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here you can find all my published imagines, blurbs and series!
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ok actually so if anyone has gone to a comic con (and met jamie, more specifically), can you pls give me the rundown because i am SO nervous
Omg so i’m meeting my man Henry Creel (aka my hyperfixation rn) … pray for me
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Me everyday of 2026 so far.
The Night Manager | Season 2, Ep. 2
absolutely hate it when I wake up tired like what the fuck did I lie unconscious for
so to be so honest, i’ve been sitting on dozens of drafts (some of which are part 2s) and i think i’m just going to start posting them instead of holding them hostage
familiarity of touch
knight!bucky barnes x princess!reader
summary: for years, sir james barnes has stayed by your side. you'd noticed long ago that his eyes followed your every movement— and not in the way a knight should look upon his princess.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut (piv, praise, fingering, oral (f+m receiving), cum eating, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, semi-public), forbidden love trope, slight age gap?, there's sort of a lack of plot here, bucky is pathetic and down bad, reader knows bucky is down bad and exploits it, reader has commitment issues, use of titles (princess, your highness, sir), slightest bit of angst, no use of y/n, not proofread || word count: 11.7k
yari's thoughts: dedicated to my fellow knight writers... @54nboo huzzah to you!!! huzzah!! and @artficlly bc we're in this together... struggling.... and also the rest of bwa <3 i think we all need bucky in shining armor to protect us during these treacherous days... for everyone else, call this a little appetizer for when i end up writing and posting my fairytale contribution for the bwa collab!! || divider credits
A hum slips past your lips as you gaze beyond your gilded window. You can see horses pulling lavish carriages from where you’re perched. Nobles of varying degrees were rolling into the palace walls despite the fact the sun was still high in the sky.
You’re thankful your father never pays attention to you. As a result, you bear no responsibility in entertaining the early arriving guests. Though you were certain that the king would not miss you during his birthday celebration, you knew you were causing one person anxiety over your lack of urgency.
“Your Highness, you must get ready soon. Please, allow me to call on your maids.”
Sir Barnes had insisted on the same matter at least four times now– sounding more desperate with each repetition. You couldn’t blame him though. You’d been awake long before the sun had reached its peak in the sky, and you were still dressed in your nightgown. No progress had been made towards the normal pampering that a royal should receive. In fact, you might not even be fully done by the time the ball rolled around. Perhaps you could even skip it completely.
Besides, no one would take account of your absence.
His voice cut through your thoughts, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Your Royal Highness. You will be late if you do not get started soon.”
You decide to prolong the matter even longer.
“Are we not alone?” you ask, watching as more nobles wheel on by. Some of the women are in a different style of dress, some still in the same fashion from last season. A pity– they will soon leave the palace in embarrassment.
There’s a lack of response from the knight, but you can feel his eyes on you. His gaze is fire against your skin, leaving scorched marks where his eyes trail your body slowly. You’ve felt this more times than you can count, each time burning hotter than the last. At first, you thought it was a mere assessment, a lookover to ensure your health was still intact. You wrongfully dubbed the action as protectiveness. It didn’t take long for you to figure out its true name– desire.
“Well?” you question, giving him a sidelong look. He’s standing stiffly by the door, hands behind his back. His shoulders are squared off, and you can’t help but appreciate the expanse of his body. Strong muscles are hidden beneath his gear, along with years of memories that he will never speak to you about no matter how much you poke.
“Yes, Princess. We are alone,” he confirms. He nods, just once. The small action creates a smile from your lips– your continuously diligent knight was too difficult to break out of his shell. You hope to make decent headway today.
You continue your interrogation, “Didn’t I say you must call me by name during times of rest?”
His lips part, words escaping him for a brief moment. A long breath is pulled in through his nostrils, giving him some time to think about his response– the rejection you already know is on the tip of his tongue.
“I wouldn’t dare, Your Highness.”
“James,” you say, turning to look at him fully. Heavy, tired eyes meet yours almost instantly. There’s always a weight that shows in his gaze– the burden of life coming with constant struggle to survive. Though exhausted, he was never too worn down for you. Long ago, you had pity for the man. These days, you don’t dare feel that emotion. You replace it with respect instead.
In fact, you hated him only a handful of years ago.
Sir James Barnes was the first and last gift your father had given you, citing the need for a personal knight when you had turned the ripe age of sixteen, and he in his twenties. Even if half of the blood that ran through your veins was dirty, you still carried the King’s genes within you.
You knew what the gift really was. It was a means to placate you. To silence you. To ensure you never wished for anything more as your knight was born from filth itself.
He had an extensive record– one that many soldiers in training looked up. Despite being so young, Barnes had fought in several of your father’s wars in efforts to expand his kingdom. Thanks to your knight, the battles were easily won. Men that he led were still alive to tell the tale of a valiant soldier that ripped through the battlefields like frost on a winter night.
