#marie sebastian x reader

[frost-queen]

Lost without you (Reader x Nostradamus)

Requested by: @sophia-winchester07, Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic , @p0nycurtis , @eliscannotdance

Brushing any wrinkles from your clothing, you softly cleared your throat. Readying your hand to knock. Two gentle knocks. Taking a step back, waiting for the door to be opened. – “Come in Y/n.” – the voice on the other side said. It made you furrow your brows confused. Stunned you opened the door. Popping your head in as Nostradamus was sitting by his desk.

“How… how did you know it was me?” – you asked curious, closing the door behind you. Peeking over your shoulder to the door to see if any magic had made it able for him to see through the door. Nostradamus chuckled putting the feather pen back into the ink pot. – “Did you have a vision of me visiting?” – you asked, back pressed against the door. – “No.” – Nostradamus he replied getting up. You watched him go round the desk towards you.

Looking up to him as his warm hands cupped your cheeks. – “Simple keen observation as you always come to my quarters around the same time Y/n.” – Nostradamus explained. Pouting your lips, you were a bit disappointed with his answer. Nothing magical about it, you were just a creature of habit.

Nostradamus chuckled once more, letting his hand brush against your cheek. – “I don’t need visions of you for I dream each night of you.” – he whispered before pressing his lips against yours. You smiled against his lips, kissing him deeply back. Your hands going over his back, feeling his sturdy upper body underneath your palms. Letting your fingers crave deep in his back, wanting him even closer. Nostradamus pulled back with a surprised glance.

He smiled touching your nose playfully. He kissed you one more time before returning to his desk. You followed him, coming to sit at the edge of his desk. Picking up an object that was sitting on his desk to occupy yourself with. – “Y/n.” – Nostradamus sighed out, taking the object from you. – “Sorry.” – you mumbled out watching him set it at the other side of his desk.

“Do you have much work?” – you questioned, trying to read his notes. Tilting your head to do so. – “Quite.” – he answered letting his feather pen dip into the ink bottle. – “Shame…” – you replied looking up to the ceiling, tapping your foot in the air. – “Does my princess require attention?” – he asked with a cheeky smile. You touched your lips thoughtfully. – “It depends what the physician has in mind?” – you replied with a blissful smile.

Nostradamus kept staring at you with a certain expression. It didn’t last long as he slightly shook his head. Returning to his papers. – “It will only take a moment. Then I am yours.” – he reassured you, scribbling some words down. You hummed loud in response, looking at the window behind him. Nostradamus kept writing  as you occupied yourself. Fumbling a bit with your dress. Staring out into the distance, slightly humming.

“Are you almost done?” – you asked, leaning in, letting your hand brush over his shoulders. Nostradamus was about to answer when the door opened. The sudden noise made you flinch. Jumping off the desk in the matter of half a second. Nostradamus got startled as well. Accidently bumping against his ink bottle as it started to stain some of his parchments.

He placed the bottle up to prevent more stains whilst keeping an eye on his new visitor. Catherine entered with a surprised look on her face. – “Princess Y/n what are you doing here?” – she questioned. Nostradamus looked briefly at you as you dared not to look. Not wanting to make it obvious.

“I was in need of some assistance… I…I am having trouble sleeping at night.” – you lied to her, trying to sound as convincing as you could. You moved away from the desk, curtsying before Lady Catherine, moving behind her then. – “Yes uhm I shall have some herbs be delivered to your quarters to help with your insomnia.” – Nostradamus called out, standing up from his seat.

You stood behind Lady Catherine, motioning to him to come find you later. Lady Catherine turned her head as you pretended to stretch your arms up. Nostradamus nodded, slightly ushering for you to leave. You curtsied once more to Lady Catherine before taking your leave.

 Catherine found it a bit suspicious, but left it at that. Perhaps she just thought that off you because of your sister Mary. She and her hadn’t been having a smooth relationship. Nostradamus gestured to her to have a seat so he could listen to her worries. Catherine seemed to be confiding more and more with him lately.

Taking his visions by heart and depending on them. Disappointed, you left his quarters, making your way outside. Holding your own arms at how your moment was ruined. You almost had him all to yourself if Lady Catherine hadn’t come in and claim him. You weren’t jealous, it was just starting to get annoying how many times that woman asked for his advice.

Wandering the hallways of the castle, you went outside. Encountering Lola on your way. She curtsied at your presence as you only smiled politely back at her. You ventured away from the castle walls towards a place in the gardens. Coming to sit on a bench, slightly hidden and out of sight. There you sighed deep. Staring down at your own hands as you waited.

Waited if even Nostradamus was able to join you fairly. From afar, you saw workers tend to the gardens. Looking to your side, you saw a bush of roses. Sighing soft at them as you missed him dearly. It was strange how it happened, but you hardly remembered which point gave the tipping away. A princess, Queen Mary’s sister none the less falling in love with a commoner. The physician with a golden heart.

Thinking off him brought a smile to your lips. Looking away from the roses, you staring back in front of you. Hearing some rustling behind you, barely gave you any time to look. A single rose appearing before yours eyes. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Nostradamus with one hand behind his back.

“For you, my love.” – he said as you were gawking at him in delight. You got up, throwing your arms around him. He hugged you firm back. Pulling away, he presented you with the flower in the middle. Offering it to you. You smiled about to take it from him.

Your fingers close to the flower as you were almost grabbing it. – “Y/n!” – your name got shouted out loud. Making you flinch. Nostradamus too as the flower dropped to the ground lifeless. Turning quickly around, you saw Mary with Bash at her side.

“I…It is not what it appears.” – you quickly called out, waving your hands across. – “Oh I am quite certain of what I just witnessed.” – Mary responded loudly. – “Your majesty I…” – Nostradamus spoke as Bash came stepping in. Pushing him further away from you.

“I think you better step away.” – he told him. Nostradamus obeying with his hands up. – “Sister I…” – you began as Mary held her hand up. – “Whatever it is, I need you to end it now.” – she insisted upon. Tears sprung making your sight glossy. – “Mary please…” – you said, not wanting too. She couldn’t.

“It ends now!” – she made herself more clear. Your lips quivered, trying to hold back your tears. Looking over your shoulder to him, he saw how much you were hurting from this. He moved forwards wanting to reach you and comfort you if Bash had not kept him in place.

Bash came nearer, taking you by the elbow. – “Come Y/n.” – he said guiding you away. Nostradamus wanted to call out your name, but didn’t dare. At a loss with himself, he exhaled loud. Mary came close. – “You are a man born of common blood. What you want doesn’t matter.” – Mary made clear.  

She turned round as Nostradamus watched her step on the rose that had fallen. He sunk to his knees out of agony that he could never be with you. Mary’s words sounding through in his mind. For a commoner could never have you.

-------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[marie-hoe]

Real Person Fiction Masterlist

My past writing for real people. I don't write Real People fics anymore

Chris Evans

Don’t laugh at me| HC

Need More Time| HC

Say it again| pt2.| <1k

Garden Boy| HC

Eating Out| HC

Besties Already| HC

Down Low| HC

Meeting Chris| HC

Dating a Southerner| HC

Dating a Brit| HC

Dating a French| HC

Dating a Norwegian| HC

Dating a Latina| HC

Dating an Italian| HC

Dating a Muslim| HC

Dating an Indian| HC

Dating a Tall Girl| HC

Just Say It| >1k| Actress!Reader

Not a Problem| >1k| Younger!Reader

Ruin the Surprise| HC

Tease| >2k

Wet and Naked| <1k

Sebastian Stan

Leave your Shoes Here| HC

Settle in pt2.| HC

Fighting| HC feat. Chris Evans

Overreacting or Over Acting| HC

“Bucky” in bed| HC

Uncomfy|HC

Don’t Care| HC

Out of Reach| <1k

Vancouver| <1k

Teaching| >1k (pt1. here)

NSFW ABC

Evanstan

[hiatuswhore]

Viper IV

Reputation: The Princess of Conde, said to be a lover of games. Perhaps chess, a game requiring one to think many steps ahead and anticipate your enemies next move. For every missteps brings you closer and closer to defeat.

VIPER III: Versatility

YOU NEVER KNEW FRENCH COURT TO BE SO DULL. The privy council drolling on about issues they will never resolve. No plots or ploys, you settle on a ceasefire allowing the Queen Consort a period of reprieve. You busy yourself with strolls with Sebastian and feigning interest in many high Lord's pursuits of your hand. This does not stop the Queen Mother from focusing on your every movement. Nor are you a fool to the servant in your ranks who reports to her. All information they receive perfectly curated to your liking.

Sitting at your vanity, you huff like a child on the verge of a tantrum. Whispers containing scandals so minuscule you are certain the histories will write you as the first to truly die from boredom.

“Dahlia, any news on the parchment I sent to my brother?” You ask. The shake of your handmaiden’s head garnering another huff. “He wants me to come home, but I have far too much to do here.”

“Princess, you must stop fussing so I can finish your hair,” Dahlia’s silvery voice and gentle touch gaining an apologetic smile. The light tapping of your chamber door stills your handmaiden, your head turning toward the door. Dahlia crosses the room. Opening it, she bows respectfully before lowering her gaze and stepping aside.

“My King,” You rise to your feet, a grin on your lips as you curtsy. Francis chuckles, shaking his head as you ask what you can do for him.

“My wife seems to believe you have a vendetta against her. I am no fool of the deep care you hold for your brother. This afternoon you will invite her on your evening stroll, just the two of you,” Your head tilts to the side, a wide smile taking your features, hiding the thorns beneath rosy-colored petals.

“While I admit I was not very fond, I thought to have clarified my intentions with your wife. Very well, we will have a lovely evening at once,” Clasping your hands in front of you, stepping forward, you peck his cheek. His nose grazes your cheek as he turns to meet your gaze.

“We are not children anymore. You know this is not appropriate,” His words leave him in a breathy whisper. You wet your lips, offering a warm smile.

“I meant nothing untoward, Francis. You are dear to me. I would never have you jeopardize your honor,” Only run it off a cliff, the heat of his skin warming your own at the proximity. His head tilts forward so slightly you nearly miss it as he stiffens. You pull away first, brushing past him with a knowing smirk.

The long corridor from your chambers holds a sea of faces that matter little as you make your way to the kitchens. Fetching to chalices of wine, your smiles large as Mary and Catherine’s eyes land on you. They stand in the throne room, speaking quietly amongst themselves.

“Queen Mother. Her grace. My apologies for the intrusion. I hoped to steal the Queen for a stroll. I even brought us wine,” You say, holding out the chalice. Silence dances between the three of you. Both Catherine and Mary eye the cup in your hand warily, the smile on your lips wicked. She knows she cannot refuse. To do so slights the Princess of Conde--another slight against the De Bourbon family, her kin-in-law.

“Of course, Princess,” Mary swallows thickly, her voice wavering as her fingers brush your own against the cup. She glances at Catherine a final time before joining your side. You wear a kind smile, your airy aura filling the halls. You ramble to Mary just as you do with a dear friend, noting how the chalice in her hands has stayed there.

“What a lovely day. Isn’t it lovely?” Stepping outside, you turn to Mary, her strained smile and stiff posture fueling your amusement. Catherine stands with Francis on the second-floor terrace watching the two of you.

“Very lovely indeed,” Mary mutters, following your toothy smile up the terrace. She’s greeted with differing expressions. Francis wears one of encouragement as Catherine stands as though a guillotine awaits.

“Mary, you are not very good at this game. You went to Francis of your fears, rightful fears, but now here we are. Let me help you understand your particular situation. This is a game of reputation. I very publicly invited you to wine and a stroll. The part the people do not know is that it is at the King's behest. Now imagine if word spreads, you refused my efforts for peace after all you brought upon my brother? What a lecherous cunt,” You scoff, speaking barely above a whisper, shaking your head, a smile painting your lips. Mary’s eyes narrow, her shoulders falling at her side. Stepping into the trap before it was even set.

“I am the Queen. You are my subject in my court!” The ferocity of her tone unlike anything you ever expected of her. You would have commended her in another life, but now your smile falls as you stumble back. Mary’s frown distinct as your eyes well with tears. You shift your gaze down sharply, cowering like a frightened child—the antithesis of your nature.

“My apologies, your grace. Will you excuse me?” You curtsy, wiping the faux tear from your cheek. Mary’s eyes bounce around the open grass field. Ladies and Lords alike lounge around different fixtures watching the exchange. Realization cuts through like a blade to skin, your sorrow not reaching your eyes. Oh, how this game suits you.

“Princess,” Mary breathes out, watching as you fiddle with your fingers. The comely and giving Princess standing before the aggressor, the cruel Queen.

“My apologies, your grace. I know our histories are—” You cry out, the approaching mop of blonde hair arriving with impeccable timing.

“Mary, a word,” The clench of the King’s jaw clear despite the mask of calm he wears. You offer a respectful curtsy heading back toward the castle with your head low. Inside, Catherine greets you with a sneer; taking her hands, you smile.

“I detest you. You wretched girl,” Catherine squeezes your hands tights, to onlookers a warm exchange between family. The Queen Mothers' smile as warm and deceitful as your own.

“Oh, Catherine. To hate me is to hate yourself. I learned all I know from watching you,” You lean forward, kissing both her cheeks. The softening of her glare was not lost on you before excusing yourself. Like wildfire, the word spread of your exchange; invitations of tea and strolls pouring into your chamber like water to a glass.

By noon, you receive word of a private family supper. You naturally assume it to be the workings of Francis but still consider others. While Mary navigates your game as well as a blind man at sea, you await Catherine to guide her hand. You wear a courteous smile as the hundredth invite for tea arrives, your empty promises of soon arranging a meeting becoming almost instinctive.

“(Y/n)!” Your eyes widen at the squeal. Claude rushes down the corridor, her arms wide open. She nearly tackles you to the ground in a hug, squeezing so tight it may very well suffocate you.

“Thank god! This place is so terribly boring,” You exclaim, stepping off to the side. Claude smirks. “I was so upset to learn I had just missed by mere hours the day I arrived.”

“I hear my brother's wife made you cry, and I know for certain that is not the case. You must tell me your machinations at once,” Claude whispers, leaning in close. The two of you stop at the corner, appearing like giddy children.

“That would spoil the fun dear cousin!” You say, crossing your arms and mirroring her smirk.

“The Scottish Queen is doomed then, but that must wait. We have much to catch up on,” Claude hooks her arm in your own. She leads you down the hall, her animated rambling taking the whole of the conversation as you listen intently.

“You slept with Ser Harlin?” You gasp, stopping in your tracks. The French Princess bit her bottom lip, grinning like a madwoman. She spares you not a single detail of her exploits with the pagan warrior, a burly man of few words.

“How have you not? I know, no Lord who looks like him. We must have our fun before our brothers decide to try and marry us off,” Claude says, shrugging your shoulders, your matter-of-fact tone dripped in certainty, “I believe my brother knows if he forces a husband upon me, that poor soul will not make it to our marital bed.”

“Well, if Francis makes me marry, can I count on your diligence in my indoctrination to widowhood?” Claude teases. Nodding your head, you stand straight up with a playfulness to your tone, “I swear this oath to you in perpetuity, my princess.”

“I see you two muck about once more,” Francis greets his sister with a warm hug, his eyes meeting yours with a long pause. Claude’s gaze bounces between the two of you, chuckling shamelessly.

“All these years and nothing changes. Well, you two clearly need a moment. Mother!” Claude calls out, skipping away before either of you can say a word. You bite the inside of your cheek, certain you will not lead this conversation.

“I wish to apologize on behalf of Mary,” Francis says, studying how you render your face expressionless.

“It’s clear the Queen does not seek forgiveness, but who I am to ask that of the Queen. I do not believe she likes me very much. I think I should soon leave,” You shrug your shoulders, pursing your lips. A huff leaves him, taking the bait as easily as you threw it.

“You will do no such thing. I want you here, so that is where you shall be.” Francis taking your hand in his own, the closeness intoxicating—inviting far too inappropriate for the open hall. You wet your lips, watching his eyes travel to them.

“Of course, my King.” The batting of your lashes and low hum of your voice garnering a deep sigh. Francis closes his eyes, rolling back his shoulders as he releases your hand. “Are you unwell, your grace?”

“You very well know what I am at this given second,” He tilts his head, giving you a knowing look. Leaning in closer, your pointed stare and lopsided grin doing the young King no favors.

“You are King, Francis. It is well within your right to reach for what you want. Who you want,” Placing your hand on his shoulder, you trail your pointer finger up the side of his neck and back down at a tantalizingly slow pace.

“I will not be my father,” Francis says, disappearing into his own mind before you. Your hand travels up to his cheek, pulling him back to the present, testing your limits with your thumb tracing his bottom lip.

“You could never. Far too honorable. Too good,” You draw your words out, the slow whisper and dark eyes evaporating those around you from view. The few who linger in the corridor pretend as though you both are not the center of attention. You lean up, pecking his cheek once more, resting your cheek against his, your breath tickling his ear. Your eyes on the dark mop of hair down the hall, “I am your first love. Mary shall be your last, it seems. Your grace.”

You step back, noting how he stares at you, the adoration clear as day. Curtsying, you brush past him. At the end of the hall, you stop shoulder-to-shoulder with the Scottish Queen. Her glassy staring forward as though someone has commanded it. You do not spare her glance on even turn to address her, your face now one of stone.

“Please, Princess. Ask anything of me, and it is yours.” Mary swallows thickly, her eyes on her husband's back as he continues down the hall. When he turns the corner, she turns to you, your gaze still forward.

“Your demise.”

MASTERLIST

[oxymarie]

I've decided that Anne and Uncle Solomon ship it.

The sun was shining and everyone was outside. You were sitting in the grass, a child on each side of you, sometimes reading them stories from the book on your lap, sometimes talking with them, sometimes even just listening to their conversation. He felt Anne sidling next to him but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. « I like her very much, and so does Uncle Solomon ».

Following his sister’s gaze, Sebastian turned to look at his uncle who was sitting on a bench reading some newspaper. Every so often, he remarked, Uncle Solomon would look up at you and the children sitting in the grass and it seemed like he would sometimes fight a tiny smile from gracing his face, especially when you said something to little Béatrice and she exclaimed « No! » with wide eyes. You nodded, smiling, and he felt his heart leap in his chest. Could he really…?

[mamasturn]

masterlist has been updated.

mamasturn's galatic universe: the masterlist.

all readers/ocs are black.

divider from @peachesboard

steamier pieces have an 18+ indication next to them.

austin butler

suspicious minds. his marriage is on the rocks and he has to make it right before it's too late.

attention. old banter between two old flames.

philia. in which they hit the red carpet for the first time as a married couple.

discussions. an interviewer asks how his marriage has affected his outlook on the world, particularly after playing elvis presley.

want this, want you. a friends to lovers trope.

henny talk. 18+. two lovers reunite for a henny-fueled dinner.

cry. heartache does a number on a person.

ruby. a deep and intense love between two people.

winner. austin wins his first golden globe.

austin!elvis presley

dirty dancing. elvis meets cynthia at club handy and shows her a thing or two about dirty dancing. series.

pretty browns in gowns [1] [2]. elvis meets mellie, a seamstress on beale street and becomes infatued with her.

kisses through the phone. elvis is on tour and has a late-night conversation with his lover.

major gale cleven

meet the mr. and mrs. gale meets eden marie's parents for the first time.

healing kisses. eden marie has a fall and gale is there to tend to her.

forever yours. eden marie sents gale a letter from home.

send you away. in which eden marie and gale say their goodbyes before he leaves for the war.

sebastian kydd

let me. she's new to town and he's the cute school boy.

nothing without you. [1] [2] [3]. two lovesick teenagers are head over heels for one another.

originals.

la douleur exquise, original. a toxic relationship between childhood frenemies. 18+, series, complete.

is it a crime?, original [1] [2] [3]. sequel to la douleur exquise. in progress.

[child0feden]

FIRE AND ICE

kimi raikkonen x cky / jackass member! wife! reader x ( platonic! ) oc daughter x ( platonic! ) oc son

faceclaim: assorted but mainly lucy liu

୨୧ okay so the timeline on this one is a little messy but please just deal with it <3 i imagine they met when they were around 21, had their daughter when they were around 28 and married when they were around 30… so their daughter is around 16 years old… is that messy? a lot of this is from the pov of their daughter and fan accounts since social media wasn’t really a thing in the early 2000’s and stuff…

reading music recommendations: lost in a contraption by cky - along comes mary by bloodhound gang

loveuyn: thinking about how in an old interview yn said she was going to keep her first ever car so it can be her future child’s first car and now tilly has it and absolutely loves it 🥹 photos from tilly’s social media

ckylvr: it’s so crazy seeing her drive the car that was featured in SO much of the early cky stuff 💔 every time i see her post it i do the leonardo dicaprio point like “ oh! that’s the car bam jumped off while it sped down a road ”

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

ynlnstomponme: i hope yn cleaned it REALLY good lmao… the amount of times people have been caught on video vomiting in it is genuinely nuts

> loveuyn: not to mention the blood lmao 😭

> ynlnsbackhand: if that car could talk…

> loveuyn: if that car could talk it’d be taking yn to court straight away for pain and suffering

tillyraikkonenln: the best part about being a late 2000’s baby is you get all your parents cool vintage stuff :D

ynraikkonenln ✔️: you’re grounded for a year

> tillyraikkonenln: i’m sorry mom :(

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln and kimiraikkonen

> iluvf1: teens calling stuff their parents used when THEY were teens “vintage” just to annoy them is so funny to me

> loveuyn: crying rn, the time tilly was on live and someone commented to ask yn and kimi about AOL “ what the hell is AOL”… and yn immediately giving her a whole history on how she used to flirt with boys in her school over AOL while kimi and tilly just watched her ramble from the side

> oldf1lvr: she needed to educate her baby on the old ways real quick 😭

> kimicelover: kimi had SO MUCH love in his eyes on that livestream… i want what they have

oldf1lvr: tilly, who’s your favourite grid uncle?

> tillyraikkonenln: seb!

> sebastianvettel ✔️: the greatest medal of honour! thank you tilly, come visit soon - sebastian ❤️

> lewishamilton ✔️: what at am i? chopped liver?

> tillyraikkonenln: sorry uncle lew :3

❤️ liked by lewishamilton

> jackass4ever: favourite jackass uncle?

> tillyraikkonenln: CHRIS! definitely chris

❤️ liked by chrispontious

> chrispontious ✔️: thank you very much tilly, always knew you were smarter than your mother

> ynraikkonenln ✔️: get lost 🙄

ckylvr: the amount of HIM and CKY pin badges you can spot in that pile 💔 take me backkkk

jackass4ever: what’s the nastiest thing your mom did on cky? in your opinion…

> tillyraikkonenln: kissed dico and rake 😟

loveuyn: yn’s grid milf fashion highlight ❤️

tillyraikkonenln: i don’t think i’ll ever get used to people calling my mother a milf :(

> iluvf1: lmao poor tilly 😭

oldf1lvr: kimi in the third picture in a boring ass button up and jeans… i hate m*n

> ynlnsbackhand: she’s EVERYTHING, he’s just ken

iluvf1: i miss seeing her interact with fans in the paddock so much, bring our mom back 💔

> tillyraikkonenln: she misses interacting with people in the paddock! they’ll visit soon, her and dad have just been busy with KJ ❤️

> new2f1: KJ? who is that?

> oldf1lvr: it’s their son! they haven’t revealed his name or anything yet since he’s only 5 so they call him KJ because according to yn he’s a double of kimi

> iluvf1: kimi’s genes are incredible because tilly looks EXACTLY like him too 😭

> loveuyn: she’s a double of kimi look wise but has the exact same personality as yn

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

loveuyn: gentle reminder of these adorable pictures yn posted when she was pregnant with KJ ( and the only pictures we have of him so far )

ynlnsbackhand: her comfy mom era was her best era, fight me

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

oldf1lvr: baby KJ 🥹 you can’t even see his face but you can tell he totally IS a copy of kimi

kimicelover: i wonder if KJ will be the future racer, since tilly is more into skateboarding and photography?

