#Princess Chapter 10

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (10)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 10.4k

Warnings: mentions of knives, dead parents, death; talk of arranged marriage; suggestive themes; heated make-out session; self-doubt; small mention of kidnapping

Author’s Note: Omg we are nearing the end here. Only the epilogue is left. Thank you for sticking with me! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Your wrist tingles from where Bucky’s fingers had pressed too gently against your skin.

He has soothed the bruise left by Lord Ward, but there is nothing to be done for the ache settling in your chest.

It’s been silent for a few moments between you two. It’s thick and charged with some kind of electric buzz you can’t quite make sense of. But it makes you feel shy all of a sudden.

“You should probably go,” you state weakly, barely able to force the words past your lips. “They will be here soon.”

Bucky lets out a slow, unreadable breath. He gets to his feet, shaking the water droplets off his hand. The one he used to dip your hurt wrist into the cool water of the fountain. “Then we’ll have to be quick.”

Your head snaps up and you quickly get to your feet yourself. Something frigid curls down your spine. “What?”

His expression is blank, but his jaw is set.

“We leave. Now.”

His words rattle through your ribs, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

“We? Bucky I- We can’t-”

“Can’t what?” he cuts in, almost flatly, but with a determination underlying it. “You think I’ll walk away and leave you to that prick? You think I’ll let them lock you in here and make you play queen to some bastard who doesn’t deserve you?”

Your throat is thick and you swallow hard. “I don’t have a choice.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You do have a choice, princess.” He says the title like it’s a curse, something wretched and wrong, something that shouldn’t be wrapped around your throat like a noose. “And you damn well know it.”

You narrow your eyes. “I never had a choice in anything.” Your voice is rough.

“You do now.”

A sharp breath pushes out of your lungs. “How?”

Bucky leans forward, eyes forcing yours to stay locked together, looking at you with the precision of a man who is hoping for something again after a long time.

“You come with me.”

Something wild careens through your ribs, something intoxicating and terrifying.

He says it so easily. As if you could just go ahead and say yes, grab his hand, and run off into the woods again.

And god help you, you want to say yes.

But it is not that simple.

You shake your head slowly, fingers digging into the fabric of your gown. “This is not about me.”

Bucky’s jaw works hard. His lip twitches “Like hell, it ain’t.”

“I just- I want to help those people. The townspeople. I want to help them.” Your voice is breaking, twisting into something unfamiliar. “They deserve it. They-”

“-don’t need another noble locked in a fuckin’ tower, paraded through halls built on their backs,” Bucky snaps. His tone is not rising but it is low, carrying an edge.

Your breath hitches.

Bucky presses on, voice not unkind, but still strong with sharpness. Coiled with something he’s barely keeping in check. “You think you’ll be helping them in here?” He throws a deliberate glance at the castle. “Sitting and rotting on a throne built by a man you don’t love?” He scoffs. “C'mon, darlin’, you’re smarter than that.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. “And what do you think I should do then? Run away? Disappear?” You bite out the words, frustration bleeding through your fear. “How does that help them?”

Bucky exhales through his nose, the breath fanning over your face. He shakes his head, running a hand along his stubble, but keeping his eyes on you.

“I don’t have all the answers, princess,” he says then, softening his tone but not the intensity of his voice. “But I know this - staying here, being his wife, playing their game - it won’t fix a damn thing. And I know that if you let them take you, you’ll never get out.”

The churning in your stomach deepens, turning around in slow circles only to leave you stranded and feeling helpless. Again. You hate it. You hate feeling helpless.

Bucky is considering you, looking at you so closely, you can’t hold his gaze anymore.

“You really wanna stay here and marry that bastard?” Bucky’s voice is rough, quiet, edged with something that might be disbelief. Might be anger. Might be hurt. Might be disappointment. Might be something else entirely - something sharper, something that writhers in your gut and mind.

Your breath comes out shuddering. “It’s not about wanting to.”

Bucky exhales a low breath. He swallows. “That’s not an answer, princess.”

You look away. Sweeping your eyes over the many flowers around you. Perhaps you’ll catch a glimpse of forget-me-nots to pretend they are Bucky’s eyes so you would not have to look at the actual ones.

His gaze does not sway from you. He watches you carefully, too carefully, eyes tracing your face like he is searching for every smallest twitch of your features.

There is no expectation in his eyes, no demand. But there is something else there. Something sensitive. Hopeful. Unsure. But still so unwavering. A belief that you can make this choice. That you should.

But it is crushing you.

Because no, you do not want to marry that man.

But what if it is the right thing to do? What if, in time, you could make a difference from within the castle? You could be queen - a good queen. You could pass laws that bring food to the villages, mend the wounds your father never cared to see. If you stay and play their game and become the ruler like how you should, then maybe you could make their lives better.

But would they let you?

Or would they mold you into something unrecognizable before you ever had the chance?

They would see to that. Lord Ward would see to that.

Your husband.

The thought might as well break you.

You see it too clearly now - the life you would have under this thumb. His queen. His prize. You’d be draped in silks, painted and polished to be something pleasing, something obedient. Your words, your thoughts, your very breath would be dictated by men who see you as nothing more than a means to an end.

It is basically the life you’ve always lived, only worse.

Would you be locked away in golden rooms, paraded in pearls and brocade, expected to smile while they rule through you?

Would they let you make a difference?

Or would they hollow you out until you are nothing but a puppet? A shell?

Bucky is still watching you.

“Think you’ll be happy with that guy?” he asks, quieter than before. There is something pained in the way he says it.

It’s an absurd question. Happiness. What does that have to do with any of this? You made yourself believe that you were happy once. Even before the forest, before the lies, before knowing of your father’s sins that made your ribs crack open and bleed. Before Bucky.

You always forced yourself to believe you had been happy.

But even if you weren’t, there still is no point in that question.

“It does not matter if I am happy.” Your voice sounds hollow. Rehearsed even.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t shift, as if he expected you to say that. But something about him goes still. Too still.

“The fuck it doesn’t.” His voice is low. Convicted. Almost hard.

Your eyes sting.

“Look at me.”

You do.

“You wanna stay?”

You don’t.

“It’s not that simple,” you whisper.

“It is. It can be,” Bucky counters, stepping even closer, and suddenly he is too close, heat rolling off him and slapping you in the face. He is a gravitational pull you could never hope to resist. His forefinger lifts your chin, to gradually tilt your face up to his. “Look, I'm not tellin’ you to come with me, alright? I'm askin’ you. That’s all I can do. I’ll get you the fuck outta here if that’s what you wanna do. But I kinda need you to want that. Not tryna make any decisions for you. You get the last word here, darlin’. You choose. And we’ll figure out the rest.”

Your ribs are closing in on themselves, locking the air away. Each inhale you try for is a struggle, a climb up a steep, endless slope. Your lungs are reaching, grasping, but never quite filling up the way they should.

A stinging heat rises in your limbs. It’s a weightless feeling, but so without rest. You feel like your body is hovering just outside itself, adrift in shallow air.

Bucky asked you to come with him.

Your father never gave you choices. The crown never gave you choices. The kingdom never gave you choices. Nobody did.

But Bucky does.

Could you do it? Could you walk away from everything expected of you? From all the years of conditioning, the training, the expectations? Could you defy your old self like that?

Could you leave it all behind - forsake the crown, the court, the man you are meant to marry? And go with him?

You told him it doesn’t matter if you are happy.

But looking at Bucky now, feeling the heat of him, the sincerity of him, the way he waits patiently for a choice that is completely your own, even though it seems to edge him.

And it makes you wonder, why not?

Why shouldn’t it matter?

You have spent your entire life serving something larger than yourself. A kingdom. A crown. An idea of duty that never asked if you were willing. That never cared what it cost you.

You’ve never been selfish. Not once.

And the thought of saying goodbye to Bucky a second time-

You can’t.

The first time was barely manageable. And it wasn’t even for a day. You left him standing there, walking through that gate, feeling his eyes on you. It had felt like watching your own heart step away from you, leaving nothing but a cavernous, painful emptiness behind.

You don’t think you could survive a second time.

Your father sent you here to be traded. A bargain to be struck.

But Bucky really looks at you. He looks and he sees you.

Not just a princess. Not just a duty-bound daughter of a king.

A person. A woman.

And when you think of the life you would have at Lord Ward’s side - cold, controlled, strangulating - you know.

You know.

You can’t be certain of what is going to happen no matter what you choose to do.

Maybe you could help the kingdom as his wife, but at what cost? Your voice? The freedom you only briefly glimpsed? Your soul?

Bucky is right. You can’t fix a broken kingdom from inside a cage. You can’t lead if you’re shackled to a man who wants to own you.

But if you leave, if you go with Bucky, you might find another way. A better way.

One that doesn’t require you to give up every piece of yourself in the process.

It means stepping into the dark with no safety net. No crown. No title to protect you. But considering it all, you never felt more protected when walking by Bucky’s side.

It would be just your own mind. Your own choices.

And Bucky.

Bucky, who has never been a guarantee. Bucky, who has always been on the run, just like you are now. Bucky, who might leave again someday.

But right now, he is here. And he is offering you a chance.

You meet his unrelenting gaze again. Just studying, watching each other.

And then his eyes light up. Ever so slightly. But it still manages to blind you.

Because he sees the nod you are about to give him in your eyes before your head can go through with the motion.

He doesn’t look triumphant. Not smug. Only grateful. Relieved. Almost exhilarated.

And he doesn’t hesitate.

His fingers brush against yours delicately, before taking hold of your hand completely. Your fingers tremble slightly in his hold and he squeezes gently, reassuringly, but keeps his eyes on yours to watch your reaction. You try not to let him know how much his touch affects you. But your pulse thunders against his skin.

And then he moves, tugging you along.

And just like that, you leave the castle behind.

****

Your hand stays in Bucky’s. His grip is firm but not crushing. His pace is quicker than before, less careful, less measured.

You have no time for slow steps now. Because you are no longer just traveling. You are running.

Shadows are spilling over the narrow path ahead as the trees rise above.

You should be afraid.

And you are, in a way.

But the fear is layered, jumbled in something deeper - something more complex than simple terror. It is not the fear of leaving. Not the fear of the darkening woods enclosing around you again.

It is the fear of what comes next.

You cannot organize the thought properly. Your mind tries to tuck it into a neat little space, into a box labeled decisions you have made, but the corners are too notched. The lid won’t close. You have done something irreversible. You have stepped across a line that you cannot redraw.

But there is still excitement coursing through your veins.

The thrill of it burns hot in your chest, unfurling like flames reaching for parched leaves.

It is not just the rush of escaping an arranged marriage, or a life you would have spent as a marionette with strings attached for your so-called husband-to-be to move you around with.

It is not just about the fact that you slipped from the grip of a fate that was never truly yours.

It is the realization that you have finally done it.

You have finally chosen yourself.

You have chosen to do what you always wanted.

For years, you have watched the forests from your balcony, their darkened outlines distant, unknowable, untouchable. You imagined them wild and free, the kind of place where the rules of the court could not reach, where names and titles had no bearing whatsoever. And you dreamed so big about running into them, of escaping a life that didn’t feel meant for you.

And now, here you are.

Running.

Fleeing.

The very thing you have wanted since childhood is finally happening.

And it is happening because you wanted it. Because you chose it. Not because you were thrust into it.

You are doing it for yourself.

No more palace halls, no walking in pre-measured and composed steps across marble floors for show, no more of that expected display of poise and beauty.

You are running towards something unknown. Something yours.

And it might not just be freedom. It is uncertainty. It is fright and exhilaration and the painful, intoxicating realization that you do not know what happens next.

You don’t know where you are going. You don’t know what waits beyond the next stretch of trees, or the next town, or the next day.

And that is - as strange as a thought it might be - so beautiful.

It’s the most exhilarating feeling you ever had.

Because this is what you always longed for. This is what life was meant to be. Full of surprises. Not knowing what comes next. Adventures. Things being uncontrollable.

The air starts to burn in your lungs, but you suck it in and relish it. Everything is sharp - the scent of bark, the sound of snapping twigs under your pounding footsteps, the slashes of light sweeping between the branches above.

You feel alive. Not the careful kind of way, the kind that means staying inside the lines drawn for you, the kind that means breathing only as much as you are allowed to.

You feel truly, wholly, terrifyingly alive.

Bucky pulls you along, always knowing exactly where to step, where to lead. There is a sort of urgency in his steps, the need to put as much distance between you and that castle - Lord Ward - as fast as possible.

But you catch the glint of something in his face when he takes a glance back at you to check how you are keeping up. Something like satisfaction. Something light.

Maybe Bucky doesn’t know where to take you now either. Maybe he doesn’t know what waits beyond the next stretch of trees, or the next town, or the next day.

But the knot of emotion that spins in your gut never hardens into panic.

Because there is adrenaline.

It flows through you, loosening the tangled thoughts before they can squeeze the air from your lungs completely.

And Bucky is still holding your hand.

He slows then, his boots crunching against the forest floor. And he stops entirely. Right in front of the thick trunk of a tree.

It catches your attention. You believe it to be a sycamore. The shape of its leaves, the curve and texture of its bark, the way its roots snake over the ground.

Your eyes follow the trunk up into the branches. You have seen it in books. You have read about trees like this, pored over their descriptions in dusty tomes stacked high in the royal library.

You have knowledge of them - so much knowledge. Their wood, their uses, the way their bark was once ground into remedies for fevers and infections, the way their roots pull deep into the earth, older than the stone walls of that castle.

But you have never really seen one for so long.

Not growing tall before you, unbound by pages and ink.

