#missing my Prince Valiant

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation. 

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence. 

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family. 

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time. 

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile. 

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.” 

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her. 

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed. 

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs. 

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart. 

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core. 

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?” 

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied,  “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again. 

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure. 

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue. 

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything. 

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction. 

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, ���Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them. 

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar. 

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Affections

Fandom: The Hobbit Ship/Pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader Trope: Unrequited love that’s requited after all Note: No idea. I probably made heavy mistakes in the mythology. Don't hesitate to point them out if need be. Warnings: Miscommunication, father-son relationship, rejection Word count: 6 282 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstareditd @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

“Legolas!”

Seeing your friend after so many years made you so happy, your eyes were watering even before you could feel his arm embracing you.

“My dear friend. I am so glad you could finally come home.”

Decades earlier, the young prince and you had learned and grown together under the watchful eye of the Mirkwood. Small ones were a rarity, but two at the same time almost never happened. Once an adult, it became clear you needed to leave the palace’s grounds and see the world for yourself. The only kin you had left was your aunt Ede, and she encouraged you to go, despite being torn upon your departure.

Now, finally, you were coming back to your place of birth, filled with new memories and new experiences. During the war, you were following the refugees, learning medicine and healing amongst them as you had for the past decade. Fortunately, this knowledge became of vital importance after the conflict and here you were, talking animatedly with the Crowned Prince, sharing adventures and stories.

“I am sure your father must not have taken kindly to that friendship.”

Legolas laughed, his long hair moving with the winds around.

“No, he did not. Gimli is a close friend of mine and I would not allow him to be treated with the disrespect my father is so easily using. — Still. Of all the people present in the Company, the only one you find to be a friend is the son of Gloin? The very last member of Thorin Oakenshield’s entourage? — I did not choose, you know. And…”

Before he could finish his sentence, you stopped your steps. The place had grown so much since you last were there. The tallest trees reached peaks you could not see anymore, cutting into the sky slices of clouds and sunshine. The hall around you felt heavier. More grounded in stone than in wood. Ravages of the Great War had reached even here, it seemed. From the stairs in front of you, a tall she-elf, with her dark auburn hair and her proud stature, was staring right. Your feet guided you to her in a hurry. Her embrace felt like a warm bath, smelling of lavender and a quiet temperance you needed in that moment. Ede was one of a kind. She was the one who had taught you the basics to healing and the plants, as well as the stars. Your mother had been a valiant soldier of the King’s army. She perished on the front of the battle of the Five Armies. Ede became a support and an ally in the pain of her loss. It made you two grow closer, especially when her brother - your father - left for the Shores after his wife died. He did not see the future in as much brightness as he used to and did not want to become a hindrance for you. It was with the certainty of meeting him again that you let him go.

“Aunt Ede, I have missed you so much. It is a genuine pleasure to see you. — As it is for me, child.”

She pushed a strand of hair back, watching you intently with those profound dark eyes of hers. Once Legolas reached you, he saluted the Royal Healer before leaving the both of you, a soft smile on his face. You spent the rest of the day walking around and rediscovering the grounds with your aunt. They had planted bigger gardens next to the Healers Quarters. A gardener had been appointed specifically for them, allowing time and space for the now withering Ede. She was growing tired more easily and, despite her appearances, was becoming more depressed by the day. Her work was never done in this place, being the sole reference for every other healer in the woods and sometimes outside of the country and into others. Everyday that passed made her long for her home in Rivendell. Her husband had gone back the year before and the separation was taking another toll on her, time only making it worse. At the first signs of dusk, she brought you to your room, next to her own. It contained a simple bed and a desk as well as two tall windows, looking out on the garden below. The bag you carried when you arrived finally found a space to rest too next to the neat sheets.

“Child, I bid you goodnight. We shall talk more in the morning. -Yes, my aunt. I wish you pleasant dreams and a restful sleep.”

She kissed your forehead, smiled and closed the door behind her. Soon you crumbled into the heavenly made bed, but could not find sleep. After all, the real reason of why you left had been kept secret from everyone. Including yourself. You were becoming more agitated with every minute passing before meeting the King. You had not left on particularly good terms with him, a show of restraint on your part, inclining you to keep quiet and move on. Nevertheless, the memory kept replaying in your mind, as you felt yourself drift into a soundless sleep.

In autumn, the leaves fell, and Legolas was in the trees. Well, one tree. The tallest at the time, a great oak with leaves reaching into the sky as if trying to touch it. The Prince loved to climbed its branches, storm or high wind was of no matter to him, wanting to admire the sky more than anything. Also, it was the only place his father would not think of searching him in. Lately he had been adamant in having his son with him at all times, protected and locked in, close to him where he could not be lost. Or killed. That oak was where you found him.

“My Prince, I am afraid your kingly father will be upset with both of us if you do not come down this instant.”

Silence. Thranduil had asked you personally to go in search of his son. Out of the two of you, you were in appearances the more mature one. Even now young adults, you could not help yourselves and hid from each of your parents whenever you could, spending most of your times observing the wood’s life. The fleeting murmurs of the trees settled, leaving a melody of singing birds behind. Soon, he came down, looking sheepish.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to cause my father’s anger towards you. — No need to apologise. I understand why you would want to hide. Yet, you can not do so forever Legolas.”

He nodded, following you back inside. His father had grown tensed and tired after his wife’s death. Her warmth was the heart of the forest and once she was gone, every winter became colder and colder. The King only grew more weary of the outsiders, leaving no choice but to close the borders to most of them. You knew him in happier times, grew with his son and should have grown attached to the Prince. Yet, in your heart, Thranduil had the only space you could allow to be filled. It had pained you to acknowledge it, more so when Legolas’ mother passed. A voice inside wanted you to reach out and to pull the pain away from him. From them both, but you could not. As well as Thranduil’s borders closed, his mind and soul did too. For the longest time, he retreated so far inside that no one could reach in. Not even his son. Your arm looped around Legolas’ shoulders, trying to comfort him however you could.

“Do not fret. He was scared to death you broke your neck. Once he sees you intact maybe he’ll calm down”

It did seem to make him chuckle at least, as he leaned into you. You felt ashamed feeling this way towards a brother’s kin. It was a torment you would not wish on anyone not even your greatest enemy. It became a soft agony and then a feeling deeply buried. Sometimes, you hoped you would find yourself looking at Legolas the same way you looked at Thranduil. It never happened and you grieved the proper relationship that would never be. It had been talked about, making a match between the two of you. The Prince could have been inclined. Your own affections lead you to say no, to the disarray of your parents and Legolas’ poor heart. He never resented you for it but you did. You resented yourself so much it blinded the young spirit you had into biding yourself to this place, when nothing new could be learned, nothing new could be seen. No new love would grow. Ede had mentioned leaving before. The idea was taking roots but Thranduil’s actions were the final push into the adventure of your life.

Upon arriving in the King’s room, you caught onto three things. The first, he was still worried sick, apparently repeatedly pacing the room with no signs of stopping soon. The second was that once he saw his son, he embraced him, where you had seen him lash out in anger at others. The third, you were sure that when his eyes landed on you, he would burn you right where you stood. He took his time, checking if his son was alright if he was injured, who’s idea was it to go out and hide like that. Once his nerves settled, he dismissed Legolas, closely watched over by two guards. As the Prince left the room, you shared a soft smile, already knowing what was bound to happen. Once he was gone, the air left the room and the reprieve you had ended right there.

“How dare you?”

Thranduil’s voice was carrying across the room. He was standing as far away as possible from you, as if trying to avoid catching a disease you had.

If only that was the reason, he would sleep better nights. Not watching the stars peak and go down every morning, growing mad with every time he saw you. He knew it was, in truth, for another set of reasons entirely. His body was betraying him. His heart ached in the most delicious ways, retreating from its hiding place. He would have thought it dead if it weren’t for you. You with your sharp mind and loud laughter. You who had a spirit all of your own. You who were the oldest friend and confident his son had. How could he feel that way for you, he never wanted to know. It would have meant accepting he nourished feelings for you. He watched you grow and become a mighty warrior and a spirited young elf. Once well in adulthood though, that was only then that he noticed you. Before that you were a shadow compared to his wife’s memory. He saw and perceived all too well your longing looks and tight smile for him only to see. It touched his otherwise dead heart. The pain of knowing that it could never be and the blossoming feelings he carried for you were growing inside of him intertwined. Now, your eyes haunted him at night, hot and feverish, lingering in his mind. He longed to be touched by you, when he knew he should not have. The remorse was ever present. What would she think of all of this? She would want him happy, cared for and content. He wanted it too. He would not yield, not crumble under your stare. He had to protect his people from disappointment in their ruler. He could not afford jeopardising his rule so. Even for your beautiful mind and gorgeous soul.

“How dare you compel my son into acting so? You and your ideas! Of course you were the one to give him such ideas about freedom and… — Your Majesty, with all due respect, I gave him what he asked of me, nothing else.”

He was livid. What he asked of you? A jealousy he had forgotten the name of, formed in his stomach, giving his wrath a fuel to keep on burning. What did he ask of you? What did you ask of him?

“How could you? You are full of yourself. Arrogant. Reckless. Do you not know the influence you have over him? How dangerous that could be?”

He could see you, bowing your head, biting your tongue. He drove the knife deeper still, wanting you to react, to do something. Anything was better than you not reacting at all. Especially to him. The cruel intentions in him a reflection of his frustrated state at seeing you and not touching you.

“Answer me!”

The scream rang through your body. Teeth clenched, you had been biting your tongue this entire time, not wanting to make this situation worse. Although, he was on the right path for it to get worse.

“Why would I? You seem to have all the answers already! About your son, about me!” You kept on going, even as he stepped closer and closer to you, domineering and hovering over you. “He needs to experience life! If you can not give him that, at least give this to his mother!” This touched a nerve, his face darkening with fury. Where he knew you were right, he wanted to make you quiet. Those truths either he was not ready to hear. “She would certainly not want her only son to go to the Shores having never touched life with his own hands. Never fighting for what he believes in, never seeing the sun high in the sky or never feeling the touch of a lover, because of you. Sire, you cannot keep him in a gilded cage like this. Either you let him go or he will escape.”

He was invading your private space now. You could not look up. You would not look up.

“How would you know how to care for a child who is not your own? — I know him better than you think.”

Better than you lingered in the air, unsaid, deeply felt. His long fingers gripped your jaw pulling your eyes along them, then his deep burgundy robe before meeting his darkened pupils. He narrowed his eyes, the very tip of his fingers were burning with the yearning of touching you. He could not give in. He would not give in.

“Do you now?”

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, in what was supposed to be a show of power. Both of you knew it was not, still thinking the other to not know about it. His teeth bit lightly into your earlobe before you could stop him. Frozen in place, you did nothing when his lips drew goosebumps down your throat. In a swift movement, he sucked a deep bruise into your skin. You cried out as he held your face in place, merciless in his grip. It was not a cry of displeasure and that surprised him. As your hand gripped the one holding your face, he searched your expression looking for a momentary lapse in judgement. Maybe something to stop him. Something to tell him this was wrong. He found nothing of the sort. He slid his fingers from your jaw to your cheeks, finding comfort into the plump and supple skin of your face, before all but tearing himself apart by kissing you. You kissed him in return, feverish and wanting. Too soon, he stopped. Disgusted with himself, he turned around, hurting like never before. His weakness was showing, all too visible to his own eyes.

“Go. Now. And never come back. — Sire…”

Your voice was but a whisper, the fluttering of your heart where his skin had met yours turning your whole body into a beating drum.

“Leave! Leave and never show your face again!”

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You did not let them and left the room, closing the door as hard as you could behind you. Once in your room, everything went blank. Almost as if on drugs, mechanically, you gathered your things, warned your aunt of your departure. She did not question it. She knew of your yearning to leave and did not stop you either. Only accompanied you to the main road, wishing you farewell and a heartfelt goodbye. Legolas received a delayed goodbye, by letter. He was angry with you, but understood. You never told him about what happened and it said a lot about his forgiving nature that he did not hold that hurt against you today. She figured Thranduil might have something to do with it when the next day he asked about you. He seemed hurt beyond measure when she told him you were gone, almost surely never to return.

The first rays of the sun sneaked through the glass windows, shades and hues of red and yellows nesting into the corners of the room. After a change of clothes and a frugal breakfast, you accompanied Ede to the gardens along with her pupils, witnessing the classes she gave to elves from all backgrounds and all horizons. Midday approached and she took you aside after leaving her students.

“Child, we need to talk. — Yes, aunt Ede. What do we need to talk about?”

Her next words startled you as much as they turned your world upside down.

“I will be direct, my child. I need you to replace me, here, at the palace. I need you to become the next Royal Healer.”

*

Ede and you had carried that conversation long into the night. She was adamant that it was you who was supposed to carry on in her place. On the other hand you were less than convinced. Especially considering that she always described the task as a burden - more so in the last years. You would not negotiate with her and complained, exposed, revealed what you feared and felt unable to do. She would hear none of it. Her sole purpose here was to give her place to you, of that she was certain. Deep within her a longing of her home had taken root and she had wanted to leave for a long time. If only for her sake, you had no other choice but to do what she asked. For your own, you would have to face Thranduil when that day would come. Maybe, it was for the best. You could not stay in this place of ignorance and avoidance. A quick walk through the garden and you found yourself, face to face with Legolas, all smiles and a hint of mischief in his eyes you were worried about.

“Good morning to you. -And good morning to you, my friend.”

His smile did not falter as he proposed to accompany you through the palace, talking animatedly as usual, until finally you reached the healers quarters.

“I do have a question though. — Yes, what is it?”

As he opened his mouth to say something, he closed it again, his eyes drawn to something - or rather someone - in the room behind you. The door had been left ajar. Distinctively you could see Thranduil’s back and when he stepped aside, your aunt Ede too. Her brows were furrowing and her lips were pinched in a thin line. That could not be any good. The King on the other hand, was towering over her, rolling his eyes and pinching his nose every time she spoke as you would do with a child. That, that was intolerable. Legolas tried to stop you, his hand slipping from your arm only to be left bewildered and strangely, amused, when you stepped inside, slamming the door open.

“Your Majesty. Aunt Ede.”

You bowed your head as he observed you from head to toe. Since that night, it was the first time he was seeing you again. As you, him. A beating sound rang in your ears. His sharp eyes looked down upon you, considering your face, your lips. He stopped and turned towards Ede again.

“Your Majesty, this is… — We shall talk about it at another time. ”

She bowed and did not dare question his statement. He stepped out of the room without another word, only mildly surprised at finding his son at the door. He inherited his need to meddle in other’s affairs from his mother. It both amused him and annoyed him to no end.

* “Ede, what was that about? — Oh, nothing. Have you eaten yet? I was hoping we could eat together and talk some more about your new position?”

There was no negotiating her. Soon, she led you towards a secluded spot under a willow tree you used to hide in when you were a mere child. It’s blooming branches looked smaller now, even when surrounding both of you in its fresh shadows.

“Aunt, please tell me what this talk was about. With the King.”

Ede sighed, plugging some grapes from her bag. She stalled, settling down cheeses and bread at a luxuriously slow pace.

“Aunt… — Yes, I know. Listen, it is a matter between the King and I and… — Was it about me? — Sort of.”

You snorted loudly, startling a few birds in the tree.