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

> iluvf1: maybe! but is the grid really prepared for another iceman 🫣

jackass4ever: i love how whenever she’s in the jackass movies she’s still a total hardass but the second it comes to her babies she just crumbles 🥹

> kimicelover: it’s the same with kimi! he’s still ice cold to most people but the second he sees tilly, KJ or yn he just melts and there’s SO much video evidence of it 💔

ynraikkonenln: my little girl helping me and kimi celebrate our anniversary by cooking dinner for us ❤️

tillyraikkonenln: i burned literally everything… and i’m not a little girl anymore, i’m 16 :(

> kimiraikkonen ✔️: we’re still grateful and you’ll always be our little girl kulta 💙

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln and tillyraikkonenln

> tillyraikkonenln: oh and did you have to include that picture of me washing up?

> kimiraikkonen ✔️: yes, she did, it’s pretty unbelievable for a teen so we need people to see photo evidence

loveuyn: yn ln… then and now 🥹

tillyraikkonenln: black and white filter on the first pictures made me think my own mother was dead for a second…

> loveuyn: sorry tilly 😭

iluvf1: goddamn, this woman has aged like fine wine…

ynlnsbackhand: just me who thinks she’s got hotter with age?

> oldf1lvr: definitely not just you…

> kimicelover: kimi too though… they’re both so hot as older people… i want them BOTH so bad 😭

jackass4ever: genuinely HOW is this the woman that let dico pee on her in her sleep and only hit him with a belt after?

> oldf1lvr: sorry WHAT?

> loveuyn: the iceland incident…

> ynlnsbackhand: at least ryan got back at him properly for her

> ynlnslighter: those belt whips she gave dico were fucking crazy what do you mean 😭

> ynlnsbackhand: HE PISSED ON HER

> ckylvr: everyone was pissing on each other in iceland, wtf was in the air over there?

⋆ ˚｡��� ୨୧ ˚ NEW ADDED BONUS ˚ ୨୧ ⋆｡˚ ⋆

her parents are in love… gross

tillyraikkonenln: sigh… my parents are still SO in love even after like… 60 years… nasty

kimiraikkonen ✔️: cheeky girl… thank you for taking these pictures kulta 💙

> tillyraikkonenln: wonder who i get that from… you’re welcome isä <3

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln and kimiraikkonen

ynraikkonenln ✔️: 60 YEARS? you’re pushing your luck missy… love you

❤️ liked by kimiraikkonen and tillyraikkonenln

kimiynlover: if i don’t ever have a love like theirs i have failed at life 💔

sebastianvettel ✔️: KJ is getting big! sending my love ❤️ - sebastian

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln, tillyraikkonenln and kimiraikkonen

[brunchable]

Winter King, Part Two : I Wish You Would. . .

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place Queen Reader Words: 18K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, Arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, Eventual Smut. Summary: The Kingdom's court is treacherous, and enemies lurk in the shadows, waiting to exploit any sign of weakness. Althought Y/N is determined to be a worthy queen of the crown, she find out that The King is as elusive as he is captivating. A/N: Inspired by Queen Charlotte. Also, if you like Sharon Carter, I'm sorry, someone needs to be an antagonist lmao. I hope I tagged everyone.

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

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

The clinking of delicate china sounded in the sunroom, but the undercurrent of hostility was unmistakable. Sharon and Leah exchanged a glance, their eyes gleaming with something far more sinister than polite conversation. The warmth of the sun couldn’t reach you through the tension coiling around the table.

Sharon’s voice sliced through the moment, sweet but sharp, as though testing the blade before delivering the cut. “You know, Princess, there’s a rather fascinating story about His Majesty. It surprises me that no one has mentioned it to you yet.”

Your grip tightened on the teacup, but you kept a calm facade. Their words were like needles, pricking at your composure, but you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you uneasy.

“Oh?” you replied, your tone light, “Do enlighten me.”

Leah leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret meant only for your ears. “Well, it’s said that he was quite... entangled with Lady Maria for some time. You know how close they were? Practically inseparable.” She shot you a look that made your stomach tighten. “Of course, that was before you.”

The name Lady Maria was familiar to you, but the way they spoke it—like a weapon—made it clear they intended to lodge it in your heart, to make you doubt.

“Oh, I see,” you said, carefully placing the teacup down, though you could feel the prickle of unease beneath your skin. “Is this the same Lady Maris who now resides in the countryside?” You smiled, a sharp edge to your words. “Quite the distance from the palace, wouldn’t you say?”

Leah’s smile faltered ever so slightly, but Sharon’s eyes glittered with cruel amusement as she picked up the thread of the conversation. “Distance means little when it comes to passion. And His Majesty isn’t the type to forget such things... so easily.”

The insinuation in her words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. You could feel your composure slipping, the words sinking into your chest like stones. 

You met Sharon’s gaze squarely, keeping your tone even. “I find that real passion leaves no room for doubt,” you said smoothly, “nor for ghosts of the past.”

Sharon’s lips curved into a smile, “Of course, but the past has a way of... lingering, doesn’t it? Men like His Majesty—they tend to crave excitement. And I imagine keeping his interest will be... challenging.”

The implication hit its mark, a knot of jealousy tightening in your chest. They wanted you to believe you couldn’t hold Jame’s attention—that you were nothing more than a placeholder for someone more exciting, someone like Lady Maria.

Your breath caught, but you forced yourself to smile, lifting your teacup as if you hadn’t just been struck by their words. “I find that security comes from understanding,” you said, “And I’m more interested in the present than the past.”

Leah chuckled softly, leaning in closer. “Oh, but the present can be just as... tricky. After all, there are so many... distractions in the palace. You haven’t known him for very long, have you? So much is still hidden.”

Her words felt like poison, seeping into your mind, whispering the doubts you had been trying so hard to push away. Do you really know him? Can you trust him?

But you refused to let them see you falter. You couldn’t. Not when they were so clearly enjoying the game.

“Everyone has their secrets,” you replied calmly, though the weight of those secrets pressed down on you. “But I’ve learned not to rely on gossip to understand someone.”

Sharon’s eyes gleamed, her smile growing. “But don’t you wonder? All those nights he slipped away. Who knows where he went? Or who he was meeting under the moonlight?”

Your heart clenched, the insinuation sharp as a dagger. You could feel the cold tendrils of doubt creeping into your mind, wrapping around your thoughts. Was James still slipping away at night? Was there more he wasn’t telling you?

But you couldn’t let them see that doubt. You had come too far to let their words unravel you.

“I’m sure there are many stories about Prince James,” you said, your voice remained calm, though each word felt heavier now. “But I trust what I know, not what others choose to speculate about.”

Leah’s smile was thin, but her eyes sparkled with triumph, as though she sensed she had struck a nerve. “We’ll see soon enough, won’t we? After all, the wedding is tomorrow. Then we’ll all know whether you can... keep up.”

The words lingered, a challenge woven into every syllable. They were waiting for you to fail, to prove that you weren’t strong enough for this world, for him.

Your pulse raced, the pressure of their words settling like a weight on your chest, but you refused to let it break you. Slowly, you set your teacup down with a soft clink, meeting Sharon’s gaze one last time.

“I’ve faced many tests in my life,” you said, your voice low, but firm. “And I’m still here. I think that says enough.”

The tension hung thick in the air, you rose from your seat, the finality in your movement punctuating the moment. You had given them no ground, no cracks to exploit, and their smiles, once sharp and mocking, now seemed to falter, ever so slightly.

But just as you turned to leave, Sharon’s voice—smooth and saccharine—floated after you, stopping you in your tracks.

“It’s admirable, really, that someone from... Zienna is so resilient. I suppose growing up in such a small, modest country must have prepared you for all sorts of challenges.”

You froze, your hand pausing on the back of the chair. The underlying disdain in her tone wasn’t lost on you. Zienna, your home, was renowned for its beauty, but in the grander scheme of royal politics, it was often dismissed as insignificant. You could feel the mockery laced in her words, as if she were implying that your upbringing had made you desperate to prove yourself.

Leah’s laughter was light, airy. “Oh yes, Sharon. I imagine life there must have been... quaint. So very different from here, don’t you think, Princess?”

You turned slowly, meeting both of their gazes, your own smile never wavering. 

“You’re right. Zienna is different,” you said softly, letting the pride in your voice fill the room. “It’s a place where strength is measured by character, not status. Where beauty is in the resilience of the people, not the grandeur of a palace.”

Your words silenced them, the smile slipping from Sharon’s face. Leah’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though she hadn’t expected you to turn their words around so effortlessly.

“And if growing up there has prepared me for anything,” you continued, your voice steel beneath the sweetness, “it’s how to recognize empty words and empty hearts.” You paused, letting the weight of your gaze linger on them. “Qualities I can spot a mile away.”

The sunroom felt colder now, your retort hanging in the air like a cloud. Sharon’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t respond. Leah shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her earlier smugness evaporating.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you said, a polite smile on your lips that didn’t reach your eyes, “I have preparations to attend to.”

And with that, you turned on your heel, leaving them behind. Each step you took away from the sunroom felt like a small victory, but even as you walked, their words echoed in your mind. The whispers of Lady Maria, the insinuations about James’s loyalty, the insults directed at your homeland—they lingered, swirling together into a storm of doubt.

As soon as you were out of sight, the carefully composed expression you had worn in the sunroom dissolved. Your lips pressed into a thin line, and with a sudden surge of frustration, you stomped away, your footsteps heavier. The garden path crunched beneath your shoes as you strode forward, the crisp air doing little to cool the heated emotions roiling inside you.

Your maids hurried behind you, their footsteps quick and uncertain as they struggled to keep pace. The sun was bright but dipped lower, casting long shadows over the carefully manicured hedges, but none of it registered in your mind. 

You stormed past the familiar stone wall—the very one you had once tried to climb, desperate for an escape from this life. A fleeting memory of that morning flashed in your mind, but you quickly whipped your attention forward, determined not to linger on what felt like another lifetime ago.

The sting of Sharon and Leah's words echoed in your thoughts, the insinuations they had dropped like poison slowly seeping through your veins. The worst part wasn’t their cruelty—it was the lingering doubt they left in their wake, the nagging feeling of inadequacy they had sown in your heart.

As you rounded the corner of the garden, you nearly collided with Captain Rogers. You froze for a moment, caught off guard by his presence. His tall frame blocked your path, and you looked up to meet the eyes of the man you had only seen from a distance—a legend in his own right, but unfamiliar to you until now.

“Princess,” his deep voice said, the faintest hint of surprise in his eyes. He stepped back, his posture respectful, but his gaze lingered on you, as if trying to piece together the storm that was painted across your face.

You drew in a breath. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the space, the strength behind his calm gaze only adding to the silent authority he carried. This was the first time he had seen you up close—really seen you—and you could feel his curiosity. His gaze was far too perceptive, as though he could sense the frustration crackling beneath your surface.

He didn’t move, his eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail—the tightness around your lips, the tension in your posture.

“Forgive me, Princess,” he said, his tone gentler now, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Is everything... all right?”

You hesitated. There was something in his voice—genuine concern, but also a strength, as though he was someone who wasn’t easily swayed by the petty games of court. The temptation to unload your frustration rose, but you bit it back, unwilling to show any weakness in front of someone you barely knew.

Behind you, faint whispers and barely contained giggles from the maids floated through the air.

“He’s even more handsome up close.”

“I heard he’s unmatched with the sword.”

“I wonder if the princess is the one who’s caught his eye.”

Their words blended together, stoking the embers of your growing frustration. You shot them a glance, and the group immediately fell silent, though the sparkle in their eyes remained, a few of them nudging each other playfully.

“Captain Rogers,” you repeated, forcing your attention back to him. His eyes flickered past you, noticing the commotion, but he merely smiled, almost as if he was used to the admiration.

"Apologies," he added with a subtle nod toward the flustered maids. "It seems I've become quite the spectacle." His lips quirked in a brief, amused smile before his gaze settled back on you, serious once again. "But that doesn't matter. Is everything truly all right, Princess?"

Your chest tightened. For a moment, the warmth in his eyes threatened to melt the wall you'd built, but you steeled yourself, unwilling to let anyone—especially James’s dear friend—see the cracks.

“Just taking some air,” you replied, attempting to sound indifferent, but your words wavered, betraying a hint of the emotional storm that raged inside you.

Captain Rogers didn’t move, his gaze softening. “It doesn’t seem like the air is doing much to help,” he observed quietly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The subtle warmth in his tone took you by surprise, pulling you from the haze of your own thoughts. It was the first time someone had spoken to you without a layer of formality, without some hidden agenda woven into their words. You weren’t sure if it was refreshing or irritating.

“Well,” you said, lifting your chin slightly, “hence why I’m going inside.”

He stepped aside then, giving you room to pass, but not before his gaze lingered on you one last time, as though he were trying to understand what had unsettled you so deeply. There was no judgment in his eyes—only curiosity.

You nodded curtly in thanks and strode past him, determined not to let him see the cracks in your composure. But even as you walked away, you could feel his presence behind you, as if he were still watching, trying to figure out the puzzle you hadn’t realized you’d become.

Your rest of your maids caught up as you reached the palace doors, their hurried whispers behind you barely registering. You walked past the towering columns and through the grand foyer, a figure appeared ahead of you—a palace staff member—your valet—his uniform crisp and formal. He looked as though he'd been searching for you, his eyes lighting up with relief the moment they landed on you.

“Ah! Princess,” he said, his voice polite but hurried, his slight bow both respectful and urgent. “I’ve been looking for you. Please, follow me—your fitting for the wedding dress is ready.”

You blinked, your frustrations from the sunroom now mixing with a new surge of nerves. The wedding dress fitting. Another reminder of how close the ceremony was—how close you were to stepping into a role you weren’t sure you were ready for. But there was no time to dwell on that now.

You nodded, giving a small, composed smile, though inside, your thoughts still raced. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Scott straightened and gestured down the hall, his steps brisk as you fell in behind him.

× × × ×

The fabric of the gown rustled as the maids adjusted the delicate lace at your sleeves, each stitch tightening like the invisible binds that held you in place. It wasn’t the dress constricting you—it was everything. The ceremony, the expectations… him.

James had become more of a shadow in your life than a man. You hadn’t seen him properly since that morning in the garden, where the flicker of connection between you felt like something precious, something fragile. Since then, you’d only glimpsed him—his tall figure at the coronation, his back turned to you, always just out of reach. And yet, the memory of his touch, the sparkle in his eyes as he teased you, lingered in your thoughts, whispering promises that felt as intangible as smoke.

But promises were thin when matched against the reality of your situation.

Your fingers fidgeted with the silk of your gown as another seamstress knelt at your feet, adjusting the hem. The fabric was exquisite, shimmering beneath the light, but it felt like a gilded cage. 

Lady Monica Rambeau circled you, her sharp eyes missing nothing, her presence as unyielding as the steel boning of your corset. She had been assigned to you since the engagement had been announced, her demeanor polite but impenetrable. No matter how hard you tried, you could not pierce the veil of formalities that cloaked her every word.

As Lady Rambeau came around the front of the gown, you cleared your throat, trying to keep your tone light, though the questions weighed heavily on your mind. “Lady Rambeau, I’ve noticed something.”

Her fingers stilled as she pinched a piece of fabric at your waist. “Hm?”

You hesitated, watching her closely. “The King… he always wears a glove on his left hand.”

Lady Rambeau didn’t flinch, but there was the slightest pause in her movements, the briefest tightening of her lips. You had been trained to notice such things.

“Yes, Princess,” she said, her tone smooth, but you caught the subtle shift in her expression. “Many royals have their eccentricities.”

You narrowed your eyes, not satisfied with her evasive response. “It seems more than just an eccentricity, doesn’t it?”

For the first time, Lady Rambeau’s gaze met yours directly, a flicker of something—was it pity?—in her eyes. “The prince prefers not to discuss such matters. It is... a personal choice.”

You straightened your back, feeling the frustration coil tighter inside you. You were about to marry him, and yet everyone seemed to know more about your future husband than you did. 

“A personal choice that no one seems willing to explain,” you countered, your voice sharp. “I’m about to marry him. Don’t I deserve to know the truth?”

There was a beat of silence before Lady Rambeau averted her gaze, focusing on the gown again. “Some truths, Princess, are best left for the prince to share himself.”

Her words landed heavily in the room, closing the conversation with an air of finality. You clenched your fists, feeling the fabric of your gown bunch beneath your fingers, the weight of everything pressing down on you like the tight bodice of this perfect, suffocating dress.

“Perhaps,” you muttered under your breath, “but a queen who knows nothing of her king is little more than a pawn.”

Lady Rambeau’s lips tightened again, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she straightened, her expression smoothing back into its usual calm, controlled mask. 

“The gown is perfect,” she said, her voice cool. “You will be the vision of a queen.”

You stared at her, your frustration simmering. 

“A vision,” you repeated softly, looking at your reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at you wore a gown fit for a queen, but there was something hollow in her eyes. The truth was, you felt like an imposter in that mirror. How could you marry a man who remained an enigma, hidden behind secrets no one would speak of?

Lady Rambeau cleared her throat, sensing your thoughts. “Before we conclude, Princess, we must review the schedule for the day.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. Not yet, anyway. “Of course.”

Lady Rambeau reached for the small ledger on the table, flipping through the neatly written notes. “This afternoon, after we’ve finalized the details of your gown, there will be a brief... educational session.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Educational session?”

Her voice was smooth, unflappable. “Yes, Princess. It is customary for brides of your station to receive instruction on matters... related to the marriage bed.”

Heat rushed to your face, and the room suddenly felt stifling. “I—what kind of instruction?”

Lady Rambeau, as always, didn’t blink. “There will be materials provided. Diagrams, illustrations. You’ll be prepared for what is expected of you.”

The air in the room seemed to thicken, and you fought the urge to pull at the bodice of your gown. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was the beginning of something far more daunting, far more real. And you were expected to step into it without hesitation, without question.

Lady Rambeau seemed to sense your discomfort but pressed forward. “Afterward, there will be time for rest before your private dinner with His Majesty.”

Your pulse quickened. The first private moment with James since that morning in the garden. You hadn’t been alone with him since. You hadn’t seen him up close, hadn’t had the chance to ask the questions that had been building inside you.

“A private dinner?” you repeated, trying to shake the thoughts of the diagrams, of everything that seemed to loom on the horizon.

“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice unwavering. “It will be your final opportunity to speak with His Majesty before the ceremony tomorrow.”

You swallowed hard. Final opportunity. The phrase echoed in your mind like a warning. This was your last chance to confront him, to ask about the glove, about the rumors, about everything you had been kept in the dark about.

You nodded slowly. “I see.”

Lady Rambeau closed her ledger with a faint snap, offering a thin smile. “Everything is in place for tomorrow, Princess. You need only focus on your duties as queen.”

Duties. Expectations. Those were the words that seemed to follow you everywhere. But what about your fears? What about the truth? What about the man you were about to spend your life with?

You swallowed the frustration rising in your throat and nodded. “Very well.”

Lady Rambeau’s expression softened ever so slightly, perhaps sensing your internal turmoil. “Is there anything else, Princess?”

For a moment, the bitterness from the morning tea bubbled back to the surface, and you found yourself saying, “Actually, yes. Are there... any other ladies I can spend time with? The morning tea with Lady Sharon and Lady Leah left a rather bitter taste in my mouth.” 

Lady Rambeau’s lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement crossing her face before she masked it once more. “I see. I can certainly arrange for you to meet with a more agreeable company.”

A small sigh of relief escaped you. “Thank you. That would be much appreciated.”

With a nod, Lady Rambeau offered a brief, genuine smile. “Consider it done, Princess.”

× × × ×

You sat in an ornate chair, stiff and uncomfortable, while across from you, the Governess stood like a sentinel, her stern expression and ramrod-straight posture making the space feel even more intimidating.

Your eyes flickered nervously to the stack of leather-bound books on the table between you, each one larger and more foreboding than the last. Then there was the parchment—rolled up, but ominous in its stillness. There was something about the entire scene that made your skin crawl, as though you were not here for a lesson but being led into battle.

“Princess,” the governess began, her tone clipped and authoritative, “this session is essential to your role as the future queen and wife. It is vital that you understand the... expectations that will be placed upon you in the marriage bed.”

You found yourself shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Your hands gripped the armrests, trying to hold on to a semblance of composure. But there was nothing composed about this moment, nothing regal about what was happening.

The governess pulled one of the books from the pile and flipped it open, revealing a diagram that made your stomach turn. The lines, the shapes—they were clinical, and yet, utterly mortifying. You felt heat rising in your face, and it took everything in you not to roll your eyes. The absurdity of the situation made you want to laugh, but you bit down on the impulse, hard.

“This,” the governess continued, her voice as sharp as her gaze, “is crucial knowledge for fulfilling your wifely duties. You must be prepared to consummate the marriage.”

You swallowed hard, shifting again, the lesson settling over you like an iron cloak. “I think I understand the general concept,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone light despite the tight knot of discomfort twisting in your gut.

She ignored your attempt at levity, her movements precise as she unfurled the parchment on the table. It revealed even more intricate—and mortifying—illustrations. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at the detailed depictions, each one meticulously labeled as though this were a scientific experiment and not the intimate realities of your future.

You blinked, your heart pounding faster, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. This can’t be happening.

“Pay attention, Princess,” the governess said sharply, noticing your wandering gaze. “This knowledge is essential. You must understand your role—how to fulfill your responsibilities as a wife.”

Your patience snapped. You could no longer hold back the bubbling frustration. 

“My role?” you echoed, gesturing toward the diagrams with a wave of your hand. “You mean my role as a willing participant in this?”

The governess’ eyes narrowed, her back straightening further, if that were even possible. “Princess, this is not a matter to be taken lightly. The consummation of your marriage is not only expected, but required. You must take your duty seriously.”

A snort escaped you before you could stop it. The absurdity of it all—the coldness, the diagrams, the formality of something so intimate—was overwhelming. You hadn’t seen James in days, hadn’t even spoken more than a few proper words to him, and here you were, being lectured on consummation because it was a royal decree.

“I haven’t even had a proper conversation with the man,” you blurted out, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “How am I supposed to take this seriously?”

The governess’ gaze turned icy, her lips thinning into a disapproving line. “Princess,” she began, sounding a bit disappointed, “you may find this situation amusing, but let me remind you—this is no laughing matter. As queen, it is your duty to provide heirs. That cannot happen if you do not fulfill your responsibilities to His Majesty.”

The levity you had clung to vanished, replaced by something far darker, far more suffocating.

Heirs.

This wasn’t just about duty anymore. It wasn’t about vague responsibilities or distant expectations. This was real. This was your future—your life.

“So,” She cleared her throat noticing the change in your demeanor, “If you don’t want His Majesty to find a consort willing to provide him an heir, I suggest you listen and learn carefully.”

The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. You tried to even out your breathing, but the panic clawing at your chest made it difficult to think, difficult to even breathe. You were no longer the girl standing in the garden, teased by a prince about escaping. You were a woman facing the stark reality of a role that felt far too large for you.

Your heart pounded in your ears as the governess’s cold, unrelenting gaze bored into you. She wasn’t just speaking of abstract duties or obligations. This was real, and you had no escape.

“I... I understand,” you whispered, though the words felt hollow. 

“Do you?” the governess asked, her tone softer now, but still cold with authority. “This is your reality, Princess. You cannot run from it. The marriage will be consummated. You will need to provide heirs. There is no escaping that.”

Each word she spoke settled into your bones, cold and unyielding. You had spent so much time avoiding this truth, brushing it aside as something distant. But now, with the weight of her gaze and the reality staring back at you from those diagrams, there was no avoiding it.

The laughter that had once bubbled in your throat turned bitter. There was no humor here. No escape.