You have been walking through forests for weeks, been surrounded by trees, running, traveling, living in the very world that was once kept away from you.

But have you ever really taken a second to look at one? To observe it? To study it?

You do now. And you relish it.

Every tree. Every warped root. Every low-hanging branch and every bramble that has snagged at your skirts.

You begin to learn to cherish it. To drink it all in. To see it for the first time even though it isn’t and never take those things for granted again.

Bucky turns to look in the direction where the castle is standing. But it’s not in your eyesight anymore. Its looming towers are smothered by thick canopies and winding trunks.

He exhales, long and slow, shoulders rolling back. And then his eyes sweep to you.

Studying. Analyzing. Making sure you are holding up.

You feel his stare on your skin, but you don’t meet it.

You are too busy averting your gaze from the tree to the path behind you. The one you will not walk back.

The certainty of that fills your chest with something delightfully bright. It starts deep, looping in your ribs, growing warm and soft, spreading across your body like the first rays of sunshine in the morning.

And before you can catch it, before you can smoother it into something quiet and contained - you are smiling.

Panting, breath hitching from the fast pace, lungs burning with exertion - but smiling.

It feels strange on your lips. Unprompted.

Not the practiced smile of a princess performing her role. Not the polite, close-lipped curve you have been taught to wear in court.

This smile is real.

Bucky watches you, something wary in the way his gaze sharpens, like he doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

His fingers brush your arm. “You okay, princess?” His voice has a gravelly quality, laced with subtle concern.

You clutch at your side, chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths, your body still trying to catch up to the choice you have made - but God, yes.

“Yes,” you gasp out, chest heaving, and something bubbles up inside you, something so unexpected, it startles you. A laugh. It is light and breathless, spilling past your lips just like that.

Bucky eyes you like you are something unfamiliar. Like you are something he’s never quite seen before.

Not in all the weeks he’s spent with you, sleeping beneath the same stars, traveling the same roads, moving through the same dark woods, and with only each other’s presence to fill the spaces between heartbeats.

It’s the smile. Your smile.

The way it breaks across your face so out of control. The way your shoulders loosen. The way your eyes glint - not with fear or helplessness, but with something else entirely.

Something like freedom.

He wasn’t expecting it. That much is clear.

His brows twitch like his body is catching up on what he’s seeing, instincts warring between amusement, relief, and just that little bit of caution he has never quite learned to shake off. His lips part slightly, but no words come, no sharp-witted remark or gruff warning. Just a pause. A heartbeat’s worth of simple observation.

Then, he exhales.

It’s quiet, him trying to make it subtle. But the breath visibly enters deep through him, dragging off some tension from his shoulders, softening something rigid in the line of his stance.

He chuckles. It’s so low and so rough that it seems to have been held in his throat forever before it came out.

“What?” His voice holds something unreadable. A touch of humor. Warmth. A hint of curiosity.

His head tilts, eyes still flickering across your face still tracing the way your lips are curved, the way your constricted chest is rising and falling from the effort of running - of choosing to run.

“You laughin' princess?” He drawls, and there is something unreadable in his gaze now. Not quite teasing. Not mocking. More like he is testing something. Prodding at it.

You shake your head, still breathless. Still grinning. Unrepentant. “No.”

Something is soaring through your chest. You can’t control it. It is uncontainable. And it makes your legs burn to push forward anyway. It makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

It makes you want to sing. To shout. To throw your arms out and feel the wind bite at your skin and know, for the first time in your life, that you are truly free.

He huffs amused, smirking. “You’re smilin’,” he points out.

“Am I?” The smile is still in your voice.

Bucky snorts, shaking his head, but there is something almost fond in the way he does it. A breath of laughter slips through his lips.

His eyes then immediately flicker back to the woods, as though he doesn’t know how to do anything else. Back to the reality of your situation, of what comes next. His fingers flex at his side.

“We should keep movin’,” he says, but there is a rasp in his voice. Something contained.

And just before he turns wholly, before he takes hold of your hand again to tug you along gently, his gaze catches yours another time.

He is smiling.

****

Bucky made you walk longer into the night this time.

It’s important to put as much distance between yourselves and the castle before dawn.

You didn’t ask how far he meant to go.

Didn’t ask if he thought they were already after you.

“They’re gonna think you were taken,” he had told you. So flatly. So unbothered.

But it made your blood turn to ice. And you had stumbled over a root. His hand shot out to steady you.

Well, but why wouldn’t they think that?

It made sense. Lord Ward had seen you with Bucky, had held your arm in a vice grip, had looked upon you as though you were his to command. His to marry. Now, with you missing, with Bucky’s name already tainted by whatever past he had with your father, whatever history existed between them - who would believe otherwise?

You imagined Lord Ward pacing in front of the king, spinning lies like fine silk. So he wouldn’t be standing in the picture of a fool who left his betrothed alone.

You felt your knees threaten to buckle, but Bucky caught your arm before you could stumble fully into your thoughts. He had stopped, standing in front of you, his head tilted, watching you carefully.

“Breathe, darlin’,” he had ordered. He didn’t coddle, didn’t tell you that everything would be fine. But he squeezed your arm gently and waited for you to compose yourself.

And after you calmed down your breathing, he was walking again with a simple “we’ll deal with it.”

Now, It is nearly dawn and Bucky finally decides to stop. But you just know that he is not going to get any sleep.

You know it before he sweeps your surroundings. Scanning. Watching. You know before he sits, back against the rough bark of a black oak, one knee bent, hand curled over it. Knife in his grip.

It is like you came to know the lines of determination set in his shoulders.

You want to sit down yourself. Lay down. But you hesitate.

It has nothing to do with the dirt, the inevitability of mud streaking across the fine fabric of your skirts. That’s the last thing on your mind. You couldn’t care less about the ruined luxury of your gown.

Actually, it is quite ironic that you started this the same way as before - fleeing into the woods in silks and embroidery, escaping something tragic.

But this one hurts.

Not just the meaning behind it. The physicality of it.

You attempt to sit down, but the boning sharpens its hold, the laces biting, tightening, restricting. A band of steel and lace and force that does not yield.

You exhale through your nose, biting down in the discomfort. You’re used to it. It’s nothing new. The breathlessness, the burn, the way it forces you into stillness and grace. You have worn worse. You have endured worse.

And you manage to compose yourself, except for the barely-there wince.

But of course-

“What was that?”

Bucky's head is turned towards you. His sharp eyes catch everything. The flicker of strain in your jaw, the slight flaring of your nostrils, the way your fingers twitch against your lap, the subtle way you brace yourself against the pressure of the corset.

His brows are drawn together tightly.

“What was what?” You feign innocence, but his stare is already pinned on you, drilling past whatever poor attempt at pretense you think you can manage.

His eyes narrow disapprovingly. His mouth pulls tight. He doesn’t move at first, just watching you.

“You made a face.” His voice is gruff.

You tilt your chin as if you could somehow dismiss the look of scrutiny now cutting through you. “I did no such thing.”

The moon is a thin sliver above, half-hidden behind clouds, barely enough to light anything in front of you, so how in the hell did he even see that? He must have been already looking at you.

Bucky leans forward slightly, exhaling profoundly before he really lets his gaze drag over you with even more intent.

You can feel the assessment in it. The way he pieces things together. He spent too much time learning to read people, to anticipate weakness.

Because it does not take long for his eyes to catch on the bodice. The tight lacing. The pristine white of the gown, too fine, too rigid, too much a thing not meant for this life - your life.

His expression darkens.

His jaw ticks.

And before you know it, he is up.

One second, Bucky is seated, with hard eyes and brooding in the dim glow. The next he’s on his feet, stalking over to you with an intent so firm it makes your breath catch.

Your voice hides somewhere deep in your throat.

You instinctively shrink back - not out of fear, but out of suspicion - and press your palms against the earth.

Bucky is lowering himself onto the ground behind you, his warmth now suddenly at your back, his presence now a barrier between you and the night.

You stiffen.

“What are you-” you start, unsure.

His voice is close to your ear. His tone is gruff. “You want this thing off?”

But his hands are already at the laces before you can even begin to form a reply. Tugging. Loosening. Deftly undoing the knots. There is a strength in the way he does it. As if the very sight of you caged in this gown offends him.

The corset clamps down on your middle, but as soon as he pulls at the first few loops, loosening the strangling fabric, you feel a rush of air finally filling your lungs. The relief is instant. Involuntary. You suck in a deep breath, ribs extending, your chest rising.

Bucky doesn’t miss it.

“There we go,” he coos. His voice is a low rasp at your ear. Encouraging you to take in more deep breaths.

Your own voice comes clambering up your throat again, but you are still shocked by his swiftness.

“Bucky, you cannot just-”

“You’re breathin’ easier, ain’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then you might notice I can-”

His fingers undo another loop. He is not rough. Not careless. Just confident. Certain that this thing needs to go off.

Your hands fly up to hold the slackening fabric together at the front, even as your shoulders sag from the newfound freedom.

You swallow harshly, pressing your lips together.

He tugs another lace free.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric at the front, heart hammering against the boning.

Another lace undone.

Another breath released.

His hands move slower now since you are able to breathe steadier again.

He leans in slightly. You feel the shift of his weight behind you, the way his hands brush your back as he works. He is warm. Warmer than he should be in this night air.

His breath is on your neck. It moves to your ear. Plump lips are almost touching you.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” There is amusement in his tone. But it’s a low rumble, dipped into something rough.

You inhale sharply.

“‘Cause I can.” His words roll out huskily. He is still so close. He doesn’t move away.

He tugs another lace free, but he moves so achingly slow now. You inhale deeper than you have all day, oxygen rushing in so fast it almost makes you dizzy. Or that’s just Bucky.

Your hands are still clasped at your chest. And you can only think of saying the one thing that never really worked when you needed to distract yourself from your current situation, but you still always mentioned anyway.

“I still don’t like you interrupting me.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. It’s a knowing sound and it delicately drags over your skin in caresses. You shiver. Bucky feels it.

You can feel his sly smirk at your ear. Your head stays locked in place.

His voice is a slow drag of heat. And it pierces your core. “You wanna tell me what’s on that pretty mind’a yours, then? Won’t be interruptin’ ya, princess. Cross my heart. Can tell me anything.”

“I don’t have anything to tell you. I just don’t like it.”

“That right?” He’s smirking so wide.

You twist slightly at the way his voice slips through the air. Looking at him over your shoulder, his face definitely is way too close. His eyes gleam with something, something that makes your whole body tingle.

“Yes. I did not miss it!” But it sounds weaker. Too defensive.

“C’mon, princess,” he drones out, a smirk on his lips. His eyebrow lifts almost smugly. But there is more to it. His eyes shine with a fierce clarity. “You missed it.”

“I did not.” It still sounds small in your eyes.

His smirk deepens. “Missed me, then.”

The air seems to grow tense under his stare and you break away from it, turning back around.

Heat latches onto the back of your spine, crawling upwards deliberately.

You feel his fingers resting against the now unsecured laces at your spine, idle, as if waiting for your response.

He is so close. So intense. But still somehow not close enough.

You basically feel everything about him behind you. The heat of his body. The way his breath shifts the air between you, rustling the stray wisps of your hair, rough but deep. The way his fingers stay at your back, poised against the loose laces of your gown.

Your heart fights against the cage of your ribs, pounding with a force that you are sure he can feel.

You don’t know what to say.

Well, that is not quite right. You do know what to say. But you don’t know how to shape it into words, how to breathe them out into the night without choking on them.

But why should you hold back?

You have him back, after all. He is here again. You are with him.

After all the distance and separation and fear, after thinking you would never see him again, never hear that gruff voice again, never feel his presence beside you again - he is here.

You never believed that to happen again.

And there is no universe, no force of fate, no damn destiny that could convince you that that isn’t exactly what you wanted.

So hell, yes you missed him.

You missed him in ways you cannot even comprehend, in ways that have scratched at your walls deep inside, stealing your sleep and making a ghost of you in your supposed new home. It branded your mind, body, and soul, almost scorching every nerve with thoughts of him, his absence something you felt rather than simply noticed. You did not just miss him, you ached for him.

Even when they spoke of your marriage to Lord Ward, even when your fate was sealed with words behind closed doors, you could not think of anything but Bucky. Because you did not want Lord Ward. Not for a second. You do not want a loveless future wrapped in velvet chains.

You want him.

He was the most prominent thing on your mind in the time you were apart.

And he deserves to know it.

Your knuckles turn white. You wet your lips, chest rising beneath the pressure of your next words.

“I did miss you.”

You feel the moment the words reach Bucky because he freezes.

A stillness takes hold of him, so suddenly, so completely. It’s the kind that comes with shock - something having cut cleanly through his composure. Like your words caught him utterly off guard. Like they hit him.

You barely dare to breathe. The corset no longer constricts your middle, but your breaths still grow shallow once more.

He wasn’t expecting you to admit that.

You can feel the disbelieving motion which drifts into the shape of his body, the way his fingers flex minutely at the laces. His muscles lock up and his breath halts. Maybe he tries to ground himself, trying to determine whether or not he imagined it. Whether or not he is hearing things he shouldn’t.

He goes so still as if he had only been joking, believing that you couldn’t have possibly missed him in the first place. As if he thought this was just a game, just banter, just another exchange where you would dodge and deflect and roll your eyes at him.

And the thought of that - of him thinking himself so forgettable, so undeserving of longing - has your stomach slump to the ground.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch the barest glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. He’s staring down at you, gaze unreadable, lips pressed into something that is not quite a frown, but not quite neutrality either.