“What do you mean? — It was about my replacement. He disagrees with my choice.”

That should not have stung as much as it did.

“And I told him that I would not be changing my mind anytime soon. And that you would be taking my place in three weeks time as per what was planned. — Wait… Three weeks? From now? It’s too soon, Ede.”

She shushed you with a finger against your lips, as she did when you were younger.

“No discussion, no negotiation.”

She proceeded to tell you all about the Royal Healer’s position. You were to tend to the Royal Family, anytime day or night, big or small wounds. Fondly, she recalled a time when Legolas was still small, and had fallen off of a tree, breaking his wrist. He had been restless for the long process of the cast and even more when he had to not use his arm for weeks after that. Being light of foot was not something you were born with and he had mastered it with numerous injuries and various broken bones. You recalled the infinite patience his father had to show. The prince was not as quiet and calm as he was now. She kept on with an extended list of places you were expected to go and help, as well as the palace. Indeed, she had taken it upon herself to replace the old healers in all the neighbouring villages. Most of them had been replaced, yet there was still work to do and new persons to train. At the first lights descending in the sky, she excused herself, exhausted that she was. She kissed your temple and walked away.

Your room felt smaller once you reached its bed. The walls seemed to be getting closer with each moment and soon, you could not stand it any longer. The night had just settled, the first stars showing above. Without much thinking, your feet wandered around the place, finding bushes and crannies, the deep river you knew. Several times, you passed by the willow you had eaten under earlier that day. Somehow, it drove you to its shelter, the rays of the moon shining through the leaves, giving the place an eerie and melancholic air.

Carefully you immersed yourself in this small reprieve of the world.

What you did not know was that you were not alone, sneaking around at night, unable to sleep.

* Once done with the argument, Thranduil had left the infirmary in a hurry, not wanting to dwell in a room where you were. Inadequacy was not something he was fond of feeling. Legolas followed him back to his chambers. He could sense his son’s amusement from behind him. When he turned around, stepping into his bedroom, the very same son had the audacity to laugh wholeheartedly.

“You do remember you owe me allegiance, even as my son and heir.”

The elf struggled to gain back his composure and nod. Finally he had come to his senses.

“Yes, Father. Although I choose to find our relationship into its more domestic issues than its governmental ones.”

Or not.

“Legolas, I swear on your mother’s grave if you do not explain why you are mocking me I will send you to an early retirement deep in the forest with nothing but bread and water to survive, as well as the animals to keep you company.”

That made him stop. Thranduil’s threats were always outlandish. They were also never made in vain or carelessly. Legolas stepped closer to his father, leaning in as in confidence. The King’s eyebrow lifted in a show of not being impressed. From where he was sat, he could see the sparkle in his son’s eyes. The one that meant no good.

“Your affections are showing, father. — My…”

If he had not been angry to begin with, he might have been now. He thought back to that night and could not wash away the culpability creeping in. After you had left, he had spent sleepless nights, without an end to his thoughts about what he could have done worse. Never better. In fact, he had come to the conclusion that where you were concerned, things was to be left alone. A sort of status quo, left undisturbed. Nevertheless, he stayed quiet. The silence worried Legolas.

“Father, I never meant any harm. — I know.”

He couldn’t face Legolas anymore, a veil covering his vision. The King felt the weight of the past years weighing him down, sitting in that chair behind this table, his future in the eyes of his only child. How much he had wished there had been other children with her. Legolas was as perfect now as he was when he was born but he was alone. He released a heavy sigh.

“Sit.”

Legolas obeyed, fearing something worse than a stern talking to.

“Nothing is ever meant to happen between…” The name on his tongue travelled down his throat to his heart. He chocked on it. “It is not meant to be, my son. Of my own fault. No harm can come to her. Not more than the one I have already done.”

Questions began plaguing the prince’s mind, almost wondering aloud what his father could have done to deserve your absence and his longing. In a way, those questions were answered shortly after he thought them up.

“I was the one who chased her away. — You…”

Thranduil’s hand stopped him. It barely lifted in the air, before resting again.

“In a very unkind manner. The behaviour I had was… Unworthy.”

No other words were necessary for he was one to choose them precisely. His close circle knew that. That knowledge was what made his son get up and look at him, with so much disappointment in his eyes he could have made his father drown in it if he so much as wished it. Legolas did not have any will in himself to do so. Instead, he channelled this frustration and shame into his words, chosen carefully as he had been taught to, many times before.

“Did you even try to talk with her? — No. — Why?”

His tone had taken a harsh turn, startling Thranduil in his immobility. No good excuse came to mind. He had been afraid and incapable of voicing his apologises. With you gone, gone was the possibility of redemption. Now that you were here again, he could try. Legolas’ mother was still in his mind, chastising him for his actions. He had come to accept that he would never forget her. That she would remain his conscience for the years to come, the years until his disappearance from this Earth. He had known her for so long, she would always be there. Telling him when he was doing wrong too. Even if it was with the voice of their only child, now grown, looking at him with something akin to violence in his eyes.

“She is out there, thinking she has done something wrong, when you could have freed her from that burden long ago. That, father, is not an unworthy behaviour. That is the behaviour of a coward. — How dare you speak to me in such a way? I am still your King… — Not as long as you behave like this, you’re not.”

He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. His words resonated against the walls and the mind of the one left behind. A deep frown settled on his forehead, erasing all traces of previous fury. A weary hand pinched his nose, narrowing his eyes at his own anger. In a careless gesture, Thranduil pushed everything off of the table before him. Papers, ink, quills… everything went flying across the room. The only thing left were his hands gripping the edges of the table, ready to throw it too. Soon, he found himself crying silent tears, trying desperately to stop them from falling. His hands were shaking, a whole body tremor going through him, as sobs escaped him. This had to stop. A knock at the door interrupted him in his misery. Quickly he composed himself and followed the council servant outside, attending absentmindedly the meeting he was supposed to preside over. Legolas’ absence thrust another surge of sadness, pure and raw, through him. His absence only making him think about yours. In this scenario, he could lose you both. He could have none of it.

Once the first rays of sunshine started disappearing behind the clouds and down the horizon line, his feet brought him to his son’s chambers. He had to at least try to make this right.

* Under the willow tree, you laid, head resting against the trunk, eyes up in the sky. Sleep would still elude you, in the most peaceful ways this time. The clouds were moving with the winds, hiding and showing the numerous constellations up above. A rustling of leaves brought you back to solid ground quickly. Someone had found your hiding place, of all the places in the palace.

“Legolas? What are you doing here?”

The shadow did not answer, only advanced and stepped in the moonlight. It was indeed Legolas, but his eyes were different. A solemn toll had taken hold upon them and it was strange, if not completely out-worldly to watch him be this serious.

“I fear, the same as you. I could not sleep. — How did you find me?”

He did not answer right away, throwing a glance behind him before looking back at you.

“I followed you.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. His steps had gotten more silent with the years, apparently. From your room to this place, you had not heard him once, not even in the gravel or the grass.

“Listen, I am here…” He hesitated a moment. “I did not meant to follow you. It was the only way. The most opportune one. There are things you need to talk about. I thought that if I was the first to show, you would feel less incline in running. — The first to show?” Fear ran through you. “What have you done Legolas? — I talked with my father.” Something sank within you. “About you.”

Your voice died in your throat. “I never meant to overstep my position, as your friend. I was worried about what he could have done to warrant such guilty actions from him. — What actions? Wait. Did he tell you…?”

Thranduil’s voice interrupted you both. His tall stature loomed over, albeit hunching over to pass through the leaves and come to you.

“Legolas, would you leave us for a moment, please.”

The gentleness in his tone surprised you. It seemed it was a normal occurrence for the Prince who reached and squeezed your arm reassuringly before leaving with a bow of his head.

“I believe we have much to talk about.”

Neither of you said another word, before he stepped forward and sat down next to you. It felt awkward to see your King in such an informal setting. You could see the discomfort it brought him to be this close to you. You were about to get up and go, when his hand pinned yours to the space between the two of you. Stunned, you looked at him straight on. He avoided your gaze at all costs, not taking the risk to say hurtful things again, out of spite. Out of fear.

“My rank demands an exemplary behaviour and it seems I have failed in that task.”

Your breath caught in your throat, you kept staring at his profile, making it hard for him to keep going. Through greeted teeth he added more words you never thought you would hear from him.

“My actions towards you were nothing short of ungraceful and puerile. You have my deepest apologies.”

Finally, he looked at you, tall and head held high. That was as far as he would go. Legolas might have had a hand in that forsaken apology. It was a needed humiliation, if he was to keep you in his court. With him. Near him.

“Sire, you have my sincerest thanks for this. There was no need for you to do so and you demonstrated a great kindness by this gesture.”

His face relaxed slightly, his jaw unclenching. His hand was still on yours. The feeling erupting from that meeting left you dizzy and energised at the same time.

“Was that all, Sire?”

Thranduil could see the hope on your face. Brows pulled down, frowning around your beautiful haunting eyes, lips pinched in a thin line. What took him over he would never know, for he did not recognise himself behaving like this.

“No. The kingdom is deeply grateful to have you back here with us. This land deserves excellency and perfection. That is why I can be demanding of my people. As well as of you.”

His hand gripped yours. You did not stop him from doing so, letting him finish his thoughts. He seemed to be needing it as much as you. A prickling in your eyes made you withdraw your hand for a moment to wipe it out. Your fingertips erased the tears down your cheeks, while your tongue felt as a leaded weight in your mouth.

“I understand.”

Only then did you put your hand over his, squeezing lightly. A sharp hope ran through him, a knife of helplessness felt deep in his bones. He did not want to recognise the feelings growing inside of him. He knew what they were anyhow.

“Thank you.”

Words ran away in the night. Your eyes found the sky again, the stars and the moon above lighting your way in the dark. He was staring. You could feel it. You kept on looking away, biting your lips and swallowing your tears down your throat. If this was what you could get, then you would take it. At least he was sorry. Your feelings, you could deal with on your own. Thranduil’s stare was boring into you with little care for his heartbeat accelerating. Here he was, sitting in the grass, in the middle of the night, watching someone he thought he had lost. Something to smile about, finally, he thought. He was committing to memory the shape of your nose. The curve of your chin. The apple of your cheeks, the soft trace of your eyebrows. The stubbornness and intelligence hiding in your eyes. As he did back when, his hand slipped down your cheek, bringing you to meet his eyes. He settled in your throat, slender fingers finding their place under your jaw. Half hooded eyes and a sharp inhale from your mouth were all it took for him to meet your lips. Slowly, both his hands came to cradle your face.

Then, you were the one to pull away. He frowned, trying to meet your eyes. You wouldn’t. Cradling his hand against your cheek, you pushed it away. Deep within, the restlessness of your heart had not gone quiet with his words. Only louder, the beating in your chest trashing around, begging to be freed.

“My lord, I… I understand. I really do understand what is at stake, here.”

You met his eyes, full of something you never thought you’d see again. Worry.

“Nonetheless, I want more.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to stop you. You stopped him first, the palm of your hand quietly overtaking his senses, when meeting with his face.

“This. What is happening here, I will not have it hidden away. I cannot. Not after this long. I…” You licked your lips, anxious at his reaction. “I belong to you. In whatever shape or form. But, if you give me this…” The skin of your thumb caressed down, meeting his lips. He had stopped moving. “There will be no going back. All out of the shadows. And, if you break my heart a second time, I will not be coming back.”

For someone with a patient talent for words, the King was left speechless. No proper sentence could carry his meaning. Only gestures, actions and demonstrations of his affection and commitment could. So he did. For the first time with you, he became hesitant, his mouth shaping itself around your throat, your open neck bathed in the moonlight. He clung onto your waist as one would a lifeline, your hands threading through his hair when he kissed you. His hunger and thirst for you was unmatched. Unparalleled. He had forgotten what that felt like.

That night, as many others afterwards, you found yourselves bound together, under the willow.

[wheredafandomat]

Fractured

Prince! Loki x Asgardian reader

18+ | contains some smut. This was so random I know but I had a lil idea and wanted to see where it went.

You were one of the first told of Loki’s arrival back to Asgard and his arrival in the palace. Unaware of where Frigga had sent him, you made your way to his chambers before preparing him a bath, wanting him to be able to relax. You didn’t know what condition he was in or what state of mind. Word of him looking worse for wear spread around the palace like wildfire before you heard the door of his chambers opening and managed to see for yourself how he looked.

“Loki.” You greeted as you took him in. You couldn’t help but smile at his valiant form; it had been a while since you had seen him dressed like that. “I have prepared your bath.”

“Join me.” He insisted, making his way through to the next room where his bath was waiting. You followed after him, your brow furrowed in slight confusion as you tried to gauge his state.

“Loki?” You began, looking away slightly as he quickly undressed.

“If you wish to leave, you can leave” he dismissed, stepping into the bath “although take note, my heart grows ever fonder in your presence.” He smiled, eyeing you almost hungrily.

Taking a deep breath, you undressed for him, reveling in the feeling of his powerful gaze on you as you exposed yourself to him. Everytime his eyes were set on your body, it felt like the first time. Once you were naked, you grabbed a rag before stepping into the bath. Soaking the rag, you gestured for Loki to come towards you as you pointed to the gash on his forehead. Coyly, he shook his head no leaving you huffing as you moved closer to him before reaching up and dabbing away at the dried blood. You leant over him, your bodies touching as you reached above his brow. You couldn’t help the small smile that played on your lips as Loki took the opportunity to kiss down from your neck to the swell of your breasts. You couldn’t deny how much you had missed him, how much you had missed simple moments like these ones where you could just be content with one another, the times where you found solace in his presence.

“I have missed you.” You hummed, eyes closed as he took one of your erect nipples into his mouth.

“Don’t fret for I am right here.” He answered, releasing it with a pop before pressing a loving kiss against your lips.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” You offered, opening your eyes.

“Let me wash yours,” he answered, “turn around.” He smiled. Turning around, you settled between his open legs, allowing yourself to rest backwards against his chest.

“Someone really has missed me.” You giggled feeling his hardening length nudging your back.

“Ignore him.” Loki chuckled, reaching for a bottle of shampoo before squeezing some into his hands and massaging your scalp.

“That feels so good.” You spoke, melting against him, your husband, as his skillful fingers worked through your hair. Cupping some water, he washed it out of your hair as you remained relaxed against him. Eventually, one of his hands left your hair before running down your back and snaking around your body where it trailed down your stomach. Instinctively, you opened your legs, eagerly awaiting his touch before his name fell breathily from your lips.

“Just stay relaxed for me.” Loki spoke in your ear, placing a kiss just below it as his other hand cupped your breast, kneading it as his finger traced your clit.

“Loki.” You mewled softly again, your back arching away from him as you threw your shoulders back.

“Relax.” He whispered, licking the shell of your ear as he applied more pressure to your clit, circling it fast as your hips moved on their own accord. The water around you both sloshed against the sides of the bath, almost spilling out as Loki lightly pinched one of your nipples, two of his fingers working against the bundle of nerves concealed between your legs.

“Norns Lokii.” You sighed contently, feeling that familiar warmth spread through your body.

“Let go.” He commanded, rubbing fast circles on your clit before you came with a quiet call of his name. It had escaped you how much you truly had missed him, even in his presence.