Sir James Barnes should not be your knight. He was destined for greater things– to be the Captain of the King’s Guard. He was simply an unlucky man. A son to parents that were taken in as prisoners of a war that had taken place long before you were mistakenly conceived.
The knight was forsaken for blood he did not choose, then tossed to you, a daughter that came to be from an affair with a palace maid. You were two of the same kind. Rejects. Strays that had no place to truly call home. No matter what either of you did, respect never followed.
You used to fight him. Demanded that he leave your side immediately to find work elsewhere. There was nothing that you wanted from him, nothing that he could give you that would truly make your life easier.
Then again, you were a simple girl at the time. One that still threw tantrums filled with rage and despair. He saw right through you. After all, he was once you.
These days, Sir Banres spent his time guarding you from within the rooms you occupied. No longer did he wait in the halls, ears perked up to pick up every single sound that came from your direction. He claimed that it was safer for him to guard you where his eyes could see you.
You used to think he had been cursed by a sorcerer or wizard– someone that could give him the senses that he had. There were many nights where he listened to you cry into your pillow, certain that you were being silent enough. When morning would come, you’d see fresh food waiting for you at your tables– delectable items that had never been delivered to you until he came to your service.
Slowly but surely, the knight had wiggled his way into your heart. The stone cold man had a softer exterior than you had originally thought. Or perhaps it was just you that had the ability to melt it.
You take in his appearance once more– looking over the man who was stiff with anxiety and anticipation. His first name rarely left your lips, though it was becoming a frequent habit as of late.
“James,” you repeat once more, eyes turning back towards the windows. More and more carriages. It’s a wonder that the head maid hadn’t stormed into your room yet, demanding to know why you were still in your sleep attire.
This time, he answers you. “Yes, Your Highness?”
“My name, James. Or should I call you Bucky like the other knights do? I know Sir Rogers says it often.”
He clears his throat, then wets his lips. “If that would make you happy, then by all means.”
“It would make me happy if you called me by name.”
It goes silent between the two of you. For a moment, you believe that this conversation will end like all the other times. A change of topic, a request for you to see to your day’s schedule. Your own request would become one with the wind, lost to time itself.
“The hour of the banquet draws closer. Allow me to call the maids for your bath,” he says, and swallows thickly. You’re just about ready to resist, to state an excuse when your name passes from his lips. Your head snaps up towards him quickly, only to find him nervously looking elsewhere. “Please.”
A smile breaks out onto your face as you move to stand, abandoning your leisure activity of people watching. “Very well, call the maids.”
Your knight releases a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging forward ever so slightly. He’s gotten more comfortable around you. Then again, what did you expect from the man who you spend all your time with? He was the closest thing you had to a friend, but as the days continue to pass, you find yourself wondering if he views you the same way.
When your hand brushes against his, he flinches. When escorting you around the palace, you wander closer to him, only for him to stiffen. There have been times where you met his eyes unexpectedly, forcing the fearsome knight to lower his gaze.
At first, you didn’t understand him. You had grown sad, actually. It didn’t make sense to you why he looked away, why he shied from your touch until you registered his ears were turning the shade of roses.
Teasing him became your new favorite pastime.
“Have the maids deliver the water and the scents, then have them leave,” you add onto your order.
Your knight pauses in his steps, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “Your Highness?”
“You’ll help me bathe today, James.”
The look on his face only made your smile grow wider. A mixture of disbelief, shock, and embarrassment was written all over his features. His lips open and close more than twice, but no words seem to find him.
“Is that going to be an issue?” you challenge, standing from your spot on the window ledge. You’re already making your way to the bathing chamber, his eyes following your every move.
“This— this is wildly inappropriate, Your Highness,” he manages to stutter. “It would not be proper for me to—“
“Who’s to say what is proper and not?”
“Your Highness,” he pleads. There’s a slight whine in his voice, and he almost sounds breathless. It only drives your determination further.
“Does the hour of the celebration not draw near?” You look at him over your shoulder, giving him a polite smile. “I should bathe soon, yes?”
James can only draw in a tight breath, and nod once. “Yes, Your Highness. I will call on the maids.”
It doesn’t take long for the servants to scurry both in and out of the bathroom, much to your joy and his displeasure. All the while, you wait at the tub’s edge, nightgown bunched up to your thighs with your legs soaking in the freshly drawn water.
Your knight closes the door behind him, and slowly removes the layers of his uniform. The cape and tunic are discarded to the side, showing the thin linen he wears underneath. He pushes his sleeve up his arms, and your eyes drop down to the revealed skin.
Tanned skin, muscles that seem to ripple with every small movement. Scars decorate his body, telling the tales of all the battles he’s survived. Everything about him was carefully built, smoothed to perfection, then worn down to show his resilience.
You aim to crack that same strength— eager for it, really.
His sword is the last piece to come off. The sheathed weapon is placed against the tub, ready to be drawn at any moment lest your knight is caught unaware. James stands almost awkwardly beside it, hands twitching by his side, unsure what to do.