Something dangerous lurks in the air beneath you.

And you don’t care anymore.

You turn fully, meeting his gaze head-on. And whatever he sees in your expression makes something flutter in his own - something dark, something irrepressible, something hopeful.

He exhales. It’s almost cautious. Long. Steadying himself.

When he speaks, his voice is different.

“Say it again.”

Your pulse jumps.

You swear you have never seen Bucky Barnes look like this before. This intense.

There is something so raw in the way he gazes at you, so stripped down, something vulnerable in a way he probably doesn’t even realize. His eyes are stormy and magnetic and full of something.

Your swallow. You feel the muscles in your throat constrict.

“I missed you.” It’s barely above a whisper as you repeat the words.

His lips part slightly. He is still staring at you. So close. Too close. Is he getting closer?

You are turned to him, but his hand is still at your back, fingers shifting just a bit to barely graze you. It’s a tickling touch. But the heat of it, the intent behind it, makes your skin sparkle with sensation. You shiver. He feels it. He sees it.

He shakes his head slightly, exhaling again. “You really mean it, huh?”

You hold his gaze. “I would not have said it otherwise.”

His mouth twitches and his throat vibrates with a harsh swallow.

You inhale.

You exhale.

Again.

You watch him do the same.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Again.

He is moving closer.

Definitely moving closer.

You feel the deliberate press of space folding between you. It’s not rushed. Bucky takes his time.

His hand lifts toward your face, the backs of his knuckles ghosting over your cheek with an intense slowness. A shiver of a touch, reverent and so delicate.

He trails along the curve of your face, down to your jaw, before his palm settles fully against your cheek, warm and firm. His thumb traces a slow, mind-numbing line along your skin.

So slowly.

Agonizingly slowly.

You do not move. You do not breathe.

Your pulse hammers beneath your skin as he tilts his head, his gaze flicking down. Down to your lips. Watching them.

You watch his in return.

Full. Plump. Red.

Poppies.

He pulls you to him and the world disappears.

The first press of his lips is not what you expect. You thought he’d be rough. Like the man who fights with clenched fists and gritted teeth, whose hands are more accustomed to wielding a weapon than offering softness.

But Bucky Barnes kisses like something stolen. Like he needs to be careful with what he is holding. Like you mean more to him than any weapon he’s ever had in his hands.

His kiss is soft where he is rough.

Warm where he is cold.

His lips are gradual in their movement against yours, coaxing rather than taking, guiding rather than demanding.

He tastes like salt. Smoke. Something that lingers. And something that is only Bucky. Like steel and storm winds. Like danger and safety all at once.

And he doesn’t stop kissing you. He rather shifts, and his touch gets urgent, fierce. But never rough. His fingers thread through your hair, his other hand curling around your waist, and his lips part against yours, his tongue sliding past them, sweeping into your mouth and exploring it so boldly, coaxing yours to meet him.

A soft, surprised sound escapes you.

Bucky groans into your mouth. It’s deep and guttural and it sends a hot shiver down your spine.

And he moves again, not breaking the kiss, never breaking the kiss, when his hand slides to your back, lowering you with him until your spine meets the ground and he hovers over you. Not crushing you, never crushing you, but solid and there.

His lips don’t stop moving, don’t stop claiming, don’t stop tasting.

A wall of warmth. A shield. Something that steadies you.

His fingers skim along your side, trailing fire over your ribs as he leans deeper into you, fitting himself between your legs like he belongs there. And maybe he does.

You grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, your body answering before your mind can catch up.

You can’t put into words what he is doing to you but you are sure to show him.

And Bucky shows you too. He is kissing you like he has been starving for it. Like he is drowning in it.

And you let him.

He holds you close to him as if he is afraid you might disappear again.

He is kissing you as if he is trying to make up for every second you were apart.

Like he won’t let it happen again.

The heat of him is overwhelming, drowning out the cold of the earth at your back.

Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto as he goes in stronger, as his tongue sweeps over yours, leaving you dizzy and electrified. His thumb brushes your cheek, soothing even as he steals your breath.

“Say it again,” he roughly pants against your lips.

You breathe against his mouth, struggling to find coherence.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

The rumbled groan that comes out of him is basically a growl. It is something primal. Something torn from the depths of him. It vibrates against your lips, shakes through his body, and you feel it.

The hunger in the way he pulls you closer, one arm locked tight around your waist, locked beneath your body and the earth. The other cradles the back of your head, fingers weaving through your hair with a carefulness that does not match the desperation in his hold. He tilts your head enough, just right, to deepen the kiss, to drink you in, to take more.

And you let him.

Because the contrast of him is addictive.

The softness of his lips. The rough scratch of his stubble. The steel in his body, pressing into you, against you, around you. The warmth of his breath, mingling with yours, melting into you as if he is trying to fuse himself to you.

It is too much but not enough.

The heat inside you grows stronger. It sparks in your belly. Then it floods your limbs, blooming in your chest, thrumming under your skin. Your pulse is erratic, pounding in places you never quite noticed before.

It pools low. Deep.

And instinctively, you move.

Your legs shift, your thighs closing around his, your knees pressing into his hips, pulling him closer to you even though he already is upon you. There is fabric between you, but god, you feel him.

For the first time, you really feel him.

Not just the presence of him, the idea of him. Him. His height. His weight. The hard muscles beneath his clothes, the shape of his body against yours. The way he fits between your legs.

And he shudders.

His breath stutters, catching against your lips. His fingers flex, tighten. His body tenses.

And he groans.

It’s a sound you feel down to your bones, something that rips through you and sends a fresh rush of heat into your bloodstream.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked, pulling away from your lips to drop his forehead to yours. His eyes are closed. His breath is uneven, his control slipping.

You can’t breathe.

You don’t want to breathe.

Because he is opening his eyes and looking at you like he is a second away from ruining you and you might as well just want him to.

You crave him.

His lips, his taste, his touch, his hands, his everything. The feeling is molten, unshakable, and implanted somewhere deep in your belly, running through your veins, buzzing under your skin.

Maybe it is the adrenaline from running through the woods, from leaving behind the life you have always known. Maybe it is the way he is here, hovering over you, pressing you into the earth, his scent all around you, the taste of him still on your tongue.

Or maybe it’s been brewing inside of you all along.

So you reach for him again.

You tilt your head up, your fingers fisting a buckle of his armor, pulling him down to you. He goes willingly, eagerly, with a hunger that ignites the very air around you. His mouth crashes onto yours like a storm meeting the sea. His lips are hot and urgent, taking and giving all at once.

You arch into him, your body moving on instinct, drawn to him. You shift slightly, rolling your hips up - not much, not enough - but it sends a shockwave through your system, a slow, burning ache that makes you grip him tighter.

Bucky stiffens.

Immediately, his body coils, tension increases. His hand tightens at your waist, his grip suddenly rigid, bordering on restraint. And then, he pulls away.

You chase after his lips, but he stops you with the hand on your cheek, keeping you still, keeping himself from diving back in.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw is tight, his breath is broken. And that makes you pause. Because he didn’t sweat a single drop while running through the forest earlier the day, but now he is panting above you like a man who’s just fought for his life.

He swallows hard, shakes his head, and looks at you.

Really looks at you.

“We can’t, darlin’,” He is breathless. His voice is hoarse. But firm.

His words should be a warning but they don’t sound like one. They sound pained. Strained. Regretful.

You know he wants you. You feel him. Even through the many layers of your skirts between you, he is hard, achingly so, pressed against your hip with a desperation that should be impossible to ignore.

But he is ignoring it.

Even though he wants you. Even though he is starving for you.

“I gotta do this right.” There is something solemn in the weight of his tone. Something real. His fingers twitch against your skin before he pulls away, enough to still hover closely over you.

Your brows furrow.

“I can’t have you like this. Not like this. S’ not right.”

It’s almost funny. Almost.

Because of course, he could. He could take you here right where you are the way he wants. He is stronger than you, faster than you, and he has you beneath him, pliant and willing. And yet, he holds himself back.

He looks down at you with something that almost looks like remorse, but not because he doesn’t want this. No, he does what this. It’s because he started it in the first place. Because he let himself taste you, let himself sink into you, let himself feel what he could have - what he could take - but does not.

“You really care about that,” you whisper, still catching your breath. It is more an observation than a question.

And you don’t mean it cruelly, not at all. You just did not expect it. For him to have this kind of restraint, this kind of morality. He is a mercenary, who kills without hesitation, whose hands are rough and bloodstained.

But you already came to see his caring side. So, really, it should not be all that be surprising.

“I didn’t think I would,” he admits quietly, voice rough, almost holding something amused. But then, just as quickly, a small grimace crosses his face and he looks away shortly.

But then his eyes are back on you and they soften.

“But I do.”

You don’t feel yourself breathing.

“I gotta do this right, sweetheart.”

There is something different in the way he says that. Something gentle. Something warm.

His calloused fingers brush against your cheek, his thumb running along the line of your jaw. It’s such a contrast to the way he has been kissing.

Your hands are still gripping him but your hold has loosened, fingers splayed against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his it.

Bucky’s arm winds carefully from beneath you, sliding free and making sure you lay comfortably.

You feel his fingers skim along the slackened fabric of your gown, adjusting it across your chest with an absentminded sort of tenderness. He pulls it back into place to keep the fabric from exposing you too much.

His other hand props himself up on his forearm beside your head to keep some of his weight off you.

Calloused fingers stay at your stomach, tracing idle patterns along the curve of your ribs. His eyes move with them. Then, again so achingly slowly, he trails his knuckles up over your chest, following the dip of your collarbone, to the side of your neck, where his palm cups your cheek with a softness that has you lying there completely limp.

A slow stroke of his thumb skims the shape of your cheekbone. His eyes meet your own again. His breath fans against your lips when he speaks.

“You deserve more than this.”

The words are spoken low. Filled with things deeper than regret and heavier than longing. His eyes travel down to the makeshift bed of dirt, leaves, and moss below you. He takes in the tangle of fabric, the stray twigs caught in your hair, the way your body is still half-pinned under him in the darkness of the woods.

His expression sours.

There is an instant flash of frustration. Displeasure. Something unfulfilled.

He wants to give you something better. More than the dirt, more than the forest, more than the running.

His eyes sweep back to yours and you hardly have a chance to suck in a breath before he bends toward you, so leisurely, voice husky and burning with a controlled heat that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“But trust me, darlin’.”

You swallow, shaking slightly.

His lips graze your jaw and he places tiny, but lingering kisses over the curve of it to your ear where his mouth finds the sensitive spot that makes you gasp quietly. He lingers there. He savors it. You feel him smirk.

“M’ gonna make it up to you.”

His voice drops to a sly whisper, only for you, only for this.

“Just you wait.”

****

The world wakes slowly.

The air is still cool, the lingering breath of night remaining in the leaves and the earth beneath you.

But you are warm.

Not because of the breaking dawn.

Because of him.

You are wrapped in Bucky’s arms, his body a furnace against yours. His heartbeat thumbs beneath your palm where it rests against his chest.

You don’t remember falling asleep exactly, only the feel of him, the deep rise and fall of his breath like he is able to get full breaths in for the first time in his life. You only felt the way his fingers had traced mindless patterns against your back until your body had melted into him completely.

Your breaths deepen as your senses slowly come back to you. Stirring against his chest, you feel the way his grip instinctively tightens at the movement, pulling you closer.

You blink against the first rays of the morning.

Bucky is awake.

You don’t know if he ever truly slept at all, or if he simply laid there, holding you, guarding you, letting his eyes slip closed only when he was sure you had drifted off first.

But when you tilt your head to look up at him, your breath catches.

Golden light dapples his skin in shifting patterns. And it paints his smile. His smile.

It is lopsided, lazy, and warm, the kind that tugs at the corners of his mouth like he isn’t used to smiling but can’t help himself right now.

“Mornin’, darlin’.”

A shiver runs through you.

His voice is rough and slow, like gravel smoothed over by honey. You inhale sharply, taking in the scent of leather and earth and him, pressing yourself closer without meaning to.

Bucky notices.

He smirks just slightly, shifting to pull you even closer.

Neither of you moves to get up.

Instead, you melt into him again, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, letting the warmth of him seep into every inch of you. His fingers press you tighter to him.

Carefully, he moves and you feel his breath over your skin, lips touching the corner of your jaw, before he dips lower. He kisses your neck in a slow and unhurried drag of his lips.

He doesn’t rush. He simply tastes you, presses his mouth to the place where your pulse flutters, lingers there, lets his teeth graze just enough to make your breath shudder and goosebumps rise.

Each kiss is softer than the last one and you feel them setting a fire in your belly.

You sigh, pressing further into you.

Bucky smirks against your skin.

“You sleep well?” he asks, voice a low murmur, thick and knowing, his lips brushing against your jaw between words.

You hum, a soft wordless sound that vibrates against his lips, still too caught in the haze of his touch.

He rolls slightly, so that his weight presses more firmly against you, pinning you beneath him. His hand slides lower, fingers skimming the curve of your waist, dipping beneath the loose folds of your gown, calloused fingertips tracing slow and aimless lines on your back, your waist. He is leisure about it, memorizing the shape of you like he never means to forget, and watching your reaction.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, gripping it slightly as you try to even your breaths, but it’s impossible when he is looking at you like that. Like you are something he intends to take his time with, something he is in no rush to let go of.

You blink up at him, still drowsy, still trying to process the fact that you woke up like this - with him wrapped around you.

“Am I overwhelmin’ you, darlin’?” he muses, speaking softly, but the smirk is still in his voice.