Eventually, the two of you got out of the bath, Loki helping you out as your shaky legs threatened to give way beneath you. You made your ways back to his bedroom where you dried off in comfortable silence.

“You know when I was out there, I thought about you, I prayed to you.” Loki spoke as he dried the ends of his hair.

“What?” You answered, slightly confused as he stepped towards you, his cock heavy between his thighs.

“You are my strength” he smiled fondly, looking into your eyes as you looked into his with an almost sadness “like the—” he began, running his hand against your cheek before he noticed you shy away from his touch. You didn’t mean it, it just happened. There were moments like these ones, when you’d piece together where he had been, where he had been sent and it felt like a million tiny daggers piercing your heart at the same time. “What’s the matter?” He questioned, concerned.

“Nothing” you lied “nothing's the matter.” You smiled, reaching up to kiss him. Loki kissed you back, his arms wrapping around your body as he held you. The kiss grew more feverish, both of you getting onto the bed before Loki was lining himself up with your entrance and thrusting inside. Your hand moved up and down his bare back as he fucked you. You tried to settle your mind, to enjoy this rare encounter but you could only think about the repercussions of this meeting. You’d feel good now, you’d share a bed now and then you’d be heartbroken again. A stray tear fell from your eye as you closed them, focusing on now. You felt Loki’s tongue against your cheek, licking it away, making everything better.

“As I slayed men where they stood, I thought only of you” he mused, thrusting harder as you bucked your hips up into his, his words the million tiny daggers “I slaughtered them in their droves y/n.” He reminisced, moving faster.

“Loki.” You said, the word coming out as something between a moan and an attempt at interrupting his ramblings.

“You should have seen me, you’d have been proud” he grinned, slowing his thrusts as his cock moved through your folds leisurely “I was valiant y/n, a king.”

He quickened his pace again, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he fucked you into the mattress, your body pleasured but your mind troubled.

“I watched the life d-drain from their eyes and yet my—my mind still conjured images of you” he grunted against your ear, thrusts growing sloppy “my q-queen.”

“Cum Loki.” You spoke into his ear, your hand holding the back of his head as you commanded him like he had done you earlier. You couldn’t take it anymore, it was too much. You moved your head to the side as he kissed your neck, sucking against it as he came, breaths heavy. You comforted him through his high, kissing him before you insisted he was tired and needed rest. He was more susceptible now, whatever charms placed on him wearing off as he fell asleep.

Once you were sure his breaths had evened out, you left the bed, securing a robe around yourself as you made your way to Frigga's rooms. Knocking, you awaited her greeting before entering.

“He is unwell” you stated, eyes full of worry “where did you send him?”

“I—” she began before you interrupted.

“He still speaks of war, he still lays with me as one would a wife.”

“Y/n.” She tried to relax you.

“War is what ruined him in the first place.” You protested. “How could you?”

“The war is in his mind y/n, he isn’t in danger, he finds peace when I transport his mind there.” She tried to reason.

“He was bleeding when he came back.”

“Merely for theatrics.” She dismissed.

“So what do I do? Continue playing the doting wife until he’s lucid again and remembers we’re severed?”

“You love him y/n.” Frigga countered.

“But he doesn’t love me and it breaks me every time the old him shines through.”

“You vowed you’d help nurse him back to health y/n, all I ask of you is your love for him.”

So like the real battle is his fractured mind? On reread/edit, I’m not sure what this is at all 💀

Tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @evelyn-kingsley @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen @november-rayne @12-pm-510 @vickie5546 @newtomofgods @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiestorch @somewhereinthegalaxi @beautyb1ade @angelilacsworld @lokidokieokie @mushypork @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

[pedgito]

i have a request 🫣 prince paul having an affair with his chamber maid, and he’s extra mean and arrogant because she’s the help. maybe it starts out with him requesting (demanding) she wear skimpier clothes in his presence and it just escalates from there 👀

author’s note: honestly never forgiving you for this. <3

cw: 18+ (minors dni) period typical drama (you don’t need to have seen the show to understand), chambermaid!reader, lots of degrading (not in a nice way), adultery/infidelity, mentions of reader being infertile, lots of tension, bratty!paul (he’s such an ass), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, power imbalance, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 5.5k

He’s not quite the man you expect at first glance. Paul, that is. His mother was an atrocious being, soft for show and nothing but hard edges, laced with ill-intent at every turn, opportunity—every chance she had, she was betraying the semblance of trust she had built.

And maybe that was her plan after all, the reason why she rules the way she did—but people talked and you heard every bit of it.

No one cared for chambermaids, especially not the one addressed to a tantrum prone young prince who despite his misfortunes still had the attitude and personality of a spoilt-child, all condescending tone and disregard for basic human decency.

But, it’s your normal—and it’s easy to fall into that routine, his voice is like white noise as you work, if he had the nerve to notice you. He’s often caught up in his own thoughts, scowl on his face as he brushes past you with no acknowledgment, not that you expect it. He’s cold at first, brisker—more than he has been lately, but your place was recognized.

Paul didn’t have the time to talk to the likes of you.

Yet, that’s exactly why he did—though, it wasn’t without your own valiant effort.

The first time it happens you almost jump out of your skin, pressing fresh sheets on his bedside chair to redress his bed, his pouting figure perched at the end, head bowed.

“Can you believe her?” He asks, voice soft but tense. You turn back, thinking he’s talking to someone—anyone but you.

There’s no one.

So, you say, “She’s quite evil, isn’t she?”

It’s a solid enough response to get a reaction out of him, even if it’s barely noticeable. His shoulders shake with the chuckle he holds back.

“She’d have your head if she was to hear that,” Paul points out, tipping his head back over his shoulder, eyes still downturned toward his floor, “careful what you say.”

“Sir, I need to change your bedding,” You urged, hands gripping the silk duvet, destined to rip that blanket away whether he moved or not, “please?” You ask softly and he’s standing silently, rounding the bed to reach for the gold plated goblet at his bedside, sipping what you could only assume was a fruitful, fancy wine from their large collection.

He watches silently, intently as you rip the old sheets away and replace them with new ones, body stretching over the bed as you fold in the corners, breasts pushed tight against the fabric and hips peeking out through the stiffly tailored dress, the itchy material driving you crazy every day.

His lips are perched on the rim, dark eyes glaring from a distance as you glance up at him briefly, met with his heated stare. You blush slightly—no man has ever looked at you in such a way.

You clear your throat quietly, flipping the blanket over the sheets and smoothing it out until it’s pristine—and you almost make it out without consequences or crude commentary.

“Lose the dress next time,” Paul orders, “it’s unbecoming of you.”

“Pardon?” You ask shakily, dirty fabric balled up and held tight against your chest, “Sir—er, Prince Paul, your majesty…I don’t think that is appropriate.”

“You’re my chambermaid,” His expression changes quickly, speaking through clenched teeth, “you do as you’re told.”

You nod obediently, though slow.

“Only here,” He clarifies, “Close the door from now on, only come at night—do you understand?”

You nod.

“Good,” His face changed on a dime, softening slightly as he stepped toward you, ringed fingers clinging against the metal of his cup as he tilted it toward you, pressing it against your lips, “drink.”

You’ve never tasted alcohol, not allowed those luxuries. It’s bitter as it hits your tongue, the tartness of the wine causing you to grimace slightly, lips stained a deep red as your tongue peeks out when Paul pulls the goblet away.

“Obedient,” He notes with amusement, snorting softly through his nose, “that is…useful.”

He doesn’t elaborate, nodding for you to leave as his expression hardens again, eyebrows drawn together tight.

“Mutter off,” He grumbles, “and do as you’re told.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from him, the situation souring in a matter of seconds as you walked away quickly, disappearing down a dark hall to rid yourself of the dirty laundry, avoiding the judging gaze of the consort as they walked by, ducking your head in a effort to hide in plain sight.

Before that encounter, Paul hid himself away after the death of his first wife and child—and while his wife had been horribly unfaithful, you could never wish that on anymore. Paul constantly grumbled about having a child to serve the purpose that his mother wanted, he’d finally accomplished it and then it was being swept out from under him in such a brutal manner.

It didn’t soften the blow of infedelity any less, or that he’d lost his son, a potential heir to his throne.

And for a while you barely see him, either tucked up under his covers and refusing to let you inside, or gone on some task with his army of men—you couldn’t be bothered to care.

You were poor, lowly, at the bottom of the pecking order and never destined step foot outside of this place, that much was obvious. It’s taught you to be mindful and overly observant—you knew Paul’s wife was cheating on him from the beginning, small inclinations that things were arye, but it wasn’t fully confirmed until you walked into a vacant room to his unfaithful wife being fucked by his bestfriend. As horrible as Paul may be, you weren’t sure he deserved that.

The period between then and now is tense, but manageable. You’ve got plenty of duties to keep yourself busy outside of his room, helping set tables for one of the many extravagant parties the council had weekly, tidying up the main rooms and helping greet guests from time to time. You were always presentable, clean, hair pulled back in a loose bun and any strays tucked behind your ear. It added an extra softness to your face, bare of any makeup—Catherine always commented on how beautiful you were, too pretty to be in the position you were now. You could never tell if she was lying or not, her first nature is always to make connections first and destroy them later.

She wastes no time in finding Paul a new wife, much to his initial dismay. He becomes rebellious during the time before, not that he wasn’t already the cause of most issues, but you quickly become used to it.

You find yourself picking up two pairs of clothes rather than one, slipping into his bedroom in the early mornings while he’s still tucked under the duvet, a naked, nameless woman wrapped around him and much less covered.

His mother would have a stroke if she knew he was finding sexual comfort in the likes of paid sex rather than putting his efforts forth to find an acceptable replacement, someone who is fertile and willing to submit.

And you can always slip in and out without being noticed, returning at night to finish up the more tedious and difficult tasks, avoiding conversation and his eyes at all costs.

Until you walk into an unfortunate situation one night, Paul buried in the cunt of a woman who’s much too loud, his pale legs tensing with every rough thrust of his hips—and sex wasn’t foreign, but it was private. It was a private, sacred act that should be kept between the two parties, but for Paul, that’s not the case.

He hears the door creak open, your eyes wide as he glances back at you, a deep smirk on his face.

His clothes are clutched to your chest along with his necessities for his bath—you’d normally start it for him by now, but you’re frozen, eyes stuck on the sight before you.

“She’s watching,” Paul says to the woman quietly and she moans softly in response, “—do not let me stop you,” Paul says, voice labored slightly as he wraps his hands around her thighs, pulling her impossibly more flush, his body blushing a bright shade of red, similar to the fake blush you patted on most morning as you helped him dress—though this, it’s so much better, “I’m nearly done.”

Your mouth is slightly agape, tongue feeling dry as you try to regain your composure, shaking your head as you slip past—the noises grow louder, heavier, and you quickly shut the bathroom door out of fear you might be caught again, eyes drawing toward him without meaning to.

You draw the bath, scolding hot as he liked and dip your fingers in to test the temperature, shaking the water from your fingertips as the door creaks open.

He’s still naked, unashamed as he walks toward you. It wasn’t the first time you’ve seen Paul naked, but it feels different. He’s not as showy, and more often than not he’ll shove you away, order you to busy yourself as he washes up—he doesn’t say a word this time, lifting his legs to step into the tub, softening cock bouncing against his thigh. He’s large, girthy and uncut. You’ve never heard many of the women talk about him in such a manner, so it comes as a surprise the first time you see it. It’s nothing like the older men you’ve seen undressing from their loins during your rounds—he’s younger, leaner, and oozing with an unbelievable confidence.

You still barely spoke to him then, handing over the washcloth and soap silently as you walked about, filling up his glass with the alcohol he usually requested; an awful tasting red wine that was much more bitter than it was sweet.

It was quite poetic, actually. It represented Paul perfectly.

His eyes drag up your coveted figure as he reaches for the glasses, stopping on your face, cheeks hot from the stuffy temperature of the room.

“Stay,” He says fiercely, catching you by surprise, “you can help, be of use finally.”

When he turns to sip and sit the drink down you roll your eyes, fist clenching tightly.

“Do you mind?” He asks, holding up the soaked washcloth toward you.

“Your majesty…you want me to bathe you?” You ask slowly, carefully.

“Are you hard of hearing or something?” He asks coarsely, teeth biting through his words as he bared them to you.

It was hard to know what would set Paul off, even the littlest things a trigger.

“No, no.” You reply softly, not bothering to finish your sentence as you squeezed the washcloth over his back, his shoulders stretching slightly as he rolled them, lifting his arms up on the edge of the tub.

“Not quite used to that?” Paul asks curiously, tone softer now.

“Sir, I’m not sure what you’re referring to—“

“No use being coy.” He notes, looking back at your briefly.

You weren’t nearly as timid as he assumed you were, not in the slightest. But, you appreciated the life you had, that you were living, and you weren’t going to jeopardize that by letting your sharp mouth get the better of you.

“Not necessarily, no.” You tell him honestly, “I’ve caught Potemkin in some…strange situations, but I usually excuse myself quickly—“ Paul leans back slightly to give you access to his chest, the wetness of his hair dampening your dress, “sex is private, s’not meant to be intruded on.”

Paul hums a soft noise, eyes linger over your body as you stretch and rub at his chest with the soap, smoothing out the washcloth over his skin before your hand dips under the water, reaching the soft skin of his stomach.

“You’re much too shy,” Paul teases, “you cannot be that way here, not with who I am—with who my mother is.”

“I do my duties and stay in my room, your majesty. It is important, also, to be mindful of where you stick your nose.”

It earns a laugh from him, genuine and unrestrained. His wet fingers loop around your wrist as it resurfaces from the water, and he’s pushing your sleeve up slightly, wetting the fabric.

“I tend to enjoy it,” Paul admits, “what a better way to remind people of what’s rightfully mine, yes?”

You snort at that, glancing down at him. Every signal in your brain is telling you to shut up, but your mouth moves anyway.

“Mmm, I assume paying for it also translates over to it being your property, correct?” He scoffs lightly, not as angry as you were expecting, but his grip tightens.

“Correct,” He seethes, tilting his chin up daringly, dragging you closer abruptly while your hands shoot out to catch yourself, gasping sharply as his face is mere inches from your own now, “—need I remind you that you are also my property?”

“I’m well aware, your majesty.” You bite back, “That does not allow you access to my body if you wish to lose a limb—“

“A delicate thing like you—“

You shake your head slowly, the words dying on his tongue.

“If you would like to keep fucking women in your bed, or at all, I would be careful with your next few words, sir.”

Paul smirks slightly, pushing you away with ease.

“I never said anything about force, you know,” He hints at, “I’m not that evil, not in that sense, at least.”

“As you shouldn’t be,” You retort, “Are we done here?”

Paul stands as you reach for the weak excuse for towel, cock resting proud against his stomach as both of his hands cup himself, allowing himself some decency—though it’s blatantly obvious.

You’re not sure whether to be flattered or offended, handing the towel off silently and dragging your feet toward the door.

“You can leave, yes—“ He hesitates for a moment, and your eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“Is everything okay, your majesty?”

Paul smirks darkly, eyes drifting away from you.

“Just a thought—I shall keep it to myself,” Paul says cryptically, “—‘less I risk losing an appendage as promised.”

Your laugh curtly, a subtle smile creeping onto your own face.

“You’re very smart, sir.” You tease.

“If only my mother would think as such,” He responds bitterly, mood shifting quickly, “—leave me, busy yourself.”