Your hands clenched in your lap, gripping the fabric of your gown so tightly your knuckles turned white. You wanted to protest, to fight back against this fate being thrust upon you, but the enormity of it left you speechless. For the first time in days, you felt utterly powerless.

The governess, sensing your resignation, continued in her cold, measured tone. “I suggest you take these lessons more seriously from now on, Princess. This is not just about your future. It is about the future of the kingdom.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. There was nothing left to say.

You nodded, barely, the movement small and mechanical, as though you had been drained of all energy, all fight. Her words had pressed down on you, threatening to snuff out the last bit of spirit you had left.

And the worst part?

She was right.

There was no escaping this.

× × × ×

Lady Romanoff

The sound of clashing steel filled the training yard, the sharp ring of swords slicing through the afternoon air. Lady Natasha moved with deadly precision, her every strike calculated, her every parry effortless. The soldiers she sparred with were drenched in sweat, struggling to keep up with her, but she showed no mercy. Her red hair was tied back, a single loose strand framing her sharp, focused features.

"Lady Natasha!" A voice called out, breaking the rhythm of the duel.

She spun around, lowering her sword as a servant approached, bowing deeply before handing her a letter sealed with the royal crest. Her sharp eyes lingered on the seal for a moment before she waved her sparring partner off, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

Natasha turned away from the yard, stepping into the shade of the estate’s stone walls as she broke the seal. Her fingers traced over the words, the formal language of the letter at odds with the simple, direct life she preferred.

“To Lady Natasha Romanoff,

By order of His Majesty and the future Queen of Montelune, you are hereby invited to join the Princess Y/N’s court as a trusted advisor and protector…”

Her lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. Protector. She could handle that.

The wind stirred around her as she folded the letter, her eyes flickering toward the horizon where the palace loomed in the distance. She had been summoned. And when the future queen called, Natasha Romanoff never refused.

- - - -

Lady Maximoff

In the quiet of her private study, Lady Wanda Maximoff sat by a large, arched window overlooking the rolling hills that stretched far beyond her family's estate. The air smelled of herbs and candle wax, and the only sound was the faint crackle of the fire behind her. She was deep in thought, her hands idly weaving through the delicate threads of red magic that swirled around her fingertips, when a soft knock broke her focus.

A servant entered, bowing as he held out a letter sealed with the royal crest. Wanda's brows knit together as she dismissed the magic with a flick of her hand, taking the letter and gently breaking the seal.

The letter unfolded in her hands, the parchment crisp and formal, though the weight of its words pressed heavily on her chest.

“To Lady Wanda Maximoff,

By order of His Majesty and the future Queen of Montelune, you are invited to join Princess Y/N’s court, where your wisdom and unique abilities will be invaluable…”

She blinked, her eyes lingering on the phrase unique abilities. They were calling her for more than just her title. A sense of unease stirred in her chest, but also a flicker of something else—purpose.

She closed the letter carefully, her eyes drifting out of the window again. Her future was no longer here in the quiet, secluded halls of her family home. It was with the future queen. It was time to leave the shadows behind.

- - - -

Lady Potts

Lady Virginia Potts stood in the grand parlor of her estate, the late afternoon sun casting golden light over the polished wood floors. Her hands were busy organizing the mountain of correspondence scattered across the table, responding to various requests from lords and ladies who sought her counsel. Her estate was immaculate, a reflection of her meticulous nature.

A servant entered quietly, holding a single letter with a royal seal, far more significant than the others. Pepper paused, her hands stilling as she reached for the letter, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Breaking the seal, she scanned the words with a practiced eye, though the gravity of the message slowed her reading.

“To Lady Virginia Potts,

By the request of His Majesty and the future Queen of Montelune, you are invited to join Princess Y/N’s court, where your knowledge and expertise in matters of statecraft will be essential…”

Pepper set the letter down, her fingers resting lightly on the parchment. It had been some time since she had involved herself with court politics, preferring the stability of her own estate and businesses. But this... this was a request she could not turn down.

The future queen needed her, and where there was a need for clarity and order, Pepper Potts would always step in.

She smoothed the letter, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. The court had no idea what they were in for.

× × × × 

The heavy oak doors creaked open as you were led into the private dining room, the faint rustle of your gown the only sound as the maid quietly withdrew behind you, leaving you in the stillness of the grand chamber. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a golden light over the room, and your eyes fell on him immediately.

King James stood by the large window, one hand resting on the frame, the other gloved hand at his side. He looked out over the sprawling grounds, the fading light of the evening casting a halo of gold through his hair, painting him in a soft, almost ethereal glow. You simply stood there, unable to speak. Unable to move. You hadn't seen him like this before—unburdened by the weight of ceremony or titles—and it stirred something deep within you.

Sensing your presence, he turned slowly, and the moment his eyes met yours, the air shifted. His smile bloomed—soft, adoring, and it lit up the space between you, as though you were the only person in the world.

"Princess," he murmured, his voice warm and intimate, yet restrained. There was a note of something unspoken there, something deeper. The way he looked at you—his blue eyes tracing the delicate lines of your face—made your heart stutter in your chest.

You offered him a small curtsy, your stomach fluttering as you lifted your gaze. “Your Majesty.”

"Please, to you I’m just James." James gestured to the long, elegantly set dining table. “Join me.”

You approached the table with grace, your pulse quickening as you took in the grand spread before you. The chairs were separated by a stretch of three empty seats, and despite the intimate setting, the distance felt like you're oceans apart. You hesitated for a moment but obeyed, sitting across from him at the far end.

He watched you, his smile not faltering, but his eyes grew thoughtful as you settled into your seat. “You look lovely,” he said quietly, his voice rich but gentle.

Your heart gave a little flutter, and despite the formality, you couldn’t help but feel warmth creep up your neck at his words. 

“Thank you,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a steadying breath. “You seem… deeply in thought,” you added, noting the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his gloved hand rested stiffly against the table.

He let out a quiet breath, his eyes lingering on yours as though he was trying to gauge your thoughts. 

“Perhaps,” he admitted with a small, almost shy smile. “It’s hard not to be when my future is sitting across from me.”

You look down with a smile, a shy reaction. But before you could let them settle too deeply, you cleared your throat, turning the conversation to lighter things. Questions formed quickly in your mind—trivial, unimportant things, but questions that would keep your heart from racing too fast, your thoughts from spiraling.

You gathered your courage, determined to make this dinner less formal and distant. There was so much you didn’t know about hum—about the man you were about to marry. So, before the weight of more serious questions settled over the evening, you decided to ask him about the smaller things. Things that would make him feel more human, less like the elusive king you were supposed to wed.

“Do you have a nickname?” you asked, breaking the silence with a playful tilt to your voice, hoping to ease the tension that had been lingering since the moment you entered the room.

James blinked, surprised by the question, then let out a soft chuckle. “A nickname? I didn’t expect that to be your first question.”

You smiled, “I have to start somewhere, don’t I?”

He grinned, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, my mother used to call me Bucky when I was younger,” he said, his voice softer now. “But that name’s reserved for a select few.”

“Bucky,” you repeated, the name feeling strangely intimate on your lips. “And who are these ‘select few’?”

Bucky’s smile widened, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “People I trust. Mostly my closest friends.”

Your curiosity grew, and you seized the opportunity to dig a little deeper. “Speaking of which, who are your best friends? I feel like I should know the people who are important to you.”

“Steve—Captain Rogers, as you might know him. He’s been my best friend since we were boys. There’s also Sam—he’s got a sharp sense of humor and enjoys keeping me humble.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a good group around you.” You couldn’t help but smile at the affection in his tone. 

Bucky nodded, his gaze growing warmer as he spoke of his friends. “Yeah, I’m lucky to have them.”

“And your horse? What’s his name?” You shifted in your seat, feeling a bit more comfortable now that the conversation had softened.

“His name’s Alpine.” He glanced at you with a grin, clearly surprised at your curiosity.

“Alpine?” you repeated, arching a brow.

“It suits him,” Bucky said with a shrug, though there was a twinkle of fondness in his eyes. “He’s stubborn, strong-willed… reminds me of someone.”

You laughed softly at that, feeling the weight of the room lift slightly. “I’d like to officially meet him sometime.”

Bucky’s smile lingered. The conversation had been easy, light, but the distance—both physical and emotional—still felt too vast. You wanted to ask more, to dig beneath the surface. But the space between you felt like a barrier, one you suddenly couldn’t bear any longer.

Without overthinking it, you set down your cutlery, stood, and lifted your plate from its place. Bucky’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as you walked around the table and sat beside him, taking the chair at his right.

Bucky watched you, clearly taken aback, but there was no disapproval in his gaze. If anything, he was amazed at how you seem to give no mind with tradition.

Bucky looked up at you, his lips curving into an intrigued smile.

“Sitting across from you felt… wrong,” you admitted softly. “There’s too much distance.”

Bucky’s eyes softened at your words, and though his expression remained composed, the way his body angled toward you—subtly, almost instinctively—revealed more than he probably intended.

You swallowed, heart pounding as you prepared yourself for the question you’d been avoiding all night. “There’s something I need to ask you, Your Majes—”

“James.”

“James. . .” You repeated his name.

Sitting next to him, the air seemed intimate, and the flicker of the candles on the table cast shadows that danced between your gazes. He was watching you—intensely, yet not in a way that was uncomfortable. There was something magnetic about the way he studied you, as if he was trying to figure you out, but not in the calculating manner you’d come to expect from others.

You swallowed, composing yourself. The words slipped from your lips before you had time to second guess them. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you... about Lady Hill.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t falter, but you noticed the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched ever so subtly. He turned slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

You hadn’t meant to sound so blunt, but the name had hung between you like a shadow since the ladies made sure the name stuck to you. The jealousy bubbling up inside you—the ache you refused to admit even to yourself—made it impossible to keep the question locked away.

“Lady Hill,” you continued, your voice quieter now, though no less steady. “I’ve heard... stories. About you and her.”

Bucky sighed softly, his eyes drifting momentarily to the flickering flames in the hearth before returning to you. “You’ve heard a lot, I’m sure.”

You pressed your lips together, not trusting yourself to speak. It was foolish, really—this feeling of jealousy. You barely knew him, yet the thought of him being close to someone else, someone before you, unsettled you in ways you couldn’t quite understand. Or, maybe you did, but you didn’t want to admit it.

Bucky turned his full attention to you now, his eyes softening, though his gaze held something more serious, something weighted with regret. “There was a time when Lady Hill and I were... close. But that time has long since passed.”

You exhaled softly, though the knot in your chest didn’t fully loosen. “And now?”

His gaze softened even further, as if he could see straight through your carefully composed exterior. “Now?” he echoed, his voice quieter, more intimate. “Now, I’m here with you, not her. And that should tell you everything.”

The words sent a flutter through your chest, though you tried to ignore it. There was something undeniable between you—a pull, a connection that went beyond formalities. Yet, you couldn’t let yourself get lost in it. Not yet.

“Yes, yes it does.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he studied your expression, taking in the slight tremble in your voice and the way you seemed to press your lips together, fighting to keep your emotions in check. He didn’t need you to say anything more to know what was going on in your head. He could see it, the doubt creeping into your mind.

He sighed softly, setting down his glass, the clink against the table louder than the quiet room. His gaze never left yours, though.

“Something’s wrong,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. “You’re not just asking about Lady Hill. There’s something else. What is it?”

You blinked, taken aback by how perceptive he was. You hadn’t meant for him to see through the carefully built walls you had erected. But there he was, watching you with concern, as though he could sense something brewing inside you. Your pulse quickened as you struggled to keep your composure, to bury the jealousy that had crept up, uninvited, after hearing all those stories.

You looked away for a moment, trying to find the right words, to shake off the feeling that you weren’t enough—that maybe you never would be for a man like him. But Bucky wasn’t the type to let something like that slide.

“Y/N,” he said softly, leaning in just a little, as though closing the gap between you might help ease the distance in your heart. “Talk to me. Whatever you’ve heard... Whatever they’ve said, you can ask me. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Your breath hitched, his words wrapping around you like a lifeline you hadn’t realized you needed. Slowly, you turned back to face him.

“They...” You hesitated, biting your lip as you struggled to say it. “They said, you always sneak out late at night to see her.” The admission came out more quietly than you intended.

“Do you believe that?”

You swallowed hard, looking down at your hands as your fingers twisted the fabric of your gown. 

“I don’t want to believe it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But... they’re so convincing. And I—” Your breath hitched as the words caught in your throat, and you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence.

“Who is ‘they,’ Y/N?”

“People in court. They... they—”

“Be specific,” Bucky interrupted, his voice low, a command wrapped in concern. His blue eyes darkened with a mixture of frustration and protectiveness. He wasn’t angry—no, this was something else. He needed to know who had put these thoughts in your head, who had made you doubt him.

Your mouth hung open, caught off guard by the force of his words. He wasn’t going to let this go. He wouldn’t just sit there and let these rumors fester. And now, you couldn’t stop wondering—what would he do if you said their names? What would happen if you told him it was Sharon and Leah who had whispered those poisonous words into your ears?

For a brief moment, the idea of saying their names lingered on your lips. But you hesitated. Would telling him only make things worse? Would it lead to a confrontation you weren’t ready for? What if he confronted them, and everything in court shifted?

His gaze remained locked on yours, unwavering, waiting.

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice softer now, “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter who said it,” you murmured finally, shaking your head before looking back at him.

He blinked, surprised by your words, by the mercy you had just shown—choosing not to name those who had tried to plant doubt between the two of you. Most people in the court would have been eager to point fingers, to seek revenge or justice. But not you.

It doesn’t matter who said it. Your words echoed in his mind, and he realized just how different you were from the others. You weren’t driven by spite or the need for retribution. And that stunned him, amazed him in a way he hadn’t expected.

A slow breath escaped him as he continued to watch you, the vulnerability in your eyes clear, yet there was a strength there, too. A strength in choosing to let go of the pettiness of court gossip, in refusing to let others’ words dictate your path.

God, you're unlike anyone I've ever known.

But even as that admiration filled him, Bucky knew one thing for certain: he would find out who had whispered those lies to you. He wouldn’t let this slide. Not for the sake of revenge, but because those people—whoever they were—had tried to tarnish what was growing between you and him. And that was something he couldn’t forgive so easily.

Still, he wouldn’t push you now. He wouldn’t force you to tell him. You had shown mercy, and he respected that. But he would find out in another way. Quietly. Without involving you any further.

“You’re right,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “They don’t matter.”

You nodded with a fleeting faint smile. Your eyes flicked to his gloved hand, the leather dark and smooth, always present, never explained. 

“The glove. . .” you trailed off hesitantly, “Why do you always wear it?”

Bucky’s gaze followed yours, landing on the glove that covered his left hand. His face shifted, the softness hardening into what seemed like pain, and you thought he might not answer.

He flexed his fingers beneath the glove, his jaw tightening. “It’s... not something I speak about often,” he admitted quietly, his voice rougher now. “But since you’ve asked, and since we’re to be... married, I’ll tell you.”

You held your breath, your heart pounding as you waited for him to continue.

Bucky turned his head slightly, the tension in his posture growing. “I was injured. A long time ago,” He paused, his eyes flicking to you, gauging your reaction. “The glove hides the... reminder.”

He was holding back, guarding himself. You could feel it, sense it in every strained breath he took. Whatever lay beneath that glove—whatever part of him he hadn’t revealed—it was something that still haunted him, something he wasn’t ready to share to its full extent.

“I’m... sorry,” you said quietly, the words feeling inadequate. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Bucky offered a small, strained smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There’s no need to apologize. It’s just a part of who I am now.”

“I see. You are very brave.”

His fingers twitched, aching to close the small space between you. But instead of reaching out, he curled them into his lap, trying to keep control. Because if he touched you now—if he let himself give in even for a second—he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

But the fear... the fear that you wouldn’t want this—wouldn’t want him—kept him silent. For now.

“You surprise me, you know,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.

You blinked, “I do?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, almost tender smile. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. You ask questions no one else dares to ask.”

“I want to get to know you. .” You said without missing a beat, “You gave me a choice at the garden—whether to run or stay while knowing who I was—I chose to stay.”

The warmth in Bucky's gaze sent a flutter through your chest, making it hard to think clearly. You could feel the weight of his stare on you, the way his eyes traced every curve of your face, every movement you made.

"I feel the same way," Bucky said, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the space between you. His eyes lingering on your lips before slowly moving to look into your eyes.

You felt a pull, an unspoken invitation hanging in the air. You smiled and straightened yourself, “Good, I’m glad we both ag—”

Before you could finish, his hand cupped the side of your face and captured you into a kiss. His touch electrifies every fiber of you, and you froze, your heart hammering in your chest.

It wasn't a tentative kiss, nor was it hesitant. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours, gently nibbling on your bottom lip. He kissed you like he'd been dying to do it, like he'd been holding back for far too long, and now he couldn't help himself.

Your breath hitched, your mind going blank as you melted into him, your hand instinctively gripping the sleeve of his coat. The taste of him, the feel of his body so close to yours, was intoxicating.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes searched yours, filled with an adoration you had never seen before, and it took everything in you to catch your breath.

“I've wanted to kiss you since that day but I had to let you go," Bucky whispered, his voice rough with need. 

His gaze was heavy, half-lidded with desire, and just as he was about to lean in to taste you again, a knock at the door cut through the moment, shattering the fragile bubble of intimacy.

You jolted away from him, creating a hasty distance between you, while Bucky remained unusually calm, though his eyes still burned with the heat of the moment.

“Enter,” Bucky called out, his voice steady despite the tension lingering in the room.

The door creaked open, and Steve entered, his gaze flickering between you and Bucky before settling on his friend.

“Your Majesty, Are you ready to leave?” Steve asked, his tone casual, though you didn’t miss the brief glance he gave you.

“Oh,” Bucky muttered, his posture relaxing as he slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Is it that time already?”

You busied yourself, trying to smooth down your gown and regulate your breathing as you stood up, your heart hadn’t quite slowed.

Bucky stood slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he straightened his coat, a small, teasing smile curling at the corners of his lips. He took a step toward you, the warmth of his gaze made your heart flutter all over again.

He reached for your hand, taking it gently on his own, and brought it to his lips, his touch soft and reverent. The kiss he pressed to the back of your hand was tender, but the heat of his breath sent a shiver racing up your spine. When he pulled away, his fingers lingered, tracing the delicate skin of your knuckles.

“I enjoyed my time with you tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, and you could feel the sincerity in his words. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

He leaned in ever so slightly, his voice dropping even lower, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “And Princess, don’t think about climbing any more walls,” His lips tugged into a smirk, “I won’t help you, if I find you.”

A soft laugh escaped you despite the warmth in your cheeks, and before you could respond, he stepped back, releasing your hand with a lingering touch.

Turning toward Steve, Bucky’s expression shifted back to his usual composed self. “Steve, walk her to her chambers, I’ll meet you outside.”

Steve nodded, stepping forward as Bucky offered you one last look, his gaze softening again. “Rest well, Y/N. For tomorrow I shall be yours, and you mine.”

And with that, he left the room, his presence like a shadow lingering even after the door closed behind him. You stood there, still reeling from the touch of his lips on your hand, from the quiet promise in his words, as Steve approached, clearing his throat gently to pull you from your thoughts.

“Shall we?” Steve asked, his voice calm as always, though there was a knowing edge to his expression, as if he had sensed more than he let on.

You nodded, your heart still racing, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as Steve offered you his arm. As you walked together toward your chambers, you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had changed everything. And no matter how much you tried to calm your racing heart, the warmth of Bucky’s kiss stayed with you, long after you had bid him goodnight.

× × × ×

The heavy velvet drapes lining the walls absorbed much of the noise, leaving the soft echo of your footsteps the only sound that filled the space.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, “You’re quiet,” he said, his voice gentle, as though he didn’t want to intrude on whatever was lingering in your mind.

You gave a soft, tight-lipped smile, your heart still not quite calmed down after what had transpired with Bucky. 

“I find myself with much to contemplate,” you murmured, your voice carrying the weight of the evening. You stole a glance at Steve, who seemed to nod, understanding more than you expected him to.

“Bucky often has that effect upon people,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips, though his gaze remained forward.

The comment caught you off guard, and despite yourself, a soft laugh escaped. “Does he?” you asked, your tone teasing, but there was something in Steve’s smile that hinted he knew exactly what had happened between you and Bucky.

Steve chuckled, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve noticed by now, haven’t you?” He gave you a sidelong glance. “He is not an easy man to understand, I grant you that. But when he chooses to care for someone…” Steve’s voice faltered slightly, as though choosing his words with care, “…he does not do so in half measures.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the implication, but you didn’t respond. Instead, you kept walking, the candle lit hallway stretching out ahead of you, each flickering light casting long shadows on the stone floor.

Steve’s words hung in the air, and as you walked in silence for a moment, you couldn’t help but replay Bucky’s kiss in your mind—the way his lips had lingered on yours, the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the teasing warmth of his final words.

“Bucky’s lucky to have someone like you,” Steve said after a while, breaking the silence again. His tone was sincere, almost protective, and when you looked at him, you could see the loyalty in his eyes—not just to his friend, but to you as well.

The comment took you by surprise, and you blinked, unsure of what to say. “I’m lucky to have met him,” you replied softly, your voice carrying more weight than you had expected. It wasn’t just a formal response; it was the truth. In the short time you’d known Bucky, he had drawn something out of you—something deeper than you were prepared to admit.

Steve’s gaze softened, and his lips curved into a small, approving smile. “I’m glad you think so.”

As the walk continued, the palace walls seemed to narrow slightly, the corridor leading toward your chambers now dimly lit by only a few flickering torches. You could feel the end of the evening approaching, and with it, a certain reluctance to leave the comfortable quiet that had settled between you and Steve.

“Tell me, Captain,” you began hesitantly, “do you believe that His Majesty ever... doubts himself? Given the weight of the responsibilities he bears?”

Steve’s expression grew thoughtful, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. “He bears more than most could comprehend,” he said slowly. “But one thing I know with certainty—once his mind is set, whether it be upon a matter or a person,” his gaze flickered toward you meaningfully, “he does not question his resolve.”

As you approached the door to your chambers, Steve slowed, and you could feel the shift in the air, the end of the conversation nearing. He let go of your arm and turned to face you fully, his expression serious but kind.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he said simply, as if promising something far greater than just his presence. “If you need anything.”

“Thank you,” you replied, meaning it more than you could express.

He gave you a small nod, stepping back slightly as you reached for the door handle. “Goodnight, Princess.”

You paused, the door half-open, and gave him a warm smile before slipping inside. “Goodnight, Captain.”

As the door closed behind you and you backed against the door, your heart still racing, you realized that tomorrow your life will be changed drastically.

× × × ×

Captain Rogers descended the grand staircase, he adjusted the hilt of his sword, his gaze scanning the courtyard for Bucky.

The king was waiting by the fountain, leaning against his white stallion, Alpine, his silhouette almost ethereal under the silvery moonlight. 

“Ready to head out?” Bucky asked, his voice low and casual, as if they were merely discussing a routine ride instead of what lay ahead.

Steve mounted his own horse, the leather creaking softly beneath him as he settled into the saddle. He glanced at Bucky, then asked, “You kissed her, didn’t you?”

A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips, but he didn’t turn to face Steve. “Wouldn’t you?” he replied smoothly.

Steve let out a sigh, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not going to answer that.”

A soft laugh escaped Bucky, the sound surprisingly light given the tension that clung to the night. They nudged their horses forward, the steady clop of hooves the only sound as they made their way along the moonlit path.

“You know,” Steve began, his gaze drifting to the silhouette of the palace behind them, “I have to wonder… Why do you want to be in Annecy tonight? Your wedding is tomorrow, Buck.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed slightly, and he let out a low, rueful chuckle. He flexed his left hand, the movement barely perceptible but unmistakable to Steve’s watchful eyes. 

“You know why,” he said softly.