You let out a huff, tilting your chin up in mild indignation, but your attempt at a glare is short-lived. Because he chooses that exact moment to smooth another kiss beneath your ear, so consciously, his lips barely there, teasing the spot he already knows will unravel you.

The sigh you let out this time is less innocent.

Bucky chuckles, the sound deep and satisfied, vibrating through his chest where it’s pressed against yours. “Mm. That’s what I thought.”

Another kiss. “You want me to stop?” It’s an earnest whisper and he lifts his lips off your skin to look at you.

“No,” you breathe out.

“Good.” He dives back in.

Neither of you seems to be in a hurry to move any time soon.

You stay in his arms, feeling his breaths against your temple.

The world feels so quiet like this. So small. Like it only consists of the space between you.

But there’s that question burrowing in your mind since you left the castle - since you chose him and yourself over everything you had ever known. And as much as you’d like to keep living in this moment, you know you need to ask.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, darlin’?.”

The comfortable tone of his voice settles over you. His hands come to a halt on the dip of your spine, still lying between the folds to give you his full attention.

You hesitate, tracing small and lacy lines along the ridges of the brown leather strap crossing his chest.

“Where do we go now?” It’s a whisper.

His body shifts and you feel him exhale, his chest rising and falling slowly against you. Almost absentmindedly, he resumes the movements of his fingers at your back, as if weighing his answer in his silence.

“I know a place.”

You tilt your head up slightly, to catch his gaze. He looks back at you immediately. “That does not tell me much, Bucky,” you say lightly, but throw him a small expectant smile.

A corner of his lips quirks, but his eyes remain unreadable. “You’ll see soon enough,” he hums. A kiss is placed on your temple.

Leaning back just slightly, you try to search his eyes for more than his usual cryptic deflections. You study the way the light catches in the depths of his gaze, the way his features still are relaxed but somehow holding a guard up. As if there is more he’s not saying.

“Tell me something,” you plead in a whisper, keeping your tone soft.

His eyes switch between yours, his thumb grazing over your hipbone. He exhales through his nose but it lacks frustration.

“What do you wanna know, princess?”

“Are there others?”

He smiles a bit of a sad smile. Eyes on you “My friends.”

“Your friends?”

His smile falls into a smirk, a twinkle in his eyes returning. “Surprised I got ‘em?”

“No,” you retort quickly. Then softer, “Maybe a little.”

His low chuckle resounds in your own body and his arms around you tighten.

“Who are they?” you continue, eager to learn more. “And how many? Where do they live? Are they all together? Do they know you’re coming?”

Bucky lets out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head back against the mossy ground, feigning utter exhaustion at your curiosity. But his smirk doesn’t waver. “Again with those damn questions.”

You fight the smile threatening your lips, but it lifts your cheeks nevertheless. Shifting to prop yourself up on one elbow, you can see his face better. “Hey, you told me to ask.”

“Right.” He clicks his tongue, tilting his head with the motion. “That was my mistake. Shoulda seen it comin’.”

“I want to know more about you, Bucky,” you say after a beat, quieter this time.

His expression softens at that, eyes falling back to you. Looking at you for a long moment, he studies you the way someone would examine a delicate being. Long fingers trail up to brush against your cheek, his rough-skinned thumb grazing the high point of it before settling along your jaw and mapping the curve of it. He follows his fingers with his gaze before going back to your eyes.

And when he speaks again, his voice is lower. More careful, but sounding somewhat hollow.

“It ain’t no castle,” he says, gaze dropping to his fingers briefly, before returning to yours. “Or palace.”

There is something in the way he says it - like a warning, or an apology. He says it like a man who has been told his whole life that he could never offer something worth keeping.

You don’t believe him to think you might be dissatisfied, or that it won’t come close to any standards you might have. More like that some part of him believes he cannot give you what you deserve. Or what he might think you deserve.

A shadow of doubt.

Your heart clenches.

You don’t want him to doubt. Not even for a second.

You reach for him before you can think twice, letting your fingers skim over the rough scruff of his jaw. He lets you trace the line of his cheek, his temple, as if you could memorize him with your hands alone.

He doesn’t seem to breathe. His stare is piercing.

“Well, it is a good thing that castles suck,” you assess almost flatly.

There is a beat of silence and then Bucky laughs. Out loud. It resonates among the trees like something out of nature. It rumbles out of him, shaking his shoulders and you a little with it. His mouth curls into something wide and almost boyish, so utterly amused. He shakes his head in disbelief.

You grin at him. Can’t stop it.

With a wistful sigh, he fixes his gaze on your lips. “I do like that mouth of yours, princess.” He bites in his lip to suppress a snicker. There is a glint in his eyes, something playful, something teasing, something more in the way his gaze drops even lower still, raking it over the length of you.

His voice is dipped low. “If you keep talkin’ like that,” he drawls, something dark and sweet in his tone, “I might just have to take you right here.”

His words roll off his tongue in an indulgent kind of slowness, laced with something wicked - but not serious. His smirk deepens at the blush that starts to heat your skin, his eyes glinting with mirth. There is a deliberate lightness in the way he tilts his head, gauging your reaction.

He watches the way your throat bobs, the way your fingers twitch ever so slightly against his chest. You might as well have to fight the urge to just grab hold of him and pull him closer. He looks at your reactions so devastatingly patient, reveling in it, it makes your pulse pound against your chest. You can’t meet his eyes.

With a quirked brow, he leans in and leaves a small kiss at your ear before whispering, “Though I can’t have you for myself with that audience all up in the trees.”

A bird calls just as he says it.

And before you can tame the hotness bubbling in your belly, his hands at your waist start moving. Fast. He’s tickling you.

“Bucky-” you shriek in surprise, squirming in his hold, giggles spilling from your lips. He seems to know exactly where to touch, where to press to leave you gasping. He did take his time to memorize your body last night.

“Or would you like that kinda audience, princess, huh? That somethin’ for you?” It’s clear in his voice that he holds back his own laughter, shoulders shaking faintly.

“Stop,” you laugh, cheeks on fire, but you don’t do much to swat his hands away.

With a chuckle so full of smug satisfaction, he relents, easing up and letting you catch a breath. You keep giggling against him, hiding your face in his chest. His fingers stay at your waist, giving you a quick squeeze.

His grin softens and his own breathing evens out. A finger meets your chin to make you look back at him and his gaze traces your face as if he needed this. Needed this excuse to see you flustered, to hear you laugh.

And it takes a moment of regaining your breath before you realize just how light you actually feel.

Weightless.

Unburdened.

Not even as a child, when you ran barefoot through the palace halls, had you felt this way. Even then, you were never truly free.

Even in the secluded spots of the gardens, where you once thought solitude could feel like freedom, there was always a link, a bond encircling your wrist in the form of duty, expectation, obligation.

This.

This is freedom.

It is him.

“And how brave you are for letting go of everything that’s no longer for you.”

- Evan Sanders

Epilogue

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @vvs-dlxodyd @winterassassin1804 @thescarleteevee @coutureisart @chachkid @ibelieveindragons141

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What did you think of the eternity float story? I know you’ve said before you prefer events with strong storytelling/writing so I was wondering if this one hit the mark for you?

Any hometown event comes with the usual shortcomings of a hometown event. Low stakes, a lot of eating and souvenir shopping, etc. Eternity Float is no different from previous hometown events in that regard.

BUT!! ☝️🤓 Putting aside my J word and TLM bias (although I’m the type of person that evaluates media MORE harshly, not less, when the characters/media I like are involved), I do think Eternity Float is a step up from most other hometown events because it is slightly more ambitious. I’d argue that the highlight of this event’s story isn’t the wedding/Eternity Float, but instead the subtler secondary plot about how Jade has changed since his childhood + middle school days. Throughout the event, there are many details that feed into this recurring idea of Jade once not having interest in land or not having the belief that he could comfortably be on land. Then he becomes curious somewhere along the way and starts dreaming and working toward that dream. He decides to stop staring longingly at the land to become a part of it. And knowing just how competent he is in other areas now (such as being able to meet all of Vil’s demands; see: Jade Dorm Uniform vignettes)?? How much extra work did he have to put in to get to this point?? Jade isn’t a natural genius like Floyd is; Jade has actually had to put in tons of time and energy to develop all these skills, to learn the polite mannerisms of his mother, to present as pleasant, etc.

Jade genuinely expresses multiple times in Eternity Float that he is grateful to have made these memories with everyone. He also talks about how his past self would be amazed to see himself today more than once. We hear stories of him in the sea but also hear about how he’d visit Ultramarine City to actively learn about life on land. We meet his old land boot camp instructor. Just listening to him share about his experiences, you get the sense that he really worked hard to be able to walk and study on land as competently as he can today. It carries that wistful and hopeful and determined spirit of Ariel, and it harkens back to TLM source material without being outright stated.

We hear from Georgina, his mother, about how she frequently worries about Jade and is glad he has friends that support him and try to understand him. Now, this could also be said for the other family members we meet in hometowns, but the difference here is that Georgina’s worries actually help in scaffolding Jade’s growth. She is concerned about how Jade is faring on land because she may be aware her son is a literal fish out of water and may have lacked confidence before—but now she is put at ease after seeing that Jade does have a social circle and is having fun on land. (The only other parent whose worries about their kid has major story relevance is Dylla in White Rabbit Fest, as Deuce would later go on to honorably win the Rabbit Run against delinquents that had disrespected her. By the way, I also consider White Rabbit Fest to be one of the better written hometowns.)

This is especially important because we see in his book 7 dream that Jade, above all else, believes in himself. Eternity Float is the character growth Jade needed for book 7, it’s done sooo much better than his actual Draconia-induced dream BUT I DIGRESS— To imply that there was a point in time in which he did not have that confidence in regards to living on land is really fascinating and also implies previous growth. It manages to walk the line of keeping Jade mysterious—which is a large part of his appeal to a certain fanbase—while also demonstrating to us how his character has developed over time.

The event still has missed opportunities, of course. We could have gotten a better glimpse into Jade’s past if he actually knew the bride and groom instead of being complete strangers. Or maybe the land boot camp instructor we ran into in town could have been introduced sooner or stuck around for longer to drop more lore about kid!Jade. Still, I think it’s overall a bit stronger than the usual hometown event. Nowhere near the quality of Glorious Masquerade, mind you, but for sure one of my favorite hometown events.

[forgotmysword]

[pink-yuri]

♡ The Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the Genius Young Lady ♡

[foxwithapen]

Finished all of beast yeast episode 9 tonight 💪💪💪 it was so yuriful fr. I also have many thoughts and reactions for the episode so perhaps for once I shall share some. Whoa

First, I find this Pavlova Cookie interaction with Hollyberry interesting

Because like. It's most likely him just trying to get into her mind like with Shadow Milk rewriting Pure Vanilla's memories to make him question everything. He's telling the holder of the light of Passion hey your heart is a void lol that sucks. So it's most likely just manipulation. But Also I dunno there's also a beautiful world where aroace Hollyberry is real I think that would be kind of everything. I ship the pink polycule fr but I just feel like. That's juicy you know

Once again. Is this the manipulation oh yeah. But also. Like come on. Devsis knows what they're doing they know their audience

🫵 I know what you are

I Adore how this design looks. Something about it tickles my brain there's something so unnerving and fucked up about it. My analogue horror loving soul loves this

Ruh roh

TOXIC YURI!!!!!

RUH ROH

And to end it by putting her in the box???? That thang ate her!!!! Fantastic I'm so excited for what happens in chapter 10

[prismstonearchives]

きらめきのプリンセスミッドナイト - Princess of Glitter Midnight

[loregoddess]

Last Exile.....very good, probably one of the best "watched on a whim bc of the ost" anime I've watched, up there with Mushishi for me

[rubber-bathtub-toaster]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: The Princess and the Frog (2009) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Charlotte La Bouff/Original Character(s) Characters: Charlotte La Bouff, Tiana (Disney), Naveen (Disney), Travis (Disney), Azina of Maldonia, James Raymond Rogers of Maldonia, Original Children of Naveen and Tiana (Disney), Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s) of Color, Eli "Big Daddy" La Bouff mentioned Additional Tags: Original Character(s), Abuse, Physical Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Things Get Better, Cute Ending, Second Chances, she prefers Lottie, lottie needs a hug, more tags to come, I'm Bad At Tagging, Suggest tags if you want, Minor Character Death, Falling In Love, Bisexual Charlotte La Bouff, The Evening Star, Domestic Violence Summary:

Charlotte "Lottie" La Bouff is stuck in a marriage with an absolute Scumbag and has given up all hopes of ever becoming the princess she dreamed of being. That is, until she meets Azina of Maldonia, Prince Naveen's royal cousin, who sees her for the princess that she is.

OR Lottie's been kissing the same frog for years, and he's never turned into a prince.

Posted especially for @wryn-polaris and @shimmeringsilverrr (: Thanks for enabling me, friends! <3

[tinysnailtales]

Thoughts from reading Yona of the Dawn Ch. 10

Ch.10 in summary: in a manifestation of her internal change, an enraged Yona takes a stand to try and save Hak from Tae-Jun and co but ultimately causes her and Hak's symbolic death when they fall from a cliff, leaving Tae-Jun and Soo-Won to grapple with the results of their actions as they grieve.

"She's like...a raging firestorm. I can't look away. Did her highness...ever look like this before? At the palace she seemed so young...and weak. Just an ordinary girl. But now, even though she's lost everything..."

Really Yona's "Wind Tribe moment"!! "Even though she's lost everything," she is taking a stance. Acting in spite of suffering. Not letting it stop her.