It’s not as harsh, but you don’t linger any longer than needed.

It’s the first time you manage to have a semi-normal conversation with Paul—though, nothing was ever conventional with him.

He remarried a few months after the encounter in the bath, your small conversations coming to an abrupt stop, his demeanor flat and angry more often than not.

No more random ladies in his bed, no more late nights perched on his desk table letting him ramble on about how much he hated his mother—you didn’t exist anymore.

He’s being the good little boy his mother asked him to be and promises her another heir, hoping this one holds up. And his wife seems kind-hearted at first, but that quickly sours.

It’s how you were in the position you were now, in his chambers stripped down to nearly nothing, as he’d asked, and going on about your business as if nothing was different. You didn’t have the luxury to question Paul’s orders, being as obedient as you could—as you were always taught to be.

He’d been angry the night before, about his mother but…something else. It lingered, you didn’t ask, and now it was itching at your mind, bugging you to no end.

Paul catches you when you’re bent over to grab a piece of stray stationary that had fell to the floor, making a noise you can’t decipher before speaking.

“Good,” He chide, “you listen.”

You weren’t sure what Paul was capable of, truly—and you didn’t want to find out. Because being the spawn of his mother, those tendencies were there at the surface, if not already exposed.

You turn slowly, breasts pressed together in the thin bra, underwear clinging to your hips and you curtsy slightly.

“Your excellency.”

You were laying it on thick, wondering what his angle was.

Paul examines the room carefully, stumbling a bit as he walks.

Drunk. He was drunk.

Not so much that he couldn’t speak or think for himself, but he seemed looser, less perturbed. His face was flush from the effects of the alcohol as he slipped his glass up along a random shelf.

“Fresh linens—you’ve even got my outfits lined up for the ceremony tomorrow,” His eyebrows quirks up interest, “you have been very busy.”

“It is just my job, sir.” You explain softly, hands clasped in front of you tightly, the cold draft in the room making you shiver.

Paul approaches slowly, plucking the stray paper from the desk and examining it, “Seems someone has been rummaging through my belongings again.”

You freeze, eyes tracking his every movement with regret, knowing that you were likely to blame—it could be a hit this time, a few stinging words and a night without a meal, you braced for impact.

“Do you women really think of yourself as the smarter species?” Paul asks, curiously but his voice is laced with an edge, a motive. “That us men are that dim.”

“Uh—“ You start quietly, stammering for the right words.

“She’s fucking the cook, you know.” Paul drops on you, making everything click in one fleeting moment. “The help. Like you.”

You bow your head, your normal snarky response subdued for the moment.

“She’s been writing letters, just the same as the other filthy fuckin’ whore I used to be bethrothed to.” The smell of liquor was strong as it fell from his breath, but his eyes still connected with you, flicking with life.

He always looked sad, small in comparison to most of the royals despite his attitude and harsh manner of dealing with things and people and really anything that bothered him. He was just as vile as he was kind—most of it being an act.

You knew he wasn’t being sweet to you out of the goodness of his heart, he had reasons. He was calculated in the most deceiving ways.

“How—how do you know?” You ask softly.

Paul huffs a small laugh, dropping the paper back onto the desk and allowing his other to trail up your front, finger wrapping around the material that joined your breasts together—if he pulled hard enough it would snap, the weak fabric no match against his strength.

“Caught them.” He spits out viciously, plump lips pouting around the words as he tugs you toward him, you move easily.

You weren’t scared of Paul—that was never the case. But, you knew it wasn’t smart to go against his actions, the things that he wanted. Because really, you weren’t sure how badly you wanted them either, until his fingertips were touching your skin, his eyes roaming your nearly naked frame.

“But sir, she’s—“

“With my child.” He answers for you, pausing for a moment to catch the stutter in your breath, his hand smoothing down over your stomach, your skin ice cold underneath his scolding touch. “No more sir, or your majesty—or whatever bullshit they teach you to say to me.”

You nod jerkily, head dipping down to watch his fingers trailer further and further, breath quickening with every movement.

“Considering my first son was not even my son, I shouldn’t be surprised,” Paul says lowly, his hand cupping your cunt light, the delicate touch of his fingertips tracing along the seam of your underwear, “it seems no woman can understand the concept of faithfulness.”

And you had to give him that—as much of a tyrant he could, he’d never tried to be unfaithful in his relationships. He had his indulges during those long, lonely in between periods, but never during.

Yet, here he was. A married man, touching you in ways that felt…too good. He was no different than his wife, but maybe that’s what he wanted.

“I must admit you are much prettier than the previous help, solnishko.” His free hand reaches up to tilt your chin up confidently, eyes connecting with him surrounded by an intensity you haven’t felt before. “I would much like to keep you around.”

“Unless I disobey,” You counter softly, “you would not hesitate to order my beheading, yes?”

Paul shrugs carelessly, “You wouldn’t be the first, I can assure you it would not be the last.”

His thumb rubs over your chin, rising to your lip, saliva wetting his finger as it stilled there, giving him a glimpse of your clenched teeth, not realizing your fist had been curled so tight at your sides until he’s speaking again.

“Relax,” He comforts, though it’s nothing but a mockery, “I would not hurt you, not unless I’m given reason.”

Your eyes squint slightly, narrowing on his bluff.

“Say it,” He orders, “say what is on your mind.”

“You are a scared boy,” You challenge, his demeanor faltering for a half-second before he recovers, “all talk and nothing else.”

The gentle hand on your face quickly turns to stone, slipping around your throat in warning, squeezing lightly. Your eyes close, trying to ignore how unbothered you are.

It wasn’t the first time your life has been threatened, it was all old news.

His fingers move quickly, slipping under your panties to touch bare skin. Paul snickers evilly at the wetness pooling between your folds, the soft noise your throat makes when his finger drags through—warm and thick.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Paul says smugly, “how long?”

“I’m afraid I might need you to elaborate, sir.”

The squeeze is light, but tense. A warning to your words.

“Paul,” You correct yourself quickly, “I apologize—old habits.”

“How long have you wanted this?” He asks slowly, tongue and teeth enunciating every word like he’s spitting venom at you.

You couldn’t give him a period of time, because there wasn’t one. The attraction was a surprise to yourself, from the moment he touched you after stepping into the room, you knew. You could handle the not so subtle glances he took, the teasing words and throw them right back—but you both had never crossed this line. Sure, Paul could be coarse and suggestive more often than not, but part of him never expected you to follow through on his commands, even if it meant your life.

He’s intrigued by you, enthralled. He hates himself for it more than he cares to admit. But, all good things did come in moderation.

“Must you ruin the mystery of it all?” You retort playfully, eyes lighting up as he tilts his head, trying to decipher the growing smirk on your face. “May I ask you a question, your—er, Paul?”

“So long as you choose your words wisely.”

“Why ask me here in such a state?” You ask, “If the others knew—if they found out, you would surely face consequences yourself.”

“I won’t,” He forces out through clenched teeth, jaw flexing underneath the skin, “this stays here, understood?”

“What exactly is this?”

He can see the way you’re relaxing under his hold, more comfortable speaking to him in such a tone. He’s used to being talked down upon, constantly disregarded—never challenged.

“Madam, whatever I want it to be.” He smiles, sickeningly sweet, proving his point by dipping a finger into your entrance.

You gasp softly, back hitting the edge of the bed as he maneuvers you the short distance there.

“But, your wife—“ You interrupted in a hushed tone, his mouth hanging open slightly as he glared up at you, “how does this make anything better?”

“Not better, even.”

You nod obediently, moaning softly at the loss of contact as he stands, wiping his hand along the front of his trousers.

“Undress yourself.” He orders, seating himself on the edge of the bed as you turn, switching positions with him.

Your eyes glance toward the door briefly, the light from the moon shining in through the stained glass, the candlelight dim—if anyone walked by, they would assume Paul was sleeping, but behind closed doors…it made your heart skip a beat in anticipation, excitement even.

It was reckless, but you didn’t care.

Paul unbuttons his trousers swiftly, already down to a few layers rather than his several, regal waistcoat and all—it was just his loose white shirt and a faded pair of tan pants that cuffed at his ankles.

He’s not shy in the slightest, cock already half-hard as he palms himself, squeezing lightly at his balls before fisting himself tightly, raising a foot up on the bed frame to steady him, free hand coming to rest beside him.

Your bra goes first, loose straps falling down your shoulders with no resistance, pulling at the string holding the material together tied behind your back. The cold air has the soft buds of your nipples hardening instantly, skin prickled with goosebumps. Paul makes an appreciative noise, thumb rubbing at the thick head of his cock, the uncut skin allowing for an easy slide as he works up a harsh rhythm, cheeks flushed an even deeper red than earlier—there’s more than just alcohol affecting his system.

He doesn’t speak a word, only nodding his head to urge you further, slipping your underwear down and beyond your ankles quickly.

“You are—“ His voice catches, grunt slipping past his lips, “divine.”

You smile slightly, a surge of pride rushing through your body at the sight of him, clearly unhinged by you.

“Would you like your cock sucked?” You ask bluntly, adding the endearment for extra measure. “Sir.”

Paul grins widely, reaching forward to tug you by your wrist, “Get over here.” He urges, settling to your knees impatiently, never one for niceties.

But, you didn’t need that. You didn’t expect it from him.

“How do you like it?” You ask curiously, nudging his hand away to replace it with your own, eyes watching the small, glistening bed of precum that leaked from the tip.

“I’m sure you’ve sucked a cock or two before.”

“I’m asking you,” You challenge, “What do you like?”

“Control,” He answers quickly, without hesitation, “going to let me fuck your mouth, milaya?”

The softness of the word makes you smile, though it’s subtle.

“As you wish, your excellency.”

He hates the terms, the formality of it, but it only eggs you on further. He was still Paul in your eyes, but this was easier. It kept a level of disconnection you need.

His hand roots into your hair roughly, gripping a decent chunk before pulling you forward, his large hand enveloping your own to rub the head of his cock against your lips.

“Open,” He orders, pressing your mouth open, “further—-there, good.”

You moan at the guidance of his hand along your jaw as he presses himself further into your mouth, “I know,” He soothes, “it’s much larger than what you’re used to, isn’t it?”

And he was, by far—but you’re also not exactly inclined to say yes, not allowing another boost to his ever growing ego.

You moan softly, eyes falling shut when the head of his cock nudges against the back of your throat, breathing deeply through your nose as he watches, waiting for you to pull away.

It never comes.

You can see the burning flames of fire in his pupils, deep set behind those wide brown eyes. He’s speechless, for once.

He pulls you back harshly, allowing you a small gasp of air as the corners of your mouth quirk up in amusement.

“Does that answer your question?” You say teasingly, a mocking need to your tone that Paul has never heard before. But, he can’t be bothered to reprimand you, too busy wallowing in his own desperate need for pleasure, release—human connection, even.

Paul growls low through closed lips, pressing his cock back inside your mouth with ease, the warm, flat of your tongue running along the underside of it, a faint taste of his cum rendering you thoughtless.

It’s been long, far too long.

And you’d do just about anything for a moment of blissful peace, drowning in your own arousal.

His thrusts are pointed, lacking the delicate touch you’re used to, but it’s everything you need, swatting his hand away finally to cover what your mouth couldn’t possibly reach, his other still firmly fisted in your hair. It had to be a mess now, pulled from its bun and glowing over your shoulders.

Paul wasn’t trying his best to stay quiet either, groaning a flurry of obscenities above your head—“Fuckfuck—need to have you,” He begs, “I will not finish this night off without knowing every piece of you, darling.”

He pulls you away suddenly, lips flushed and covered in spit.

“Maybe I’ll make my mother happier with another heir,” He jokes lightly, pulling you to your feet, shoving you promptly onto the edge of the bed until you’re settled on your back, ass flush with his hips, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your thigh, “—it’s only a joke, you may laugh.”

“I am unable to bare children, Paul.” You tell him openly, “Why do you think I have this job? Because I enjoy it?”

His fingers slip over your cunt wordlessly, pressing into you slowly. Two fingers instead of one, but the stretch is welcomed.

“What a shame,” He comments quietly, your breasts bouncing slightly bad your gripped the sheets beside your head, hips rocking with the steady movement of his fingers, “wish there were more help like you.”

“So you could fuck them, your majesty?” You retort.

It strikes a nerve, his cock replacing his fingers rather quickly, without warning. You gasp ruggedly, hand reaching out to grasp at his wrist, his hands smoothing over the tops of your thighs to pull you close, his brows drawn together in concentration, short blonde curls stick to his forehead.

“Watch your mouth.” He warns, eyes darkening with his words.

“Or what?”

You must’ve had a death wish, but Paul can’t even be bothered to act upset.

“I assure you, you do not want to find out.”

And with that, Paul swats your hand away, his own circling around the backs of your thighs to push them higher, his eyes dragging toward the point of connection, and you’re gripping him better than anyone he’s ever had, the warmth like a vice as he grunts, sharp thrusts producing the loud slaps of skin against skin mixed with your own desperate moans.

Paul doesn’t try to quiet you, only spurring him further into madness.

“Just as fucking mouthy as I thought,” He tells you, “why must you challenge me so much?”

“It’s—it’s,” You stammer, his hand muffling out the scream that threatened to escape, his eyes examining you until his thrusts slow slightly, allowing you to continue, “You like it too, I can see it.”

“So what?” He asks redundantly, breath labored, “Does that make you special?”

You reach for his white tunic, thighs widening to pull yourself upright, forcing him even deeper inside you. He watches you intently, your face stopping a few inches from his.

“You tell me, sir.”

“Paul,” He tells you, eyes rolling back as you squeeze yourself around him, the hand not busied with his shirt wrapping over his shoulder, pulling him to you, “say my name.”

“Paul,” You relent, adding a dangerous comment to hopefully spur him further into his growing addiction for you, “you shall be king soon, yes?”

He nods absently, his mouth reaching for you, tilting your head up to give him access to your neck, feeling that mouth to mouth might be too far, despite your current situation.

“Then fuck me like one.”

There’s a noise that settles in his throat, deep and suffocated as he grips the long tresses of your hair, pulling it taught as he fucked into you wildly, “You are dangerous, milaya.”

“I know,” You smirk viciously, head dipping down until your eyes connect, “—so come inside me. I will walk around the halls and no one will know, it will be our secret, sir.”

His face buried into your neck, one hand gripping at your thigh painfully tight as he slips one between you both, drifting over your clit gently, the small touch igniting a spark inside you.

It’s never something most men paid attention to, or yourself even, to busy with your duties to allow time like this to yourself—it doesn’t take much, a few quick, precise circles before your clenching around him tight, forcing him into his own orgasm, his teeth peeking out to bite against the skin of your neck softly, his groans muffled by the action.

There’s a moment of calm that washes over, Paul’s hips moving slowly as he comes back down, removing himself from you just as gently.

“Secrets.” He corrects. “I will never be done with you.”

You laugh softly, tilting your chin up dangerously close, lips barely grazing his own.

“I never asked you to be, milaya.” You retort, repeating his earlier term of endearment.

“Tell me,” He starts, eyes raking down your figure and back to your face, “do you understand Russian?”

You nod shyly.

“You are going to get me in trouble, my little darling.”