Steve nodded, understanding flashing across his features. He knew Bucky’s struggle—the ghosts that haunted him, the weight he carried that went far beyond a king’s responsibilities. There was always a part of Bucky that seemed to be at war with himself, the part that made even the simplest things—like sharing the same roof with his own future wife—feel like an insurmountable task.

They rode in silence for a few more minutes, the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves lulling them into a semblance of calm. But then, Bucky shifted in his saddle, his gaze flickering to Steve.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Bucky said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm. “I need you to show a little interest in the princess.”

Steve’s head snapped around, his eyes widening. “What?” He blinked, incredulous. “Have you gone mad? Are you trying to get my head chopped off by the Queen Dowager?”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smile, but his eyes were serious. “It’s important, Steve.”

“No,” Steve said flatly, shaking his head. “I’m not doing that. It’ll cause a scandal. It’ll make you look like a fool and make me look even worse.”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky urged, his tone almost playful.

“No,” Steve repeated firmly, his jaw set. “Why? Why would I do that?”

“Because I need some gossip,” Bucky said with a grin, though his eyes held a hint of something deeper. “Just enough to keep people talking.”

Steve let out a begrudging laugh, shaking his head again. “That’s worse, Bucky. Do you know how bad that would look? I’ll look like I’m trying to swoop in and steal the queen. The court would eat us alive. And besides—” he narrowed his eyes at Bucky, his expression hardening, “you really want to make me look like that?”

“Just trust me on this,” Bucky insisted, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “I’ll have your back, like I always do. You know that.”

Steve held his gaze for a long moment, suspicion mingling with concern. Bucky had that look in his eyes—the one that said he was up to something, something he wasn’t sharing.

“What are you really up to, Bucky?” Steve asked quietly, his brow furrowing. “What’s this really about?”

Bucky hesitated, the playful glint in his eyes dimming. He looked away, his gaze turning distant. “I need to find out who’s making up stories about me.”

“So, you want to use me to flush out whoever it is?”

Bucky’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “Something like that.”

“Bucky…” Steve’s voice held a warning edge. “You’re risking a lot by playing these games.”

“It’s not a game,” Bucky shot back quietly, his voice tight. “They’re trying to undermine her, and I can’t stand by and watch.”

Steve stared at him, a mix of disbelief and reluctant understanding on his face. “And you think feigning interest in the princess will make them reveal themselves?”

Bucky shrugged, his smile strained. “Jealousy’s a powerful thing. If I act indifferent, it might embolden them. If I get you to show some interest in her, they might think they have more of an opportunity to turn her against me. The more they reveal, the more I can do.”

Steve let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Bucky’s expression softened, the steel in his eyes giving way to a gentler determination. “I know. But I can’t let them manipulate her. I can sense that Y/N is strong, but she’s alone here. She needs to see I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep her safe—even if she doesn’t understand it yet.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment, his gaze searching Bucky’s face. “And what if it backfires? What if she thinks you’re encouraging me because you don’t care?”

“Then I’ll have to fix it.” Bucky’s voice was resolute, his gaze unwavering. “I’ll make her see. But first, I need to know who’s been feeding her lies.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped, a sigh escaping him. “You’re asking me to throw myself into the lion’s den.”

“Just for a little while,” Bucky said softly, his voice almost pleading. “Just until I get to the bottom of this.”

Steve shook his head, but a small, resigned smile tugged at his lips. “You owe me a lot for this, you know that?”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “I know. I always do.”

They continued riding in silence, the moon casting long shadows along the path. Steve’s mind raced, weighing the risks and consequences, but beneath it all was a steady resolve.

“Fine,” he murmured after a long pause. “But don’t blame me if this blows up in your face.”

“I won’t. Thank you, Steve.” Bucky smiled, his expression grateful and laced with relief.

Steve nodded once, the resolve in his eyes mirroring Bucky’s. “Let’s hope this works. For her sake.”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered, his gaze turning distant as his thoughts drifted back to you. “For her sake.”

× × × ×

The morning of your wedding dawned with a soft golden light filtering through the tall windows of your chamber, bathing the room in its warmth. You sat in front of the grand vanity, your reflection staring back at you, almost unrecognizable in its regal splendor. The maids had been working tirelessly to prepare you, their hands deftly weaving your hair into an intricate style, fastening the delicate tiara onto your head—a symbol of the new life you were about to enter.

Your gown, a masterpiece of lace and silk, shimmered in the soft light, its heavy skirts spreading around you like a cascade of moonlight. The bodice fits you like a second skin, the embroidery of gold thread intertwining with pearls, adding to the weight you already felt in your chest. You could hear the faint noises of activity from the palace below, the preparations for the ceremony well underway.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Lady Rambeau entered, her usual composed expression softening slightly as her gaze settled on you. 

“Princess,” she said, bowing her head, “the carriage is being prepared. It will be time soon.”

You nodded, your hands clenching and unclenching in your lap. Your heart was a storm, the events of the past days swirling together with the impending reality of the ceremony. This is it, you thought. There was no more time for questions, no more time for doubts.

Lady Rambeau approached, sensing the nervousness in you. “You look every bit the queen,” she said quietly, offering a rare, almost motherly smile. “His Majesty will be pleased.”

You swallowed, your heart stuttering at the mention of Bucky. Bucky. How strange it felt to think of him as both the man you had kissed, the man whose touch had ignited something deep within you, and the king you were about to marry. The man who was still so much of a mystery to you, though the connection you felt with him was undeniable.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft, your mind too tangled with emotion to say more.

The doors of your chamber opened again, and in walked Captain Rogers, looking as composed and stoic as always, but when his gaze landed on you, he froze, his eyes widening with something akin to awe.

For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, and then his expression softened, his voice coming out quieter than usual. “Princess…” He cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over you once more. “You look... radiant.”

His compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a faint blush creep up your cheeks. “Thank you, Captain,” you murmured, unable to suppress a small smile. There was something endearing about seeing the usually composed Captain Rogers momentarily taken aback.

He gave you a small, respectful nod before regaining his usual composure. “It is time,” he said, though his voice was still tinged with admiration.

Lady Rambeau stepped back, allowing you space, and Captain Rogers extended his arm toward you. “Shall I escort you?”

You hesitated only a moment before placing your hand in his. His arm was strong and steady, a rock amidst the storm that churned within you.

Captain Rogers led you down the grand staircase and out to the courtyard where the carriage awaited. Its intricate design was fit for a royal wedding, adorned with fresh flowers and draped in soft velvet. The horses were restless, sensing the energy of the day, and the servants moved with ease, making final adjustments.

As you reached the bottom step, Captain Rogers assisted you into the carriage, his hand still steady as he helped you settle into the seat. Lady Rambeau followed behind, ensuring everything was in place before stepping aside.

Captain Rogers gave you one final look before closing the door. “You will be magnificent, Princess,” he said, his tone filled with quiet confidence. “And His Majesty will be waiting.”

You smiled softly, trying to calm the flurry of nerves that danced in your chest. “Thank you, Captain.”

With a nod, he stepped back, and the driver clicked his reins, the carriage lurching forward toward the abbey where your future awaited.

The ride was quiet, the only sounds were the clatter of hooves against the cobblestone streets and the soft rustling of your gown as you shifted. Through the windows, you caught glimpses of the city—banners flying high, people lining the streets to catch a glimpse of the royal procession. Their cheers and waves were a blur, but their excitement was palpable, filling the air with a sense of anticipation.

As the carriage approached the abbey, your heart began to race. The towering spires of the grand stone building loomed ahead, casting long shadows across the cobbled courtyard. The doors of the abbey were open, revealing the grand aisle that stretched toward the altar where Bucky would be waiting.

The carriage came to a slow halt, and you took a deep breath, steadying yourself as the door opened. Captain Rogers appeared once again, offering his hand to help you down.

“Are you ready, Princess?” he asked, his tone as steady as his hand.

You nodded, though your heart felt as if it were about to burst from your chest. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Captain Rogers smiled softly, and as you stepped out of the carriage, he guided you toward the abbey’s entrance. The distance between you and the altar felt both infinite and fleeting. The weight of your gown, the gaze of the crowd—it was all overwhelming, yet the thought of Bucky waiting for you at the end of the aisle gave you strength.

The inner doors of the abbey slowly creaked open, revealing the breathtaking sight before you. The soft sound of music swelled through the vast stone hall, a hauntingly beautiful melody echoing off the towering pillars. As you took your first step inside, delicate flower petals, pale pinks and whites, drifted down from the ceiling, falling like a gentle rain around you, each petal kissing the floor at your feet.

The entire kingdom seemed to be watching, every gaze fixed on you as you stood framed by the grand doorway. Your heart raced, each beat thundering in your chest as you took in the magnitude of the moment. The aisle stretched out long before you, lined with noblemen and women from across the kingdom, their eyes wide with anticipation. But none of them mattered.

Because at the end of the aisle, waiting by the altar, stood James.

His regal form was clad in the finest ceremonial attire, gold embroidery gleaming against the dark velvet of his tunic. He looked every bit the king he was, tall and powerful, but his gaze—his gaze was solely on you. As the flower petals fluttered down, his expression softened, his lips curving into the smallest, most tender smile. His blue eyes, usually so guarded, were filled with warmth, a quiet awe that sent a rush of emotion surging through you.

You inhaled deeply, gathering your strength. You were walking alone, without an arm to hold, without anyone to guide you. This moment was yours to face. And with each step you took, you felt the weight of the gown, the tiara on your head, the delicate lace of your veil—all of it settling over you like a mantle of responsibility and power.

The crowd whispered in reverent awe, but their voices seemed like distant echoes as you walked forward, the petals beneath your feet crinkling softly with every step. The aisle felt both endless and too short, time stretching and compressing. But you kept your head high, your gaze locked on James, the silent thread between you pulling you closer with every heartbeat.

As you drew nearer, you could see the way his eyes shimmered, as if he, too, felt the enormity of the moment. His posture was regal, composed, but there was something in his expression—something that told you he was as affected by this as you were.

With each step, the world around you faded. The grandeur of the abbey, the watching crowd, the petals—they all became background to the electric pull between you and James.

Finally, you reached the end of the aisle. Your breath hitched, heart pounding, as you came to stand before him. For a moment, everything else fell away. It was just you and him.

James’s hand extended toward you, his touch warm, his smile soft and full of something deeper than words. “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low, meant only for you. “You’re captivating.”

A flush crept up your neck, you were about to become his queen. You were about to take your place at his side—not just as a bride, but as his equal, his partner.

You gazed deeply into the most bewitching blue eyes, in the way his hand held yours so carefully, you knew that whatever doubts you had carried—about the kingdom, about him—they had no place here. Today, there was only you and Bucky, standing together at the threshold of something far greater than either of you could have imagined.

Bucky’s eyes never left yours, as if he were searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or some unspoken promise. His fingers, warm and steady, curled gently around yours, grounding you in the midst of your racing thoughts.

The officiant’s voice cut through the air, ceremonious and strong, pulling you back to the present, though Bucky’s gaze still tethered you in place.

“Today, we bear witness to the union of our King, James Buchanan Barnes the third and his chosen bride, Princess Y/N of Zienna, a bond that not only joins two hearts but solidifies the foundation upon which this kingdom shall flourish.”

The words washed over you, powerful yet distant, as if they belonged to someone else’s story. And as you stood there, facing Bucky, you realized that while this was the culmination of the court’s expectations and the kingdom’s future, it was also more than that.

It was about him.

And you.

Bucky’s thumb brushed lightly against the back of your hand, a small, intimate gesture that sent warmth flooding through you. You met his gaze, and in that moment, something shifted. The doubt, the fear that had haunted you for weeks, seemed to dissolve under the intensity of his silent promise.

“Princess Y/N,” the officiant’s voice drew you back, “do you take King James as your husband, to honor and stand by him for the good of this kingdom and for all the days of your life?”

Your heart stilled for a fraction of a second, and then, with a steady breath, you nodded.

“I do,” you said softly. It wasn’t just a vow to the kingdom or its expectations; it was a vow to Bucky, the man beneath the crown, the man you were beginning to see more clearly with every passing moment.

The officiant turned to Bucky. “And do you, Your Majesty, take Princess Y/N as your wife, to cherish, protect, and honor her, for the good of this kingdom and for all the days of your life?”

Bucky’s gaze never wavered. His voice, low and steady, seemed to echo through the hall, even though he spoke just for you. “I do.”

As the officiant began the final blessings, you barely heard the words. All that mattered was Bucky’s hand in yours, the gentle press of his thumb against your skin, the warmth of his presence. And in his eyes, you saw it clearly—this was not just duty for him either. There was something deeper, something neither of you had fully acknowledged yet, but it was there, undeniable and magnetic.

“By the power vested in me,” the officiant declared, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The abbey seemed to hold its breath. The world, once again, shrank to just the two of you.

Bucky took a slow step closer, his hand still entwined with yours. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again, something flickering in his expression—anticipation. He leaned down, his movements careful, as though savoring the moment, and pressed a kiss to your lips.

It wasn’t a ceremonial kiss. It wasn’t for show.

It was the kiss of a man who had been waiting, yearning for this moment. His lips were warm, his touch tender yet filled with a quiet passion that left your heart racing all over again. The crowd faded away once more, the applause distant and faint, as you melted into him, your hand tightening around his.

When Bucky pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re mine now,” he whispered softly, just for you. There was no arrogance in his voice, only a raw honesty that sent shivers down your spine.

“I am,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible, but the words hung between you, carrying a promise that went far beyond this day.

Bucky’s lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes alight with something warm, something real. And as you both turned to face the crowd, ready to walk back down the aisle as husband and wife, you knew—whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever doubts or fears still lingered, you would face them together.

× × × × 

The grand hall was alive with music and laughter, the sounds of celebration echoing off the high ceilings. Glittering chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow across the room, illuminating the hundreds of guests who had gathered to celebrate the royal union. The air was filled with the scent of fresh flowers and fine wine, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

You stood at the edge of the dance floor, a glass of champagne in hand, watching as couples twirled in elegant dances, their gowns and suits a blur of color and movement. The weight of the tiara on your head reminded you of your new role, but it felt strangely lighter now, after the vows had been spoken, after the kiss that still lingered on your lips.

Across the room, Bucky stood among a group of nobles, listening to their conversation with polite attentiveness. But his gaze kept drifting back to you, his watchful eyes never leaving your figure for too long. There was a tension in the way he stood, a quiet possessiveness in the way he observed you, as if even from this distance, he wanted to be sure you were safe, that you were comfortable.

You could feel his gaze burning on you, and it sent a flutter through your chest. He hadn’t been far from your side all night, his presence a constant reassurance, a steady anchor amidst the whirlwind of festivities. And though you hadn’t had much time to speak since the ceremony, every glance, every brief touch of his hand against yours, felt like a promise that this night was only the beginning.

A soft voice at your side drew your attention back to the present. “Your Majesty.”

Lady Rambeau appeared at your elbow, her expression as composed as ever, through her eyes held a hint of warmth. “There are a few ladies I’d like you to meet,” she said, her tone formal but respectful.

You nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Of course.”

She gestured toward a small group of women approaching from the other side of the room. As they drew nearer, you recognized them from their noble houses, each of them a prominent figure in the kingdom. But there was something more about them—an air of confidence, of grace and power—that set them apart from the other courtiers.

“These are some of the finest ladies in court,” Lady Rambeau continued, her voice lowering slightly as they approached. “They will be valuable allies to you, my Queen.”

The first woman stepped forward, her striking red hair catching the light as she offered you a small, respectful curtsy. “Lady Natasha Romanoff, Your Majesty,” she introduced herself, her voice smooth and controlled, though her sharp eyes seemed to take in everything at once. “It is an honor to serve the queen.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of her words and the strength behind them. “The honor is mine, Lady Natasha. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

Next, a woman with dark, piercing eyes and an aura of quiet intensity stepped forward, offering a graceful curtsy. “Lady Wanda Maximoff,” she said, her voice soft but filled with a certain gravity. “If ever you have the need for my skills, my Queen, they are at your disposal.”

You nodded, sensing something deeper in her words, though you couldn’t quite place it. “Thank you, Lady Wanda. I appreciate your support.”

Finally, a woman with an air of calm authority and intelligence stepped forward, her blonde hair elegantly styled. She smiled warmly at you, her eyes twinkling with a quiet humor. “Lady Virginia Potts, Your Majesty. I oversee many of the palace affairs, so if you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You returned her smile, feeling instantly at ease with her. “I will certainly keep that in mind, Lady Virginia. Thank you.”

Lady Rambeau stepped back slightly, allowing you to take in the moment, surrounded by these powerful women who had now become your allies. There was a sense of reassurance in their presence, a reminder that while this role may be daunting, you were not alone.

As you exchanged a few more pleasantries, you felt Bucky’s gaze on you once again, a protective and possessive energy that seemed to radiate from him even across the crowded hall. You glanced over your shoulder, catching his eyes from across the room.

He gave you a small, knowing smile, his eyes flicking toward Lady Natasha, Wanda, and Pepper as if to acknowledge their presence before returning to you. There was a promise in his gaze—a promise that he would always be watching over you, no matter where you were or who you were with.

You turned toward Natasha, who was observing the room with sharp, calculating eyes. "It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?" you asked, your voice soft but holding a hint of amusement. The grandeur of the evening, the weight of the crown on your head, the people all watching—it was overwhelming, and yet, there was a certain thrill in it.

Natasha’s lips tugged into a small smile, her gaze flicking back to you. “It is. But I imagine you’re used to holding your own.” 

“I’m learning quickly, I suppose.” You smiled back, appreciating the compliment. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Natasha replied smoothly. “You’ll find the court can be... an interesting place. But if you play your cards right, you’ll have allies in all the right places.” There was a sharpness to her words, a subtle warning about the political nature of the people around you. But beneath it, you could sense her offering her support—her expertise.

Pepper leaned in slightly, her tone warm and filled with humor. “What Natasha means is that while the court can be a bit of a battlefield, there’s no need to navigate it alone. The three of us, well,” she gave a small shrug, “we’ve had our fair share of skirmishes.”

Wanda nodded, her dark eyes studying you with quiet intensity. “The court is full of whispers and schemes. People will say anything to sway your favor.” Her voice was soft, but there was a firm resolve behind it. “But when you surround yourself with people who have your back, the noise becomes just that—noise.”

You took a sip of your champagne, letting their words sink in. It was comforting, in a way, to know that these women had been through the same games you were just beginning to experience. You had already seen the sharp edges of the court with Sharon and Leah—how they used rumors and backhanded comments to try to shake you. 

Pepper glanced at you, her eyes twinkling with understanding. “I’m sure you’ve already had a taste of how competitive some of the women can be.” She raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Sharon and Leah, I imagine?”

A soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and you nodded. “You could say that. They’ve been… welcoming in their own way.”

“Welcoming. . .That’s one way to put it.” Wanda exchanged a glance with Natasha, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“Don’t worry about them. They’re just... testing the waters. Seeing if you’re as strong as you look.” She paused, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I have a feeling they’ll be disappointed.”

 “I certainly hope so.” You couldn’t help but grin at Natasha’s confidence in you.

Pepper leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping slightly, though there was still a playful edge to it. “If you ever need a little extra... assistance in handling those types, just let us know. We’ve got plenty of experience dealing with difficult people.”

Wanda’s gaze softened, sensing your internal struggle. “Don’t let them intimidate you. You are the queen now, and that holds power. But more importantly, you have us.” She gestured to the women around you. “We’ve all been through our own trials. We know what it’s like to navigate these treacherous waters.”

Natasha nodded in agreement, her voice quieter now, more sincere. “And we’ve made it through to the other side. You will too.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at their words. It wasn’t just the alliance they were offering—it was genuine friendship, the kind of support that went beyond titles and formalities.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice laced with gratitude. “I didn’t expect to find this kind of... connection here.”

Pepper placed a gentle hand on your arm, her expression kind. “We look out for each other. That’s how we survive.”

They exchanged glances, their shared smiles filled with a mixture of amusement and affection, and you felt a deep sense of belonging in their presence. It wasn’t just about surviving court anymore—it was about thriving.

Pepper gave a mock sigh, shaking her head with a smile. “Honestly, I’m surprised there hasn’t been any drama tonight. Though, with Sharon and Leah, it’s only a matter of time.”

Wanda chuckled softly. “Perhaps they’re waiting for the right moment. You know they love an audience.”

Just as the laughter between you and the ladies began to fade, a warm presence approached from behind, sending a shiver of awareness down your spine. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The subtle shift in the air, the quiet command of the space—Bucky.

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart giving an unbidden flutter as his deep blue eyes met yours. He wore that easy smile, the one that made it seem like he was perfectly comfortable with the world, though you knew there was more to it than that.

"Ladies," Bucky greeted smoothly, giving a small but respectful nod to Natasha, Wanda, and Pepper. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important." His gaze lingered on you, a playful glint in his eyes.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Nothing you couldn’t improve upon, Your Majesty.”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes flicking to each of them before settling back on you. “In that case, I wonder if I might steal my wife away for a dance?”

You could feel the amusement radiating from the women beside you, but it was Pepper who spoke first, her tone light and teasing. “By all means, Your Majesty. Just don’t keep her too long. We were just getting to the fun part.”

Wanda smirked, adding, “We wouldn’t want her to forget where her real loyalties lie.”

“I’ll do my best to have her back before you can miss her.” Bucky chuckled again, his hand extended toward you, palm up, his gaze softening as it locked onto yours.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, warmth spreading through you as you placed your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, firm yet gentle, and the simple touch sent a wave of anticipation through you.

“I’ll be back soon,” you promised the ladies, though your attention was already fully on Bucky.

Bucky gently led you away from the group, to the dance floor, you felt the world begin to fade away, leaving only the two of you.

The music swelled around you, the soft notes of the waltz filling the air like a gentle breeze, but it was Bucky’s presence that consumed you. His hand was warm and sure at your waist, the other cradling your hand as he guided you effortlessly across the floor. His touch, the closeness, made your heart race with an unfamiliar but welcomed thrill.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and the corners of his mouth lifted into that boyish smile that always made your pulse quicken.

“You seem deep in thought, Y/N,” he teased lightly, his voice a soft rumble, the glint in his eyes mischievous.

“I was thinking,” you replied, feigning seriousness, “how lucky I am that you haven’t stepped on my gown yet.”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and warm, and without warning, he spun you, pulling you back to him with a flourish that made you gasp in surprise. You stumbled slightly, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you against his chest.

“I’d never let that happen,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “You’re far too precious for me to misstep.”

Your laughter bubbled up, light and carefree, filling the space between you. It was strange how easy it was to laugh with him, how quickly he could disarm your nerves, making the weight of the evening feel like nothing.

As the music slowed, he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your temple, the tender gesture sending a wave of warmth through you. His hand, still at your waist, slipped slightly lower, pulling you closer as he whispered, “I think you owe me a dance every day for the rest of our lives, don’t you think?”

You grinned up at him, your heart soaring. “Every day? I thought kings were supposed to be busy ruling kingdoms.”

Bucky’s eyes gleamed with affection, his lips brushing your forehead this time. “For you, I’ll always find the time.”

Before you could respond, he spun you again, your skirts flaring out around you as you twirled. You giggled, completely caught up in the moment, in him. When you came back to him, he caught you easily, his grip firm and strong, and you couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped you.

“There’s that laugh. You should smile more often. It suits you.” He smiled down at you, his gaze tender, his thumb brushing your cheek. 

Your cheeks flushed under his gaze, the butterflies in your stomach refusing to settle. His eyes held something deeper, something that made you feel as though you were the only two people in the room.

Without another word, he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Then, as if unable to resist, he placed another kiss on your cheek, then one at your jaw, and finally one just below your ear.

“James!” you gasped, though your laughter betrayed you as you squirmed in his arms, the playful affection catching you off guard.

He laughed, a low, rich sound, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “I can’t help myself. You look too alluring tonight.”

You couldn’t stop the blush that crept up your neck, but you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest for just a moment, allowing yourself to melt into the warmth of his embrace. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that matched the sway of your bodies as you danced.