Repeating my end of chapter 9 thoughts with saying Yona's hidden power has been unlocked inside her. But she seemed like "just an ordinary girl," and well, she's not but she is. And also maybe there is power in being an ordinary girl! But for Yona specifically, she is ordinary in that she doesn't seem to have any special talents or abilities, at least not yet. She's not "good" at anything. But she is learning her own power and strength.

Summing Yona moving forward as "passionate, not passive"

"He's going to die" – look how big that text is! She cares so much about him.

We also get the very important and clear parallel to King Il's death. Yona did get there too late to prevent it, but upon seeing her dead father, she froze. Here, she dives into action.

No more just sitting and hiding and taking it. Yona embodies "stay afraid but do it anyway" What can she do? It doesn't matter. She has to do something.

The eyes here are really something. In Yona's expression you can see her terror and emotion and almost feel her shifting back into how she felt in the moment of her father's death. Tae-Jun's eyes are very expressive too.

It's also interesting how casual (and even excited) Tae-Jun and co are about killing Hak.

Grabbed by the HAIR! And then BAM! She chops it off. HAIR SYMBOLISM, BABY. It is a physical representation of her internal change.

This contrasts the opening scene, where Yona is focused on her hair and her appearance. Now that seems frivolous and doesn't matter. It's not even in her thoughts at this moment. That's another part of her transformation– figuring out her priorities/what really matters.

And she's never used a sword, but that doesn't stop her! She'll do whatever she can in this desperate moment. She just keeps going, such a difference from her prior numb, frozen shock.

Hak is kind of the ultimate motivator for Yona here. She has become progressively more active, but with Hak, acting on someone else's behalf becomes more personal.

Also...Yona the beautiful badass (and again, look at her eyes! The depth there)

"I won't let them kill him! I refuse!" – Yona's stubborn determination, like when she stood her ground against Hak ("I've made up my mind") when leaving the Wind Tribe but in a more perilous, escalated situation.

And the parallel to her father's death was clear before now, but here we get it explicitly spelled out. Yona won't let more people she loves die.

"I said...get away from Hak!"

I keep pointing to the eyes but there's such EMOTIONALITY in them. And Yona is an emotional character, so I love seeing that come across in her face.

We've got kind of the "looks like a mess but has never looked more beautiful" energy

Oh look, a close-up on her eye XD (yes please)

"But...is this really...Princess Yona?" – the transformed Yona, her self-discovery and change is evident to others too. She's almost unrecognizable in her appearance + actions.

"Hak! It's my turn to save you." – awww. There is so much weight to these words. How much Hak means to her, her feelings of guilt and incapability... This whole encounter has been a test of "new Yona" and it must really feel like it for her in this moment. It's a bit like if she fails to save him, then that's it for her.

The energy here is very "I rather than die (with you) than live without you" + "if we go down, we go down together"

"You idiot...run away! You can't do this! Hurry up and get away–" – I like this little combination of teasing Hak + serious Hak. Obviously he's not teasing her in this moment, but he affectionately calls her an "idiot." I feel like you get that a lot in dynamics like Hak and Yona, one calling the other an "idiot" when they prioritize the other instead of what's in their own best interest.

"No! Never! If you die...I'll never forgive you!!" – this is the second time Yona has said this, the first being in chapter 3 after Hak and her flee from the palace. Here, we get a significant pause/reaction from Hak, almost like he didn't believe her before or didn't take it seriously considering the circumstances. But Yona is showing him how serious she was and is. He's seeing her choose him + staying by his side over her own survival.

Just...woah, wow, yes. Beautifully depicted.

And all that's left behind is...HER HAIR.

We see that Tae-Jun actually does care about Yona and that there's more to him than appears. He can be short-sighted and irrational + take things too far (compare his "flirting" in the flashback of chapter 3 with Hak's flirting– I don't love all of Hak's flirting but he is self-aware of when he's doing or saying something somewhat repulsive/off-putting whereas Tae-Jun is not).

Tae-Jun is a mess and a menace, but as the second son, he's also probably trying to prove himself, and thinking Yona has died clearly leaves him feeling horrified and dead inside.

Like Tae-Jun, Soo-Won is shocked and affected by Yona's "death." And OOOOH giving Soo-Won the hair he so loved HA

"Princess Yona...has left this world" – and HELLO I scream not just about the HAIR SYMBOLISM but Yona's SYMBOLIC DEATH (and REBIRTH!) that is happening. She's crossed a threshold.

More of Tae-Jun's reaction: he's feeling guilty + ashamed and can't live with himself. He's tortured by his actions and wants (begs!) to be punished.

"Punish me! Please!" – the desperation. Tae-Jun's outward display works as an expression of what Soo-Won is feeling on the inside and holding in.

Soo-Won thinking of Hak and Yona and their shared past brings me back to Hak and Yona facing the Soo-Won revealed by his betrayal: "Would you authorize this awfulness, Soo-Won?" + "Are you satisfied, Soo-Won?" Soo-Won is facing the results of his choices. And he did choose this, but he didn't want this result specifically. He didn't want his friends to die, but he must accept the responsibility for what happened.

YOON! (I love Yoon) What an introduction lol "What a pain. A pair of corpses" (also also more symbolic death and HakYona are tangled together in it, both having tried to protect the other)

But hello to whatever he was singing prior to finding Hak and Yona. "Long, long ago...the great red sun was devoured. And when the world went dark..." is he also describing what's happening/what is about to happen with Yona and co?

[udryava]

my mind is still stuck on last chapter

[adm-starblitzsteel-4305]

Anyway, 10th Chapter of POTM is here! Only 1 last chapter left!

Previous Chapter:

[hrhmiat]

The Royal Breakup: Mia Thermopolis and J.P Reynolds Abernathy IV Split After 2 Years

(An sneak peak excerpt from The Princess Diaries: KEEP OUT! Chapter 10) By Nicki Cox Published May 12, 2007

New York, NY — Love and the limelight often share a stage in New York City, and the city's young power couple, Mia Thermopolis, Princess of Genovia, and J.P. Reynolds Abernathy IV, was no exception. Their high school romance had all the makings of a fairy-tale love story, but it seems that the script took an unexpected turn with rumors of them getting engaged at Princess Mia’s 18th birthday party on Monday, May 1.  

At the tender age of 18, Mia and J.P., the son of New York's renowned theater producer John Paul Reynolds Abernathy III, embarked on a whirlwind two-year journey through high school. Their recent appearance at Albert Einstein High School prom, with Princess Mia sporting a diamond ring, were crowned king and queen solidifying their status as the 'it' couple of their high school graduating class.

However, the storybook ending everyone anticipated took an unforeseen twist. Recent reports around J.P. and Mia’s engagement have slowly dissipated with sources clarifying it to have just been a promposal. Moreover a week after prom and graduation, Mia and J.P. have decided to call it quits. The reason behind this sudden breakup remains a closely guarded secret, but it is not uncommon to see high school sweethearts split from the pressures of transitioning into adulthood. 

Although, as one love story ends, another intriguing chapter unfolds with the return of a familiar face. Michael Moscovitz, 21, the former flame of Princess Mia Thermopolis preceding her romance with J.P., has resurfaced in the city after two years in Japan. But he's not just here for the skyline views and New York pizza; he's back with a bang.

In an astonishing turn of events, Michael has founded his own company, Pavlov Surgical, and unveiled an innovative medical marvel known as the CardioArm, donating one to his alma mater, Columbia University, last week, gaining an honorary master’s degree along with it. This revolutionary technology is so in-demand that it boasts a waitlist stretching longer than a Broadway line and a price tag that reads a whopping million dollars.

The city can't help but wonder whether Michael's return will reignite his past romance with Princess Mia. Their previous love story had ended abruptly, same as any couple trying to navigate a long distance relationship, but with Michael's resurgence into the spotlight, could the spark be rekindled?

In the world of gossip and speculation, one can't help but wonder whether Princess Mia Thermopolis has been captivated by Michael's newfound success and wealth and if this had anything to do with her recent split. After all, there’s been whispers that the Princess of Genovia is now on a fixed income, when she unearthed an age-old document over a year ago, bringing democracy to her country. Will this momentous turn of events serve as the ultimate test for the true motives of these once-adoring partners? Until then, the cream of New York City society will be avidly watching as this new chapter in their tale continues to unravel.

Stay tuned for all the exclusive updates, only in the New York Post!

[vampirefreakism]

The Blue Princess (Chapter 10)

Summary: Luna and Loki have a little talk and get a little more sexy (its just a handjob in the shower, I swear)

Warnings: suggestive speech, sexual content (NSFW)

Word count: 8.4k

The AO3, Wattpad, and Spotify links are on the Masterlist

A/N: hello, children, it’s me again. Why I took so long to write this? I was writing my master’s thesis. I wrote this little by little as I went, though! I’ve turned it in, so now I can finally get this out to you all. I also got a passing grade, so I officially have a Master’s degree :D I hope you enjoy this! I made it nice and long and smutty at the end, too 😉 but if you want to skip that, it starts at the “!!!!!!!!” demarcation line and ends around the last “--------” break. Also, free Palestine

----------

Luna woke up around midday and, despite feeling unbearably hungry, took her time getting ready. She did her morning routine, tidied up the room, and put in a load of laundry as Loki suggested the night before.

As she wandered to the kitchen, the house was suspiciously bare. No voices coming from adjacent rooms or any superfriends lounging on the couches. The longer she listened, the quieter it seemed to get, and it quickly unnerved her. She’d investigate the strange disappearances, but food was on the menu first.

Luna sought to sate her hunger with a fruit first. The best-looking out of the bunch was a handful of tangerines, so she peeled enough to fill a bowl. She sat and stared out the window, enjoying the silence as she ate. The woods seemed so serene, and the sight filled her with peace.

While Luna rinsed her bowl, the sound of a door closing caught her attention. Footsteps fast approached her, and she glanced over with a ‘where’s everyone?’ poised at the end of her tongue, but the sight of her visitor quickly stole away the words. It was Loki, and he was a sight: slightly out of breath, drenched in sweat, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and looking completely overjoyed to see her.

He wasted no time walking up to her and sweeping her into a ‘good morning’ kiss. It was brief but passionate. Luna couldn’t wrap her arms around him before he pulled back and gazed into her eyes.

“Good morning or, uh, afternoon,” Luna finally said.

“Good afternoon,” Loki said back and kissed her again

“You’re sweaty.”

“And you’re beautiful.” She giggled as he kissed her again. “And delicious.” Loki finally pulled back and stroked her hair. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I did,” Luna answered with a little smile. “I assume you did, too.”

“Oh, like the dead.” Loki took a large swig from his water bottle, and Luna couldn't help but ogle the length of his neck as his head was tipped back.

“What were you doing just now?”

“Just exercising on the machines.”

“You know how to work all those?”

“Sam and Steve showed me, all the while giving me an identical quizzical brow.” Loki stretched out his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have asked, but I woke up with so much energy, I had to do something with it.”

“Oh, way to go, Mr. High Stamina.”

He chuckled and gestured to his damp shirt. “Even though this is after three hours on each at their highest settings,” he sighed and chuckled, “I’m barely exhausted.”

Luna smirked and nodded. “Nice.” She paused and gasped lightly. “Oh! I was going to ask you something. Uh, where is everyone? I haven’t seen or heard anyone else around.”

Loki toward the living room. “They’re all at the pool.”

Luna frowned. “The pool? Isn’t that empty?”

“It was, until Wanda decided to demonstrate her newfound ability to make real things appear.” Loki crossed his arms. “I assume it worked because I haven’t seen any of them since this morning.”

“Huh. Makes sense.” Luna shrugged and looked about the kitchen again. “OK, I think I’ll look for some more breakfast material.” She opened a cabinet. “Tangerines are not very sustaining.”

Loki snapped his fingers. “I knew that’s what it was!”

Luna bit her lip to stifle her bashful smile as she searched. She quickly settled on a more substantial breakfast of bread and peanut butter and took her bounty to the table by the window. Loki grabbed an apple and sat beside her to eat. Food always tastes better in the presence of good company.

Loki bit away at his apple as he silently watched Luna have the rest of her breakfast. His mind busied over their mild tryst from the night before and what was promised afterward: a good, long talk. He was experienced in the realm of physical pleasure, but with her, he was as much a novice as she. It made him wonder if he’d done it wrong his entire life. Perhaps he was, and now he was getting it just right.

“So,” he began, “you’ve touched yourself before, right?”

Luna inhaled sharply and began coughing violently. Loki felt horrible for surprising her, but he couldn’t help but let a few chuckles escape him.

“Hehe, sorry,” he apologized as he patted her back. He remained silent and gave her time to recover.

“Wow, right out the gate with that one, huh?” Luna’s voice was rough, so she drank some water to soothe it. Loki smiled guiltily and shrugged. She cleared her throat and took in a deep breath. “Uh, yeah. Many times.”

“Mm.” The hum sounded like he just tasted something savory, and to him, those were some savory words. “What do you think about?”

“Do we have to do this now?” Luna asked between bites. A smile sat on her face out of pure bashfulness.

“As good a time as any, so long as I have you to myself without any naughty eavesdroppers.” Loki rested his chin on his hand. “So?”

“You want to know if I think about you, is that right?”

“No,” he stated. “But do you?” The pause felt tense. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I think about you, too.” He tapped her nose playfully.

“Well.” She chuckled and sighed, feeling her stomach flip before her next sentence. “Lately, I have. Yeah.” She nervously scratched her head.

Loki’s grin became toothy. “And what do you have me doing to you?”