If only he knew how right he was.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[80ssuperstar]

Hey Guys I made this Story that's based on The Ancient Indian Tale of Prince Rama and Princess Sita and the Ten Headed Demon Ravanna but I made it different with the Characters like: Prince Mordecai and Princess Samantha, Ravanna, Hanuman, Bharata, Indrajit, Manthara, Surpanakha, Queen Kaikeyi (Prince Mordecai's Jealous Stepmother)

THE STORY OF MORDECAI AND SAMANTHA:

Once upon a time, in the magnificent kingdom of Ayodhya, there lived a noble prince named Mordecai, beloved by all for his wisdom, courage, and kindness. He was the heir to the throne, destined to rule alongside his beloved wife, Princess Samantha, a woman of unparalleled beauty, grace, and compassion. Their love was the envy of all who beheld it, and their kingdom flourished under their benevolent rule.

However, their happiness was not to last, for lurking in the shadows was the wicked ten-headed demon, Ravanna, whose heart burned with jealousy and malice. Ravanna coveted Princess Samantha for himself, and he plotted to separate her from Prince Mordecai and claim her as his own.

Mordecai: "My dear Samantha, our love is like the eternal flame, burning bright amidst the darkness. Fear not, for I shall always protect you, my beloved."

Samantha: "Oh Mordecai, my heart sings with joy at your words. Together, we shall overcome any obstacle that dares to challenge our love."

One fateful day, as Prince Mordecai and Princess Samantha were taking a leisurely stroll through the enchanted forest that surrounded their kingdom, they came across a wounded deer lying in agony. Princess Samantha's compassionate heart was moved with pity, and she beseeched Prince Mordecai to help the poor creature.

Samantha: "Mordecai, look! A wounded deer lies in distress. Please, we must help it."

Mordecai: "Fear not, my dear Samantha. I shall use my magic to create a protective circle around you. As long as you stay within its bounds, no harm shall befall you."

That night, as Princess Samantha rested within the safety of the magic circle, she heard a terrible cry echoing through the forest. Believing it to be her beloved Mordecai in grave danger, she rushed to his aid, unaware of the treacherous trap that awaited her.

Samantha: "Mordecai! I hear cries of distress! I must go to him at once!"

Mordecai: "No, Samantha! Stay within the circle! It is not safe!"

But it was too late. Ravanna, with his dark magic and deceitful wiles, had disguised himself as Prince Mordecai and lured Princess Samantha out of the protective circle. Seizing her in his powerful grasp, Ravanna vanished into the depths of the forest, leaving behind naught but despair and heartache.

Ravanna: "Foolish princess, to trust in the illusion of safety. Now you are mine, and no one shall stand in my way."

Prince Mordecai, upon discovering his beloved Samantha missing, was consumed with grief and fury. Determined to rescue her from the clutches of the vile Ravanna, he embarked on a perilous journey, aided by his loyal companions, including the mighty monkey warrior Hanuman, the valiant prince Bharata, and the wise sage Vishwamitra.

Hanuman: "Fear not, Prince Mordecai, for I shall lend you my strength and my cunning. Together, we shall vanquish the foul demon Ravanna and rescue Princess Samantha from his grasp."

Bharata: "My lord, I pledge my sword and my loyalty to your cause. Let us march forth and bring justice to the wicked."

Vishwamitra: "Prince Mordecai, the path ahead is fraught with danger, but with courage and determination, you shall prevail. Trust in your heart, and victory shall be yours."

And so, Prince Mordecai and his companions embarked on a perilous quest, braving treacherous jungles, raging rivers, and dark caverns in their relentless pursuit of Ravanna and his captive, Princess Samantha.

Along the way, they encountered many trials and tribulations, including battles with Ravanna's fearsome minions, such as his son Indrajit, the demoness Surpanakha, and the wicked maid Manthara, who sought to thwart their noble quest at every turn.

Indrajit: "You dare to oppose my father, Ravanna? Prepare to face the wrath of Indrajit, the mighty warrior prince!"

Surpanakha: "Ah, Prince Mordecai, how handsome you are! Why waste your time on that insignificant princess when you could have a powerful demoness like me at your side?"

Manthara: "Princess Samantha is a threat to my mistress's ambitions. I shall do everything in my power to ensure that she remains in Ravanna's clutches forever."

But through courage, perseverance, and the power of their unwavering love, Prince Mordecai and his companions overcame every obstacle that stood in their way, drawing ever closer to their ultimate goal of rescuing Princess Samantha from the clutches of Ravanna.

At long last, after a fierce and epic battle that shook the very foundations of the earth, Prince Mordecai confronted Ravanna in his fortress atop the towering mountain of Lanka, where Princess Samantha was held captive.

Mordecai: "Ravanna, your reign of terror ends here and now! Release Princess Samantha, or face the wrath of a righteous prince!"

Ravanna: "Foolish mortal, you dare to challenge me? I am Ravanna, the Lord of Lanka, the most powerful demon in all the realms! You are no match for my might!"

But Prince Mordecai, fueled by his love for Princess Samantha and the strength of his noble heart, fought with a courage and determination that knew no bounds. With the aid of his allies and the blessings of the gods themselves, he clashed with Ravanna in a battle that shook the heavens and the earth.

In the end, it was not the strength of arms or the power of magic that determined the outcome, but the purity of Prince Mordecai's love and the righteousness of his cause. With a final, mighty blow, he vanquished Ravanna and rescued Princess Samantha from the darkness that had ensnared her.

Mordecai: "Samantha, my beloved! Are you hurt? Fear not, for you are safe now, and I shall never let harm befall you again."

Samantha: "Mordecai, my hero! Oh, how I have longed for this moment! With you by my side, I fear nothing, for our love is stronger than any magic or malice in the world."

And so, Prince Mordecai and Princess Samantha returned triumphantly to their kingdom of Ayodhya, where they were greeted with jubilation and celebration by their grateful subjects. Their love had been tested and proven true, and together, they ruled wisely and justly for many years to come, a shining beacon of hope and inspiration to all who beheld them.

THE END!!

I Hope you guys liked it 😊🥰

For: @fxe4596 , @nicomxm23 , @mordorigs , @jgquintelslut , @pinkcandycatmakesart , @anifaz , @isrrael120 , @notadumbdog , @martingeekermmd , @eeveepalooza , @apollothedeity, @sidoresca, @siinhorhy, @insomniacz, @rhyliethecaterfly , @yeetafry, @at-weeb96, @kiwithekool11437, @kiko2032, @orchestralauthor, @untitled14360, @loudlyhappycupcake

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (23/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2760

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: The following morning, Aemond and Arianwyn tell the Queen of what happened. But they soon realize an important figure is missing.

Warnings: Adult content, minors DNI

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax

The Shears

Arianwyn woke before dawn, the sun but a sliver of pink light in the distance. Though every muscle in her body ached, she savored the feeling. Each twinge of pain was soothed by the memory of her husband's kiss on her lips, on her throat, her chest, and her core.

Now the mouth that had kissed her so fervently lay still beside her as Aemond slept. What remained of the moonlight was reflected brilliantly in his ever-open sapphire eye. Tilting her head against their shared pillow, careful not to disturb his arm around her waist, Arianwyn nudged closer to him.

She brushed the hair from his face to better examine the stone, a chance she had not gotten the night before as their desires quickly took hold. If she squinted her eyes just right, she could make out the Runes beautifully engraved on each facet.

As she read each one, she ran a finger across his chest, tracing their shapes. For it was not only the writing of the Runes that gave them power, but the intentions of the writer. Just in case the magic had not carried over to the gem from her embroidered instructions, she drew each shape again on the soft skin above his heart.

Two lines, crossing in parallel. Each end split, reaching for the others, but never quite touching.

"I know that one," Aemond grumbled, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep. He seized her wrist, guiding her hand as she finished the Rune. "Surely, after last night, you don't believe me lacking in endurance?"

Arianwyn could not stifle her giggle, but she could suppress it against his lips. When she pulled back from the kiss, she whispered against his ear, "Of course not. But I want my love branded to your heart, so you will never be without it."

He kissed her again, knotting his hand in her gloriously tangled hair. "Never."

Then, he pushed himself up on his side, gazing adoringly into her silver eyes as he traced the same shape on her breast. "There," he breathed, kissing the skin to seal the magic, "now we are both branded."

It was almost as though Arianwyn could feel the magic taking hold, surrounding her heart and filling her chest with such warmth it practically burned. She smiled so hard that her cheeks strained, and she had to look away from Aemond to keep herself from being overwhelmed by the sight of him.

How many fairy tales had she read that described true love? How many stories of valiant princes rescuing their princesses from evil men and monsters? How many times had she imagined herself in their place?

It all seemed so mundane now. No fairy tale, story, or poem could capture the enormity or intensity of what she felt for Aemond.

"I love you," she whispered, though the words were too small.

"Avy jorrāelan," he replied, pulling her in for another kiss.

Arianwyn yielded to him, wrapping one arm around his neck as she happily let him devour her. With the other, she traced her fingers down his chest, past where she had drawn her Runes, past the taut muscles of his abdomen, until she took hold of his half-hard member.

"Tell me how to make you feel the way I did last night."

-

Queen Alicent had hardly been able to sleep that night, her mind racing from all that had happened since Rhaenyra's arrival. The cruel accusations she and Daemon accusations made against her. Seeing Arianwyn again after so many years.

The competing emotions of the petition. From the elation of seeing Viserys on the throne again, walking nearly on his own, to the horror of seeing Vaemond Velaryon struck down in front of her. The inescapable heartbreak that came with the realization that her husband would pull himself from the Stranger's embrace to defend Rhaenyra and her bastards, but had never lifted so much as a finger for Alicent or the children they had together.

She had loved Viserys so very dearly. They were delightfully happy in the first years of their marriage, despite Rhaenyra's distance from them. He was ever so kind to her, and gentle. When he took her to his bed, he made sure she felt safe and loved, and tended to her needs as much as his own.

While she was pregnant with Aegon, he showered her with adoration – giving her endless gifts and commissioning paintings and music for her. When their son was finally born, healthy and strong, she thought he would deify her. Every moment of his every day was spent with them, love brimming over in his beautiful violet eyes.

Something changed after Aegon's second nameday. His warmth faded, though he remained cordial. When Helaena was born, he congratulated her warmly, but it was not the same. She did not wake to find him at the end of the bed, the babe in his arms. He did not bring his daughter with him everywhere he went, but left her with Alicent and the nursemaids, seemingly content to see her only when necessary.

He stopped calling Alicent to his bed each night. And when he did, he was distant. He did not kiss her nor help her find her own pleasure. After he had finished, he did not ask her to stay. It was a miracle Aemond and Daeron were ever born.

Alicent was almost grateful that Daeron had been born so weak. Growing up in Oldtown, under the care of her cousins and the Maesters, he did not suffer his father's indifference.

Aegon did, and it drove him to despair and depravity.

Helaena, bless her sweet soul, seemed happy enough in her own distant world.

Of them all, Aemond had felt it most keenly.

With Arianwyn, he had read all the stories of Old Valyria that remained, hoping he could one day discuss them with his father. That Viserys would see himself in his son. That despite his lack of a dragon, would see that Aemond was a true heir to the Targaryen name.

But the King never did.

He did not care to hear Orwyle's reports on the progress of Aemond's studies nor Ser Criston's praise of his martial prowess. He brushed aside each of Aemond's failed attempts to claim a dragon just as easily as he dismissed the cruelty of his eldest son and grandsons. Alicent begged him for years to intervene, but he steadfastly refused.

And then Aemond had lost his eye.

No. Not lost. It was taken from him.

Not only by the steel of the Velaryon bastards' knife, but by Rhaenyra's audacious insistence of her sons' legitimacy and the King's callous apathy.

Alicent had to steady herself against the red stone walls of the corridor, reminding herself that she was going to Aemond's rooms to scold him for his behavior at dinner the night before, not to sympathize with his lifelong plight.

She and Rhaenyra had brokered a peace after he had left, and the Queen had every hope that it would hold – if she could get her own children under control.

"Your Grace, are you well?" Alicent jumped at Orwyle's voice, breaking her from her ever-spiraling thoughts.

"Grand Maester," she greeted. "Whatever are you doing in the Holdfast so early? Is the King well?"

Orwyle's dark eyes flicked toward the end of the hall, a tentative smile on his face. "His Grace is well, my Queen, though he continues to rest after his exertions."

"That is wonderful to hear," Alicent sighed, relieved. "But you have not answered my question."

The Maester was practically sweating. "Yes, My Queen. I suppose it is fallen to me to tell you the happy news."

-

Arianwyn watched with delighted curiosity as she brought Aemond to his climax with only her hand. His eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth fell open as he gasped for breath, the line of his jaw impossibly sharp. He reached urgently for his wife, hips rutting wildly as he spilled his onto the sheets between them.

"Was that right?" she asked, a smug smile across her lips.

Aemond only moaned as he pulled her on top of him, too exhausted to even kiss her. But he needed to feel her weight on him, to anchor him, lest he float away on a cloud of bliss.

She laughed, the sound reverberating through Aemond's chest. "I'll take that as an enthusiastic 'yes.'”

He moved to pull her to his lips, but there came a knocking at the door.

“Aemond? Aria?”

Alicent.

His eye shot open at the voice. Why was she here? How had she known Arianwyn would be here as well?

Arianwyn was nearly thrown off the bed for how quickly he sat up, catching her with a hand on the small of her back. Her heart was pounding for fear that they had been discovered and the anticipation of embarrassment should the Queen enter while she was still naked. “What do we do?” she asked.

Carrying her off the bed, Aemond set her down by the door to his dressing room, but he froze when he realized the solution would not be so easy. “Gods, I have no dresses.”

At the blank, dumbfounded stare on his face, Arianwyn recalled a story Aegon had once told about a man who ‘had his brains fucked out.’ She had always thought it to be an exaggeration.

Perhaps not.

She moved to the end of her bed to don her shift and dress from last night, though it was still stained with blood.

“No,” Aemond called, taking her hand and leading her away from the ruined, wrinkled silk on the floor. He knew they had no time for him to fumble with the interminable laces of the confounded thing. “I have a dressing gown… somewhere.”

“I will find it,” she answered, slipping into the dark room housing all his clothing. “And for you?”

“…Trousers!” he said after a prolonged silence, wherein he had nearly forgotten the word.

Arianwyn nearly snorted. Her husband was a clever man indeed.

It took her a moment to sort through the dressing room in the dim light of the morning, but she eventually found a pair of trousers and a black silk dressing gown. Even when she tied the robe, she had to hold it closed with her hands. Aemond was so much taller than her that her arms disappeared entirely in the massive sleeves, and the large pockets sat at her mid-thigh.

He smiled when she reentered the room, a new haze of desire coming over his face as he donned the trousers. Then, as though he had not just been pressed against her fully naked form, he licked his lips in hunger at the sliver of exposed skin on her chest.

“Aemond?” Alicent called again.

“A moment, mother!” he shouted back. After securing his eyepatch, he approached Arianwyn, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you ready?”

She brushed her hand against the leather patch, sad to see the sapphire hidden, but nodded and gave him a hesitant smile. “As I will ever be.”

With a swift kiss to her forehead, he led them out of his – their – bedchamber.

And straight into his mother’s waiting arms.

Alicent was a small woman, yet she somehow managed to wrap her arms around them both and squeezed so tight that they winced.