As the music slowed to a gentle hum, Bucky’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the soft skin there. He tilted your chin up, his eyes soft but filled with that same playful affection.

“Have I told you tonight how lucky I am to have you by my side?” His voice was a low whisper, meant just for you.

You smiled, feeling your heart swell. “No, this is the first.”

“I’ll make it a hundred before the night is over.” He grinned, his thumb gently tracing your jawline. 

Before you could reply, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss slow, tender, and full of unspoken promises. It wasn’t the hurried, stolen kiss from before—it was on purpose as if he were reminding you that despite all the eyes watching, this moment was just yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered, “I’ve been waiting all night to be with you.”

“And now you are,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his breath against your lips.

His lips brushed yours again in response, a feather-light touch that left you breathless. And as the music faded and the evening stretched on, the two of you swayed together, the rest of the world melting away in the warmth of his touch and the quiet, intimate moments you shared.

For the first time all night, you weren’t just the queen and her king. You were simply Bucky and Y/N—two souls bound by something far deeper than titles or crowns.

× × × × 

From your position on the dance floor with Bucky, you caught glimpses of the other guests enjoying the festivities, but it was Captain Rogers who caught your attention. He stood near the edge of the room, his eyes drifting—not to the crowds or the dancing couples—but to Lady Natasha.

For most of the evening, you had noticed him, his gaze lingering on her with a quiet, almost tentative intensity. Steve Rogers was many things—brave, honorable, and steadfast—but when it came to matters of the heart, it seemed he was not as confident. Natasha, for her part, appeared entirely unaware, laughing and speaking with Wanda and Pepper, graceful as always.

But then there was Sharon, standing not far from Steve, her eyes on him, watching his every move. You could see it in her posture, the subtle tilt of her head, the way her fingers gripped her glass—she thought his attention was on her. It wasn’t difficult to guess where this was heading, and the tension of it made your heart race for reasons entirely different from the dance.

Beside you, Bucky must have sensed your distraction, because he leaned down and murmured, “What’s caught your eye, my Queen?”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly toward Steve. “I think Captain Rogers is about to make a move.”

Bucky followed your gaze, his lips quirking into a knowing grin. “About time. He’s been staring at her like a lost puppy all night.”

You chuckled softly, watching as Steve squared his shoulders, his resolve clearly building as he took a deep breath and started toward Natasha. The room seemed to slow, the moment stretched out as he approached her, his expression carefully composed but with a hint of nervousness beneath the surface.

But just as Steve was a few steps away from Natasha, Sharon stepped forward, a bright smile lighting up her face, clearly under the impression that he was coming for her. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm in what she must have thought was a gentle, flirtatious gesture.

“Captain Rogers,” Sharon greeted warmly, her voice lilting. “I was just wondering if—”

Steve, clearly caught off guard, blinked at her in confusion, his eyes flickering quickly from Sharon to Natasha, who had just turned and was watching the interaction with a raised eyebrow.

Sharon’s smile faltered slightly, but she pressed on, her tone hopeful. “Would you like to dance?”

Steve's gaze flickered toward Natasha, who stood not far from him, her expression composed but with that ever-present sharpness in her eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then his eyes caught sight of Sharon’s father, Lord Carter, watching the scene unfold from the corner of the room. The older man’s gaze was piercing, his posture stern and authoritative.

Steve hesitated, his throat tightening. He was well aware of the power Lord Carter wielded within the court, the weight of his opinion, and how much sway he held over many matters—both spoken and unspoken. His glance darted back to Sharon’s expectant expression, her eyes wide with anticipation.

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to hold its breath. Steve’s jaw clenched, his shoulders rigid as he fought with himself internally. And then, as if a decision was made for him, he forced a smile and nodded. 

“Yes, of course.” he said simply, offering his hand.

Sharon’s face lit up with a brilliant smile, and she slipped her hand into his, her gaze flickering triumphantly to Natasha for just a fraction of a second. Lord Carter nodded approvingly from his spot, his face easing into a look of satisfaction.

But as Steve led Sharon to the dance floor, his eyes found Natasha one last time. The disappointment in her gaze, so well hidden behind her cool demeanor, pierced him deeper than any wound ever had.

Bucky’s hand remained steady on your waist as you moved together, his gaze focused on you. But your attention wavered, drawn back to where Steve and Sharon now stood together on the dance floor. The way Sharon’s lips curved into a self-satisfied smile made something coil unpleasantly in your chest.

You kept your expression serene, eyes trained on them with the same polite interest expected of a queen surveying her court. The facade was perfect—no one would guess that beneath the surface, your feelings toward Lady Carter were far from friendly.

“Everything alright?” Bucky’s low murmur brought your focus back to him. He was watching you, his eyes filled with curiosity. He hadn’t noticed the brief flicker of disapproval in your gaze, hadn’t caught the way your fingers tightened slightly against his shoulder.

You smiled up at him, soft and unassuming. “Of course,” you replied lightly, matching his steps with effortless grace. “I was simply observing our Captain. It’s not often we see him… in such a position.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted briefly over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “No, it’s not,” he agreed, amusement lacing his tone. “Poor Steve, stuck dancing with Lady Carter when it’s clear his mind is elsewhere.”

Your smile grew a touch tighter, but you nodded, letting out a soft, almost indifferent laugh. “Yes, quite the predicament,” you mused, keeping your voice light and even.

You knew Bucky wasn’t probing further—he was simply sharing an observation, unaware of the way Sharon’s presence grated against you like nails on silk. And you intended to keep it that way.

He spun you gently, your skirts sweeping elegantly around you, and you caught sight of Sharon’s face once more. She was speaking animatedly, leaning just a bit too close to Steve, clearly basking in whatever illusion she’d spun for herself.

You looked away before Bucky could follow your line of sight, turning your gaze to meet his instead. 

“Do you think they make a good match?” you asked the question casually and laced with just the right amount of interest.

Bucky shrugged slightly, his grip on you unwavering as he guided you through another smooth turn. 

“Steve can decide for himself,” he replied, a neutral smile on his lips. “But it’s obvious where his heart lies.”

You hummed softly, nodding as if merely considering his words. “I suppose so,” you murmured, then shifted the topic with ease, guiding the conversation away from Steve and Sharon.

As Bucky’s attention shifted fully to your words, your expression remained the picture of calm. Yet inwardly, your gaze flickered back to the dance floor, watching as Sharon leaned in, whispering something into Steve’s ear.

Your smile didn’t falter, not even for a second. But the disdain simmering beneath it was a quiet, insistent thing, buried beneath layers of grace and composure. Sharon could have her little victory tonight—it didn’t matter.

Because you knew exactly where Steve’s gaze would turn when the music ended, and it wouldn’t be on the lady currently in his arms.

× × × × 

The carriage wheels creaked softly beneath you as they rolled over the gravel path, the only sound filling the heavy silence between you and Bucky. You sat across from each other, the space that had once felt warm now stretched and distant. Bucky’s gaze was fixed out the window, his profile bathed in the soft moonlight, but his expression was unreadable. You had tried to break the silence once or twice, but each attempt had fallen flat, met with a polite nod or a quiet murmur. The joy and excitement from the wedding already felt like a distant memory, replaced by the weight of unspoken words and something heavier that lingered between you. The estate loomed ahead, but instead of excitement, a growing unease settled deep within your chest.

The estate stretched out before you, magnificent and imposing. The manicured gardens glistened in the fading light, and the grandeur of the manor seemed to stretch endlessly, its windows glowing like embers. As the carriage halted, Bucky disembarked first, extending a hand toward you. His touch, though familiar, carried an unusual stiffness that unsettled you.

As you stepped down, you glanced at him, uncertainty swirling in your chest. "Where exactly are we?"

Bucky’s lips curved slightly, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. His gaze drifted to the manor. "Well, what do you think?"

You took in the estate’s breathtaking beauty, momentarily distracted by its splendor. "It’s magnificent. Who resides here?"

Bucky’s gaze softened as he turned back to you. "I had it refurbished just for you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, a warm flutter of surprise catching you off guard. "This is our home?" you asked, hope threading through your voice. "James..."

But Bucky’s expression faltered, his tone more measured. "It’s your home."

Confusion washed over you, your brow furrowing. "My home? What does that mean?"

"This is where you will live." Bucky’s eyes flickered briefly, avoiding yours.

A chill ran through you as his words sank in. "I’m not sure I follow," you said slowly, your voice laced with uncertainty. "If this is my house, then surely it is ours as well?"

Bucky’s face remained impassive, though his tone was distant. "Technically, St. Vincent’s Palace is our residence. But here, this is where you will stay."

Your pulse quickened. "And where will you stay?" you asked, feeling the weight of his reply before he even spoke.

Bucky’s jaw tightened slightly. "I have an estate in Annecy."

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "So, you intend to live in Annecy?"

"Yes."

"And I’m to live here?"

"Yes."

Your chest tightened as you stared at him, disbelief clouding your thoughts. "But it’s our wedding night."

"It’s late," Bucky said, calmly, almost too calm. "You’ve been traveling. You should go inside, meet the staff, rest. You’ll need your strength for the coming days."

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "No, James. It’s our wedding night. We’ve just been married." Your voice dropped, your cheeks flushing slightly. "Aren’t we supposed to spend the night together? Is that not what married couples do?"

Bucky’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you asking me to perform my marital duties to you?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "I’m not asking anything," you replied, your voice wavering. "I just thought... Isn’t this the night we’re meant to spend together? My governess always said that’s how it’s done. . . That it’s important."

He let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders palpable. "Very well," he muttered, turning abruptly toward the entrance. "I’ll stay then."

"James!" you called, quickening your pace to follow him.

"I said I’ll stay," he repeated curtly, his strides long and deliberate. "Are you coming or not?"

The staff clapped politely as you entered the grand foyer together, but your mind was elsewhere, trying to make sense of what was happening. 

"James, slow down," you pleaded, your voice rising as you hurried after him. "I can’t keep up with you."

He came to a sudden halt, turning to face you, frustration etched into every line of his face. "You wanted me in the bedroom. Isn’t that what you were asking for?"

You froze at his words, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. "No."

His brow furrowed. "No?"

"Not if you’re going to act like this," you said, your voice trembling. "You’re upset. What have I done? If I’ve offended you in any way, I’m sorry—"

Bucky’s expression softened, but there was still tension in his stance, his left hand flexing. "You haven’t done anything wrong," he said quietly, though his voice carried the weight of something unspoken. "It’s just... I’m comfortable in Annecy."

Your heart clenched. "Then let’s go to Annecy together."

Bucky shook his head. "No. You’re staying here."

"Why?" you asked, searching his face for answers. "You don’t want me to go with you?"

"This is your home," he said firmly, his tone final.

You felt the distance between you grow with every word. "My home. . ."

"Yes."

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. "I see."

Bucky exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he nodded. "Good. Then everything is settled."

But nothing felt settled. Not at all. "No. No, it is not settled." you said, your voice cracking in utter confusion. One moment he couldn’t get his hands off you, this sudden change was too difficult to let go. "James, is this what our marriage will be? Us living separately?"

"Yes," he replied, his voice steady but detached.

"Why?" you whispered, tears threatening to well in your eyes.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, "I thought it would be... easier this way."

"For whom?" you asked, the pain in your voice evident. "For you? Or for me?"

Bucky’s patience frayed, his tone sharpening. "I’m not having this discussion with you."

You stepped closer, your voice pleading. "I just want to understand. Please, tell me why—"

"I don’t need to explain anything!" Bucky’s voice thundered, his frustration boiling over. "I’m the one who decides, and I have decided. Are you forgetting that I am your KING?!"

His words hit you like a physical blow, your heart shattering. You stepped back, your voice trembling as you dropped into a low curtsy. 

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," you said quietly, your head bowed in deference. "I thought you were just James."

Bucky’s expression fell, regret flickering across his face. He reached out for you, his voice softer now. "Y/N, please—"

But you pulled back, avoiding his touch. The guard you thought you’d lowered, the tentative trust you were building—everything slammed back up, a fortress around your heart. You were foolish enough to think you were getting to know him better.

 It was clear now how wrong you were.

"May I take my leave, Your Majesty? Or do you have more to say?" Your voice was brittle.

Bucky’s hand dropped to his side, a look of defeat crossing his features. "Y/N... you don’t understand, this is for the best."

You swallowed hard, forcing a brittle smile as you nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever you wish. I shall rest now. I wish you a safe trip to Annecy."

With that, you turned and walked away, the echo of your footsteps haunting the grand hall as you left him standing there, the distance between you stretching wider than ever.

Love always blew up in your face, shattering whatever good you’d dared to believe in. You were a fool to believe that it wouldn’t go south in the worst way this quickly.

Each step you took, you buried the yearning, the desperation to reach out and demand more from him—from what you could be together.

Instead, you rebuilt the walls. You raised the drawbridge.

And you vowed to tread carefully with your emotions when it comes to him.

[foreverlittlesoshi]

the bondage of freedom

noah sebastian x reader

content warnings: smut, oral (f. receiving), fingering, sacrilegious, purity, dom! noah and bulge kink

word count - 1.7k

MINORS DNI 18+

an - i have no knowledge of religion as i didn't grow up with it so i truly apologize if i offend you but this idea has been stuck in my head for a good while.

there’s nothing wrong with feeling this way, noah told himself, it’s just a damn crush.

but he knew he had no chance with you at all, i mean you two were complete opposite of each other. while he was covered in tattoos, you had no ink littering your skin. he only ever wore dark colors, you wore bright and neutral colors. the only jewelry he wore were rings that adored his long inked fingers, while you wore a gold cross necklace along with a gold purity ring that wrapped around your left ring finger that you’ve worn since the age of 15. he remembers the day he had asked you about it.

“why do you always wear that ring? i’ve never seen you take it off or remove it once.”

“oh, it’s my purity ring! my parents gifted it to me for my birthday.” you told him while admiring it, “it’s my pledge to wait until marriage.”

he couldn’t help but scoff, “you really believe in all that waiting till marriage bullshit?”

“i mean, yeah. i’d rather focus on my schooling and career before having sex. in plus, i wanna wait for the right person who is gonna love me for the rest of my life instead of just using me for something sinful. wouldn’t you agree?” you question him.

“just because my dad is the priest doesn’t mean i’m innocent. that went away a couple months ago.” he informed you and you looked away from him.

“well, congratulations on that but that’s not something i wanna do.” you told him quietly.

he felt bad for making you uncomfortable back then but he was just trying to prove a point. he feels bad even now because he couldn’t control his thoughts when it came to you. you were sitting right beside him wearing a lilac floral cami dress with a white cardigan and black mary janes, the neckline kept you covered but for any reason if the dress was tugged down he would be able to see your cleavage and that made his mind spiral.

the service had ended about 20 minutes ago so there wasn’t a lot of people left in the chapel and you said something to him but he was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear you. as you stood up, he got the great idea to trip you though it was risky but he just wanted a peek and he got just what he wanted as you fell. the sight of lacy black underwear took him by surprise while his cock hardened fast though it didn’t last long as you quickly tugged your dress down when you stood up.

“noah! why did you do that?!” you quietly yelled at him, he had to restrain himself before he was a little too honest with you.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t realize i put my foot out.” his false sympathy was evident in his voice but you just sighed and made your way out of the chapel into the corridor. he waited a few minutes then got up to follow you. he couldn’t hold back anymore especially if he was gonna be able to get you alone somewhere.

when he saw you exit the restroom, he started walking towards you and you noticed him immediately though it wasn’t hard to spot him.

“noah, are you okay? you’ve been acting weird all day.” the innocence in your voice almost made him cum right then and there.

“yeah, i just need to see you on my cock hun.” your body froze at his words, face turning pink and your eyes wide at him. “c’mon. i know you’ve never done anything but do you really wanna until marriage when i could make you feel good. forget all that bullshit for once and just trust me.”

of course you found noah attractive but you couldn’t imagine that he wanted you and with how much you would be on his case with not following the right path, you thought he would’ve dropped you by now. not to mention, you have gotten off to the thought of him a couple times.

“fine, i trust you noah.” you swore you could feel the purity ring burning your skin after you spoke those words.

“good girl. now, meet me back in the chapel at midnight. keep this dress on as well.” he told you as he kissed your cheek and walked away.

what did you just agree to?

-

you felt nauseous as you walked into the chapel, you wanted to be here but you were just nervous since you didn’t know what to expect with what would happen.

“i’m glad you didn’t back out.” the sound of noah’s voice startled you.

“of course i did. i told you that i trusted you.” you told him as you walked towards the podium.

when you got close enough, he made you lean back on the podium as he began kissing you but it didn't last long since he moved his lips to your neck which caused goosebumps to rise all over your body. he grabbed a fist full of your hair tugging it as he dragged his tongue up your neck till he reaches your ear then lightly bites and you let out a whimper at feeling.

noah then fell to his knees before you, pushing your dress up to see you were still wearing those lacy black underwear and he couldn’t hold back a smirk as he tugged them off of you then quickly shoved them into his pocket as a trinket to remember this.

“no one can be this cute.” he murmurs to himself as he stares at your slick heavenly cunt, leaning in to start lapping it up with his hot tongue melting against you then spreading you open with his thumbs while an overwhelming ecstasy flows through your body starting from your toes all the way up to your head with hot pleasure mainly in your belly.

“oh god, noah!” you cry out as he wrapped his lips around your clit then began to suck and lick while your thighs trembled against his head and tangled your fingers in his hair.

“there’s no god here to save you, sweetheart. just me. accept me as your god and cum for me now.” he commanded as he slid his long middle and ring finger into you. the curling of his fingers inside of you causes you to forget everything as you feel the hot bliss in your body explode and you let out a loud moan of his name. he moves away to stand back over you while sucking his fingers clean of your slick as fight off tears of embarrassment since you enjoyed the sight of him.

noah made you rest your back against the podium again as he pulled his pants down to expose himself and you immediately felt intimidated by the size of his cock.

“wanna taste?” noah asked as he noticed how hard you were staring at him.

you quickly nodded at him, he dragged his finger along his tip to gather precum and then brought it towards your lips. your lips wrapped around his finger carefully with your tongue licking his cum up, it was sweet but slightly salty and it may have been a sin but you loved the flavor of him. noah watched you with hooded eyes as he slowly took his finger out of your mouth while you whined at him and he pulled you into a kiss, his tongue grazing over your teeth which you could still taste yourself on. it was supposed to be nasty but it felt so amazing.

“you’re so fuckin disgusting for letting me do this to you.” he groans as he pulls away from you.

“we shouldn’t be doing this in general.” you inform him as you run your hand down his body.

“it’s gonna feel amazing, doll. don’t worry. i can’t fuckin wait to ruin you and feel how tight this pussy is.” the sound of his voice causes you to shiver with pleasure and he removes his shirt then stuffed it into your mouth.

“just to be safe.” is all he says as he lines himself to the slick mess between your thighs.

noah slides in with no resistance, he tries to take it slow but the feeling of your tight walls causes him to thrust into you fully and the shirt muffles your scream. slowly pulling out just to go right back in which causes your head to fall back and mind to go blank. “are you really a woman of god if i was able to convince you this easily to sin?” he removes the shirt from your mouth which lets you finally moan loudly at the pleasure of him pushing your thighs further apart letting him reach even deeper if possible.

“oh fuck, noah. i’ve never felt like this before.” you whine at him as he accentuated each hard thrust against the podium, feeling the wood dig into your back.

“because your god can’t give you pleasure like i can. i knew this is what you needed so let me be your only god.” noah tells you.

“i will.” you whimper as you cry at the feeling of him speeding up, his hand grabbed yours then made you feel your stomach and your head fell back as you could feel his cock through your stomach which caused you to clench around him harder. he barely touched your clit which finally let you cum, crying with whines escaping your mouth and moan. the rough and bruising grip he had on your thighs felt amazing as he shuddered and faltered while sucking on your neck as he came inside you.

as he pulled out and let you go, you moaned and opened your eyes only to be met with the sight of the statue of christ staring down at you as the feeling of cum dripped out of you and down your legs.

“don’t move.” noah then spoke as he pulled his phone out, snapping a picture of your completely fucked out and ruined body. dress pulled up, hair disheveled, face red with tears still streaming down your face and his cum still dripping out of you.

“noah.” you groan out, he puts his phone away then helps you straighten yourself up and himself as well.

he gives you a soft kiss before saying, “so? am i worthy of being your god now, sweetheart?”

title comes from heaven by taemin which inspired this whole idea along with the hell i overcame mv

i already know i'm going straight to hell so don't even bother telling me.

part two - https://foreverlittlesoshi.tumblr.com/post/769419252834992128/if-you-were-church

[fairy-writes]

Can you do a part 2 to your MTP William x archaeologist sister reader I would like to see the Holmes brothers reactions. ❤️

A MIGHTY SURPRISE OVER DINNER

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Holmes!Reader, Archaeologist!Reader, Sexist behavior from the Holmes family? (not Sherlock)

Notes: We’re pretending courthouse weddings were a thing back in this time period

PART ONE LINKED HERE

PART THREE LINKED HERE

__________________________________________________________________________

Your marriage to William James Moriarty was a secret well-kept until a snowy winter day in December. 

It had been a simple courthouse wedding. His family had been there. Albert and Louis as witnesses. But the rest of his little ‘entourage’ had shown up in celebration as well. James Bonde and Sebastian Moran had shown up with bottles of wine to celebrate what they said was “a day that they thought would never come.”

Fred Porlock had been sweet and gifted you a bouquet of daffodils. He had told you later that they represent new beginnings, and he wanted to welcome you to their little family.

It took all your strength not to burst into tears right at that moment.

You hadn’t even worn a wedding dress, for heaven's sake! Instead, you wore a simple white blouse with beige trousers because you didn’t want to purchase much less tailor white ones. William had worn his regular brown suit and red tie.

Oh, how your mother would’ve had your head had she found out. How improper you were!

You didn’t even take a proper honeymoon persay. William had instead surprised you with a trip back to Egypt to visit the locals of your latest dig. You hadn’t been on an excavation in ages, and they were more than happy to welcome you and your new husband with open arms.

Husband…

You were officially married. No longer a Holmes and no longer tied to your family.

You were free.

Well… as free as a woman could be, that is.

All that was left was to tell your parents and brothers.

The aforementioned secret marriage was kept a secret for approximately thirteen months before it got out. In fact, you managed to keep it a secret up until William asked if he could break the news to your family over Christmas dinner. 

He asked you over breakfast around a week before Christmas Day. You had moved into his estate soon after the marriage was finalized. 

“Might I ask you a question?” He asked politely, and you looked up from your ham and eggs, raising an eyebrow as you did so. 

“Sure.” You said as you swallowed your mouthful and cleared your throat. 

“How do you feel about telling your parents about our marriage?” At this, you choke on your inhale and proceed to cough until you almost feel lightheaded. 

William—used to your dramatic reactions by now—sits patiently as you try to gain some semblance of control over your body. 

“What brought this up?” You demand, and he shrugs, taking a sip of his tea. 

“It’s been over a year now. Don’t you think it’s time to tell them?” You look down at your hands, fisted in your shirt, and grit your teeth, mulling it over. 

He was right… it had been over a year since you went no contact with your family save for Sherlock. Of course, he relayed messages from them to you. But you never responded besides telling them to sod off. 

At least Sherlock understood where you were coming from and didn’t push the issue too much. Perhaps then he would know why you had kept your marriage a secret until now? 

So… with that in mind… you agree, and William sends out invites to Sherlock, Mycroft, and your parents that day. You also send out an invitation to John and Mary and their new baby girl as moral support. 

Sherlock responds almost immediately by phoning William and enthusiastically saying he’d be delighted to come to the Moriarty estate for dinner. Mycroft responds via phone the next day, confirming his and your parents' attendance at this growing Christmas party. 

The day of the surprise comes all too quickly. 