Luna slowly built up her response, but a glance too long into his eyes sent it crumbling.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” she exclaimed, turning her face and shielding it from him.

“Like what?”

“Like you can’t wait to fuck me over this table! Stop it!”

“Goodness, I’m that obvious?” Loki was laughing, and Luna groaned loudly. “I got you all riled up, don’t I?”

“As if you didn’t mean to do that?”

“Maybe not at first,” he chimed, and she snuck a peek at him through her fingers. Her iris and sclera were tinged red. She was barely holding it together, so he relented. “But you were right about talking about this.”

Luna dropped her hand and poked his shoulder. “You do tease me, silly.” They shared a cordial grin. “You know my reasons for wanting to talk first?”

Loki nodded. “It’s your first time, and you just want to be safe.”

“Yeah. And also, last night,” she took a deep breath, “in the moment, it all felt so,” she waved a hand, “encompassing. Like I could barely think. So, I wanted to get some things out of the way without getting riled up first.” She pointed at him.

Loki grinned and nodded. “Of course. What’s the first thing on your mind?”

“Uh,” she tapped her chin, “when you were last checked by a doctor. I don’t know how it works on Asgard, but I’m sure you have similar concerns.”

“You’re right. My last check was on Sakaar, of all places. Once I was friendly with the Grandmaster, I got weekly check-ups. Everyone in his inner circle got them. He insisted all his closest friends be in the peak of health. Anyway, on my last one, I was completely clear, and trust me, they were very thorough.”

“I trust you. And, uh,” Luna bit her lip, “you haven’t slept with anyone since, right?”

Loki smirked and nudged her. “You know I have.” He shot her a wink to double-make his point.

“Haha. I mean, anyone else?” The thought sickened her, but she had to know.

“Goodness, no. The Statesman was wholly inappropriate, and besides, we’ve been together ever since I got here.”

Luna accepted his response with a nod. “And, um, how do you feel about condoms and such?”

“They’re fine. Why?”

“Oh, well, some people find them,” she twirled a hand, “uncomfortable.”

“I’ll do whatever makes you comfortable.” He lay a hand over hers. “You know that.”

Luna bent her head, and a countering thought popped into her head. “Oh, but wait. Augh,” she groaned.

“What?” Loki said worriedly.

“But what if I go blue during it, like every time before?” Luna sighed heavily. “What temperature do condoms freeze?”

“Oh, my,” Loki muttered. It had never occurred to him before.

“Yeah. Ugh!” Luna put her head in her hands. “What are we going to do?”

“Well, you know I’m not ill. And you’re fine, right?”

She looked up at him. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. About a year ago, I got a pap smear, and they found nothing.”

“There we go. So,” Loki shrugged, “what else is there to worry about?”

Luna threw up her hands. “Pregnancy, silly! I don’t want to play that game anytime soon. I don’t care how good your pull-out game is. All it takes is one and,” she gestured an explosion with her hands.

“Why didn’t you say so? I have a spell that takes care of that.”

She quirked a brow at him. “Really?”

Loki nodded, all while smiling comfortingly at her. “It’s one of the first spells I created in my youth. It’s quite simple, too. I just place my hands right here,” he put a hand on her lower abdomen, “whisper a few words and make you cum to seal the deal.”

Luna’s brows shot up. “I have to?”

Loki nodded again. “Oh, yes. It won’t work without it.”

“Mm-hm.” Luna nodded in thought. “So, one easy little spell, and that’s it?”

Loki shrugged. “That’s it.”

“Huh. And you’re sure it works?”

“You know what the prophecies say. My father would have doomed any secret children I may have had with some additional drastic consequences.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right. Heh.” Luna picked up her toast. “And now?”

“Now,” he leaned on his elbow, “I’m sure I can do whatever I like.” He caressed her chin, making her giggle softly. “However, I do regret interrupting your breakfast so rudely.”

“Wow, you do?” Luna said sarcastically. A laugh escaped her as Loki cringed, and she continued eating. After a few more contented bites, she was done with barely a crumb left on her plate. “Hey, do you think we can stop by the pool? I want to see how Wanda pulled it off.”

“Of course we can,” Loki responded, picking up her plate. “We can even go in ourselves.” He walked to the sink to give it a rinse.

“Hehe, sure,” she said sarcastically. Loki could go if he liked, but the thought of wearing a bathing suit sent a shiver up her spine.

The pair walked from one end of the house to the other, arm-in-arm and in soft step with each other. They gazed at the excess of untouched space and reflected on what Tony could need with this house. It was a loss to both of them, but only one was unaccustomed to so much square footage.

“How big was the palace?” Luna asked.

“Big. Exploring it was a favorite pastime of mine.” He paused and chuckled softly. “Just as I’d thought I found the last nook and cranny, another would pop up to show me its secrets.” A sigh escaped him. “Now that I think about it, perhaps that was my mother’s way of keeping me entertained. Hiding rooms or creating fake ones with a little secret inside for me to decipher.”

Luna smiled. “Definitely something I would do.”

Excited chatter and splashing met her ear, and she rushed to see the commotion, purely out of curiosity. The rest of their housemates were indeed in a full pool, splashing and laughing, all donning appropriate swim attire. Luna was at a loss for words, but there was no need to speak as Wanda waded over to her.

“Oh, hi!” she squealed as she stepped out of the pool, her beautiful body shown off in a maroon two-piece. “Can you believe it?! I really did it!”

“You sure did! Wow!” Luna praised, gazing at the glistening water. “I remember when it was near impossible for you, and now this? Incredible.” She took Wanda’s hands. “You’re incredible.”

“Oh, stop, you’ll make me blush.” Wanda waved a hand. “Well, come on! Join us! Both of you!”

Luna procured a sheepish grin and shrugged. “I don’t have any swimwear.”

“I think I have a spare in my bag. I can look for you.” Wanda took a step, but Luna stopped her.

“Really, it’s ok. I need to get something ready for my lawyers, so you all have fun.” She waved them off, but Loki spoke to her quietly.

“I can use my cloaking spell. I can assure you it won’t fail.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather not. I don’t like people looking at me.”

“Now that you mention it,” Loki glanced over his shoulder, “I do see your point.” He turned back to her, holding a sympathetic look in his eye.

“You can go if you like. I’ll just sit over there.” Luna pointed her thumb to the overly fancy lounge chairs by the wall.

“Ah, so you’d rather admire me,” Loki said smugly. “Now, that I can honor.”

Luna chuckled as he waved a hand and transformed his clothing into a tasteful pair of shimmery swim trunks, giving his body a smooth and flawless finish to minimize wrongful gawking. He bent to kiss her hand and skipped off to the pool’s edge. On the opposite side, the boys conspired with each other but dismissed it once Loki approached them and joined the conversation.

Sam let out a sharp whistle. “You got all that under your suit? I hope I look that good when I’m your age.”

“Oh, you have nothing to worry about, Sam,” Loki said, giving Sam’s shoulder a friendly pat. “You look great already. What’s a few more years?”

“Did you just call me old?”

“James, your arm is waterproof?” Loki commented upon seeing the prosthetic fully submerged.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Bucky stammered, lifting his left arm. “Waterproof, freeze-proof, fireproof, you name it.” He turned his hand around. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: best upgrade of my life.”

Loki nodded in approval. “Befitting for you.”

Luna rushed to gather her journals and stationery to return to the pool before Loki got too lonely. If she didn’t find it so endearing, she’d believe him to be clingy, but regardless, she liked it. Aside from her deep love for him, it stoked her ego like nothing else. She hoped her journals reflected as much to the lawyers and whoever decided to read them.

Back in the pool room, she picked a lounge chair and got situated with her books and sticky notes around her. She wrote religiously nearly every night, but as luck would have it, she forgot most of what she wrote. ‘This is what journals are for,’ she thought, but reading them back was painstaking. There wasn’t much in the first few weeks of Loki’s stay, but her pages soon filled with him. Now, she had to pick through the nonsense she wrote and find something useful.

“Reminiscing?” Luna heard Natasha say from beside her. She looked up and saw her flatten out a towel to sit beside her. Luna didn’t ogle, but Natasha looked stunning in a black bikini.

“Yeah, kind of,” Luna said, marking a sentence. “I have to pick out things for the lawyers to prove Loki isn’t here in a nefarious nature.”

“Oh, so you have to prove he’s boring?” Natasha said, throwing in a chuckle at the end. Luna laughed a little as well and sighed.

“He didn’t get out much, and when he did, he was with me, so I have the most reliable record.”

“I just hope none of those guys saw ‘Gone Girl.’” Luna shot Natasha a disapproving look. “OK, sorry. Bad joke.”

“I love him, but not so far as to make fake diary entries. Besides, they’d see right through it if I did.” Luna marked another sentence.

“Hm,” Natasha hummed as she dried off her hair. “So, where are you now?”

“December timeframe. I’m around the part where he, uh,” Luna bit her lip, “oh, I shouldn’t say. You don’t need to know.”

“Uh, yeah, I do! If the world’s going to hear your love story, I deserve to hear it first.”

“It’s not our love story, not by a long shot, but if you must know,” she turned a page, “it’s the time we went ice skating.”

Natasha gasped. “No way! You can skate?”

“Mhm,” Luna nodded. “I took him to Rockefeller Center, and we skated around and talked. It was nice. It was the first time he really felt like a friend.”

“Aw, I love that.” Luna laughed bashfully and turned the page.

“Yeah, he was really cute.”

“Aw!” Natasha cooed. “I could watch you get all lovey-dovey for hours.”

“Ew!” Luna giggled.

“What? You’ve been such a mystery to me for so long.”

“I thought you liked those.”

“I do, which proves my point.”

“Well,” Luna tapped her journal, “let’s hope everyone else likes it too.”

Natasha looked at the ground and sighed. “Yeah. I hope so.”

The sound of loud splashes caught their attention, making the pair look over. The boys were playing a game of chicken with Wanda as a referee, and Loki had just wrestled Sam off of Steve’s shoulders and into the water. Luna let out a small laugh as Loki flashed her a winning smile and gave Wanda a high-five. She savored this moment of peace and togetherness, only wishing it could go on a little bit longer.

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

After packing the laundry away, Luna continued perusing her journals for pertinent passages. She was near the middle of the journal, so she wondered if she could wrap up the entry she was on before getting ready to go to sleep. A yawn escaped her, and she rubbed her eyes.

“Getting tired?” Loki asked.

“Yeah, kind of,” Luna responded. “I think it would be smart to stop soon.” She closed her notebook and flexed her fingers, cracking her joints into relief. “Suddenly, this all seems so stupid.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Like, having to use my personal journals to prove that you didn’t do anything wrong.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes again, taking her glasses off for good measure. “I have this strange feeling like one of us will get turned into a patsy.”

Loki lay a hand on her knee. “Yeah, I get that feeling too. It’s not unlike them to do that.” Luna buried her face in her hands and groaned. She was tired and frustrated, and Loki felt it all. He slid his hand a little higher and squeezed her thigh.

“Darling,” Loki purred.

“Mhm?” was her muffled reply.

“It’s late and everyone’s asleep.”

“Mm, probably.”

“I asked Wanda to leave the pool filled in case you’d like to join me later.”

Luna peeked from between her fingers. “And I guess it’s later now.”

“Precisely.”

She let her hands down. “I still don’t have any swimwear.”

“Who said you need any?”

“But someone could see.”

“As I said, it’s late. No one would be going down anytime soon.”

“You really know how to sweet-talk me.”

“Wasn’t trying to. When was the last time you swam?”

“I don’t remember. Definitely not in the last decade. Not with my body as it is.”

“Care to do it with me?”

“Yeah.”

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

As Loki said, the pool was still full and equally deserted. Still, Luna treaded quietly, her eyes darted to each dark corner.

“Be calm, darling,” Loki reassured. “No one’s here, and no one will come.”

“What about cameras?” Luna whispered. “Rich people always got cameras in their houses.”

“I turned those off after everyone was gone.”

“Oh, ok.”

Loki took a few steps before her, whipped off his shirt in one fluid movement, and gracefully tossed it onto a chaise lounge. Luna couldn’t help but stare at how the distant lights caught on his skin, casting shadows on his tight muscles and numerous scars. It was a sight he saved only for her, and she cherished it.

Next, he pulled his pants down and stepped out of them, also tossing them to the lounge chair that held his shirt. He turned expectantly to Luna but saw her standing still and staring at him. Smiling softly, he took slow steps towards her.

“Darling, is everything alright?” he crooned. Her eyes snapped to meet his, but she quickly averted them. It was clear she was nervous and chose to admire him instead. It did wonders to his ego. “Do I need to help you?”

Luna hummed and bashfully covered her cheek. “Part of me is telling me you just want to see me without any clothes on.”

“Oh, and here I thought I was doing such a good job hiding it,” Loki said sarcastically.

She chuckled and tugged her shirt over her head. “I can do it.” She tossed it to where Loki threw his and pulled at her bra.

Now it was Loki’s turn to watch, and watch he did with bated breath. Piece after piece, she revealed her body to him. As she did, he watched the shadows catch on the creases and curves of her skin and the shiny edges of her scars. She was a sight to behold, a treasure in his heart, as he remained in hers.

Luna touched her abdomen. “I got to work out more.”

Loki’s brow creased. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Luna took a step towards him, “I have to learn to keep up with you now, Mr. I-can-go-all-night-and-all-day.” She took her glasses and walked to lay them next to their clothes.

“Careful,” Loki called after her, “I may just have to see for myself how long you can go.”

Luna laughed and strode confidently toward the deep end of the pool. “Ugh, you want me so bad, it makes you look stupid.”