“Well?” you ask, glancing up at him briefly. “I cannot unlace my own gown.”
Your nightgown is impossibly thin, courtesy of the warm summer nights as of late. It also means there’s little that stops you from slipping off the garment on your own. There is no bodice that requires lacing. You simply were making demands that he could not refuse— not that he had any true complaints.
His jaw flexes. A steady breath is drawn, almost as if he’s attempting to steel his composure. He moves closer to you, gathering all of your hair with one hand to place the locks over your shoulder.
Ever so slowly, his hands trail down the form of your gown, fingertips brushing against the fabric. As he gets to your waist, his hands reach for your dress, slowly pulling upwards.
“Please raise your arms, Your Highness,” he murmurs, his voice creating goosebumps all along your body.
You follow his direction, and your dress soon lifts over your head. Left exposed, you can feel his eyes wandering the bare skin of your back.
After a few beats of silence, a few moments of utter stillness, you finally move. You fully submerge yourself into the warm bath, the rippling water doing little to cover up what James has exposed.
Without another word, James takes his place behind you, reaching for the various items the maids left behind. He washes your hair first, slow and precise. His fingertips knead into your scalp gently, but you can’t help it when your eyes fall shut in delight.
Brief surprise fills you as he tilts your chin upwards, and his eyes meet yours. Face to face with him, you can see it– desire swims heavily within him, his pupils engulfing the blue-gray of his eyes.
A small, water filled basin is raised over your head. James tips the container, allowing the water to run down your hair. Within a few repeats, he’s completed his first task. Gently, he loosens his grip on you. Your head is brought back to its neutral position, but he still feels the need to massage your neck muscles before moving on to the washcloth hanging on the side of the tub.
Neither of you say a word as he begins to lather the soap onto your body. He starts at your shoulders, scrubbing down your back slowly. Unlike his appearance, his touch is soft. There’s hardly any pressure as he cleans you, forcing you to toss a glance back to him as he lifts one arm out of the water to wash.
“Not even a child would be clean with this ghost of a touch, Sir Barnes.”
“I do not wish to harm you,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes fixed onto your back. There’s a vein popping out at his neck as he continues to hold his restraint.
“Harder, James,” you demand. “Like you mean to touch me.”
James looks helpless.
A staggering breath enters his nose. There’s a war going on through his mind– honor, duty, and loyalty. There are lines that he cannot cross, boundaries that are meant to be maintained. Yet here you are, tempting him like the Heavens wouldn’t tear him apart for straying from his path. He cannot disobey orders given to him by you– orders that feed into the devil within his heart.
You hide a smile as quickly as you can, lowering your eyes to the water’s reflection. He’d fallen from the Heavens long ago, but tonight he seals his sentence.
The soaps the maids usually use weren’t submerged into the bath prior to your entrance– soaps that allowed the water to cloud up with scented bubbles. Truth be told, your maids hardly ever had their eyes on your bare form. James must’ve burned the sight of you into his mind.
From this point forth, every time the knight dared to close his eyes, he would be haunted by you. The swell of your breasts cresting over the water’s surface. Wet hair draping down your shoulders and back, doing nothing to provide James the solace of peace he craves. You, resting so peacefully within the porcelain tub, letting out soft sighs of approval or pleasure as he runs his hands all along you.
When both arms are completely clean, you become mildly amused at the situation. He’s to move to the side of the tub, unless he would rather fully hover over you from behind.
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” he utters, the words barely being picked up by your ears before he’s shifting around the tub. His eyes are kept downcast as his arms dip into the water, dampening his rolled sleeves.
An ankle is taken within a hand, your entire leg exposed to the chill of the air. He holds the weight for you, not allowing you to use any of your own strength to aid him. The soapy cloth is dragged down the length, all while he keeps his gaze away from your torso. There’s only so much for him to do before he switches legs and continues the process again– slower this time. You don’t hesitate to point it out.
“You’re stalling.”
“Of course not,” he denies, though his jaw tenses once again.
“Remind me again how many times you stand guard at my bathing chambers?” you question, raising an eyebrow at him.
James swallows, and shakes his head. “That’s different… I… I am here to protect you, to–”
You cut him off quickly, continuing to voice your thoughts before he can fight against your words. “This is not the first you’ve seen me in this state, nor will it be the last.”
“How do you expect a man to remain strong whilst in the presence of you?” he whispers, his eyes finally meeting yours.
“You tell me,” you shoot right back at him. Your head tilts slightly, almost in a challenging way. You don’t miss how his shoulders round out, making himself look smaller. “Are you not the King’s strongest soldier?”
His answer comes quick and honest, “I am nothing compared to all that you are.”
For a moment, you find yourself filled with surprise. With the Knight’s Oath, he is unable to lie even in the face of death. A farce, truly, yet the most honorable of men continue to hold the vow close to their hearts. James is one of them.