“Oh, my dears!” she exclaimed, pulling back to look at their blushing faces. “I could hardly believe it when Maester Orwyle told me the news, but here you both are!”

Aemond had thought he would never see his mother smile so brightly again. It was simply infectious. He clasped his hand against her arm. “I am sorry we did not wake you,” he said. “But we were quite hurried.”

“Orwyle mentioned something of the like,” the Queen sighed, releasing the couple and looking back to the Grand Maester, still standing awkwardly by the door to the apartments.

“With your permission,” he said, bowing his head, “I would like to confirm the consummation.”

Arianwyn gripped Aemond’s hand harder, unsure what such confirmation would entail. She had heard tale of what was done to women who had their virginity called into question, and she was not eager to experience the same.

The Maester spied the movement and held up a hand to calm her. “I require nothing of you, Princess Arianwyn. I wager I will find all the proof I need within the bedchamber. If you will excuse me?”

Slightly embarrassed, she nodded, allowing Aemond to lead her to the couch by the hearth while Orwyle passed through to the bedchamber.

The Queen took her seat in a stuffed armchair, picking at the skin around her nails while she inspected the dark bruises and cuts on Arianwyn’s jaw and neck. “Aria, will you tell me what happened?”

Suddenly finding herself shaking, Arianwyn hesitated to speak. But then Aemond pressed his leg against hers and took her trembling hands in his, and she felt nearly as strong as she had when she plunged the shears through Daemon’s hand.

She told the Queen everything. Every detail she knew about his rape of her mother. The threats he had made, both on Dragonstone and here in King’s Landing. How he had wrapped his hand around her throat so tight his nails drew blood and tried to strangle her, only to be stopped by the embroidery shears she had hidden in her skirts.

She could not explain how she got away, not when Daemon was so much faster than her. Nor could she recall precisely how she had ended up in the library, under a table with her tears staining an ancient tome.

But she remembered exactly how Aemond had looked when he appeared, the fear and relief in his eye when he saw she was alive and relatively well. She would never forget a single detail of the wedding ceremony itself, from the reverence in Aemond’s voice to the sight of the moonlight on the Weirwood’s red leaves.

The specifics of what came next, she left vague. That particular knowledge belonged only to her and Aemond. But she assured the Queen that the marriage was consummated, a fact soon confirmed by Maester Orwyle.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Alicent said, “It will leave Daemon with little cause to oppose the union.”

Though she had maintained her calm demeanor throughout Arianwyn’s tale, Aemond was simmering with rage. His wife had revealed details he had not known, things she had left out of her letters. He stared into the smoldering embers of the hearth, focusing only on calming his breathing and the fire in his blood that seared through his scar.

“Do you think he will?” Arianwyn asked, “Oppose our marriage?”

Aemond scoffed, the left side of his face beginning to twitch and burn as his emotions ran higher and higher. “Of course, he will.”

“But he will not succeed,” Alicent countered, her voice firm. “Your father is still abed, exhausted by the events of yesterday. The Hand and I shall sit the throne today, and we shall ensure that he fails.”

While Aemond seemed assured by his mother’s confidence, Arianwyn was not. That had been the plan for the petition yesterday, and the King had miraculously risen to defend Lucerys’ claim.

Besides, it was not only their marriage was not the only thing he would bring before the court.

“I stabbed him,” she murmured. “I stabbed the King’s brother, the consort to the Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne. That is not something that can be so easily dismissed.”

For that, the Queen had no answer.

Aemond had only praise for his wife's actions, but his admiration would not change the fact that she had broken the law.

Orwyle cleared his throat. “To my knowledge, Prince Daemon has not sought the aid of any Maesters to treat his wound. Should he wish to prosecute the matter, surely he would have sounded an alarm.”

It was sound logic. Daemon was not one to keep the secrets of others. Not when he stood to gain from exposing the truth.

But the truth was not what the Rogue Prince was after, Aemond thought as a starling realization came over him.

Daemon only wanted to hurt his daughter.

“The shears,” he declared.

Alicent’s brow furrowed. “What about them?”

“We never found them. Only the blood.”

Arianwyn was shaking with fear when she rose from the couch and tore open the door to their chambers, startling her guards.

“Where is Brynna?”

Next Chapter

[marina-the-witch]

My Souls Hot Takes

Decided to write up a couple of my less popular opinions for souls games. Please don't get upset over any of these, if you disagree that's totally valid

Dark Souls 1:

Bell Gargoyles is my favorite base game boss

I don't like Ornstein and Smough that much

Gwyn's theme is nowhere near as sad or dramatic as its made out to be in my opinion

Painted World isnt fun to me at all

Tomb of the Giants isnt that bad

I miss the whimiscal 80s fantasy aesthetic the series lost in the following entries even if i understand it narratively

Dark Souls 2:

I'm not just a hater or fail to appreciate an underrated gem, I simply dont enjoy this game

I think Darklurker is mid and the runback gimmick is stupid

The world and lore arent that much better to me than any other souls games and dont save the game

Life Gems are actually pretty okay

Old Dragonslayer is really not that big of a deal

Royal Rat Vanguard is the single worst boss in souls to me

Fume Knight is just kinda alright to me, I enjoy Sir Alonne much more

The health cap loss fucking sucks i hate it

Its perfectly fine to both love and hate this game please calm tf down

Dark Souls 3:

Soul of Cinder isnt that exciting, I might just be biased though bc i started the DS games with 3

Jailers arent that bad, Thralls are way worse

Ancient Wyvern kinda funny tbh

I really really dislike Sister Friede

The random wolf guy in ariandel is the wost boss in 3

Corvian Knights are the coolest enemy in the trilogy

The game isnt actually as ugly and monotone as people say

Pontiff Sulyvahn is sooooo mid to me I could not care less for his parry bait jojo stand ass goofy fight

Yhorm is such a nothing boss without the siegward narrative to me

Demon Prince solos literally any other duo boss and its not even close

R1 and O spam is a dark souls staple to me, not DS3 exclusive at all

Dragonslayer Armor and Oceiros are insanely underrated

Sekiro:

Demon of Hatred actually slaps

Corrupted Monk actually slaps

Great Shinobi Owl is really mid to me, too gimmicky

Guardian Ape has the same issues as DoH just to a lesser extend

The 2 giant beast (serpent and carp) area hazards are so good

Souls should give underwater another shot imo

Most of the minibosses are kinda bad to me

Bloodborne:

Laurence is actually peak

Not really a fan of Maria's fight, gonna replay the game soon to see if it'll finally click

Winter Lanters are pretty cool

Micolash fans are weird why are there so many

Yharnam Sunrise is the most boring ending of any souls game

As much as i would love it, I cant feasibly see a logical contuination of the Bloodborne universe

Saw Spear mid idc

Chalice Dungeons are both infinitely better and worse than people say I really dont know how to feel about them

Simon's Bowblade is one of the coolest weapons in fiction

Elden Ring:

Morgott is underrated

Dragons are underrated

Placidusax's theme is kinda eh to me

Radahn and Malenia are equal, both fandoms can stfu, it said fought to a standstill for a reason

Rykard is genuinely a good fight even with the gimmick in mind

I don't care for vyke, frenzy, shabriri or any other madness hoobla

I hate using great spears so much

Summons are VALID. If they were cheating they wouldnt be in the game. Get over yourself

Idc how much you can counter it I dont like malenia's waterfowl dance and health regain

Godskin Duo isn't that bad, the REAL enemy is valiant gargoyles

Royal Revenants, Birds and Runebears at least have the decency to be rare... Imps and Lobsters though

Volcano Manor is underrated as fuck, such a unique level for a souls game with so much cool lore and visual flare

[urwendii]

returned! Fingon has to go back and kill post Nirnaeth Maedhros in the most romantic and tender way possible and then the Domestic! AU actually happens in this AU (brought to you by me being extremely unwell about these two)

yessssssss

it includes Fingon muttering how sorry he is while Maedhros bleeds to death tenderly cradled in his arms.

'I'm so so sorry, Russo." Fingon can't see much past the harsh downpour around them. Maybe it's another grace from Ulmo. Perhaps it is not at all. He does not know much beyond the body craddled against his chest. Maedhros' eyes are wide - terror and confusion, and - oh, also anger, that terrifying fierce white anger that burned at its core, the fire that even Morgoth could not put out.

"This is the only way, you know it." he sobs, kissing the clammy skin of his beloved's forehead. But Maedhros' fëa is clinging to him, clawing at Fingon's, hurling questions of How can you be there, I watched you die, why did you leave me, why are you there?

"Please Russo, let go - you have to!"

He does not want to consider what can happen if the redhead warrior, the ghost of a Prince, the shell of his other self, does not answer Námo's call.

"Please." he whispers again, against cold damp lips as more blood soaks through his tunic. Fingon had begged, Fingon had raged, Fingon had repented and Fingon had left again because how can he remain behind in the Undying Lands when so much is still crumbling around his kin.

Maedhros' lips are moving, opening and closing as if trying to form words but in the end its with his fëa he reaches for Fingon again — and it's like watching himself from Varië's tapestries once more, it's like seeing his husband killing and killing and giving up on everything, hope, kindness, clemency.

Fingon had died and with him took the last tiny part of Maitimo back to the Halls of Mandos.

"It has to stop beloved. It has. Please let go." And tenderly, as if they were still Findekáno and Maitimo, foolish Princes of the Noldor with naive hopes in them, he tucks a dirty carmin strand behind a damaged ear and forced a smile through his anguish.

The sword he used lays behind him, out of the way. Its steel and silver quietly crying in the rain.

"I'll be there. When you're ready to come home. And we'll go and build a house on that hill where I kissed you for the first time. Remember? You blushed so hard I thought you were going to swoon."

And finally, finally there are tears on Maedhros Fëanorion's face. Fingon kisses him and swallows back another shattering sob.

"Your mother misses you. And Finrod's there too, do you know? He came back faster than anyone thought he would."

Fingon can feel the redhead's hröa slumping, the fëa shivering. It is almost the end. He shuffles his legs and readjusts his grip on Maedhros.

"It's ok my love. It's ok. I got you."

It's over he wants to add. Let go of the Silmarils. The Oath is vain. Let go, let go, let go. Around him the rain comes to a lull and he can see the blurry silhouette of Lord Eönwë standing guard in the distance.

And then Fingon Astaldo, the Valiant, starts — for the second time in Beleriand — to sing to save Maedhros, from the darkness, from himself, from a fell fate that would have awaited him.

"I'll wait for you, Russo, as long as I have to so don't rush alright, beloved."

It takes a few more minutes and then Fingon feels it. He remains there sitting in the mud and clutching Maedhros' empty hröa, sobbing in the blood-soaked strands of hair, until the gold of his braids turn copper, until the clouds lift and Arien rises, until he feels Lord Eönwë's hands on his shoulders gently telling him it is all over.

[in-my-feels-probably]

I'd love to see Sirius's reaction to his girlfriend dressing up as a muggle princess for Halloween. 🥰 It's a favorite pastime of mine and the kids I work with LOVE it! The yellow dress in the gif is what I wore today😍😍😍😍

Prince Charming

Request: I’d love to see Sirius’s reaction to his girlfriend dressing up as a muggle princess for Halloween.

Hi! Halloween is my favorite holiday and I just realized I haven't written anything about it before, so thank you for the request. Sorry to my Marauders fans who get sad over Halloween now, I know the pain. So, Anastasia is one of my favorites, the yellow dress is a cool costume. We’re gonna pretend like this movie, and all the other princess movies, were out in the 70s and that everyone knows what the movie and costume is. We’re also gonna pretend like the purebloods don’t do much for Halloween, because I wasn’t sure if they do or not. Sorry, this is kinda short, I’ve been really busy but I had some time to get through a few requests. I don’t love the outcome of this, but I think this request is cute, so hopefully this turned out ok. I hope you like it, let me know what you think.

(Warnings: swearing, let me know if i missed any)

—

You were sat next to Lily at breakfast, looking around the Great Hall. Tonight, Hogwarts was putting on their annual Hallows Eve ball. Decorations for Halloween were put up, and floating pumpkins lined the walls. As you looked around, it occurred to you that during your time at Hogwarts, you had never dressed up for the holiday. 

“Why don’t you celebrate Halloween?” You said to Sirius, who was sitting across the table from you.

He looked confused. “What do you mean? We go to the dance every year.”

“No, I mean dress up? Is that not a thing with wizards? Or is it just not a pureblood thing.” 

“Dress up?”

Lily turned from her conversation with James, piping in. “Muggles dress up. Every year, you pick a costume. It’s the one night a year you get to be something other than yourself. Some go with something from a movie, some go with something scary like a ghost or a witch, there’s lots of options.”

James chuckled, raising a brow. “Love, you’re a witch. You're gonna dress up as yourself?”

She elbowed him in the side, shaking her head. “No, you git. Muggle witches are different, they’re normally scary. Most girls paint their faces green, and wear a pointy hat. Seriously, have you never seen a muggle movie? Black cats, cauldrons, brooms. It’s witch stuff.”

You nodded, like what she was saying was common sense. Sirius looked between the two of you, confused. He leaned over to Remus, who looked more tired than usual. The full moon was two days before, and he was still recovering from it. 

“What? Ghosts are real, though, why dress up as one? Moony, back me up here. They’re just pulling our leg, right?”

Remus shook his head, picking at his plate. “No, mate, they’re not joking. There’s tons of movies with witches like that. And ghosts are different with muggles. A lot of them don’t even believe in ghosts, just like they don’t believe in witches. But yeah, muggles take Halloween very seriously, there’s tons of shit they dress up as.”

“We should dress up this year,” Lily said, eyeing James. “Couples costumes?”

James Immediately shook his head. “No way! We’re not gonna be the only two showing up to the dance in costumes.”

You smirked. “Oh, come on James. We can all dress up. You too, Moony.”

“Absolutely not,” Remus laughed. “As funny as it would be to see those two look like asses, I’m not doing it. You’re lucky I’m even coming.”

Lily grinned, leaning close. “You’ve already got some inspiration, though. You could be a werewolf.”

“Very funny, Evans. Quite the comedian today, aren’t you?”

“You’re all no fun,” Lily said, turning away from the boys. “What about you? We could still dress up.”

“As what? The party is tonight, we don’t have time to get costumes.”

She sighed, looking defeated. You threw an arm around her shoulder, bringing her into your side.

“It was a valiant effort. There’s always next year,” you said, patting her thigh.

“We could charm our dresses,” she offered. “Princesses?”

You groaned, shaking your head. “James is right, we’re not showing up as the only two in costumes.”

“No, listen! I promise, I’ll do a good job with them, nobody will even be able to tell it’s a costume. It’ll be fun. Please?”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to find it in yourself to say no, but Lily had perfected her puppy dog eyes, and was nearly impossible to say no to.

“Merlin, alright! Fine. You’re impossible, Evans. What are we going as?”

She smiled eagerly, cheering in her seat. “Yes! I’ll get the other girls in on it, you know Mary won’t say no to getting to wear a pretty dress. Just leave me one of yours, I’ll do it for you. You’ll like it, I promise.”

—

A few hours later, you and the girls were getting ready for the party. Lily had followed through, and you had to admit, she did a good job. 