You dress that day in a white blouse, a bold, crimson suit coat, and matching trousers. Just as you’re buttoning your blouse, you hear a knock on your bedroom door. 

“Come in!” You call as you finish the last button and turn to see William closing the door behind him. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, and you shake your head almost immediately. 

“I never am when it comes to my parents.” You say honestly, and he offers a smile that you like to think is reserved just for you. It crinkles the corners of his eyes and curls his lips rather attractively. You smile back and then head to the bathroom connected to your bed chambers for your jewelry box. 

It was William’s wedding present to you. A beautiful cherry wood box that contained jewelry you had collected over the years. Most of it was gifts from the locals you had gone on expeditions to. 

But…

There was one piece of jewelry that was not a gift to them. 

And that was your wedding band. 

It was a plain gold band, nothing too extravagant. Just the way you wanted it. And while it was simple and nondescript, you only wore it if you were going to events with William as his wife. He wore a matching one for the same reasons. And he slid his onto his ring finger just as you did the same for yours. Then, your husband extends a hand.

“Shall we go downstairs to greet your family? Sherlock is already in the parlor, and we are expecting everyone else soon enough.”

Your parents arrive just as it’s beginning to snow outside. 

Mycroft is watching disapprovingly as you coo over baby Clara, John, and Mary’s baby girl. She’s almost a year old and already starting to crawl and toddle about. You could practically smell his disapproval of your outfit, but you paid him no mind. Once this announcement is done with, you never have to speak to him again.

Your parents burst into the parlor, spooking you and Clara. The baby girl starts to whimper, so you hand her back to Mary and go to greet your parents. 

“Oh, dearest, couldn’t you wear the Christmas dress we purchased for you this year?” Your mother says immediately as you approach, and your face sours. 

“Well, hello to you too, Mother.” You grumble but give her a hug nonetheless. Your father extends his hand, and you shake it. Luckily, it was your right hand, so you simply kept your left with the ring in your trouser pocket. 

“If I might interrupt,” Comes William’s smooth voice, and you jump. You hadn't heard him come up behind you. “Dinner is served.” He finishes and ushers everyone to the dining room. He offers a comforting smile, and you reach out boldly to squeeze his hand. 

He doesn’t pull away. At least not until you reach the dining room and have to separate to sit with your respective families. 

Dinner was brought out, and just before everyone dug in, William stood and tapped his spoon against his wine glass. 

“Before everyone tucks in, we have an announcement to make.” He says, making eye contact with you, and you realize very quickly what he is doing. 

It’s time. 

Your heart starts thundering like horses in your veins, and you hear blood roaring in your ears. But you get up and make your way around the table to his side and take his hand just as he says,

“I suppose I should say my wife and I have an announcement to make.” 

It’s silent for a beat. Then two. 

Then noise. 

Your mother promptly bursts into tears. Whether out of happiness or disappointment, you have no idea. Your father grew red in the face and nearly started shouting before he remembered his manners. Mycroft simply sits back in his seat, stunned into silence. Sherlock’s face broke into a brilliant grin.

“I knew it!” He crowed and slammed his hand down on the table happily. 

You stand awkwardly as you wait for the noise to die down. William doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time. But… eventually… your parents get their emotions under control.

“Absolutely not! I will not have you associating with someone as stained a reputation as the Moriartys!” Your father bellows, and you hold back a flinch. It wasn’t often he got this angry.  And, of course, you knew what “stained reputation” your father was talking about. The burning of the Moriarty estate back when they were mere children had been quite the scandal. You remembered hearing about it when you were but a tiny tot. 

“You asked that I marry. I did. So now you have no right to judge whom I court, much less marry. I expect my dowry is still in your hands? And that you’ll keep your promise?” You say quickly, curtly, emotionlessly. You didn’t have the patience for his antics right now. He wanted you to marry in order to fund your excavations but didn’t want you to marry certain people? Where was the logic in that? And your family was all about logic.

“Please, dearest, think about what you’ve done! To marry into the Moriarty family is to stain our family name!” Your mother pleads, but you just roll your eyes. 

“I don’t see you chastising Sherlock about his choice of friends.” You snap back and very nearly leave right then and there. 

William is the only thing keeping you here. You can feel the tears burning as they threaten to fall. You just wanted your family to be happy for you. Was that too much to ask?

“That’s different!” Your father all but shouts, and you watch your husband raise an eyebrow. 

“Pray tell me how it is any different?” He says, and you shiver at his frosty tone of voice. 

“She’s a woman! That’s reason enough!” Your mother blubbers, dabbing at her falling tears with a handkerchief. Now, it’s William’s turn to roll his eyes. He takes a moment, entwining your fingers together as he looks at the ceiling. 

“Your daughter is perfectly capable of marrying whom she wishes. This is precisely why we didn’t say anything when we married nearly thirteen months ago.” 

That sentence sends your father into another shouting fit. 

“Thirteen months?!” He roars, and William smirks, letting go of your hand in order to lean both palms on the table. 

“Yes, quite right. And you will listen closely to my next words.” He said smoothly, and your parents both went silent. Mycroft still has yet to say anything, and Sherlock is simply sitting back in his chair with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

William leans back once again to take your hand. 

“You will fulfill your promise to your daughter. And hand over her dowry. Though we have little need for the money. But imagine the scandal that would erupt if you didn’t?” Your mother swallows audibly, and your father glares at your husband. He looks back cooly, not backing down. 

In the end, William wins the little starring contest, and your father averts his eyes. 

“Fine.” He growls, and William smiles,

“I’m glad we could come to an understanding. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go comfort my wife.” He says and gently turns you around to head for the dining room doors. 

“Wait, Liam.” Sherlock’s voice breaks through your raging emotions, and you stop, turning to face the middle child of the Holmes family. Your husband turns and looks at him,

“Yes?” Sherlock stands, that same smile on his face as he studies the two of you. “Was your marriage the only announcement you had to make?” He asks innocently, and you glare at him. 

Of course, he knew already.

William hums briefly before his lips curled in a devious grin,

“Oh yes, I almost forgot.” He says and puts a hand on the small of your back.

“We are expecting.” He says and leaves your brothers to deal with your dramatic parents once again. 

[feathersandfairytales]

Potent love. [S.S & O.G]

Warnings: A little angst, but fluffy + steamy ending. Not explicitly smut, more of a make-out session,but Dom!Ominis, Sub!reader and Switch!Sebastian.

Synopsis (suggested): Sebastian and Ominis x reader where the reader smells them both in the amortentia potion, and ends up avoiding them in fear of being rejected.

Word count: 3.4k

Poly!Sebastian x gn!reader x Ominis

A/N: Not proofread. A little more angst than I intended it to be, but it's still cute. I hope @danielle-marie (who requested this) enjoys it, as it's my first request hehe.

"Today." Professor Sharp started, his monotonous voice cutting through the chatter of students. "We will be brewing the amortentia potion. Can anybody tell me what such a potion is used for?" He asks quietly, limping out from behind his desk to stare the class down with an icy glare. You look away, Sharp's intimidating demeanour sending a chill right down to your bones. You knew he was a just and fair professor, kind in his own way, but it was hard not to be a little scared of him and his stern exterior- especially taking into account how many powerful wizards he'd taken down during his time as an auror. Just as you were about to open your mouth to answer his question, another voice spoke. "It's a love potion, sir. Used to cause the drinker to fall in love." You looked over to Ominis with a smile, glad to see him participating in a class you knew he didn't particularly enjoy.

"Correct, Mr. Gaunt. 10 points to Slytherin." Proffesor Sharp said with an impressed nod, before turning to the chalk board behind him and waving his wand. With the flick of his wrist, words began to appear upon the black surface- information about the amortentia potion and the necessary instructions to brew it. "However, amortentia does not precisely create love. Love is an emotion so complex it is impossible to manufacture or force. Amortentia merely causes an intense infatuation. It is banned upon Hogwarts grounds for a reason. The power of obsession is not to be trifled with, it can cause darkness in people that most wouldn't think possible- in fact, I dare say that it may be one of the most powerful concoctions known to the wizarding world."

You flipped open your potions text book, skimming through a few pages until you found the page on amortentia. It was complicated- and you weren't exactly the best at potions as it was. You were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard footsteps behind you, and it took a good ounce of effort not to whip your wand out then and there. After a year of being hunted by poachers and goblins alike, you had a hard time remembering that not everyone behind you was a threat. "(Y/N)?" You heard the familiar, low rumble of Sebastian's voice behind you. "I left my potions textbook in the common room...do you think I could work with you on this?" He asks with a sheepish, shy grin, a red blush growing on his freckled cheeks. You notice him swinging his hands by his sides, a nervous habit you knew he'd had after a year of being friends with him. You let out a small, light-hearted sigh, shaking your head with a smile. "Be more careful next time, okay? Sharp won't be too happy with you if you make a habit of losing your things." You speak, stepping to the side slightly to make more room for him at your potions table. Perhaps having Sebastian's help wouldn't be so bad- he was pretty good at potions, after all.

After a short run down from Professor Sharp on the instructions of brewing amortentia, you began to set out all the things you'd need. Ashwinder eggs, pearl dust, a fwooper feather and a few other things. "Okay. I think we're all ready!" Sebastian said, clapping his hands together with a smile as he looked down at your potions table. Ominis was working on the table beside you both- potions class was one of his least favourites, as it wasn't really possible for him to use his wand to navigate. So, he'd gained the habit of working closely to you and Sebastian, whom he trusted with his life, in case anything were to go wrong. He trusted the both of you to tell him if he was about to mess up- because in potions, a small mistake could be the difference between life and death. After all, potions was a precise art and it was difficult sometimes to be precise when you couldn't see.

You got to work filling your cauldron with a base of water from the black lake, stirring in a small amount of pearl dust- so far so good, it had already begun to take on the pearlescent sheen that was characteristic of amortentia. You heard Sebastian click his tongue from next to you, and saw him wave his wand. A fire roared to life under your cauldron, the flames licking up the sides softly. "Now now, (Y/N), how do you expect to brew a potion without the cauldron bubbling, hm? Perhaps your mind is elsewhere today?" He teased softly, unaware that he was quite right with his little joking assumption. You weren't really focused today, all that seemed to plague your mind was thoughts of your best friends. Sebastian and his effortless charm that made you flustered beyond words. Ominis and his subtle care and tenderness that made your heart race out of your chest. "Quiet, Sallow." You deflected quickly, shooting him a playful glare. He was about to say something in retaliation, only to stop short when he was stared down by Professor Sharp.

Sebastian cleared his throat awkwardly. "Okay- stir clockwise for 5 whole minutes.." he trailed off with a groan, but began to stir the potion with his wand nonetheless. While he did that, you got to work. Placing a graphorn horn into the mortar and pestle, you began to crush the tough material. It was a bit of a struggle, and you could only get it into small chunks, while it was supposed to be a fine powder. Sebastian was busy stiring the cauldron, so he wouldn't be much help right now. Just as you were about to give up hope and cast reducto to reduce the horn to powder yourself, another voice spoke up behind you. "You won't do much to that horn by just crushing it. You have to grind it." Ominis spoke kindly, coming up behind you and hovering his hands over yours. "May I?" He enquires softly, which made you smile. Ominis was always so considerate. You nod, and he places his hands over yours, guiding your hands to perform a grinding and pulverising motion. Your face flushed at the proximity, the feeling of his chest pressed against your back, his hands closing over yours and his fingers a hairs breadth away from interlocking with yours. You watched as he skilfully crushed the graphorn horn into a powder, wondering how he did it so well without being able to see what he was doing.

When he finished and stepped back, you felt your heart skip a beat- perhaps relief that he'd stepped away and allowed you to breathe again? Or maybe dissapointment that he was no longer so close to you. "T-thank you, Ominis." You speak quickly, trying to act like you're not freaking out internally. He returns to his table with a gentle nod, and you could swear you saw a flush across his pale cheeks. As you turn and place the mortar and pestle back on your table, you accidentally brush up against Sebastian. The action causes him to jolt in surprise, and knock the ashwinder egg off of the desk. You bend down to get it, but in one swift motion, Sebastian has one hand across your shoulder, holding you up, and the other cupping the egg. Just how good were his reflexes? "Careful. If this broke, we'd end up with a magical fire on our hands- and Professor Sharp really wouldn't like me then." He smirks, his face so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath. In that moment, you weren't sure if the heat that was pulsing through your entire body was because of Sebastian or the egg he was holding that radiated warmth.

You quickly shift out of Sebastian's grasp, placing the ashwinder egg back on the potions table, inside a small nest that you'd conjured to keep it from rolling away or falling again. If either Sebastian or Ominis speak again, you don't hear it, too busy dicing up a mandrake root for the potion. As you put the ground graphorn horn and mandrake into the cauldron, it begins to take shape. It is a faint purple, shiny spots dancing in the liquid, and a swirling, spiraling steam begins to emit from it. The faint scent of ancient magic lingers in the air, causing you to sigh happily. You'd never sniffed amortentia, but knew it always smelled of what your favourite scents were. Adding the last ingredient and casting a small charm on the cauldron, it burst up in a cloud of bright pink smoke. Large hearts were floating up above the potion, mingling in with the smoke and steam. "Well done. 10 points to your house, (L/N)." You heard Professor Sharp's approving tone behind you, bringing a proud smile to your lips.

Class was dismissed, and you packed up your things and slung your book bag over your shoulder, gazing over the classroom for your two best friends. Sebastian and Ominis were talking to eachother idly, walking off to their next classes. You jogged up to them, jovially placing an arm around both of their shoulders, practically inserting yourself between the both of them. "Ah, (Y/N), there you are. Look what I snagged." He says with a grin, shaking a small vial of bright pink liquid between his fingers. You gasp, playfully smacking him over the head. "Hey! I did most of the work making that, it's only fair you give it to me." You huff playfully, snatching it from his hand. Ominis only smiles and shakes his head, a deep chuckle coming from his throat. "I've never smelled it before- hang on, I wanna see what it's like." You say, twisting the small golden cork off of the bottle and bringing it up to your nose. You were immediately hit with a whiff of ancient magic, an acrid but still pleasing scent that almost seemed to crackle with electricity and sent jolts through your body. Laced amongst that, was a mossy and damp, but musky and pleasant hint. One that immediately had your eyes widen the size of saucers. It was the same smell that clung to Sebastian- it had since that night in the catacombs, and although it was initially unpleasant had now become one of your favourite, comforting smells. Also unmistakable, was the hit of smoky yet floral, expensive musk of Ominis' cologne. Some luxurious French brand you couldn't even pronounce. Surely this was a trick- you had to be smelling it because of your close proximity, not because you were secretly in love with them or something. "I have to go." You shoved the potion back to Sebastian, leaving the classroom in a rush without another word.

---------------

You'd spent the next couple of days avoiding Ominis and Sebastian wherever you possibly could. Hiding away in your dorm, not sitting at the Slytherin table during feasts like you usually would, making excuses whenever they asked to talk with you. You felt really bad and even a little lost without them, but it was better than what you'd convinced yourself the alternative was- them finding out about your feelings and being disgusted with you or ruining what you had. In classes, multiple teachers had asked if you were feeling okay, noticing that you weren't with your best friends as you usually were. You'd been paired with Ominis in astronomy, and skilfully avoided any questions he asked you by outright ignoring him. You saw how disheartened he looked, how his face dropped as he quickly gave up trying to talk with you.

Right now, you were sitting outside of your common room, revising your herbology homework in peace. The scratching of your quill against parchment, and the crackling of the hearth burning next to you lulling you into a sense of security and familiarity. You were humming a faint tune to yourself, only bought out of it as you spotted feet paused right in front of you. As you looked up, your eyes met a very pissed looking Sebastian and a hesitant Ominis, eyes fixed to the ground even though he couldn't see. "Alright, what's up?" Sebastian hissed, his arms crossed over his chest. "You've been avoiding us for 3 days straight, and you've hurt Ominis' feelings!" He growls out with such anger that it actually makes you shiver. Your face falls at this information, breath hitching in your throat. "What?" You choked out, looking over at Ominis with saddened eyes. You hadn't meant to hurt either of them, and it broke your heart to know that you had.

"Ominis, Sebastian, I-" you began, placing the parchment you were working on over the desk, and standing up slowly. Your nails were digging in so hard to your palms that you felt blood begin to bead from the indents. You hung your head, biting your lip as you thought of what to say. When you looked back up again, Ominis was gazing at you with his typical calm demeanour, and Sebastian was looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. "I'm sorry." Was all you were able to choke out, trying to fight back tears that picked at your eyes. "I just...the other day, during potions. I smelled the both of you in the amortentia- and I guess I panicked. Suppose I didn't know what to do, because I'm so damn scared of being rejected and ruining what we have- and, it's not like I could have the both of you, anyway." You hadn't even realised that you'd been rambling or that there were tears streaming down your face until Ominis had his lips against yours, his hand cupping your cheek and wiping away your tears.

When he pulled away, you looked like a deer in headlights. Body stiff and a shocked, flustered look on your face. "(Y/N) (L/N), you absolute git!" Sebastian laughed loudly, pretty much running into you and hugging you so forcefully that you were pushed right up against the wall. "Shut up. Ominis and I have been smitten with you since fifth year, how have you not noticed?" You pushed him away, looking up at the taller with an incredulous expression. "Wait, you what?" Your voice was raised, but not angry. "It's quite true, I assure you. Sebastian and I look at you like a mooncalf looks at a full moon." He chuckles quietly, and you sigh in relief. You're so glad that you didn't cause any irreparable damage in your relationship with the two, although you still felt horrible for hurting Ominis' feelings.

"My turn." Sebastian spoke simply, pulling you into his chest and leaning down to kiss you. His kisses were more rough than Ominis', fiery and passionate but not aggressive- even as he held you, his grasp was gentle and tender, a nice contrast to his feverish kissing. When he pulled away, a string of saliva connected both of your lips, and your faces were both bright red. Ominis was off standing to the side, his face equally as warm- he wasn't really hiding the fact he was enjoying the prospect of his two friends kissing. You knew that Sebastian and Ominis had both liked eachother- they'd both confided in you at separate times, and you'd done what you could for them. It hadn't crossed your mind that they'd also liked you too.

"I say we go somewhere more private, yes?" Ominis rumbled into your ear, his voice more husky than usual. You felt his warm hand slip into yours, and Sebastian followed suit, his hand finding purchase on your other. Now, you were sandwiched between two pretty Slytherin boys, and you couldn't think straight. "I agree." Sebastian nodded with a smirk, beginning to walk. You let the two guide you, unsure of their plans- although you weren't complaining either way. You got a few odd looks from some students as they watched the three of you walk hand-in-hand, but most people wisely looked away. The three of you were notorious after last years events, and most people were too intimidated of you, Seb and ominis and thankfully steered clear. As you climbed up the stairs of the astronomy tower, you realised that the boys were taking you to the room of requirement.

"This is your idea of private?" You giggled, about to speak again when you were roughly shoved against the wall by a pair of strong hands. "As long as you're quiet, no one will be any the wiser." Ominis laughed, his hands running over your hips as Sebastian's lips collided with yours. The sounds of yours and Sebastian's lips gliding over eachother's were almost lewd and caused a heat to pool in the bottom of your stomach. You felt Ominis slip between you and the wall, caging you between himself and Sebastian. The taller pulled away from your lips, leaning his forehead against yours as Ominis' hands found their way to your ass. You felt him roughly grasp at your flesh, kissing his way down your neck as Sebastian kept his hands on either side of your head. The feelings were overwhelming your senses in the best of ways, a mix of a gasp and a moan ripping it's way from your throat.

Sebastian pulled away completely, as did Ominis- you were about to complain, until Ominis took control and shoved Sebastian against the wall just as the latter had done to you moments ago. It took them mere seconds to begin kissing eachother, Sebastian's hands intertwined in Ominis' usually slicked back hair. It was an insanely hot sight, Sebastian, who usually tried to act tough, coming undone under the hands of his best friend slash boyfriend. Your breaths were coming out laboured, heat blossoming all over your body. When the two pulled away from eachother, their lips were swollen and red from kissing, wet with eachothers saliva and their hair tussled messily. It was truly a gorgeous sight to behold, the boys you loved making out with eachother.

Sebastian looked at you, obviously breathless and red, and extremely shy. Ominis didn't even need to see to know that he'd made a flustered mess of both of you, a proud grin on his lips. You sat down on the cold floor, grateful that it cooled your flushed, sweaty skin. You slipped your robes off, rolling up your sleeves. It was only now, as your adrenaline began to subside, that you noticed the sting in your hands, and the blood thickly dripping down your palms. Oh, had you dug your nails in that deeply? Sebastian sat down next to you, clicking his tongue as he noticed the wounds- they weren't deep or serious, but they hurt a bit. "Tsk, how'd you manage that?" He asked softly, taking your hands into his and examining the wounds. He hummed, taking out a small vial of wiggenweld potion from his pocket- you and Ominis had convinced him to carry at least one with him at all times because of all the duels he got into.

Ominis sat on your other side, waving his wand and conjuring a pot of tea in front of you. You felt Sebastian's calloused fingers tracing over your hands, then a sting that made you jolt back into Ominis' lap. "Ouch, sorry-!" Sebastian winced, but you shook your head, grateful for the help as you watched the small wounds slowly heal up until your hands were as good as new. "No, it's okay. Thank you. Both of you." You whispered shyly, taking your hands back and fiddling with your fingers. The three of you sat in comfortable silence, the close proximity making you feel safe and cozy. The crackle of the hearth and the chatter of the beasts from your vivarium was enough to eventually lull your tired body to sleep. Unbeknownst to your now sleeping form, Sebastian and Ominis were smiling down at you, chattering quietly.

"Sebastian?" Ominis spoke quietly after a short while of silence. The other hummed in response.

"I think I really love them." There was silence, and Ominis could immediately tell that Sebastian was pouting deeply- it was almost scary, his ability to tell what was going on despite his lack of vision.

"Oh, don't be jealous, you prat. I love you, too." He softly shoved the other boy, but then leaned over your sleeping form to kiss Sebastian.

"I love you both, too."

[blue-aconite]

between the wolves || prologue

Summary: Cassandra finds herself running from a life that seems planned out for her, the expectations of coming from a certain family and someone she maybe never choose for herself. 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.1k

Pairings: Jake Seresin x OC x Bradley Bradshaw

Authors Note: Welcome back to a new, rewritten and improved prologue of this series! It's been on hiatus for a long time but we're back!

Thank you to my beta @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over for me and for letting me rant on and on about this! You're the best! Thank you to @hederasgarden for making me come back to this and for encouraging me! And a special shoutout to @anniesocsandgeneralstore for being the original inspiration for this fic!

Her mother had insisted on the party, citing that they simply had to celebrate this milestone in her life. ‘It’s important, dear’, she had said as if her mother hadn’t been the one to turn her nose up when Cassandra declared her intentions to study physical therapy instead of just lounging around at home, as her mother did.

In Mary’s mind, a girl like her needed no education. Her value was only equal to her appearance and she would be provided for, first by her father and then her future husband. But it had never been what Cassie wanted. 

Now however, her mother saw the opportunity to throw one of her extravagant parties, showing her and her family off. It was more about appearances than celebrating the end of her studies. She barely knew half of the people attending and Cassandra doubted they knew they were here for her either. 

They knew of her, of course. As the eldest child of a prominent family, growing up in New York’s high society, Cassandra knew her role well. She was the face of the family, the future. She was expected to follow in her mothers footsteps, marry someone suitable and spend the rest of her life among various charities and galas. She hated it. 

She watched as Sebastian and Timothy got dragged into another conversation with their fathers business partner, both of them nodding along. They both looked so grown up in their suits, tall and proud. 

“You look like someone ran over the family dog. This is your party, smile.” Sam handed her a fresh glass of champagne before taking a seat next to her. 

Cassie rolled her eyes. “You mean it’s my mother’s party. You know I just wanted a nice family dinner.”

Her boyfriend shrugged his shoulders. “I know but you have to admit, this is nice.” He gestured towards the garden filled with people.