He’s truthful in his view of you. From his eyes, you are nothing short of good, holy, and all things benevolent. Your word is law to him. Whatever comes from you must be right. He’s already submitted himself whole heartedly to you.
“Continue with the bath, James. And we’re alone, if I must remind you.”
“I am more aware of our lack of audience more than anyone,” he mutters beneath his breath, followed by an even softer whisper of your name.
Next time, you’ll ask him to repeat himself louder. For now, you’ll allow it to pass. You can’t seem to focus on teasing him as the washcloth moves over your sternum.
James drags the cloth lower, the fabric brushing against your nipples and waking them as he circles your breast. This time, your knight does not look away. He doesn’t close his eyes. He watches as your body reacts to him, freshly hardened nubs pressing into his palm and greeting him.
The cloth continues downwards as if nothing happened at all. As if his breathing did not get heavier, and his body wasn’t radiating heat that felt warmer than the water you sat in.
He gently scrubbed at your stomach, still intent on cleaning you before his hand paused on its journey right below your naval. You didn’t move, didn’t dare to breathe a word of jest in fear he would back away completely.
Much to your surprise, he moves his free hand, pushing your knees apart. With your legs spread, he dives lower.
James is slow in his approach.
Cloth brushes against your folds, doing little to put out the ache building with you. He rubs the fabric against you more than a few times, eliciting a soft whine from your lips. The sound makes him stop, hand cupping right over both the washcloth and your sex.
“Tell me to stop, Your Highness.” His words come in a whisper, shaking and dripping with need. He’s betraying his thoughts, desperately hoping for his Princess to be more rational than he.
You lock onto his gaze, heart thumping in your chest. “Continue, Sir Barnes.”
A curse tumbles from his lips as his fingers explore, pressing the cloth harder against you. The texture of the fabric along with the feel of his touch only makes you close your eyes, tension budding deep in your core.
Through the cloth, he finds your clit— slowly swelling with desire, eagerly awaiting his touch. James doesn’t waste time, pressing down against the nub. He watches in delight and awe as your body reacts nearly instantly. A sharp breath sucked in through your teeth as your hips tilt ever so slightly.
Tight, small circles are slowly rubbed into you. It doesn’t take long before you’re biting down on your bottom lip, trying to contain the sounds-
James cups the side of your face, thumb swiping down gently on your lips. He watches as your lips part freely before returning his eyes onto yours.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” he murmurs, eyes nearly glazed over. Though his words are casual, he is anything but.
From where he kneels, you can see him shift his weight around. A heavy imprint rests along his inner thigh, sending a jolt of excitement throughout your body. Your hips grind into his fingers with a pathetic noise escaping you.
You don’t even need to tell him to get rid of the barrier between you two. If anything, he seems more eager to push it to the side, thick fingers moving to spread your lips open for him.
A single digit is pressed into your core. Your eyes meet the back of your skull as you melt into the tub further, your entire being keenly focused on his ministrations.
James moves slowly, finger plunging in and out of you with a steady rhythm. The feel of your soft, velvety walls swallowing him in is nearly enough to do him in. That is, until he realizes he can finally look.
His Princess right before him, legs spread with his hand between your thighs. You’re watching him, watching as his finger enters and exits you, soft, needy whimpers bouncing off the ceramic tiles of your bathing chamber.
The gentle prodding of a second finger catches your attention immediately, and you can only gasp as it fills you next. Your mouth left agape, there’s no words you can say as he massages you from within. Your knight, however, says all you have in mind.
“Fuck,” he breathes, nearly delirious as if he was on the one at the brink of pleasure. “You’re so soft everywhere— so tight and warm— here, especially.”
“James,” you manage to whimper. You’re lost in it, in his touch. There’s little you can process when he’s spreading you open with his fingers, dragging them so painstakingly slowly through you. “It’s not enough… I need— Please.”
“No need to beg, sweet Princess,” he answers immediately. “I will give you all you desire.”
You can only let out a cry of relief as his pace quickens, the sound being music to his ears. It’s difficult to focus as his fingers curl within you, gently scraping against your walls and sending shocks throughout you.
The water trembles around you as your breathing becomes labored. One hand grips the edge of the porcelain tub, the other quickly grabbing at his wrist. Your body and mind aren’t in sync– you’re unsure whether to press him closer to your body or push him away to release yourself from his hold.
A whimper claws its way from your throat when his thumb joins, pressing right on the sensitive nub. Heat wraps around you, and you know it’s not from the warmth of the water– it’s him. His actions. His fingers. The way he allows his gaze to roam all over your bare form like you’re on display specifically for him.
“Shh, Princess,” he hushes softly when another moan bounces off the tile. James leans over the edge of the tub, pressing an unfamiliar but welcome kiss to your temple. His voice lingers in your ears, the hair on your neck standing up as he whispers. “The maids are not too far down the hall. It was difficult to convince them to fully leave.”