He rushed after her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Takes one to know one.”

Loki tightened his grip and tipped the two of them into the water, with Luna yelling on the way down until the water silenced her. She quickly recovered and brushed the water away from her eyelids. Loki’s childish laugh met her ear.

“That’s one way to get you wet,” he joked.

Luna splashed some water at him. “Wow, how original.” She stifled a smile as she moved some hair from her forehead.

Loki mimicked her action. “Still, you’re amused.”

“Haha,” she laughed mockingly and swam away from him, but he was quick to follow.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed his cheek to hers.

“Forgive me,” he said sweetly. Luna turned around and held his face.

“Silly. As if I’m upset with you.” She smiled and lay her forehead against his.

Like two fish in a pond, the pair swam about the pool, enjoying the space, silence, and company of each other. Indeed, it had been years since Luna had swum with such comfort. It felt like being a kid again, and it made her wonder what it was like for Loki.

“When was the last time you swam?” she asked.

“Other than today, not long,” he answered. “Not as long as you, I suppose.”

“Perhaps. You can hide what you want and look how you want to look.”

“When do you last remember?”

“I guess when I was 15. A friend invited me. I borrowed a swimsuit. That was before I started, uh, well,” she gestured downward, “you know.”

Loki glanced down and hummed.

“It also felt wrong,” Luna added.

“Wrong, how?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know how to describe it. Just … wrong. Ugh.” She covered her eyes. “I’m not making sense, am I?”

“No, I understand just fine.”

She looked at Loki and saw a sympathetic look in his eyes. Words escaped her, but he didn’t need to hear anything more.

He wrapped his arms around her. “We can talk more about it later, but let’s just enjoy this for now.”

“Ok. I’d like that.”

Luna pushed off from him and straightened her legs to float on her back. Water lapped at her ears and tried to get in her nose, but she stayed still enough to enjoy herself. The darkness gave her a calm she so dreadfully needed. Tempted, she closed her eyes, and the world faded away. Nothing to see, hear, or touch. She was suddenly in the depths of space, floating to nowhere and seeing nothing of consequence.

But the soft sound of splashing brought her back down to Earth.

Loki gently took her hand and floated alongside her. “Sorry. You just looked so peaceful.”

“No need to be. It did feel peaceful. Just close your eyes and stay as still as you can.”

He did as she said, taking soft and slow breaths, though she didn’t let go of his hand. Their shared touch was the only thing giving them any semblance of awareness—no more sensory deprivation, as if they wanted to be deprived of each other.

Loki stirred, and Luna glanced over at him.

“I have an idea. Hold your breath,” he requested.

“But I don’t have any goggles,” Luna replied.

“You don’t need them. Just keep holding my hands.”

He took her empty hand in his and sank his head beneath the water’s surface. Luna took a deep breath and followed suit, keeping her eyes squeezed shut.

Now, there was truly nothing around her. No sights, no sounds, no smells or things to touch her. Nothing except Loki’s hands holding onto hers. She could feel the delicate tendons, muscles, and slight edge of bone beneath his skin, all of them uniquely his. She hadn’t been with him for long, but she longed for the moment to know the feel of his hands by heart. To recognize every ridge and wrinkle, to tell they were his without any other clue.

Loki gently pulled Luna closer, her hands easing their way up his arms as his slid up to her cheeks. He caressed her with care as he grazed his thumbs over her eyelashes. It made her wince, but she didn’t pull back. She was curious about what he wanted.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long. Loki drew her in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She smiled into it and held tight to his shoulders. Every kiss from him always made her heart leap with excitement, and the weightlessness of the water only added to it. Below the surface, just the two of them existed. It felt like a dream, a pure fantasy found only in the finest stories. It could last forever, and neither of them would mind at all.

Oxygen ran short in supply, and Luna tapped at Loki’s shoulder. He let her go, and they pushed towards the surface. Breaking free, they took large, satisfying gasps of fresh air and slowly smiled at each other as they caught their breath.

“What was that for?” Luna asked.

Loki shrugged. “The idea was tempting, so I gave in.”

“You always give into temptation?”

“Darling, I practically invented the concept,” he said haughtily, making Luna chuckle.

“So, that’s a yes, then?” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Do I tempt you?”

Loki’s heartbeat quickened. “Oh, every day,” he responded, his voice low.

Luna bit her lip. “I’d ask ‘to do what,’ but I’d be teasing you, wouldn’t I?”

“Very much.”

“Then I won’t ask.” She smiled. “I think I know what it is anyway.”

“Do you want to?”

“Depends. Is it asking me if we should get out and go take a shower?”

Loki grinned. “It can be.”

“Then how about it?” Luna fiddled and pulled lightly at the hair on the back of his head. “Can I tempt you to do that?”

Loki grasped the width of her hips and hoisted her out of the water and onto the pool’s edge.

“Of course,” he responded and let his eyes slip over her bare body, “or perhaps I can keep resisting, and we can just stay here?” His hand drifted over her thigh, and he pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee.

A sharp, icy thrum raced down her spine, and she pushed his head away with the heel of her hand.

“Hold it, smart guy. Any more of that, and I’ll freeze you where you float.”

Loki grinned a little. “Ooh. You like me that much?” He planted his hands on the pool edge and lifted himself out of the water to sit beside her. “I’m flattered.”

He quickly got to his feet and moved for the towel pile, damping off the water from his hair and torso. Luna scooted away from the pool edge and stood but made no haste in getting a towel. With no one around, she wanted to admire the view of her lover from afar.

Her eyes traced up his long, strong legs to his firm backside. Her fingers longed to touch him. One second spent away, and her body craved him more than it did the last. Still, as long as he didn’t turn around, she could spend an eternity in her fantasies. She watched his muscles flex, relax, stretch, and compress as he dried himself. To touch him now would be something out of a dream. To get a taste of such decadence, the kind only sold on the highest of shelves and way out of her budget. She wanted to sink her teeth into him and never let go. Maybe after a few more dates, he’d let her.

“Are you going to get a towel yourself, or do I need to help you?” Loki spoke up, giving Luna a start.

Her face flushed with heat. “Oh, I, um,” she choked out, her throat suddenly very dry.

Loki wrapped the towel around his hips as he looked over his shoulder at her, smiling that knowing smile she’d come to read so well. He grabbed another towel and strode to where she stood to rub it over her hair and shoulders. He passed it gently over her body, up and down, before coming back to wrap it around her chest. He cupped her face as she tucked in the edge and placed a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose. Her sweet look from under her eyelashes stirred him deep inside.

Luna puttered after him as he gathered their clothes, all the while fidgeting with the towel.

“My staring’s a problem, I know,” she stated as they stepped out into the hall, not bothering to look at him again.

Loki sighed and took her hand. “Of all the words I would use, that’s certainly not one of them.” He took her hand. “It makes me feel coveted,” he leaned down to her ear, “and I really like that.”

His voice, soft and low, made her gasp and cover her cheek. He giggled as he walked with her down the hall and to the stairs. Step by step, they crept up, afraid to make any noise to attract attention. Thankfully, the stairs weren’t the creaky kind.

Once safely at the top, Loki took a bold move and swept Luna into his arms. She gasped and grabbed at her towel as it started to slide off.

“Put me down! Someone could get an eye-full!” she whispered frantically.

Loki squeezed her leg, and a green flash rolled over them.

“See what, my darling?” he said with a sly gleam in his eye. Luna responded with a deadpan look.

“You could’ve done that sooner.” She craned her neck to look around him. “You got our clothes too?” Loki responded with an affirmative hum. “Nice.” Now, it was her turn to smile.

The pair got to their room without a hitch or a single eye peeping on them. Nothing was said or done except for a swift removal of towels and a quick jaunt to shower. There was no need to speak up for permission, only a shared look and a little nod. They knew what the other meant.

Together, they bathed themselves and a little of each other. Loki indulged in washing Luna’s hair for her. He loved the feel of her hair, the expression she held when her eyes were closed, the way his hands completely encapsulated her head. He’d waste not this precious moment, no matter how many more they may have.

Luna returned the favor and washed his hair as well. She took the utmost care so as not to tangle it beyond repair. She loved his hair and cared for it as much as he did. Additionally, she loved how he looked as she massaged the soap into his scalp and the sensual little sounds he made.

“That feel good?” she asked and received an enthusiastic hum. “I can get your back too if you like. I know you have some trouble with that.”

“I’d like that,” Loki replied, opening his eyes to look into hers. She grabbed his soap while he braced a hand on the shower wall in front of him.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was so different from the first time. His skin felt the same, his muscle tone was the same, and he had the same number of scars, but it also wasn’t the same. Since the first time, she knew what it felt like to rake her nails over his back, to feel his muscles flex as he held himself over her, and the gentle sound of his breath in her ear. The memory alone nearly made her shudder, but she kept it together. Still, it compelled her to be a little risky.

Luna eased her hands down Loki’s back and to his hips. She slid them up his waist and over his ribs to his abdomen. She felt his muscles tightened under her touch. Resting her cheek between his shoulder blades, she waited for him to hesitate, but he remained relaxed, so she kept going. Moving her hands up to his chest, she gently splayed her fingers over his pectorals, feeling the lean muscle below his skin. Her pinky slowly grazed the scar trailing down the middle of his chest. They sat parallel as she leaned against him, separated only by Lok’s physical body. Heart to heart and skin to skin, it connected them. How grotesque. How romantic. Only he could understand, and it filled her with yearning.

Luna moved her fingers a little, squeezing ever so slightly as she did, and gently grazed one of Loki’s nipples. He let out a soft grunt and planted a hand over hers.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice wavering slightly.

“Not sure yet,” Luna responded; her throat suddenly very dry and tight. “Depends on how far you’ll let me go.” She heard his heartbeat pick up pace.

Loki’s shoulders tensed. “Are you serious?” It sounded like his throat was tight, too.

Luna nodded against him. “Mhm.” Loki looked over his shoulder at her. His eyes were so full of hope and need she soon averted them and drifted a hand back down to his stomach. “I don’t want to create any additional expectations right now.” She delicately traced around his navel, feeling the bit of course hair just beneath it. “I just want to make you feel good. Can I?”

“Yes.”

Loki leisurely turned to face her while not maneuvering out of her grasp. The meek expression she presented made his jaw quiver and teeth chatter quietly. Was he dreaming? Were his eyes still closed, and he was making it all up? Perhaps, but could he realistically invent such an arousing sight? Never in his wildest dreams.

He could barely help himself. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, bringing up one hand to hold the back of her head. As he deepened it, Luna grabbed his shoulders and pushed him against the shower wall.

“Careful with that,” she warned. “Turn me on more, and we’ll be stuck in this bath for a while.”

Loki smiled cheekily. “Sounds good to me.”

“No, like, we’ll literally be stuck here.”

“I’ll literally be stuck anywhere with you.”

Luna couldn’t help but smile a little. “Don’t say corny things like that when I’m trying to seduce you.”

“If you’re trying, then I must be easy.” Loki flashed his teeth and placed his hands atop her head. He slid them down to her cheeks and laid his forehead against hers. “No need to try. I so terribly want you as it is.”

His voice sent a jolt straight to the pit of her stomach.

“Mm. Poor baby,” she replied with the faux concern. “Guess I should get to it then.”

Luna dragged her hands from his shoulders and down his chest, tracing the soft curves and feeling the muscles move under her touch. Her fingers dipped lower and lower down the edge of his ribs, over his stomach, and across his abdominal muscles. She could feel the strong pulse of his iliac artery through his skin, and her hands began to quake. This was real; it was happening, and she was doing it right now. She flexed a fist to calm her nerves, but Loki had already noticed.

“Your hands are shaking,” he said, and Luna sighed.

“I’ve never done this before.” She nervously met his eyes. “I want to do a good job.”

“Just you being here is good enough. Trust me. Here.” Loki placed his hands over hers. “Like this.”

He helped ease her hands down the rest of the way until her fingers danced on the bottom-most edge of his Adonis belt. He waited for any hesitation and further guided her hands to wrap around the base of his cock. She felt him twitch at the contact, her hands soft and slick with soap.

“Now, go slow,” Loki said, relinquishing his hands and placing them on her waist. “No need to rush.”

Luna did as he requested and heard his breath catch in his throat. It took little effort to get him harder, almost like he was starving for it.

“Is that what you usually like? Something slow?” she asked.

“I, uh,” he began, voice shaky. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Aw, that’s nice. I like to take my time anyway.” Luna placed a line of kisses from his collarbone to his chest, her ego growing with every soft gasp and sigh she pulled from him. “You like that?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Loki responded. “You can go faster if you want.”

“Ok,” Luna purred.

She picked up a steady pace with her right hand, stepping a little closer so her hips nearly touched his. They were so close that Loki’s chest pushed against hers with each heavy inhale. Her left hand wandered about his torso, moving up and down his right side, tickling him ever so slightly, and finally drifted delicately to his right shoulder.

Luna’s fingertips danced lightly along his collarbone and up his neck, making him shiver and his skin prickle.

Feeling devious, she followed the goosebumps down the curve of his pectorals to one of his nipples. She lay her cheek against him and rubbed it a few times to gauge his reaction. His eyes fluttered closed as he released a couple of soft moans, a few more sweet sighs, and gently rocked his hips in her hand. She played him as she would a vintage violin: gently and with extreme care so as to produce the most stirring music for the entertained ear. Luckily, the only ear she sought to entertain was her own, and she loved every note he sang for her.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” Loki stammered out. “Because you’re hitting all the right spots.”