Cassandra turned to get a good look at him. 

He was wearing an Armani suit, his family emblem embroidered into the pocket napkin and the Rolex watch she had gifted him for his twenty-fifth birthday was proudly on display. As he got older, the more he started to resemble his father but he still retained some of his boyish features. It was a good mix. He was handsome and he was hers.  

She and Sam had grown up together. He was the boy next door, their families had been friends for decades, their great great grandfathers even owning a business together. 

Cassandra knew she was supposed to be with Samuel before she even knew what it really meant. It was all their mothers had talked about while growing up, how they someday would make the perfect couple, joining their families together. 

They had talked about hers and Sam’s future before it had even begun, making suggestive comments over the years. And when Sam asked her to be his girlfriend in eighth grade, she had said yes.

Sam was, in many ways, her first everything. He was her best friend, her first love, her rock, her confidant. He knew her better than she knew herself. 

But their entire lives had been planned out for them. And now she wasn’t sure it was what she wanted. 

“If this is your idea of nice, I think you’re more like my mother than me.”  

Sam laughed. “One of us should be. You should be happy Mary is doing this for you.”

“She’s doing this for herself and you know it. It’s never about anyone else. Did you know that half of the people I’ve greeted today weren't even aware this is supposed to be a graduation party?” Cassandra mumbled, putting aside her now empty champagne flute. 

Sam intertwined their fingers, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “I’m sorry, baby. I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I think there’s still time to turn things around.”

“How?”

He smiled, kissing her knuckles. “You’ll see.”

Cassandra tried to ignore the growing pit in her stomach, smiling widely as to hide the panic taking over her features. 

“Sounds great.” She managed to squeeze out, letting go of Sam’s hand. “I need to speak to Dad, will you get me another drink?”

The moment he turned around, Cassie fled the garden. She pushed her way past people into the house, scanning the crowd for her parents.

Neither were anywhere to be found and with some many people around, no one noticed her slipping away. 

Cassandra didn’t stop until she reached an empty room, locking the doors behind her, sliding onto the floor. Her mother would scold her for ruffling the custom-made Prada but she couldn’t care less.

She knew what Sam meant when he told her things would turn around and it terrified her. 

All Cassie could think about was the ring she had found in the wardrobe a couple of weeks ago. She hadn’t meant to look but the familiar jewellery caught her eye.

There it had been, a stunning diamond ring she knew all too well. She had seen the ring before, on his grandmother’s hand. It was a family heirloom, meant for one thing. Marriage. 

Sam proposing wasn’t a surprise though. It would happen sooner rather than later.

But the thought itself twisted her stomach further and she gasped for air, fighting back the tears. 

There had been a point in her life where she wanted nothing else. That a future with Sam was the only option. He had been all she ever wanted. 

But now, thinking about spending the rest of her life with him made her stomach turn. She could see it all so clearly, the life that they were supposed to have. It was there, all within her grasp, all planned out for them. And Cassandra didn’t want it. 

She had loved Sam for so long that she wasn’t sure who she’d be without him. She still loved him. But she wasn’t in love with him anymore and she hadn’t been for a while now. 

It was easier to admit to herself now than it had been when Cassie first started to realise that she was falling out of love with him. Only then had she realised how much of their lives had already been planned, how much of their relationship was built on their parent’s expectations.

The ring only solidified what Cassandra had known for months. This wasn’t what she wanted.

“Good afternoon passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 75B to Anchorage, Alaska. We are now inviting those in first class and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately fifteen minutes. Thank you.”

Shouldering her bag, Cassie let an elderly couple pass by her before taking her place in the queue. There was no rush. 

She might have been at one of the busiest airports in New York, but Cassie felt strangely calm. More than she had in months. It only served to prove that leaving was the right thing to do. Her only regret was leaving without telling her dad or brothers but she couldn’t risk them slipping up and telling her mother or Sam. 

Her phone vibrated with an incoming call again and she let it go to voicemail. There were several missed calls, unread messages and voicemails. Her father’s contact stared back at her, the most recent missed call along with a text message.

Just tell me you’re safe.

The queue had yet to move so she pulled up their chat, where there was another 4 unread messages waiting for her. 

Cassandra, where are you?

Call me back. Arthur said he dropped you off at LGA. What’s going on?

Your mother is very upset. Please call us back.

Sweetheart, I just need to know that you’re okay.

Cassandra couldn’t call him back, not now. But he deserved to know she was okay. 

I’m ok. I’ll let you know when I land. Please don’t tell mother. I love you.

She put the phone on aeroplane mode after that, effectively blocking any more incoming messages or calls. The queue was moving now and she handed the flight attendant her passport and ticket, thanking them before following the stream of people. 

Finding her seat, she declined the drink offered by the stewardess with a polite smile. Maybe later. Right now, all she wanted to do was sleep. 

Boarding seemed to be over pretty quickly and when the rumble of the engines grew louder as they made it to the taxiway, Cassie leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. 

She could worry about everything later. 

Ted Stevens Airport was just as busy as LaGuardia when Cassie departed her plane. She trudged along with the rest of the passengers towards baggage claim. 

The conveyor belt was already moving when she got there and luckily enough, her bag was already on the belt. She made for the exit after collecting her belongings, looking for a taxi.

Pulling out her phone, she turned off the aeroplane mode and once again her screen was filled with more calls and messages. She ignored them all, pulling up the hotel information. She was grateful for airplane wi-fi, allowing her to book a hotel during the long flight. 

Hailing down a cab, she gave them the name of the hotel and fifteen minutes later the bellhop was carrying her bags into the lobby while she checked into the room she booked. 

Thanking the bellhop, she locked the door behind her and fought the urge to just collapse onto the bed and sleep. Cassie forced herself to take a shower, washing off the entire flight of her body and brushing her teeth before crawling under the covers. 

She plugged in her charger and set an alarm, not wanting to sleep away the next day. Remembering her promise to her dad, Cassie pulled up his contact information, hovering over the call button. She wanted to hear his voice but she didn’t want to alert her mother to her whereabouts either.

Flight went ok, and I made it to the hotel safely. I’m in Anchorage. Please don’t tell mother where I am, or Sam. 

I’m so sorry I left without saying anything to you. I just didn’t want you to stop me. I don’t know how to explain but I need some space to think about what I really want. I knew Sam was planning to propose at the party and I realised it’s not what I want, not anymore. I don’t even know if it's what I’ve ever wanted or what mother has expected of me.

Please, don’t ask me to come home. I need to do this for myself. I’m not asking you to understand, I’m just asking you to let me make my own decisions. Tell Sebastian and Timothy that I’ll miss them. I love you.

She typed out the long message, hitting send before placing the phone screen down to give her some resemblance of peace as she waited for her father to answer. Even with the five-hour time difference, she was sure he would.

In the comfort of a warm bed and surrounded by nothing but darkness, Cassandra let herself feel for the first time since she left. All the emotions she shoved aside earlier to make it easier to leave bubbled up to the surface and Cassie choked back a sob threatening to leave her lips.

It was a strange moment because she felt nothing but relief over her decisions. But she was also scared. She had never been on her own, not like this.

A quiet chime from her phone alerted her to a new message and she breathed a sigh of relief when it’s from her father and not someone else.

I wish you would have told me, I would not have stopped you. I’m so sorry you felt like you couldn’t come to me with this. But I am proud of you for making this decision. Whatever you want, I’ll support you. 

I won’t tell Mary or Sam but I urge you to at least let them know you’re okay. I’ll tell them I’ve spoken with you, as they are worried. 

I won’t ask you to come home but please keep me updated. Your account is there for whatever you need, I’ll make sure that Mary won’t interfere with it. If you need anything, let me know. 

Sweetheart, I love you. Stay safe. 

Cassie let the tears flow as she reads her dad’s message. She didn’t realise how much she needed his assurance and acceptance. If her dad supported her, she could do this. She could be strong, if he believed in her. 

Deciding to keep all decisions until tomorrow, Cassandra put the phone on ‘do not disturb’ before making herself comfortable in the king-sized bed. 

Right now, she felt better than she had in months. That was all that mattered. The rest could wait.

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@keyrani @silentlysurffering98 let me know if you want to be added/removed

[black-dhalias]

Hiii I really appreciate ur writing and I would like to make a request for a reader and bash from reign smut where u use the quote “ are u a virgin? But how?” And “ are u scared?”

Little Bird

Bash De Poitiers X F!Reader

Warning: SMUT, language, mentions of arranged marriages

History is not written by the forgotten because history is only written by the heroes, the survivors, the victors. In a world full of royals, kings and queens and countries-- only the strongest will be remembered. All others will fall.

You are far from the young girl who visited the French Court those years ago; now, you are a queen and while country thrives under your rule, you are known as ruthless. You move with purpose, your own guards not far behind you as you walk towards the throne room-- ignoring the whispers of the familiar walls. The memories that cling to every crevice of this palace. When you left, you left suddenly in the night, having received a letter from your mother-- dead. Your father was dead and so was your brother, and you were now queen and immediately required back in Genovia. 

You slip between the halls, your hand tugging Bash along with you, as you look back and smile. Perhaps too much of your time centers around your time with the bastard son of King Henry, but something about him is too interesting to ignore. While Mary Queen of Scots is constantly surrounded by her ladies, the princess of Genovia is often feels ignored by her French allies. Not even first in line to your throne, it seems as though King Henry views you as dead weight, but not Bash.

With him at your side, you felt as though you had a friend in this court of lies and deception, and villains. "Sebastian-- c'mon." You whisper shout, urging him to move faster and keep up with you as you slip into one of the secret passages. Once the door slips closed behind you, Bash holds your hand a little tighter as if to keep you from slipping away into the dark tunnels. Outside of Nostradamus, you are most familiar with the French palaces secret tunnels and Bash knew if you disappeared, you'd get away from him. But the his slight pull was a shock, one you were unprepared for and moved backwards into him.

You try not to show the fear that bubbles inside of your chest, being back here seems to bring back every thought. Every struggle. The pain and the happiness, and it makes it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. However, when the throne room doors open and you see him immediately. No amount of preempted focus could have brought you back because he is exactly how you remember. Only now, he is married and you are queen, which change everything, but looking at him... You feel as though nothing has changed, not him, not you, and not your feelings for him.

There is a shocking hmph as you bump into his chest, but you do not move and neither does he; instead, you feel his hand slip down to rest on your waist while the other rests on your neck. Through the darkness you see his eyes shut, the warmth of his hands and then there is his lips. Soft and sweet, and just as warm as you had imagined; although you know this is far from okay, so what? It feels right enough.

However, you bring yourself back to reality as quickly as you can manage and smile at the newly crowned King Francis. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the coronation-- long may you reign." He nods and gives a little smile, coming down from the throne and you see your guards tense up at the sudden movement. "Oh please, I don't think he wants one of his first acts as King to be starting a war." Neither of them relax despite your whisper to them, but you accept the embrace of Francis and pull away smiling.

"Well you made it now." You nod, giving a little shrug.

"I felt as though us both being relatively new to our thrones, we should talk about continuing the French and Genovian alliance." Scanning your eyes across the throne room, you see Mary—you see Catherine and others you recognize, but it's all a cover so you have an excuse to look at him again. He stands at the right hand side of the King's throne, the King's deputy, which makes sense. You make a note of the woman to his right though. Pretty little thing.

Where you were, Bash always seemed to find his way to your side—whether riding, walking through the grounds, or dancing as you are now. Being a princess means suitors, which pleases your mother, but displeases you: "So Princess, what do you think about French weather being from such a cold land?" You raise an eyebrow as he spins you, and with as much grace as you can muster, you come back to him and give a rather forced smile.

Perhaps petty, you begin to lead, which gives him a little shock-- his footing begins to slip up and he stumbles to keep up with you: "Well, for your information, Genovia is south of France, so I'd say your weather is quite cold, you..." Maybe for the best, Bash is tapping on the counts shoulder and he happily hands you off to Bash. You puff out a breath, irritation still bubbling in your stomach and begging to be released.

"Ignore them..." You bite the inside of your cheek as Bash twirls you around the floor, completely at ease and you follow his steps effortlessly. Familiar with how he moves, how he dances; you'd say you were pretty familiar with everything about him.

"How do they expect to court me, if they don't even know where my country is? Honestly, it's just disgraceful." He gives a little laugh, twirling you quickly before bringing you back in, but this time much closer.

"Well the longer I have you here, the better." His comment, rather than comfort, strikes a little nerve.

"You know, I've had a thought. Why don't you marry me?" You two haven't really spoken about the idea, having mutually decided it just would not work out, but now... now you think otherwise.

Francis nods approvingly, "I think that is a fitting thought." He holds out his arm to you, "Shall we?" You finally find clarity in the fact that Bash is now married and nod, taking Francis's arm. As he guides, you pass by Bash and you pause slightly, biting your lip before smiling at him.

"Congratulations on your marriage, Sebastian." Unlike everyone else, you called him by his name to irritate him and at some point, he began to find it endearing. You see the familiarity in those eyes, but it is only a second as he gives a tight smile and Francis continues to lead you towards one of the studies. You always thought that when you returned, he'd still be there waiting and maybe, just maybe—you could finally have that wedding.

Some part of you is angry at yourself for saying anything at all, and Francis must have noticed because he speaks up. "Don't be too hard on him, or yourself, I'll explain in more detail later, but he didn't have a choice in marrying Kenna." So that's her name, Kenna... That's one of Queen Mary's ladies, although she has grown quite a bit. So have you...

"Well when is a marriage ever a choice in French court." You try to make light of it, your own suffering, joking although there is a bitter truth to the comment. When you get inside of the small room, Francis and you spend quite a while discussing the politics of trade and possibility, but then conversation shifts to your marriage.

"A little bird told me you have a marriage alliance of your own blooming, with my distant Italian relatives.” Your smile tightens and Francis’ brow furrows, your reaction seeming to confuse the new King. “Not a marriage I assume.”

“A necessary one.” You pinch the top of the figures that represent a horse, and glance down at the map. Before placing the horse just east of Genovia, on the Italian border. “There’s an Italian stronghold near this border, there’s been attacks on farms from Italian peasants. If I marry an Italian, specifically a member of this family—then I stand a chance at protecting them.” You swallow, “Just another reason to bolster a French alliance, you’ll learn quickly that only displays of power can protect your country.”

Francis nods, smiling sadly at his old friend—someone he cared for deeply all those years ago. “Well, do not worry—France is not an enemy of Genovia, and under my rule, you have no need to question our honesty.” Gratefulness fills the pit of your stomach, the one that had only seemed to grow as you stayed in French Court. Every hour chipped away at your inner self.

Negotiations with Francis went quick, the grimey politics melted away as you simply spoke with your friend. It made it better, and much simpler meeting than these tended to be amongst royal agreements. He asked for very few things, but mainly that despite you being a protestant nation—you remain loyal to France and Scotland, rather than England.

It was easy to agree to such a simple request.

However, the walk to your rooms is not as long as it once was—Kings and Queens are housed exuberantly, but you used to live so far from it all. You miss those days sometimes. These walls hold so many stories. You were almost unaware of the steps following you, or how his hand felt on your waist as it pulled you in. Or how familiar his sterling eyes were as you looked up at him. While you think of pulling away completely, you are not able to bring yourself to do so.

"You are more beautiful than I remember." Only the walls do not speak, and neither do you. Not even as he runs his hand along your cheek. You are frozen, recalling every memory and knowing that the familiarity is built into his touch. "I did not believe God chose Kings and Queens until I saw you in the throne room." Even standing next to his wife, his next words are bittersweet. "Y/N, you are an angel amongst mortals." Something snaps back into place as you push him away, shaking your head.

"No. Absolutely not. Sebastian, you are married and I do not have time for petty affairs." You reconcile your dignity and stiffen your lip, you are Queen. By your own birthright, and loss.

"Admit it, you feel it too." He steps towards you, and you go back, never breaking eye contact. Knowing that the way he seemed to flinch, your movement to get away hurt him. It hurt you too. "You're more than a petty affair to me, Y/N. You've never been anything less."

You fold your arms over themselves, shaking your head. "I am a reigning Queen... Chosen by God, and revered by my people. You said so yourself." The last bit is more pointed. "I am not an affair, or a passing moment." You pause. "Not even for you."

With that, you leave him alone in the hall and retreat to your room. To wonder what would have been, what could still be, and how it's a terrible idea to linger on the past.

The next days are long, you can hardly wait to go home. You missed the grandeur of French Court a long time ago, but now it does not feel like home. It is too much.

You bid farewell to Francis and Mary, "I believe next year, we'll be travelling to see you." You smile, knowing all eyes are on the future. A wedding.

"Perhaps sooner." Just as you step into the carriage, you glance up at the balcony to see Sebastian. To see him watching you. Your soft smile sends his heart into a flurry of confusion and certainty. Even when the carriage leaves his view, he knows one thing: he would do anything to be your husband.

A warm summer breeze touches your cheeks, it dusts your nose and your smile grows. To be married, it seems so much more distant than it should. You should be giddy, but your future King Consort is nowhere near the one you imagine.

"One more night..." You wonder if you could run now, turn your back on the wedding and just leave. Find another way to protect your country against all odds.

You breathe out deeply, grasp the handles of the balcony doors and shut them tight. Ignoring the arrival of the French convoy, knowing that it would not just be the King and Queen of France in attendance.

Francis had tried to convince Bash to not come, to not torture himself further with the image of you marrying another. To not let him torture you. But the bastard was insistent, so much so that Francis knew it was going to come to something.

"I object..." He murmurs under his breath, it seemed to repeat over—"Wait!" He hardly remembers shouting, just that he did and all eyes turned to him. Yours wide as he moves closer. "Y/N..." He swallows. "You can't marry him." What was supposed to be your husband curses, eyes narrow and harsh. Only they do not scare Sebastian in the slightest. "You know as well as I do. We were as good as promised to each other before your brother died." There is much truth in those words, your parents had come around to the idea and so had your brother. It seemed simple, a way to keep France close and to give you this last thing.

"Silence!" The Italian is seething, chest rounding and cheeks turned a flustered and bright red.

You turn your eyes to him, "Do not command him, as that is as certain as commanding me. I am neither soldier, nor Italian. And neither is he." You pause. "This is my palace." You look at Bash, exhaling and he continues.

"I had not told you, but our fathers had contracts prepared and signed... Two kings... It took a while, but I found the original." His eyes turn to the Italian. Your eyes wide, as you hold out your hand for the parchment. "If this document is verified, then it means you can't marry him. Because you have to marry me."

.

.

.

It was enough to stop the ceremony, no one could condone a marriage without verifying if the will of two kings would be defied. Even dead kings have power.

You pace the hall outside of Sebastian’s chambers, every step echoes, but you do not care. An inner turmoil having found itself rooted in the pit of your stomach, to love Sebastian had been as easy as breathing. You knew him as well as you knew yourself.

“Y/N?” You jump, grasping your shaking palms together as you tuck them behind your back. Trying to seem unassuming, as if you hadn’t been at his door for some time. Only as he takes in your nerves, the way your eyes flit about—Sebastian is very aware, and smirks. The kind of smirk that used to tell you that he knew. “I was just about to go find you.”

Honestly, you believe that to be true, he seemed determined when he opened his chambers door. The way he closed the distance in two long strides, his arm snaked around your waist and pressing himself as close as possible.

So close you forgot how to breathe, wondering if you needed breath at all. Without air, your words were strained—the warmth of his hand trailing up your arm was distracting. “You could have warned me.”

“I planned to, only you never gave me a chance.” You recall sending your younger sister greeting the French carriage, shutting your door tight to keep all temptation locked away.

“I guess���” The words trail off your tongue as he begins pulling you into his chambers, and this time you do not resist. Temptation or not, Sebastian has always been just out of reach. Suddenly, he’s as close skin to skin can allow.

Breathless, you kiss him—not soft or tenderly, but desperate to know what it’s like to taste him again. To feel his lips on yours. Sharing kisses used to be frequent, but it had been so long and you had wondered if they’d taste the same.

They did. His lips were as familiar as his touch. The caress of his fingers against your body had all, but left you breathless—there was no space for air between you, nothing more than clothes.

Even those were falling away, you don’t remember his shirt disappearing or when your robe hit the floor. You don’t recall anything other than his lips, his determination to kiss every bit of skin that became visible.

“Perfection…” He hums the word as he braces you on the bed, admiring you—your bare chest and soft eyes, the way your gaze seemed to draw him in. “Absolute…” Sebastian comes closer, leaning over you, warmth surrounding. His face framed by the fire’s light. “Perfection.”

As his hands begin to run along your waist, your back arches and he lingers there—holding you close, his head bent over as he begins to kiss your neck. Letting his lips travel down as you bend into his grip, a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Don’t—” You pant, a shiver going down your body as he kisses the spot above your breast. “Don’t stop.” If your eyes were not shut, head tilted back, you wonder if you could see the ghost of his smile just as well as you feel it against you.

Sebastian pauses, “Are you—”, his lips seeming to stop as he spoke. “Are you still a virgin?” You sit up, his question taking you aback; however, comfortable you are with him. You didn’t expect him to ask so boldly.

You want this, you know that for certain—you’ve wanted him ever since you were young. Those eyes haunted your dreams, knew your own just as well as the sky knows the stars.

“Would you stop if I said yes?”

“Only if you asked… But how?” You bring yourself close, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his neck. Lips hovering above his own.

“Then it doesn’t matter if I am. Just don’t stop.” That was enough for Bash as he regained his vigor, kissing your earnestly and desperately.

You could hardly imagine anything more perfect than the way he held you. The way he embraced you. The way, you moan his name—leaning back as he lowers you onto him.

His movements slow, careful and steady, most of your weight being held in his arms as he begins to move.

“Just don’t stop.” You whisper, leaning against his body—your lips resting beside his ear, you felt his grasp tighten as he began to move more rhythmically.

AN: I definitely don’t do smut typically, don’t get me wrong. I do read it, but I am not skilled at writing it. So it’s more sensual than sexual, maybe I’ll get better in the future. But I hope you like this.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Four

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Four: One Hell of a Case

Summary: Ciel is ordered by the Queen to investigate the killings of Jack the Ripper.

            “There are just too many people in London,” grumbled Ciel as he left the carriage and Sebastian opened the door to his city estate.

            “It is due to the social seasons, where the upper classes migrate from manor houses in the countryside to their townhouses in London,” said Sebastian with a patient (not) smile.

            “I guess even the rich get bored of their estates,” remarked (Y/N).

            “Seasons, huh?” Ciel tsked as he walked upstairs. “The carefree slackers.”

            “It could be a change of pace,” said (Y/N).

            Sebastian nodded. “Those four aren’t accompanying us, so we should be able to enjoy some peace and quiet.”

            “Peace and quiet, huh?” muttered Ciel.

            Sebastian opened the door to the sitting room, and that dream was crushed. Lau and Madame Red were already making a mess as they tore up the room in search of tea and treats. Sebastian smiled awkwardly, (Y/N) deadpanned, and an irk mark appeared on Ciel.

            “Madame Red! Lau! Why are you here?!” cried Ciel.

            “My, you’re early,” said Madame Red cheerfully. Grell excitedly jumped up from behind the couch as he realized (Y/N) and Sebastian were there.

            “Since you have, it must mean…” began Lau.

            “The Queen’s Guard Dog is on the move, then?” finished Madame Red.

            Ciel sighed. “Sebastian, (Y/N), prepare some tea to settle those two down. I’ll explain then.”

            Once Lau and Madame Red were happily fed and watered, Ciel addressed them. “Yesterday, at Whitechapel, another prostitute was murdered. It wasn’t just your average murder; it was bizarrely vicious.”

            In my opinion, inhuman, thought (Y/N). They were hoping it was just a human, though, since they had firsthand knowledge of such vicious humans and mortals were much easier to deal with than other supernatural beings.