“You’re–” James pulls another sound of pleasure from you, courtesy of his slower moving fingers thrusting within you against the quick paced rubs of his thumb. You attempt to swallow, chin falling to your chest. You have no strength left, completely succumbing to his ministrations.
“I’m what, Your Highness?” he questions. He almost sounds amused. You don’t fault him for it. You’ve been teasing him, pressing his buttons for months on end. It’s the first time he’s fully gotten you to silence yourself.
You don’t answer him. At least, not with words.
A near wrecked noise fills his ears as your nails dig into his wrist, your body tensing as a sudden onslaught of pleasure erupts within you. All the while, he doesn’t let up, almost as if he’s afraid this is the last time he’ll have you like this. He forces you to ride out your high, trembling at his touch as you fight to gain control of your body once again.
It’s only when you begin to weakly push at his forearm does he pull away. You can only watch through half lidded eyes as he brings his fingers to his lips. He shuts his eyes, a long sigh exiting his nostrils as he tastes the fruits of his labor. It’s only when you meet his gaze again does the silence between you two disintegrate.
“Shall I call on the maids to help you dress, Your Highness?”
James meets you out in the hall once you’re dressed. He’s in his formal attire, freshly washed with the stubble on his face nowhere to be seen. Part of you feels disappointed. You’d daydreamed more than once what it would feel like between your thighs, but you’re sure you would be able to convince him at a later time.
Not that there would be much convincing to do.
He offers his arm to you, and lowers his head in an informal bow. “Shall we, Your Highness?”
You hook your hand around his elbow, offering him a smile. “The scenic route, please.”
“I’m afraid not, Your Highness.” The knight shakes his head as he begins to lead you throughout the palace. “Too much time has been eaten away from your bath. There’s little time to enjoy the scenery.”
“Pity,” you reply. James smiles at your tone– you don’t mean it. “I suppose I did take an extra long time to wash up. Do you believe anyone will care?”
“None shall find fault in you. I will present their head on a silver platter if they dare.” From his tone, you know he means it.
You can only pat his bicep a few times, in hopes of soothing him. There was no need for bloodshed tonight. That is, blood that wasn’t your own, staining your bedsheets after granting him your innocence.
The rest of the Royal family is already lined up by the time you arrive at the correct hall. Both your brother and sister look disgusted by your appearance, though your sister’s eyes slide over to James within a few moments. When she takes in the sight of your hand on his arm, the repulsion returns.
If his upbringing did not matter, you know your father would have arranged for the war hero to wed his oldest daughter. Blessed with both beauty and strength, James would have been the perfect present for your sister. You had mere luck to thank that your knight was raised in dirt.
“You’re late,” the Queen, your stepmother, snapped.
You release James’ arm, falling into step behind the rest of them. No words of retaliation leave your lips. You can only pray you’ll get through the rest of the night without any incident.
Within just a few more heartbeats, the large doors push open and someone announces the arrival of the royal family. Music is played in grandeur while nobles clear the center of the venue, allowing for ample space for your family to walk towards the dais. They bow their heads, but not to you. You don’t miss the sneers and looks of mockery all over their faces.
You know James doesn’t miss it either, his eyes burning into your back. He won’t miss a single moment of any of it. By the next week, you’re sure to hear news of the more offending nobles to have some sort of misfortune brought upon them.
The King’s birthday speech is long. You don’t pay attention to a single word that comes from your father’s lips. Instead, you blanky look forward, waiting to be dismissed into the rest of the party. You won’t be able to leave right away without your stepmother noticing. You’ll have to wait until she gets a few glasses of mead in her system.
You don’t wait around at the top of the dais once the king’s flowery words have ceased. Even if you wanted to stay, neither your family nor their advisors would want you to. Keeping you too close to the king’s proximity would show favor– something they did not want translated to the kingdom’s nobles.
James follows you from a distance as you make your way through the party. The music resumes, couples dancing along the center of the ballroom. There are social gatherings divided into hierarchy around the room– women gossiping with each other while men speak together in hushed tones. Servants are constantly moving around, slipping by everyone undetected and prepared for any request thrown at them.
You exchange pleasantries with the more daring of nobles, ones that smell of lard and sweat. These families are backed by the Church, able to openly show their disdain for the royal family by associating with you. They believe that you’ll turn over, allow them to use you as some sort of pawn in their political game.
You’ve heard their true intentions more than once— a bastard princess without favor should preen with delight from the attention of another. An easy target, you must be. In the end, all they’ve achieved is lessening their favor with the king.
Once the nobles realize they’re getting nowhere with you tonight, you’re left alone to your own devices. In your humble opinion, the party is both too flashy and too dull at the same time.
There’s nothing here worth staying for. After all, you do not have a place within the social scene of this kingdom. You simply bide your time, allowing slow gulps of wine to slide down your throat in the safety of a corner of the room.