Luna couldn’t help but grin. “Like here?” She wrapped her lips around his other nipple and sucked a little, flicking her tongue to add a bit more stimulation.

Loki’s entire body shuddered at the sensation, his fingers trembling and twitching where they held onto her.

“Mm. Mhm,” was all he could muster through shaky breathes.

Luna peppered kisses around his chest. “I’m a biologist, hun. I paid attention in class.” His nerve endings were on fire, and every touch was an extra spark to the line.

“Unh, c-clearly.”

She slowly trailed her left hand down his chest to his abdomen. “I still remember where all those nerve endings are and where the most tend to congregate. All the most sensitive areas.” She planted a few more kisses across his collarbone. “You and I aren’t so different.” A couple of kisses to his neck. “Also, I watch porn sometimes.”

Loki flinched where she touched him. “Really? Wha-what kind?”

Luna chuckled. “That’s a conversation for later.” She moved her right hand to lightly squeeze the base of his cock while her left hand joined it to add friction closer to the tip. “But I gotta say, nothing compares to watching you right now.”

“Uh-huh?” Words were finally beyond him, his mouth sitting open as he puffed short, quick pants.

“Mhm.” Luna laid her cheek against his chest again. “I can hear how hard your heart’s beating. I know enough to know what that means.” She rubbed her thumb over the tip of his cock, and his chest jumped as he let out a sharp moan. Again, music to her ears.

Trembling as he was, Loki moved a hand from Luna’s waist down the curve of her hip. The tip of his forefinger nearly reached her clit, but she grabbed his hand and put it back where it originally sat.

“Mm-mm, bad idea,” she scolded. “I lose control and it’s bye-bye to this shower.”

“Please, I want to so bad,” he whined breathlessly. “I want to feel you too.”

“I know,” she soothed, feeling a throbbing ache between her legs. “You’ll get your turn when I say, ok?”

Loki whined again but dutifully obeyed her. His hands shook as he held onto her a little tighter. His face steadily grew hotter, and his knees quaked beneath him. He was inching closer and closer to climax, and Luna knew it. She could feel it in the depths of her own body, too.

Down to her smallest cells, she wanted to take his hands and have them touch her where she wanted. It felt like denying herself water on a scorching hot day, but she had to remain strong. Watching him turn to putty in her hands was fantasy enough.

Still, Luna entertained the erotic thoughts circulating in her head. It wasn’t like they couldn’t come true. One affirmative word and Loki would be on her like his life depended on it. But a stray thread of doubt still clung to her. They were good ideas; it just wasn’t the best time to act on them.

But she could still be playful without the burdens of extra expectations. She entertained her imagination with how his cock would feel inside her, how good it would make Loki feel. She could only hope he would enjoy her as much as she sought to enjoy him. She let the tip rest by her naval and stared as she kept firmly stroking it, taking in how heavy and hot it felt against her stomach.

Loki felt the change in her touch and opened his eyes enough to look down.

“Wha-? Ah?” he panted, shocked to see how close they were and how she was touching him.

“I was just thinking,” Luna said softly.

“Ah… about?”

“Mm, about how good it would feel.”

She looked up at him, her red-tinted eyes meeting his as her hands further pushed his cock against her lower abdomen. Her words took root in his brain. How good it would feel? How good? How soft? How hot? She didn’t have to say anything more.

Loki felt his muscles tighten suddenly, and he came fast all over Luna’s stomach. It was much harder than the previous night, so he struggled to keep his mouth closed. There was a lot more noise he had to choke back, lest anyone be awake and batting their ears. A few moans slipped out through his sharp gasps, but he kept them as soft as possible.

Luna stroked him slowly until his muscles stopped twitching, and his breathing evened out. She watched his eyes close as his head tipped back to rest on the wall. He looked so lovely with a pinkish tinge to his neck and cheeks; she couldn’t resist reaching up and touching them. It was warm to the touch, as was the rest of him. He peeked out from one eye to see her lick some of his cum from her fingers. The sight sent a shiver up his already-sensitive nerves.

“Perfect,” she uttered and stepped back into the direct stream of the shower head.

At this moment, Loki wished he had been sitting down. His knees struggled to support him, but he toughed it out. It made him remember why he didn’t care much for doing it in the shower. But he was already in the mood, and how Luna looked at and touched him trumped his previous thoughts and feelings. It was simple, but it brought him such bliss. Again, was he dreaming? Would he wake up with his pajamas damp and a touch of embarrassment? He hoped not. None of his dreams had ever felt this satisfying.

He stared at Luna’s shapely back as she washed herself clean. He followed the lines of her shoulder blades to her spine and then down to her hips. His brow furrowed upon spying two sets of bruises in the distinct shape of his fingers. He was so in the moment it barely registered he was squeezing her that hard.

He reached out and touched the blemished area.

“I didn’t realize I was squeezing you that hard. I’m sorry.”

Luna glanced down and smiled reassuringly.

“Don’t be. I didn’t feel it at all. Besides, it’ll disappear soon.”

Still, it pained him that he left a mark on her with such force, but luckily, over the seconds he stared at her, the bruising faded until there wasn’t a trace.

When Luna was finished with the water, she detached the shower head to spray Loki. He jumped a little but relished the feeling. He wasn’t aware he got anything on him, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Grabbing his soap, he quickly lathered and rinsed himself as a cursory.

“What was perfect?” he said as Luna turned off the water.

“Mm?” she hummed.

“What you said before. What was perfect?”

She smirked and caressed his chin. “That pretty face you make when you cum. It’s perfection.”

Her words sparked a new fire in his belly, and he nearly lost himself. She made him feel like a touch-starved virginal teen all over again.

Luna carefully stepped out of the shower with Loki in tow. She grabbed a towel and handed him one to dry off with, but he was still in a daze. He lightly passed it over his skin as he watched her dry herself with more vigor. The way she bent to get her legs, stretched to reach her back and raised her arms to damp off her hair. It wasn’t new, but it still tantalized him.

Loki restrained himself as Luna would want, but as she wrapped the towel around her torso, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He grabbed her arm, turned her to face him, and enveloped her in a kiss he’d been waiting for. It startled her, but she quickly caught on and kissed him back. She’d been waiting for it too, it seemed.

He slowly backed her up until a wall halted him, but it didn’t stop him. He’d been hungry for it since they got in the pool, and the taste of his salty remnants on her tongue nearly sent him over the edge.

“Good job being so patient,” Luna said between breathtaking kisses.

Loki squeezed her waist. “Let me touch you. Please,” he begged as his hands drifted to the bottom of her towel. “I want to make you feel good, and I know you want me to.” He dragged his fingers up her thigh, gently raising the towel as he went.

“I know,” Luna answered breathlessly, “but not right now.” She stilled his hand with one of hers. “I just wanted to make you feel good, but I don’t feel like more right now.” She looked down.

Loki rubbed her shoulders. “That’s ok.”

“And after I talked all big this morning.” Luna sighed, shaking her head. “You must be frustrated.”

“I’ll get over it.” He pressed a kiss onto her head. “I won’t push you, especially after you made me feel so good. Just remember: one word, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

They shared a reassuring smile.

“Ok,” she responded, and Loki rescinded his advances to save for another time.

He retrieved his towel from the ground and continued drying himself.

“To tell you the truth,” he said, “I am a bit peeved. I wanted to be the one to ravish you first, but you beat me to it.”

He presented Luna with a cheeky grin, but she shot one right back at him.

“That’s not the only thing I beat. Haha!”

Loki gasped in shock as she continued laughing triumphantly at her vulgar joke, but it didn’t take him long to join her. It was good to laugh. Nothing was too serious, and they both felt good and as long as Luna was at ease being with him, he would long for nothing else.

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

With teeth brushed and hair combed, the pair settled into bed. Relaxation seeped into the bones, and the soft beckons of sleep grew louder. Luna lay her head by Loki’s shoulder as he played a puzzle game on his phone and gazed at him in the dim light.

“You said I make you feel coveted,” she said.

Loki paused and looked at her. “Mhm.”

Luna caressed his jawline and spoke softly. “I do covet you. I want you all to myself. I want to be the best you’ve ever had.” She bent her head. “Is that bad of me to think so?”

Loki smirked. “Terrible.” Luna’s eyes darted to meet his, and he wrapped an arm tightly around her. “So bad, I should steal you away from everyone and keep you for myself.”

Her alarm melted into a satisfied grin as she drew closer to him. “Mm. If that’s my punishment, then I’ll be as bad as I possibly can.”

“Lucky me.”

----------

A/N: the iliac artery is one of the main groups of arteries in the body. It consists of two arteries - one for the left side of the body and one for the right side - and runs down the center of the body, carrying blood to the lower extremities, like the lower organs, groin, and legs. (Idk if this will work for you, but I can usually feel its pulse when I press my hand firmly into my abdomen). And the Adonis belt is the diagonal v-line muscles that show up around the hips and angle down to the groin area.

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Taglist: @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @pinkie-ghuleh @wreckache @will-die-without-chai @marvelschriss @hornybitchwithgoodtaste @fantasyfan4life

[stiles-o-dylan24]

You're making me fall in love with Steve Harrington, but I still love Billy Hargrove too

hehehehe my evil plan is working🤭

[prismstonearchives]

えいえんのおしゃれプリンセスブルー - Eternal Oshare Princess Blue

[steele-soulmate]

A Girl With No Name, chapter 10, King Peter Steele & Long Lost Princess Daughter OFC, Modern Royalty AU

A Girl With No Name, chapter 10, King Peter Steele & Long Lost Princess Daughter OFC, Modern Royalty AU

SUMMARY: When teenaged misfit outcast and street thief Ecatherina “Rose” Harkler accidently meet the nation’s king, Peter Ratajczyk, the powerful ruler identifies the sixteen year old girl as his long lost daughter, who was thought to have died with the rest of his family after a failed assassination attempt on his life instead claimed the lives of his loved ones. Stripped of her teenaged identity and thrown into a world of pretty dresses, undercutting words and unwanted security, Rose uncovers a plot to murder not only her father in cold blood… but herself as well.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1030

I woke up slowly, letting out a loud groan as my eyes fluttered open. I found the room to be dimmed, with the lights low and the curtains pulled shut. I turned my head and smiled woozily at the sight of Prince Sebastian, knocked out and nestled into his pillow with a plush bunny at his side to keep him company.

I rolled over and found a plush wolf pup had been tucked under my blankets, and a sleepy smile crossed over my face at the realization that perhaps Crown Prince Andrew Oliver or Prince Christopher Robert had decided to supply me with something to cuddle with during the night.

Just then, I felt someone enter the room, and I turned and saw that it was Dr. Phillips, who came over to me after drawing the privacy curtain tighter between my brother and I.

Hello, your highness, she greeted me, bringing over a chair to sit in. How are you doing?

Alright, I shrugged, wondering if she had brought in an interpreter for some reason or other earlier on when I had first met her.

The hospital is required by law to do so, yes, she confirmed when I had asked her. But I came by to ask you about the heavy amount of scar tissue that I discovered on your uterus while I was exploring you in looking for the perfect place to cut.

Here, I clammed up and refused to meet her eyes.

What happened?

I began to shake- from chills or nerves, I did not know. But the nightmares were boiling me alive.

From time to time, policemen would visit the orphanage. I was not aware that I was signing to the sweet tempered woman. They would beat us, rape the pretty girls. I fell with child at least six or seven times, and so I was forced to perform an at home abortion with a wire coat hanger. I’m in no financial or emotional place to bring a child into the world.

Dr. Phillips looked absolutely horrified, telling me that she would place a prescription in for medication to help ease my painfully heavy and extremely unpredictable periods, which she hypothesized were because of said scar tissue. She also told me that she would like to conduct a pelvic exam to get a full picture of what she saw during the operation earlier.

I agreed, and asked that she not tell my father.

Unfortunately, due to the level of traumatic scar tissue, I have to tell him, she broke it down to me gently. I can also send in a request to have a Hysteroscopy performed during your next pelvic exam, that will remove some, if not most of the scar tissue.

I think my next period is due to start sometime soon, I informed her, shifting in my bed where I sat. Can you please see to it that I have some menstrual pads before then?

Of course, she smiled, looking up as the king entered toting flowers and a happy smile, which died away at the somber weight in the room.

Rose? he asked me, setting the flowers down and then standing at the foot of my bed. I did not look up as Dr. Phillips informed the nation’s king of her findings, my fingernails leaving biting indentations in my palm as I began to breathe heavily, trying to quell the tears from falling down my face.

Rage

I whimpered at the sensation of absolute raw rage that swept into the room, and I curled myself into a tight ball and refused to look up at my father, cowering away from this dangerous man as he spun around and stormed out of the room, huffing through his nostrils.

He’s now calling Queen Emily to come down and talk to you, Dr. Phillips informed me. He is enraged- not at you though. He wants to know if you can supply him with names.

I quickly scrawled down the names of the policemen who would visit the orphanage every four to six months, giving it to her who then took it outside and gave to the wildly puffing and snarling king.

What’s going to happen to them? I fretted, not moving from my position on the bed.

Well, they did rape a member of the royal family, Dr. Phillips broke down in a gentle way. I will need to do a full workup and then give the Kings’ Guardsmen the evidence, and then hopefully, justice can be served.

I nodded, still not looking up as she flitted between tending to me and my brother and my furious father.

I’m sorry, I thought, closing my eyes as exhaustion took over me. Guilt was weighing heavily on my heart, making it difficult for me to breathe. Even though I felt safe physically and emotionally in my hospital room, I still felt extremely on edge and was anticipating something happening sometime soon.

I’m sorry.

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