She was wearing a teal dress, with purple jewelry, going as Ariel. Marlene was wearing a blue dress with puffed sleeves, and had her hair done up, dressed as Cinderella. Mary’s dress was green, for Tiana. She said it because she fancied finding her own prince to kiss tonight, but you all knew it was really just because she looked the best in green. She didn’t need the dress to be able to find a guy, she was very capable of doing it on her own, but you let her have her fun anyways. 

Your dress was yellow, with blue ribbons accenting it. Lily chose to transfigure your dress into Anastasia’s, since she was one of your favorites. 

You all finished and headed down stairs, where the boys were waiting. 

“Finally!” James said, holding out his arm for Lily to take. “We were beginning to think we were being stood up.”

“Stood up?” You said, feigning shock. “We’d never do that to Remus.”

Remus laughed, standing up as you headed for the portrait exit. “Thanks, love.”

You looked around the room, and realized Sirius wasn’t with you. “Where’s Sirius?”

“Taking his sweet time, apparently,” James said, opening the door. “He was finishing getting ready when I came down. He’s quite vain, isn’t he? Do you want us to wait?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “It’s fine, you lot go ahead. I’ll wait for him.”

They nodded, and you sat on the couch as they all filed out of the door. You waited a couple minutes, before you finally heard rustling at the top of the stairs and you stood up. 

“It’s about time!”

“Oh hush, you know you–” Sirius came down the stairs, ready to match your banter, but he stopped in the middle of his sentence as he reached the bottom stairs and you came into his view. 

You raised a brow. “I know what, Sirius?”

He didn’t say anything, just staring at you with a slack jaw. You began to uncomfortably shift under his gaze, smoothing down your dress. 

“Seriously, what is it?”

Sirius looked at you with soft eyes, stepping closer to you. He settled his hands on your waist, gently smiling down at you. 

“You, my dear…look absolutely beautiful.”

You flushed at his words, settling into his grip. You rested your hands on his, looking up and meeting his eyes. 

“Thank you. You look very pretty, too. My own Prince Charming.”

“Thank you, love,” he said, leaning his forehead down to rest against yours. “Alright, princess, you ready to go?”

You smiled, nodding. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, before slipping a hand in his and leading him towards the door. He watched you with dazed eyes and flushed cheeks, smiling as he followed his pretty girl out the door.

—

A/N - Hi! Hope you liked this. I’ll fill more requests soon. Hope everyone has a good Halloween.

[know-the-way]

Continued Stages of Falling Down the Miss Fisher Rabbit Hole

I’m gonna be real - I wish I could watch things in chronological order, I really do, but my ADHD brain just doesn’t work like that. So, I’ve bounced all around the different seasons and my overall thoughts are a jumbled mess. However, there are some things - in chronological order - that I just continue to go feral over the more I look at them, so I’m gonna share with the class. (P.S. Thank you so much for the warm welcome! You’re all very lovely and I just hope I don’t fuck that up by being annoying 😅… Uh… yep. Anyway, have a nice day! Lots of nonsense and a wee bit of meta below!)

- “Perhaps we could allow ourselves one candle?” “I think I could cope with that.”

Mmhm, listen here you cheeky fuckers, I see you. Whoever wrote this show learned the art of subtle symbolism and slow burn majesty, and while I am HERE for it, I also just… ya know… *pushes heads together* kiss already.

- Hearing Phryne say “I’m looking for my daughter” when she was searching for Jane in Queen of the Flowers. *clutches chest* Owwww. Her progression from “ugh, kids” to “this one’s okay, I guess” to “she is a part of me and to wrench her away would be akin to removing my very heart.” Just… yes. I will always love that dynamic. But I also appreciated Phryne emphasizing that Jane’s mum would always be her mum. I feel like there’s normally a focus on the child needing to choose between their biological or adoptive parents and it was refreshing that they allowed room for both of those relationships with Jane to exist equally.

- Maybe it’s just me, but whyyyyy does this exchange feel so domestic? There’s something about Jack just sitting there, marveling at her being in her own element, telling Hugh “of course” when he asks if Phryne knows judo (‘cause he knows her well enough to not be shocked anymore - like ‘of course she knows judo and speaks 8 languages and flies planes, it’s common sense Collins, get with the program’), and already knowing the answer to his suspicion about the “dangerous weapon.” It all just has an air of ‘gently teasing my spouse of 10 years in front of people because I know it winds them up and that’s our love language’ about it.

I’m also kind of curious how long Phryne has been practicing martial arts. Was it a ‘from childhood’ thing or a ‘from a traumatic event that made learning this skill feel necessary’ thing? If that fic hasn’t been written yet, I’d love to read one.

- “This time, you’re an accomplice. And unless you plan on killing Inspector Robinson yourself, he’ll make sure you hang.”

Again… I could so easily be reaching, but to me this comes off very much like “once my husband finds out what you’ve done to me, he will spend every waking moment ensuring your demise.” Couple that with Jack carrying her out like Prince Fucking Valiant and… yeah. #FERAL

- The fact that he wasn’t already holding her hand, but she was reaching for him… 🥺 The hurt/comfort goblin that lives in my brain: thriving. Just… fuck me up.

I still have two episodes of season 2 to finish, but so far my overall summary is that - by episode 3 - they’re together. Together, together. Don’t even care that it’s not “official,” don’t care that they don’t say it explicitly… they’re committed to each other in every way that matters, so they are bloody together. Just need them to realize that and accept it. For all our sakes.

[serpentarii]

T A G L I S T S ; updates & spring cleaning 

it’s that time of year again. since i’m going to attempt to post content on this blog more regularly, i thought it was a good chance to clean up my current taglists. so, i’ve created this as a masterlist/referral for anyone interested in seeing more from my projects ! below the cut will be a list of all my ongoing projects, a set of comps, a brief paragraph about them, and relevant links. those who don’t interact with this post but are still on at least one taglist will be automatically removed. 

starborne ; kentaro miura’s berserk meets dante alighieri’s the divine comedy . introduction . tag  

genres ; epic dark fantasy . adventure . romance . tragedy . adult 

a planned trilogy about an empire on the cusp of a disastrous civil war in a world plagued by constant political upheaval, unfathomable monsters, and a cannibalistic goddess. set in an empire inspired by the greco-roman world and the italian renaissance. 

mordlust ; naomi novik’s uprooted meets philip pullman’s northern lights . introduction . tag 

genres ; gaslamp fantasy . fairy tale retelling . young adult 

a standalone low fantasy novel featuring a pair of assassins and the roles they unknowingly play in a much larger conspiracy. a wicked forest, a missing prince, a horrible affliction. a retelling of the swan maiden myth in a prussian inspired setting. 

a hymn for serpents ; samantha shannon’s the priory of the orange tree meets jacqueline carey’s kushiel’s dart . introduction . tag 

genres ; heroic fantasy . supernatural . romance . adventure . new adult 

a planned series about a girl accused of a crime she did not commit, an ancient evil reawakened, and the countless lies told under the guise of protection. a retelling of the three snake leaves and the seventh son in a sprawling medieval inspired world. 

C U R R E N T   T A G L I S T S 

{ reblog or comment or send an ask to be +/- from any of these } 

general ; @seasteading | @veneritia | @sourrcandy | @arkicts | @hekat-ie | @raven-ink | @redrcbin | @tvengsins | @uppoffringar | @ladywithoringes | @darkgazer | @philocalizt | @worldbuildng 

starborne ; @inky-duchess | @paperandredink | @valiant-wielder | @atelierwriting | @sympathyhouse | @wordsbynathan | @halfmoonorfullmoon | @intro-book-vert | @anaestheticdisaster | @katwritesforfun | @sancta-seraphina | @marewriteblr | @rkmoriyama | @your-local-bookworm | @hell-yeah-fantasy-reads | @crowandmoonwriting | @half-explored | @nightmares-and-fireflies | @medeaes | @frvnwrites | @saachi | @septemberliterature | @writingbyjillian | @gods-above-watch-over-me | @bookphobe | @tragedieds | @juliantelos | @jadeywrites | @avi-why | @the-child-of-darkness | @chuchoters | @ortolon | @cannivalisms | @muddshadow | @ashen-crest | @birdskullz | @strawberrystarcake | @wildswrites 

mordlust ; @inky-duchess | @saachi | @bayoucurse | @caradhraas | @birdskullz | @halcionic | @nallthatjazz | @ladywithalamp | @medeaes | @jadeywrites | @rkmoriyama | @sureliipan | @dovebeast | @froggywriter | @cannivalisms | @muddshadow | @writeblrfantasy | @kingsinking | @vellichor-virgo | @bebewrites | @lord-fallen | @ellierenae | @faelanvance | @sylhorn | @mortallynuttyqueen | @kittensartswriting 

a hymn for serpents ; @bayoucurse | @moariin | @cannivalisms | @birdskullz | @inky-duchess | @harinawa | @ninazeniks | @kingsinking | @red-the-dragon-writes | @write-the-stars-and-shadows | @muddshadow | @nallthatjazz | @livvywrites | @yuriperhaps | @dream-fyre 

the tale of ryuurei { inactive } ; @qelizhus | @birdskullz | @ccorpsidious | @hiddenhistoria | @elliewritesstories | @inky-duchess | @chazzawrites | @partlyparchment | @theelectricfactory | @nallthatjazz | @stormharbors | @cannivalisms | @ladywithalamp | @siriuslyprocrastinating | @muddshadow 

the inhuman comedy { inactive } ; @scaevolawrites | @inkingfireplace | @morganwriteblr | @muddshadow | @moariin 

[sortanonymous]

The Heroic Quest of the Valiant Prince Ivandoe is so darn good!!!

It's a shame that the overseas release of this show (which, yes, is from the Gumball staff) has been such a hot mess because it is such a fun time even just two episodes in! It has such a fun cast of characters between the main duo (WE MUST STAN BERT!) and the many one-off characters, the humor is absolutely hilarious, and there's a genuine heart and intrigue to the show and it's world that make it that much more of a great adventure! (Seriously, the second episode made me emotionally invested in the well-being of a giant chicken monster. What have the people at this studio been on for the past 12½ years and where can I find it?) The best way I can describe it is that it feels like just tiny drops of Gumball's tone and 2D character design style (which should be obvious), Monty Python and the Holy Grail's spoofing of fantasy tropes, and even Over the Garden Wall's variety in settings (okay, maybe not much like that last one at all in any other way, but I digress). Such a great start for a show that I will definitely be keeping track of, even if I wish it didn't air new episodes so freaking early. (Seriously, does Cartoon Network even want to have a hit show anymore?)

In fact, the weird and sad thing about CN being at death's door and having so few new shows is that the ones I have gotten off my lazy butt to see have still been so good, between this and Unicorn: Warriors Eternal (I know it was slapped onto adult swim at the 11th hour, but that's a CN show and you won't convince me otherwise, although I'm kinda glad [as] is taking it in if for no other reason than them not being allergic to Blu-Rays and decent scheduling). Admittedly Zaslav being Zaslav does worry me about both shows' futures, but hey, Unicorn at least has the armor of technically being aired as a show on the seemingly safer [adult swim] and the credentials of a legendary creator who wants to do three more seasons, while Ivandoe is apparently already at like Season 3 or something in Italy so at least I already know there's plenty more to come. Regardless of studio locations (or countries) and the company's fragile state, there's still magic left in Cartoon Network, and I really hope these two great shows are not the last we see of it.

Anyways check out new episodes Saturday mornings at 9 ET on Cartoon Network! Considering how good this show is and how bad CN is at marketing it, I have no shame playing the shill here.

Also apparently if an ex-animator is to be believed, Gumball Season 7 is coming out mid-to-late 2024 while the movie is on hold and I have no clue what to think. The way they'll handle that cliffhanger has just looked muddier by the day since it aired, but hopefully the show itself will still be as good we expected because wow I've missed peak Gumball! (Bonus points if it's actually as good as Seasons 2, 3, and suprisingly 6, instead of the kinda disappointing Seasons 4 and 5 although that's all a rabbit hole for another day.)

[rhythymicwriting]

Who Knew ~ Diavolo

"May I have this dance?" His silky smooth voice and charming golden eyes had enchanted them from the moment they'd arrived. The questioning amber shimmered amongst black feathers and gold lace. They wordlessly took his outstretched hand, slack-jawed and staring. He swept them in close to him, hips gently swaying together.

The pair gracefully spun under golden chandeliers. Soft violins accompanied their dance. The party seemed to move around them, the Prince and his partner an alluring centerpiece to the ball. Diavolo's classic white tie caught a small draft, lifting lightly off his chest through an elegant tailcoat. His cherry red hair shimmered under the amber lights. A playful smile danced on his lips. The black feathers of his mask gently caressed his oaky cheeks.

"You're quite the liar, you know." He teased, lips curling.

"I'm sorry?" MC replied, confusion painted in their features.

"I recall you said you couldn't dance, yet you seem to have bewitched my guests." He chuckled. MC's attention broke from his eyes, taking in the room around them. The entire room of demons was spectating their dance. A sprinkling of partners were taking the floor to join them. A few jealous eyes locked with MC's from behind feathered masks. Somehow, the Prince's gentle touch made the faces, that normally would have paralyzed the human, seem meaningless. They were no more threatening than the many paintings around the room.

"I hate to correct you, my King, but I'm sure they're looking at you." He laughed at their words.

"We make quite the fetching pair, don't we?"

"I'd say so." MC hummed, leaning their head into his chest. His arm wound around the small of their back, pulling their bodies flush together. Steps and breath in sync, the two swayed in place, turning ever so slightly. MC relaxed into their partner, relishing the subtle rise and fall of his chest. 

"I miss you, mio cuore" He murmured, his baritone voice sending vibrations gently through MC's cheek. MC tensed. They lifted their head, finding his eyes void of their usual light, staring through them.

"What?" Their hand caressed his cheek, panic flooding their veins. "No... Not again... Please, no!" He gradually became too heavy for MC to support, the two of them collapsing to the golden floors, color draining from the room. They laid his head on their lap, holding his hand close to their chest. Wine red roses bloomed from his chest. His paling lips parted, freeing bloody spit.

"No NO!" MC screamed. The room was empty and vast. There were no longer walls to stop their voice. Party goers silently laughed behind masks. Fans over lips taunting the pair. Sobs shook their body, heavy down feather sheets draped over their frame. Plush pillows caught their tears. The smell of him still lingered in the bedding. MC curled further into the cushioning, memories of their lover staining their mind.

"I'll protect you forever, mio cuore. I promise." His whispered in between kisses. He held them close, his arms wrapping around them completely.

They clamped their hands over their ears, screaming into their knees as memories of waking up next to him stabbed their heart. He said forever. He promised. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"You're nothing but a leech. Stop ruining his reputation. You don't deserve him."  The words of MC's peers returned. 

He only likes you because of that program. He doesn't actually love you, you know that, right?"

"He'll leave you."

"You'll loose him. Count your blessings before he realizes his mistake."

"You'll only be a burden to him."

"You'll be the death of me, mio cuore."  Their eyes widened at the sound of his signature chuckle. Yet, they didn't see his joyous eyes. They saw his lifeless ones. The cuts and bruises decorating his once flawless skin. The misshapen curve in his elbow. The root of his wing where it used to connect to his back.  Piles of lesser demon corpses framed his body. He had given a valiant effort, but even the Demon Prince could be overtaken by a mob. 