Your knight speaks to his friends, Sir Rogers and Sir Wilson, though you feel his gaze shift over to you every few moments. He probably wished for you to call him to your side, desperately trying to catch your eye each time he looks. You never look back.
James spends his early mornings with the other knights. They train together in various forms of technique— sparring, weapons training, endurance. It’s not often your knight has a chance to truly socialize with the men he trusts his life to. Even if you’re bored, you won’t take away the joy out of his night.
By the time you finish your second glass, you are approached once again. This time, it’s not someone you’ve spoken to before. However, you still know him. You’d be a failure of a noble if you did not upkeep on the surrounding families.
“Quite the party, yes?” John Walker asks you, taking a long drag of his drink before turning to you.
“Indeed, Your Grace,” you reply, careful to keep your tone light.
The duke examines you for a few moments, and raises an eyebrow. “You do not seem pleased.”
“Oh? I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You plaster on a smile, praying for the man to take the hint.
“Well, regardless— I’ve come to alleviate you from your pain.” Walker’s smile is relaxed, as well as his stance. The look in his eyes tells you what he truly thinks. You’re less than him. A pitiful woman exiled from the rest of the party, yet still beautiful enough for him to chat with. The man hadn’t even addressed you properly. No bow, no blessings to be said. There wasn’t an ounce of respect in his bones for you.
”I’m afraid you’ll find yourself disappointed, Your Grace. I’m quite alright on my own.”
”But what if you didn’t have to be?” He was pushing, attempting to tug on your heartstrings.
From across the room, you see your sister giggling with her ladies in waiting. Side glances are being thrown at you before they continue to chat amongst themselves, fans covering their mouths lest they have anyone read their lips. It’s almost laughable. You know what they are talking about, and you know why Duke Walker is in your company.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me the first time,” you say, releasing a sigh right after. “Remove yourself from my vicinity or find yourself moved.”
The duke bristles, entire body going tense. A shiver even courses through him, prompting him to slowly turn around. There, behind him, James stood with glowering eyes.
“Barnes,” Walker spoke through gritted teeth.
Your knight offered no reply, continuing to stare with the intensity of a thousand suns.
Walker clears his throat, then glances back over to you. “I will be taking my leave now.”
You aren’t given a chance to respond before the duke rushes away, heading straight to where your sister and her entire group wait. James doesn’t follow his figure, instead choosing to step closer to you. With the threat gone, he stands before you with his head bent low as if he was waiting for you to scold him for his behavior.
“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he mutters.
Your eyebrow raises as you take in the sight of him– a puppy that has been reunited with his owner after fighting for territory. It’s almost laughable. “My life was not in danger.”
“That asshole is the danger.”
If you didn’t know any better, you would think James was one more comment away from causing a scene in the middle of the party. Thankfully, he’d never do that. He has an abundant list of ways to make Walker suffer without having to show his face to him ever again.
“I think it’s about time that I depart,” you say, changing the topic. “If you’d like to stay and continue to socialize with the other knights–”
“Your jokes aren’t funny, Your Highness.”
The two of you make your way out, abandoning the celebration. Music and chatter slowly dissipate into the sound of your shared footsteps against the marble floors. Soon enough, you reach your hall.
James’ mood worsens at the sight of the darkened hallway. “The maids did not light the candles.”
“The moonlight is more than bright enough,” you dismiss, a sigh escaping you.
“It’s about respect, Princess,” he grunts. “Danger lurks at every dark corner, and to put you at risk–”
You halt, and he only takes two more steps before stopping himself. You meet his eyes with a frown, eyebrows pulling together. “What possible danger is there when you are by my side?”
“None,” he quickly answers. “But preventative measures should always be taken–”
You cut him off with a raise of your hand. He silences himself immediately, lips sealed tightly. James is the only one who would take your orders whole heartedly. The sudden reminder makes your chest ache.
“James.” You’re careful to keep your voice soft, almost comforting. The effect is immediate– his shoulders drop, and his eyes no longer hold the rage he so suddenly acquired. “I’m alright. Nothing bad happened tonight. I don’t understand why you’re so on edge when I am safe.”
“It is my duty to be on edge,” James says, almost stubbornly.
“You need to relax.” You move towards him, resting your hand on his chest. When you push, he takes a step backwards, once again succumbing to your wishes. You don’t stop until his back is firmly planted against the walls, and he has nowhere to go with you standing directly in front of him. “Shall I help you?”
He blinks, lips parting as he registers the words spoken to him. “Your Highness…”
“My name,” you say with a smile, patting his chest a couple times before you slowly sink down onto your knees before him.
Panic overcomes him immediately, his hands closing around your shoulders to stop you before you touch the ground. His words spill out quickly, nearly frantic, “Your Highness, you are not to kneel before anyone other than the King or God–”
You push his hands off of you, and settle before him. “There is no king here, there is no God,” you hum softly, reaching for the waistband of his trousers. “It’s only you and I, as it always has been.”
