,” he chuckled as she looking at the faintly glowing ruby liquid. “Nicked a potion of healing off the Gur’s body.” His brow arched, adding just that little darker edge of wickedness to his leer. “Can’t say I won’t take care of my treat…”

She opened it, instantly swallowing it down. Instantly feeling that hazy ache in her head clearing from his continued feeding.

Only to have him pull her flush against his chest, to have him place a gentle kiss on the bend in her neck before slicing into it with his fangs.

She groaned, subtle, letting her body arch against his, letting his hands cradle the back of her head, fingers knitted into her hair. Her eyes fluttered shut, her mind swept away by the feeling of his lips on her skin, the press of his body against her breasts, and then there was that new sensation. The dripping, pulsing of her blood as he swallowed her down, the way she could feel how her essence fed him. Strengthened him. Sated him. Pleased him.

She groaned again, this time she just couldn’t hold back the sound of how much she enjoyed this. It was… lewd. Pleasured. And instantly, he broke from her veins to smirk at her. Just for that moment, before he returned his mouth to her skin.

This time, he lapped at her with his tongue, tracing wet swirls with his spit through her blood.

She began going limp, but not from blood loss, he realized, from ecstacy. From pleasure. Her body couldn’t hide behind her barbs or anger or deflective questions.

She wanted this. She wanted him.

And gods, as her blood filled him, he felt alive, aroused by its strength, its potency. How it filled his aching stomach, soothing his hunger. How it hardened him in the groin again, making every little shiver and shift of her body as it brushed his lap all the more agonizing and tempting.

He gripped into her shoulders, pushing her away. Lest he take too much. Of her blood. Or her body.

And he didn’t want that.

“Thank you, Cordehlia,” he spoke, steady, even tones. “I enjoyed that immensely, and by the sounds of it… you did too.”

She said nothing, just gazing at him with those large, bright silver eyes. He could get lost in their brilliance. Warm and inviting. Like he had stared into them for a hundred years already. Maybe he had. “I… I think I will rest now,” he stood and began to draw inside the flaps of his tents, ignoring the way she trembled as he left. Ignoring the way his breeches were far too tight with how hard she made him.

“I trust you are no longer hungry,” she bid after him. He paused in the middle of the little gap in the doorway.

“Oh, don’t underestimate yourself. My hunger for you will only deepen,” he smirked down, a slight bow to his head, where she still lounged on his cushions. “Good night.”

For as much as he didn’t want to leave her alone, he didn’t want to go too far. And it was just too tempting… with the nearness of her body, the scent of her skin… like spring rain and meadow flowers, like all that was golden and shimmering and good in the woods.

He laid down in the dark of his tent, praying that at least those pillows would smell like her before dawn.

[nidhi-writes]

The Prince And His Guard(VaraDeva Oneshot)

Sneak Peak!!

‘Tell me you hate me’, Deva’s voice rang through the palace’s lush gardens as chill air blew.

Varadha stood there, his eyes piercing through the man standing before him. His throat jammed, and he failed to produce any words.

‘What happened? The cat got his tongue, ah?’ Deva whispered as he threw away his armour and strolled towards Varadha like a lion nearing the antelope. But the lion here did not hunger for blood but for his Varadha.

‘Get away from me,’ Varadha whispered as he started to walk backwards, but he never let his eyes leave Deva.

‘Then tell me you HATE me; I will leave you alone.’ Deva’s words made Varadha stop in his tracks.

‘I-I.. Ha..Te’ Varadha could only murmur the words but never finish them as his heart didn’t let him.

Bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, Prince Varadha and his Guard Deva stood facing each other, their eyes locked in a passionate gaze. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers, adding to the enchantment of the moment.

A smile itched its way into Deva’s lips as he slowly neared and closed the distance between them, as he reached out his hands and gently took in the prince’s face. Their hearts beat in unison as they leaned closer, their breath mingling in the cool night air.

With a tender caress, Deva brushed his lips against Varadha’s, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down the Prince’s spine. Both melted into the embrace as Varadha’s hands found their way to his strong shoulders, pulling him closer.

As their kiss deepened, the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them lost in the throes of passion. Time seemed to stand still as they explored each other's lips, savouring the taste and feel of the long-awaited moment of their love.

Full Oneshot Coming Soon!!

[offstage-euthymia]

No sobriety - drinking, bathing in red wine

My soul got drunk from your spring

Intoxicated by red flowers and it's mystic song

The poppies whisper with tearful of it's white dew

Milk numbing erupting with last breaths of heat sown.

Into the den hollow on young fresh darkness.. to hibernate.

To catch the last fruits of the strawberry tree that yields.

Until spring comes melting frozen stalks back into the spring water streams .

Until then i drink to that name from red lipstick somewhere in between reality and the dreams.

-----------

Poetry for no one - sometimes thought immerses with another particular pattern or memory, a verse dispersed.

In thought rehearsed- of nostalgic branch.

Some fresh fallen rain and dew on leaves and grass.

That caress the flooded puddles down the ground and roots.

Down the dirt where mud is stomped by boots.

Leaving traces waiting to scorn and dry

On the sun's surface for other seedlings dispersed by the moving body.

Where sprouts seize the light in green lush.

In the humming and cracking of branches.

Where leaves whisper of autumn hunches.

Coloring the pallet in gloom with hushes.

Just as i lose my thoughts i come across the story.

After the daydream I'm tired of looking for bedtime sorry.

For another day and incoming loss and glory.

By Marko Tivanovac