MC had limped towards him, throwing themselves down before their king one last time. Sobs and screams wracked their body, grief and guilt flooding their system. "YOU DAMN LIAR! WAKE UP, DAMN IT!" They cried. They gripped their chest, pain tearing at their heart. If only they'd been stronger. If only they had been more useful. If only they hadn't let him defend them. If only they'd never met him.

He was supposed to live forever. He was supposed to grow into an incredible ruler, one that inspired justice and peace. And here he lay, lifeless in a filthy alley like a diseased rat. Anger possessed MC. They kicked and scratched and punched at the corpses around them, making a larger mess of the scene. Papers scattered across the corpses with cursed names scrawled on them. MC would never forget that heart stopping handwriting. 

"Bivium"

MC should have been the only person to know that word. How did these demons find it?

Diavolo's true name.

Footsteps echoed off the walls, Lucifer and Barbatos appeared at the mouth of the alleyway. They rushed to MC's side as the human collapsed back to their knees. Lucifer followed them down, bringing their head into his shoulder. His gloved hands gently grasped MC, starkly contrasting the tense rippling of his chest and arms. Black feathers cascaded through the air, the sound of wings tearing through skin. Through the storm, MC caught a glimpse of shining golden eyes and a wide, toothy smile. Screaming filled the air once more, all three of the mourners contributing. The two demons were far beyond any humanoid form, Barbatos tearing apart the already deceased demons. He had given up looking for those who'd survived and settled for decimating the corpses left behind. 

MC couldn't bear to remember anymore. They could feel their heart tearing. The smell of his cologne suffocated them. The touch of his lips was still tender against their own. His firm grasp still lingered on their palms. His golden eyes still burned into theirs. His loving voice still hummed in their ears, "You'll be the death of me, mio cuore."

Their voice cracked, fighting for words. "I love you, my king."

[kingbryancroidragon]

ThunderCats Idea

In the posts I've been talking about if I were to do my own version of ThunderCats, I said I'd have it so that Thundera would be a diarchy, having a two-king system, with Lion-O and Tygra as Thundera's kings, the former representing the House of Leo, the latter representing the House of Tigris.

Looking to Marcus Aurelius and his son Commodus, I've gotten to thinking that Thundera while officially a diarchy has had more than two kings at a time, on multiple occasions. Commodus wasn't his father's successor as much as he was his father's co-ruler once he reached a certain age. When Marcus Aurelius died, Commodus just continued ruling by himself. In my version, it would be the same with Lion-O and Tygra, they didn't as much succeed their fathers as carry on after them. While I had established in a previous post that Javan would be dead, maybe even appear to Tygra as a ghost that he would initially dismiss as a stress-caused hallucination, it would not be the same with Claudus. Claudus would have been rendered blind much like his 1985 counterpart, causing him to step down, but because he would have been a combination of his 2011 and Roar incarnations, being a tyrannical racist jerk prone to favouritism who had practically been raised by Mumm-Ra disguised as Pumm-Ra, he'd be overly critical of Lion-O , comparing him to his late brother, which would have driven Lion-O to go forth from Thundera to perform heroic deeds and in turn leave the act of actually ruling Thundera to only Tygra when it should be both of them.

Lion-O would be doing good, but because he is rarely in Thundera, he wouldn't be viewed all that greatly by his own people. Him leaving Tygra to do all the work would also be why Tygra is so stressed.

Thinking of it in terms of seasons, Lion-O would spend the first half of the first season away from Thundera, away from Tygra, Panthro and the non-Pantherine characters who will eventually become the ThunderCats when a reform is passed allowing for non-Pantherine cats to become ThunderCats. He'd be off having adventures reminiscent of Prince Valiant (story reminiscent of the "How Heroes Die" arc included), Conan the Cimmerian (story reminiscent of "The Frost Giant's Daughter" included with Conan's enchantment caused lust replaced with an enchantment caused curiosity), maybe even slay a dragon as Sigurd slew Fafnir, while back in Thundera there would be much more political intrigue on Tygra's end. Eventually, there would be a siege that would give cause for Lion-O to return to Thundera and once that was dealt with Lion-O and Tygra would have had a good long talk.

While Tygra would admit that he was angry with Lion-O and Lion-O even admitting he has a right to be angry, Tygra would also admit he never really had Lion-O's back when Claudus was being overcritical of him and that in some way, he contributed to what happened, which of course resulted in the stress of ruling alone and promise Lion-O that for now he would have his back. Lion-O would then promise that he would stay closer to home and that for now on, as long as they both live, they would rule Thundera together. This would result in things like reforms, peace treaties and a general improvement in Thundera, a city-state that has existed in a quasi-perpetual state of war while also becoming corrupted by imperialism and warmongering, a place where it was once said "the greatest thing that would benefit Thundera would be for it to fall."

Just as a little side-note here, Lion-O would probably be missing his left hand, lost in one of his adventures resulting in the Claw Shield/Gauntlet of Omens becoming more than just a shield, gauntlet or sheath for the Sword of Omens. For Lion-O, it would also be his prosthetic. I imagine his face would also be scarred. The loss of the left hand would be inspired by Edison Marshall's portrayal of Ogier the Dane while the scarred visage would be lifted from Conan.

[viatagrinner]

Clavis Lelouch. More Love with the Beast. Ch. 1 & 2

Chapter 1

The heroine became the official fiancée of Clavis, King of the Kingdom of Lelouch.

Clavis: Come on, my dear fiancée! Your darling is here.

MC: ..........Clavis.

Clavis: Oh, what's the matter? You're not Miss Tsundere/Miss Strictness today, you're a Miss Shundere/Miss Shtricness.

MC: What is Schundere/Shtricness?

But her fiancé didn't answer.

The bookstore in the Kingdom of Lelouch (temporary name) is quiet today too.

It was quiet.

Until Clavis burst in here. The atmosphere quickly brightened up.

Clavis: If you have any complaints, tell me, your darling will listen to you.

The girl decided to share with the prince.

She will work in the store during the day and he will teach her manners and diplomacy in the evening. She is already reading books about politics and society.

But that's not enough for her. Something else is needed.

Clavis: To follow love.

MC: .....Doesn't that suffice?

MC admits that she has become better at communicating with the aristocracy, better at history, politics and diplomacy. All thanks to the old priest who was Clavis' teacher. But she wants to be better.

Clavis's duties as king: to protect the country and make people's lives better.

It seems to the heroine that she is doing far less than she could.

Clavis: Okay? So you want to love me more than you do now, right?

MC: No, I don't...

Clavis: ....Not so?

MC: Not really. I wanted to see what I could do as your fiancée. I want to do something for this country.

Clavis: You want to change jobs.

She likes working at the bookstore, but as the fiancée of Clavis, king of the country, she feels that she is not contributing enough to the kingdom. These thoughts occupy her head. The girl doesn't notice as the work shift passes.

Clavis: ........This is a serious problem.

MC: Really?

Clavis: Ah.

Clavis: Why is my fiancée so hard-working and charming? ......Stop it, my face breaks into a smile.

Clavis: No, of course I'm cool with a smirk. But like I said, there's a limit...

She suggests that we think seriously about the future.

He suggests repeating her 24-hour experience of being with him. Like when she was "Belle."

He also wants her to see the "valiant king."

Well, and Clavis is happy.

Clavis: Because I'm sure you'll fall back in love with the attractive/cool Clavis.

MC: I don't think so.

Clavis: No?

MC: .........I'm already in love with you.

Clavis: ........I want to attack you.

MC: No, no! This is a bookstore, so please be a gentleman!

Clavis: I think you'll forgive me for that.

Leaning over the counter, the king kissed his fiancée.

She thought it would just be a light kiss, but Clavis decided on his own way.

After a few minutes of passionate kissing...

MC: Ah...Huh...Pervert!

Clavis: Hahaha! When you've gone from lover to fiancée, kissing like that is like a greeting.

Clavis: I'm sorry, but I don't have enough.

MC: I'm not giving you any more here!

Clavis: In that case, I'll help you close up store. I want to get you back to the mansion as soon as possible.

(It seems to me that Clavis has become more open since I became his fiancée.)

But she likes his behavior, too.

━━━━━━━༻❀✿❀༺━━━━━━━

The next day.

The girl acts as the king's escort.

Clavis' day begins with him gathering all his servants for a morning meeting.

However, he now has only four servants: Cyril, Kai, Hugo, the two soldier-officers who joined Clavis in Obsidian.  And Clavis' former teacher, who has become a butler.

The King tells him that he has royal business to attend to today, and that his charming MC will be assisting him.

Cyril asks him to be careful, but Clavis replies that he will not go to any dangerous places.

Kai talks about some petitions, the butler will help him, and Hugo will help, as usual, Cyril.

Clavis is surprised.

Clavis: .....You really like Cyril.

Cyril: Oh, Mr. Clavis. I long for you more.

King replies that there is nothing to pine for.

The meeting passed in a friendly and relaxed atmosphere. Clavis enjoyed the conversation. He asks the girl what she is holding in her hand. It's a lunch box. Because the king will be busy all day and won't be able to eat anywhere.

She also made lunch boxes for everyone. Cyril praises her and says she is too good a wife for Clavis.

The king is jealous, but not for long. MC has made a special treat for him, an apple muffin in the shape of a rabbit.

Clavis: As expected of my fiancée. You know me well, don't you?

Cyril: ....Mr. Clavis, you're like a spoiled child.

But Clavis is only like that with his loved ones.

When he has a meeting, the king showed that he's different.

━━━━━━━༻❀✿❀༺━━━━━━━

Chapter 2

Meeting.

Discussing matters important to the kingdom.

Usually the aristocracy plays a major role in politics, but in the kingdom of Lelouch, this is not the case. Here citizens are free to propose their ideas and participate in the discussion.

That's what makes this country so vibrant.

But they still have a problem: The demand for products is greater than the supply.

Clavis: Right now we import most of our crops from Rhodolite and Jade, but if we have a bad year, we're screwed.

━━━━━━━༻❀✿❀༺━━━━━━━

King and his fiancée came to the refugee support center.

Discussing important business.

Clavis asks the facility manager if everyone has enough food, clothing, shelter, and jobs. They are also making arrangements with other countries to accept refugees.

He also receives a letter from Jade.

The heroine meets her eyes with the king.

Clavis: MC, you're looking at me like that.... No, I'm not. You want to jump into my arms! Ahhahaha

MC: What? ...Not at all!

As the heroine moved slightly away from her fiancé, who spread his arms out to his sides, he somehow came up to her and put his arm around her waist.

Clavis: Ahaha, don't be shy, don't be shy. Just because you're on official business doesn't mean you have to put up with it. You're my fiancée. You can always indulge yourself, you know?

MC: I'm embarrassed!

Clavis: This Miss Shyness. So I'm going to hold you that long until you get used to it.

MC: Hey...!

Facility Manager: Please don't worry about me.

Well, Clavis was probably worried that she was bored and decided to cheer her up that way. The girl laughs.

He shines brighter now than he did when he was Prince of Rhodolite.

(I know this....There's a big difference between me and Clavis.)

━━━━━━━༻❀✿❀༺━━━━━━━

Evening. MC's room.

She is studying hard.

(I didn't know much about the country I live in.)

(Clavis is competent, even when he fools around, and he properly defends the country.)

Now with her knowledge and skills, she can't be the good "accomplice" for Clavis.

Her fiancé's laughter brings her out of her musings. He sees that she is tired, but she is still learning.

He brought a chair, and sitting at the table, played with the heroine's hair.

MC: Clavis, aren't you bored?

He's perplexed. Her fiancé says that he wanted to attend her classes himself.

Clavis kisses her hair.

He suggests that she do something pleasant. Tomorrow they have a completely different job waiting for them. It will be fun.

Routine gets in the way of personal growth.

(I hadn't thought of that...)

Clavis: You could say that the real pleasure of life is the moment when everyday life changes completely.

Clavis: I'm really looking forward to what you do in the future.

━━━━━━━༻❀✿❀༺━━━━━━━

Clavis' Masterlist

The event was released in June 2022

[hee-blee-art]

are there any specific ocs your rotating in your brain rn that you wanna talk about ✨👀

yes! always :)

recently I've been thinking a lot about my toyhouse corners guys as I continue working on their comic, especially basil, alfred, foster, and mac :) coincidentally (or not so) they're the four of the cast who do the most yearning and pining and of course I'm very normal about all that (that's a lie they all make me insane). I can't wait to reveal more about them, I could (and will) talk about them for ages (any questions always welcome, I'll try not to spoil anything too big). particularly I've been thinking about basil's past, his complex troubles with getting close to people, and his relationship to whisk, a troubled kitten who he sees a lot of his younger self in and may or may not be fixated on trying to help because he wishes he could somehow reach though time and help himself when he was a kitten in a similar position to her. all in all I am very excited to keep putting those guys in situations (there will be a candyland, a creepy safety village-esque town, and a mirage-like travelling megastore called appleworld in their future).

I've also been thinking (as I often do) about my tragic fantasy gays, sebastian & konstantine. I've been busy enriching their world with lore and planning out their story so I can start (yet another) draft for the first book of the grey circle, and with that comes a lot of thinking about those two, the haunted prince & his begrudgingly valiant knight who knows him better than anyone and yet cannot know him fully because of his unfathomable secret... oh, there's just something so intimate about being doomed by the narrative and bound together, done part by none, not even death <3 they're very enemies to lovers in a "we're on the same side but I can't stand you but I also can't stand to be without you and if anyone messes with you I'll kill them" way, which I can't get enough of myself.

also! the grey circle has lots of characters I haven't posted about nearly as much but are so dear to me and that I oft rotate in my brain, like ilèan & cainiph, who are a very skilled fairy princess with truly profound mommy issues and cain-and-abel vibes with her sister & an adrenaline junkie bounty hunter who is a bit of a hothead and accidently becomes a werewolf :) another mismatched pair that end up needing each other as much as air. and of course, gren & bain, the little mousy halfling-type creatures who are inseparable best friends in love beyond words, a sly bartender & a leisure-loving bard respectively, both incredibly curious and brave beyond credit, setting out to right a wrong and solve an old family mystery. I think about the grey circle very often, it's one of my favourite little worlds to visit in my head & I can't wait until I have something written that allows others to visit as well :)

the last herd of ocs I've been preoccupied with lately are my room & board cast, the characters for a comic idea I have about silly and bizarre sci-fi/fantasy comic about alternate-dimension-faring roommates travelling in a house-turned-spaceship in search of a (the?) holy grail. they're all old ocs of mine (6+ years I think) that I've rebooted a few different times, and returning to them after some years off feels like reconnecting with old friends as cheesy as that sounds. I genuinely missed them, and I'm excited to be messing about with a story for them again, even if it's just for fun. I've especially been thinking about the main(est) character, martin, and how her journey with transness fits into their larger existential and relentlessly silly adventures.

thnks for offering the stage to talk about my ocs! I love talking about them but I'm not always sure anyone wants to hear, but perhaps it's time I curb that mindset and just start putting more out there because it's fun for me :) also! if anyone reads all this, first of all thnk you for indulging me, and second I am genuinely always open to hearing about other people's ocs, whether through ask or dm or whatever! I know it can be intimidating to just reach out of the blue but I really do love talking about people's characters / stories / creations and I am always open to it. maybe I ought to make some more dedicated venue for that sort of thing but yeah casual oc chat is always an option! I hope anyone who sees this has a wonderful day / night :)