Shaky breaths exit him as you undo the buttons. “Your Highness…”
A frown paints your features as you look up at him. “If I have to remind you to call me by name one more time, you’ll receive punishment,” you say, palming over the thick imprint of his pants.
A choked moan fills your ears as you continue to fit the length in your hand. “I… You deserve the utmost respect,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Referring to you without your title is–”
“Huzzah, Sir Barnes.” Sarcasm drips from your voice as you push down the fabric, watching as his cock springs to life before you. “You respect the one person that the rest of the royal family would prefer to see die. How noble you must feel.”
“Your High—“
”Is it wrong to want to see your point of view, Sir Barnes?” you ask with a heavy sigh, continuing to pet him. Your dress pooled awkwardly around you, your knees against the bare marble. Somehow, you don’t seem to mind it. “You’re always bent on a knee for me, willingly, might I add.”
“There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.” James swallows thickly, hands shaking at his sides. “I urge you to stand, this isn’t—“
He seems to choke on his words as you wrap your hand around the base of him. You take a moment to admire him— the thickness of his cock, the way it seems to respond to just the lightest of your touch. You haven’t even done anything other than hold him, and he’s pulsing like you’ve been at this for hours.
”Interesting,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I am the one on my knees, yet I still have power over you. Why is that, Sir Barnes?”
James does not respond to you. Rather, you don’t give him the chance to.
One experimental tug later, and you’re watching him brace his hands back against the wall. Glancing up at him, you find his jaw clamped shut, but his eyes directly on you. It’s almost predatory, the way he looks at you, as if you’re one wrong step away from being devoured by a beast.
Except you know he won’t stop you, won’t push you away, won’t deny you of what you want to do to him. The best he can do is offer suggestions through gritted teeth as he pretends to truly be concerned for the gap in hierarchy.
You don’t pull your eyes away from him as you open your mouth and lean in, licking up the bead of precum that had leaked out of the thick tip. It’s saltier than you had imagined it to be, but no less satisfying as you watch him struggle to take a breath.
“Please…” he whispers, voice thick and heavy with both desire and restraint.
You ignore him, continuing to focus on wetting his cock with your saliva. You allow your spit to drip from your lips, the warmth of it meeting his cock. You spread the liquid down his shaft with slow jerks of your hand, listening to his breathing get heavier and harder.
When you finally close your mouth over the head, he can’t contain himself.
A hand flies to your hair, knocking off the small tiara the maids had placed atop your head just a few hours prior. His fingers weave through your hair, stopping at the crown of your skull. There’s no pressure, no pushing or pulling, just the feel of him holding you in attempts to prevent losing himself in your hands.
An odd sense of pride fills you as you lick at the underside, feeling a thick vein against your tongue. The idea of the strong Sir Barnes falling apart by your actions is too tempting to pass up. You want to watch him break before you, want to see how far you can take him until he’s begging you for mercy.
You take him deeper into your mouth, flattening your tongue and allowing more salvia to pool around him. Your jaw relaxes as much as possible, and you hum around him. The vibrations reward you with a groan from above, prompting you to look up at him.
It’s the first time you’d ever seen his face like this.
Oftentimes, he’s too stoic. There was as weight carried in his eyes that came from years of battle, tormenting him until his last breath. James holds his secrets close to his heart, though you know he’d speak if you asked him to. Perhaps it was your own respect for him that kept the question from leaving your lips.
Sometimes, you’d catch him watching you with a sense of longing. You were someone he could not obtain, no matter what he did. You were the treasure in the dragon’s den. You were a flower growing from the side of a cliff. You were someone that he could only admire from afar, never having the courage to take you away for his own needs.
James had never tried to possess you, despite all the times you saw him watching. He had never attempted to sway you just as many others had tried. Never once did he strive for something more, only settling for the unfair life by your side.
Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise you to see the emotion on his face. Desire was there, yes, but something deeper. Something too personal and warm to call predatory. No, this was a feeling that you had no experience with— one that you did not cultivate throughout the entirety of your life.
You don’t wish to acknowledge this feeling. You’re undeserving. You’re unable to provide him with what he is meant for.
So you tear your eyes away from him, allowing them to fall shut as you focus on the weight of his cock in your mouth. You sink deeper against him, nearly gagging as the tip hits the back of your throat. Your hand moves where you cannot reach, and the pace is leisurely. With the size of him, it’s unclear whether or not you can move faster than this.
Whether or not James has an issue with your speed, he does not voice his complaint aloud. His hand tightens in your hair, and the muscles of his abdomen strain as he bends forward slightly. Another hushed moan falls from his lips—
Along with your name. No title, no hierarchy. Purely just the name given to you upon your birth, laced with affection and wrapped in love.
Before fear paralyzes you, warmth spills into your mouth, your knight choking on his moans. It’s too much— the size of him along with the new addition of his pleasure shooting out. You can feel it begin to pool in your mouth, attempting to escape where your lips still connect on his shaft.