            “The victim this time, a Miss Mary Nichols, was cut down by a special kind of blade that sliced her up completely, unhindered by any resistance,” continued Ciel. “Scotland Yard and the newspaper reports are calling the killer ‘Jack the Ripper.’ ”

            I got a nickname, once, thought (Y/N). Well, my contract did, but it was really me. “Black Widow” for her husbands continuing to die… (Y/N) smirked. Not my fault none of them realized respecting women was an easy way to stay alive.

            “Jack the Ripper, huh?” asked Lau.

            “The reason I hurried to London was to confirm the situation,” said Ciel.

            Lau smirked. “Do you have the guts to visit the crime scene?”

            “What do you mean by that?” questioned Ciel.

            “The darkness and the scent of evil that now seep through that place will call out to those of the same breed and eat into them,” said Lau. “If you set foot into that place, it’s possible that you will be engulfed by the madness. Are you prepared for that, Earl Phantomhive?”

            “I came here to avenge her distress,” said Ciel, eyes set with determination. “Don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

            “That’s excellent. Those are good eyes,” said Lau.

            Ciel didn’t flinch.

l

            “Is something wrong?” asked the detective as Sebastian, (Y/N), and Ciel stepped forward through the crowd to see the crime scene. “This isn’t the sort of place good little boys and girls come to. Hurry along back home.”

            “Where’s the victim’s corpse?” questioned Ciel.

            “Corpse? What on earth are you talking about?” demanded the detective.

            “Abberline,” said the head investigator. He addressed Ciel. “What did you come here for, Lord Phantomhive?”

            “Is he an acquaintance of yours, sir?” asked Abberline.

            “I am here to clean up the mess being made by dawdling hounds. Sir Arthur Randall.” Ciel held up his letter with the Queen’s stamp. “It looks like there aren’t any significant leads, yet.”

            “Scotland Yard are taking care of this incident,” said Abberline. “Don’t stick your nose in where it’s not wanted.”

            “Fine by me. Let’s go, Sebastian, (Y/N),” said Ciel.

            “Yes, my Lord,” said Sebastian.

            “Yes, sir,” said (Y/N).

            “What are you going to do?” asked Madame Red, following Ciel. She, Lau, and Grell had, like puppies, followed Ciel to the crime scene.

            “Asking him would be the best option,” said Ciel.

            Him? thought (Y/N) curiously.

            “Earl, you can’t mean…” Lau trailed off.

            “It’s just as you suspect,” said Ciel, stopping before a shop.

            (Y/N) glanced up at the sign, which read “Undertaker.” Their nose twitched, and they smirked. The smell of death was everywhere.

            “So, where are we?” asked Lau brightly.

            “You looked like you knew what was going on a minute ago!” shouted Madame Red.

            “This is the undertaking establishment of one of the Young Master’s acquaintances,” explained Sebastian.

            Ah, an informant, thought (Y/N). They opened the door, and the group filed inside.

            “Are you here, Undertaker?” asked Ciel.

            Silence in the dark room, just a bunch of dark coffins lying in the room.

            “I thought you would drop by sooner or later…” said an amused, scratchy voice. “Welcome…Earl…” A standing coffin opened, and a man in all black, even a floppy top hat, peered out. He had a wide grin that accentuated his stitch-like scars as his silver hair framed his face. “Have you finally decided to get your own, custom casket?”

            Lau and Madame Red stared in shocked horror at the strange man, and poor Grell had fallen to the ground at the ghostlike man’s appearance. (Y/N)’s nose twitched. Undertaker smelled even more like death than his shop. His gaze passed over the group, his grin growing with each person before finishing on (Y/N).

            “As if anyone would come to do that,” said Ciel. “Today, we’re—”

            Undertaker put a finger to Ciel’s face. “You don’t have to say it. I understand completely. That particular guest is in an unfit state to be seen by those from the world of light.”

            The shadows around (Y/N) and Sebastian shifted in disagreement.

            “I made her all pretty, you know?” remarked Undertaker eagerly.

            “I want to hear more about that,” said Ciel.

            “I see, so being an undertaker is just your cover,” said Lau. “How much is your information?”

            “I don’t have the slightest use for the Queen’s legal tender!” declared Undertaker energetically. “Now, Earl, give me that. Bestow the finest laughs upon me! Then, I shall tell you whatever you want!”

            “Strange man…” said (Y/N).

            “Yes…” sighed Sebastian.

            “Leave it to me!” declared Lau. “I was known as the Grinning New Year Tiger of Shanghai. Behold my true nature!” He smiled brightly. “The bed fled!”

            Everyone blinked. That had made no sense.

            “I suppose there’s no helping it,” said Madame Red grimly, stepping forward. “This Madame Red, known as the flower of social gatherings, will let you in on her top-secret gossip! So, on my dear friend’s birthday, her beau got her the biggest [CENSORED] that had veins going up the [CENSORED] and she got such a good [CENSORED] out of it that we all wanted a turn to [CENSORED].”

            Sebastian had smartly covered Ciel’s ears during Madame’s Red’s speech. He nodded to (Y/N), who grabbed a roll of gauze and promptly wrapped it around Madame Red and Lau’s mouths to keep them from continuing to speak.

            “Well, then, the only one left is the Earl! Last time, I lost, but I won’t this time!” said Undertaker, giggling.

            Ciel narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have a joke. He glanced at (Y/N) and Sebastian.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I’m more mischief-maker than comedian.”

            Sebastian stepped forward. “Everyone, please step outside. Under no circumstances are you to peek inside.”

            No one disobeyed, even (Y/N), who was extremely curious about what Sebastian was planning. In quiet confusion, the group stood outside of the Undertaker’s shop.

            “AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

            Deranged cackles echoed from inside the shop. The Undertaker sign above the door smashed to the ground from the force of the laughter.

            The door opened, and Sebastian smiled at everyone. “Do come in now. I believe he’ll be willing to tell us everything we need to know now.”

            “I have seen Utopia!” giggled Undertaker, slumped over a coffin.

            Sebastian just dragged Undertaker up so he could finally give them the information they needed. “Do please tell us what we want to know.”

            Undertaker sighed. “If you insist…Recently, I’ve been seeing something every-so-often—‘customers’ who have a little missing.”

            “A little missing?” asked Madame Red.

            “Yes, a little missing. Like a uterus,” said Undertaker.

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched.

            “It was a pretty harsh splatter, but her uterus alone was precisely cut out,” said Undertaker.

            “While it may not have been a largely populated street, would it not be difficult for an amateur to perform such a precise task there in the pitch black?” questioned Sebastian.

            “You’re quite a sharp one, Mr. Butler. I thought the exact same thing,” said Undertaker.

            He raised a nail to (Y/N)’s neck and drew it across. Their eyes darted down to peer at his fingers, mere centimeters from touching (Y/N)’s skin. Their lip curled distastefully at the idea. Sebastian’s eyes followed Undertaker’s movements, slightly narrowing. The strange man had never been a threat, but Sebastian knew (Y/N) wouldn’t hesitate to snap his wrist if he actually touched them.

            “First, to cut the prey’s neck,” continued Undertaker, “then to cut here—” his other hand drew across (Y/N)’s lower abdomen “—to steal what’s important.” He straightened. “He’ll kill again. He’s the type that won’t stop until someone stops him. Can you stop him, Noble of Darkness, Earl Phantomhive?”

            “I swear on my family’s crest, those who dirty Her Majesty’s garden will be dispatched without exception, whatever it takes,” said Ciel evenly.

l

            “That story narrowed it down quite a bit,” said Sebastian once they were all back in the carriage.

            (Y/N) nodded. “The individual has to have expertise in the medical field, they can’t have an alibi for the night, and since they must still have the stolen organs, someone involved with rituals, sects, or trafficking.” Plenty for Sebastian and them to get on with.

            “Just how does that narrow it down?” cried Madame Red. “Dissections are something that any doctor—even I—can do.”

            Yes, you could, thought (Y/N). You’re not off the suspect list.

            “Summer is almost at an end, too,” said Madame Red. “In two more days, when the season ends, all the nobles will return home with the personal doctors they brought with them.”

            “Well, then, we’ll just investigate until then,” said Sebastian with a smirk.

            “What?” asked Lau.

            “It is only natural for a butler of the Phantomhives to be able to do that,” said Sebastian. “I will draw up a list of suspects immediately and go through everyone on it.”

            Madame Red and Lau stared. Ciel smirked. (Y/N) smiled.

            “Have fun,” they said as if this was a normal occurrence.

            Sebastian opened the door of the moving carriage and bowed to the group. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me.” He let go of the door and disappeared out of view.

            “The carriage is going at full pelt!” cried Madame Red.

            “If Sebastian says he’ll do something, he will,” said (Y/N), smiling. “He’ll get the job done.”

            “We should just take afternoon tea and wait,” said Ciel.

l

            The group walked up the stairs to Ciel’s townhouse, and (Y/N) opened the door. They were unsurprised to find Sebastian standing at attention. Ciel just sighed at the drama Sebastian caused amongst the others.

            “Welcome back,” said Sebastian, bowing. “I have been awaiting your arrival. The preparations for afternoon tea have been made.”

            “You…why are you here?!” cried Madame Red in shock.

            “I finished the business I was attending to, so I returned ahead of you,” said Sebastian with a smile.

            “You already drew up the list?” gasped Madame Red.

            “Of course he did,” said (Y/N).

            “Yes, and I then went and directly questioned them all,” said Sebastian, holding up a scroll of statements.

            Madame Red scoffed. “Sebastian, that’s a little too far-fetched for anyone to—”

            (Y/N) saw Sebastian flourish the scroll. I still remember him telling me dramatics were unnecessary.

            “Earl Bailey’s doctor, Richard Oswald, was with friends at the Whitehouse pub. He has an alibi and no occult connections,” began Sebastian, proudly showing off his prowess. “The surgeon of the Royal London Central Hospital, Madame Haywhite, was talking to Boey at Steep Line, and thus has an alibi. No connection to anything occult.” Grell’s eyes widened in amazement, and (Y/N) nodded along with Sebastian with a smirk at everyone’s amazement. “The personal doctor of the Chambers household, William Samset, attended the Howard family party and therefore has an alibi. No connection to anything occult. That concludes my research. I have narrowed those who fit the conditions down to a single person.”

            “Are you really just a simple butler?” commented Madame Red. “You’re not from Military Intelligence or something, are you?”

            “No, he’s just one hell of a butler,” said (Y/N), smirking at Sebastian as they took his line.

            Sebastian glanced at (Y/N) before a smirk of his own appeared. They caught on quick.

            Both their smirks quickly fell as they remembered it was their attachment to the other that caused them to pay so much attention. (Ironically, they were thinking along the same lines, too).

            “Who’s the suspect?” questioned Ciel.

            “Alastair Chamber, of the Druitt Viscount family,” said Sebastian. “He received his degree in medicine at university but has undertaken no work. He seems to have held many parties at his home. However, behind the scenes, he invites those whom he is especially close to secret parties.”

            “There is a rumor going around that he is involved with black magic,” said Madame Red.

            “It has been said that ritualistic events go on at these secret parties and prostitutes are made into living sacrifices,” said Lau.

            (Y/N)’s eyes flashed. If Druitt was guilty, they would enjoy watching him fall.

            “Tomorrow is the last party of the season,” said Ciel. “That is our only chance. The only question is how to catch him.”

            Madame Red brightened. “Oh! You can wear a dress!”

            Everyone deadpanned.

            “Excuse me?!” cried Ciel, turning red at the idea.

            “Lord Druitt likes anything in a skirt!” said Madame Red, continuing on without a care in the world. “He wouldn’t know you’re a Phantomhive, and you’d be able to get right up there with him! You could go as my niece, and Sebastian could be your tutor.”

            “Why the hell would I be your niece?!” cried Ciel.

            “Because, dear, I’ve always wanted a girl!” chirped Madame Red. She whirled on (Y/N), who straightened in alarm. “And you! Druitt would eat you up! And I’ve wanted to see you in a proper dress for a while. If you look that darling in a maid’s uniform, a proper ballgown would be simply fantastic! Druitt wouldn’t resist you and Ciel!”

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched, and they smiled awkwardly as Madame Red advanced on them. “If you have the Young Master, surely I’m not needed…”

            “I think it is an excellent idea to have more than one person to catch the Viscount,” said Sebastian with a devilishly “innocent” smile.

            (Y/N) looked at him, “affronted” at the “betrayal.” Their eyes panned to Madame Red, whose eyes gleamed excitedly at the prospect of dressing them up. Damn.

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

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[n0vazsq]

⯌ avia's intro && masterlist

⯌ intro . . . hi lovies!! my name is alexavia and i am a f1 and football obsessed teenager!! i mostly support ferrari and barca! i am a minor and english is not my first language, also i'm dyslexic so there will be mistakes!

⯌ masterlist . . . here !

who i will write for . . .

★ motorsports :: - f1 :: oscar piastri ,, lando norris ,, carlos sainz ,, charles leclerc ,, max verstappen ,, yuki tsunoda ,, esteban ocon ,, kimi raikkonen (young) ,, sebastian vettel (young) ,, daniel ricciardo ,, liam lawson ,, franco colapinto ,, jenson button (young) ,, logan sargeant ,, fernando alonso ,, george russell ,, alex albon ,, gabriel bortoleto ,, kimi antonelli ,, ollie bearman - f2 :: josep maria marti ,, arvid lindblad ,, oliver goethe ,, paul aron ,, luke browning ,, sebastian montoya ,, dino beganovic ,, roman stanek - f3 :: rafael camara ,, nikola tsolov ,, mari boya ,, james wharton - f4 :: alex powell ,, dion gowda ,, rashid aldhaheri

★ football :: - barcelona fc :: pau cubarsi ,, marc bernal ,, hector fort ,, pablo gavi ,, pedri gonzalez ,, lamine yamal ,, oscar gistau ,, fermin lopez ,, alejandro balde ++ ask for more! - real madrid cf :: arda guler ,, jude bellingham ++ ask for more! - chelsea fc :: joao felix ,, marc guiu ,, cole palmer ++ ask for more! - others :: kenan yildiz ,, jobe bellingham ,, kai havertz ++ ask for more!

⯌ types of fics i'll write . . .

- smau ,, fluff ,, angst !! - prob will write anything besides smut - age gap is fine but if its 10-15 years max. pedophillia will NOT be written and anon will be blocked. - just a note that i write x reader fics!!

⯌ requests . . . they are closed !!! don't hesistate to send me a msg or request!! i most prob will reply like instantly so yeah! tysm for reading <33

⯌ other socials . . . wattpad !! | pinterest !! | c.ai !!

[specialagentlokitty]

Who I write for/Rules;

This is a list of fandoms and characters I write for (some may be missing) and some rules, if you’re curious about a fandom or character please message and I’ll let you know if it’s someone I’ll write for or not! If you’re looking for prompts please search the tag Lokittys prompt list

THIS BLOG IS STRICTLY NO SMUT DO NOT REQUEST IT AS THE REQUEST WILL BE DELTED IMMEDIATELY!!

Please if you’re requesting use some manners, say please and thank don’t demand I write something from you

This blog is for all ages, do not be hostile towards any member of this blog as you will be told to remove yourself immediately and if you don’t I will remove you, hate will not be tolerated this is a safe space regardless of age, sexual orientation, gender/pronouns, disability and such

If you’re wondering about a request you have but you’re worried or confused if I’ll write it or not or you’re just curious please reach out through inbox or asks and I’ll let you know! I write both romantic and plutonic requests for a wide range of characters!

Some things I will NOT write include; teenage pregnancy, smut(or related themes), underage!reader x older characters (these will ALWAYS be plutonic either a parental or sibling relationship). If you’re wondering about anything else just message! 💜

Fate the winx saga

- Saul silva

- Farah Dowling

Avatar

- Jake

- Quaritch/ recom Quaritch

Criminal minds

- Hotch

- Rossi

- Derek

- Spencer

- Jj

- Emily

- Garcia

Castle

- Castle

- Beckett

Lucifer (Fox)

- Lucifer

- Maze

- Chloe

- Dan

Greys anatomy

- Alex

- Derek

- Mark

Twilight

- Carlisle

- Esme

Harry Potter

- Sirius

- Remus

- Snape

Marvel

- Tony

- Clint

- Bruce

- Natasha

- Thor

- Steve

- Loki

- Bucky

- Logan

- Wanda

- Pietro

- Maria

- Phil

- Carol Danvers

BBC Merlin

- Merlin

- Arthur

- Gwaine

- Leon

- Percival

- Lancelot

BBC Sherlock

- Sherlock

- John

- Moriarty

- Lestrade

- Mycroft

Black butler

- Sebastian

- William

- Undertaker

- Claude

Supernatural

- Sam

- Dean

- Castiel

- Gabriel

- Balthazar

- Chuck

- Crawley

- Lucifer

- Jack

The witcher

- Geralt

- Jaskier

Brooklyn nine nine

- Rosa

- Jake

- Amy

The good doctor

- Melendez

- Shaun

Friends

- Joey

- Rachel

- Ross

- chandler

- Monica

- Phoebe

Teen wolf

- Derek

- Peter

- Melissa (plutonic only)

- Chris

- Parrish

- Noah (plutonic only)

Doctor who

- 9

- 10

- 11

- 12

- 13

- River

- Clara

- Rose

- Amy

- Rory

- Jack

Lord of the rings/the hobbit

- Bilbo

- Legolas

- Thranduil

- Elrond

- Lindir

- Thorin

- Fili

- Kili

- Aragorn

My hero academia

- Aizawa

- Mic

- Dabi

- Hawks

- Midnight

- All Might (Toshinori)

- Fat Gum

Demon slayer

- Rengoku

Tokyo ghoul

- Yomo

- Uta

Durarara!!

- shizuo

Skyrim

- Vilkas

- Farkas

Ackley bridge

- Mr Evershed

- Mrs Carter (plutonic only)

- Mr Bell

The vampire diaries

- Damon

- Klaus

- Elijah

- Finn

the watcher

- Ryan

- Shane

911

- bobby

- Buck

- chim

- hen

- Athena

- Maddie

- Eddie

Downton Abbey

- Thomas Barrow

- Anna

- Tom Branson

- Mary

- Sybil

- Edith

- Mrs Hughes (plutonic only)

Kingsmen

- Merlin

- Eggsy

- Harry

Bones

- Booth

- Brennan (bones)

- Hodgins

- Angela

- Sweets

Buffy the vampire slayer

- Angel

- Giles

The walking dead

- Rick

- Daryl

- Negan

- Glenn

- Rosita

- Carol (plutonic only)

- Gabriel

- Aaron

[scribbleseas]

an indignant pawn story: the door

Description: Taking place hours after the events of The Indignant Pawn, Ciel Phantomhive anxiously awaits an update from the room in front of him.

Warnings: extreme grief, violence, mentions of blood, crying, regrets, laughing at really inappropriate times, just really really sad, angst & no comfort.

Author’s Note: Hi, Everyone!

For those of you who might be seeing my work for the first time, this is a spinoff short from my first complete fan fiction: The Indignant Pawn! I suggest checking it out if you are interested in a hitwoman/runaway royalty!reader x Ciel Phantomhive, a lot of deception, fierce enemies to lovers, and a couple that will fight the world for each other. If that sounds cool to you, I highly suggest heading over to the masterlist linked below before you read this.

Anyway, I hope you like this! Even though it’s a little depressing, lol. In all fairness, an explanation was asked of me. I work for ya’ll.

Happy Reading!

Stay Alive,

Dan

THE INDIGNANT PAWN MASTERLIST

MAY 13TH, 1895

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

For the first time in eight years, tears ran down Ciel Phantomhive’s cheeks. His throat was raw. His nose was running. A tumultuous combination of rage and grief tore at his heart as it beat in his chest. It worked overtime. His lungs worked overtime as his breaths came in ragged inhales, forcing air in, forcing air out. A forming headache throbbed in his temples.

Crying changes nothing, he reminded himself. Crying wouldn’t repair the damage in Y/n’s chest. Crying wouldn’t have stopped the bullet that was meant for him— it was meant for him. There was no denying it.

And that’s what made his guilt gnaw at him. He should have been bleeding. Dying. It was his adversary, his bullet, and his inaction that allowed Y/n to get shot.

“My Lord,” Sebastian started, only for Ciel to silence him with a glance before fixating his stare on the door. Don’t you dare speak to me, you traitor.

“At the very least, you should change, sir,” Sebastian was the only one to speak in the waiting room. Everyone else sat in silence, save for Lizzie’s sniffling. The room smelled of antiseptic and it was cold, but nobody complained. Nobody moved.

Ciel ignored the suggestion. He stared ahead at the door separating him from the operating room. From Y/n. If he could trade his place for hers, he would. It should have been him. It should have been. What was Y/n thinking?

She wasn’t thinking. She was selfless, protecting him on instinct.

She was selfless….And the world was cruel.

She didn’t deserve this.

He did. He should have protected her on instinct— but his weren’t nearly as swift as hers. It hurt to admit, but there was no other explanation.

“Ciel, he’s right,” Lizzie tried. “Your clothes are…” she said weekly, unsure of how to remind Ciel that he was covered in Y/n’s blood; and that his wedding suit was soiled with the bride’s blood. There was even a red tint on his hands, the sick smell of iron on them, no matter how Lizzie tried to clean them off for him. He didn’t care about his hands or his clothing.

Y/n was likely dying. How could he think to change when he could lose her?

After she lost consciousness, the medic arrived and did all he could to stabilize her before there was no choice but to transfer her to the nearest hospital for emergency surgery. As the medical field expanded (especially in Germany), surgeons liked to make teaching lectures out of every surgery. However given the high-profile victim and near-impossible condition Marie was in, the hospital ensured her procedure was private.

To them, it would be Princess Marie of Schleswig-Holstein dying. Only the real Marie had already been dead for months before then!

The irony made the corner of his mouth twitch, and a heartbroken cackle threatened to rip out of his sore throat before Lizzie said his name again, sobering him

“…Ciel?”

“Elizabeth. Honestly,” Ciel warned flatly. The oak door separating the waiting room from the sterile operating room was beginning to antagonize him. By now, Ciel committed most of its knots, age lines, indents— even the tarnish on the brass knob. He detested that door. He wanted to kick it off its hinges…almost as much as he wanted to kick his demon’s head off his shoulders. Stomp on the severed head. That. Deceitful. Bastard.

He needed to punish that wretch for utterly disobeying his order. They had a bloody contract for a bloody reason, did they not?

“I’m sorry, Ciel,” Lizzie took a sharp inhale, chastened. She pursed her lips and released them. Her wary eyes lingered on him for a beat longer, concerned for him. She watched him strike Sebastian so hard that his knuckles started bleeding. And then, Ciel spent half the carriage ride laughing hysterically at her side. He’d laughed until his sides hurt and his cheeks pinched. He was laughing at the situational irony while his tears grieved its fallout. After all, Y/n only came into his life because she was tasked with killing him! And she was on a surgery table because she wanted to save his life!

Not to mention, she was sure Mariana would sabotage them. She was convinced. Ciel had reassured her in vain.

Herr intuition was perfect. Diego even warned them. They should have called off the wedding. The princess should never have to save the Earl— it was an affront to those childish tales she loved so much. It was a torture to be saved. It hurt less to be the martyr because they aren’t responsible for toiling in the changed world without them.

Ciel looked back to the door. Nothing lasts forever.

Someone you love is someone you can lose, Ciel recalled.“Someone I love could be someone I lost…” he mumbled in extension of the thought, tensing when he realized he spoke the latter aloud.

“I know, Ciel, but you should have something to eat, at least. Or have some water, or tea. You’ve been standing there for hours. Sit,” Ciel’s cousin reminded him, but he didn’t dignify it with a response. He couldn’t sit and eat. He wouldn’t.

“My Lord, I have an update…” the lead surgeon shouldered through the operating room’s door and into the waiting room. His face was marred with exhaustion, having performed a surgery so late into the night and without a break.

Ciel held his breath.

Please be alive, Y/n. I need you.