You swallow around him in a feeble attempt to lessen the volume—
James’ hands are underneath your armpits, having hoisted you up with one fluid movement. You don’t get the chance to gulp down the rest of his cum, one of his hands moving to grab your chin. He tugs downwards, thumb pressing against your bottom lip in attempts to pry your mouth open.
”You— you musn’t, Your Highness,” he manages to say with labored breaths. “This is dirty. You… By the Gods, open your mouth.”
When your lips part, revealing the mess he left behind, he let out a distressed noise. Without another thought, he surges forward. He slots his mouth against yours, hand moving to the back of your head to pull you in deeper. You can feel his tongue on yours, the wet muscle sliding over yours as he searches and claims. James is overheating, yet he does nothing to stave the warmth. If anything, he welcomes it, pressing impossibly closer to your body as if he could not get enough of you.
Your hands rest on either side of his neck, in desperate need of grounding. The knight holds your hostage, an arm wrapped around your waist to carry most of your weight. Your slippers hardly scrape along the marble floors beneath you.
His throat bobs up and down beneath your fingertips, the motion repeating every few moments. It’s only then that you register what he’s doing– he’s actively shoveling his own release into his mouth. James means to devour you, but the thought of contaminating you with his own sin is unforgivable.
Only when he’s certain you’ve been thoroughly cleaned does he part from you, leaving you lightheaded and dizzy. Hot breaths mingle together in the little distance you have from him, though you have little to find complaint in. Each shared breath brings him closer, not allowing even air to slide between you.
”Do not do that again,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. His forehead rests against yours, and his eyes shut. “Such things should not be allowed to taint you.”
”Are you saying I am dirty now, Sir Barnes?” you whisper back. You can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips.
His eyes fly open in a panic, pulling his head away so you can see his expression— honesty is too clear on his face. “You could never be filthy, Your Highness. All that you touch and desire is cleansed by your hands. Not even the Church could compare its holiness to yours.”
Your eyebrow raises as you huff a laugh of disbelief. “I am no saint, James. My blood has been muddled from the night the stars aligned for my birth. All that I touch is disgraced.”
“Nothing you do is laced with fault,” he argues.
”What are you, my dog?” you ask, taking in every single twitch and movement of his body. It’s a rhetorical question, one meant to be brushed away with a laughYou expect discomfort. Defiance. Instead, he offers you submission.
”I am your mutt, Your Highness,” James corrects you, dripping with sincerity. “I live to serve you and you alone— you are my God and my savior. I will do anything you ask of me.”
You should know better, and stop him here. He’s clearly too far gone to realize the weight of his words, still caught in the afterglow of his pleasure. Still, your thoughts can’t help but be spoken out loud.
“And if I tell you to fetch me the Crown?” Your voice is soft, almost too quiet to be heard. In fact, if he wasn’t so close, you’d be certain that none would hear of your treasonous words.
James does not flinch. He holds your gaze, unwavering in his devotion. “Then I will make you Queen, and kneel before you as you take over this land.”
You can only laugh in response.
Words of betrayal so easily left his lips, echoing down the hall for all to hear. James could be dragged away, thrown into the dungeon as he awaited trial. The title he had worked so hard for would be stolen from him, and his name would be written into your kingdom’s history as a traitor rather than the valiant man he is. The worst part of it all is how much faith you have in him.
You swallow, tearing your eyes away. “It is getting late, Sir Barnes. I wish to retire to my quarters.”
James does not allow you to pull away from him. Your feet no longer touch the ground as he pulls you into his embrace, a hand beneath your knees and the other on your back. If the action winds him, he does not show his struggle. His footsteps are light— not even a mouse can be as quiet as him against the marble floor.
And you do not fight against him.
He carries you all the way down the hall towards the safety of your room. The doors shut with an echo, kicked behind him as he continued deeper into your personal chambers. James deposits you onto the plush bed without a single hair on your head falling out of place.
Your Knight removes himself from you, your body warm where he had just touched. Before you can begin to complain about the absence, he is falling to a knee, then shifting his weight onto both.
He looks up before you, relief clear on his face. “This is how it is meant to be, Your Majesty,” he whispers, your eyes widening.
Your back straightens, suddenly so aware of your surroundings— though you know no one enters your quarters without being summoned.
“That is improper, Sir Barnes,” you hiss at him, heart thundering in your chest. “The King and Queen are still alive, and the eldest son is next in line for the throne. Had anyone heard you refer to me as such, your head would no longer be on your shoulders.”
“There is none here to find such fault,” James says, reaching for the hem of your gown. “Unless you wish to see my head roll, I am still safe in your presence.”
The fabric gathers in his hands as he lifts up the skirt, slowly exposing the skin of your legs to him. Still, he keeps his eyes on you. Perhaps he waits for your rejection. Maybe an order to cut his own hands off for daring to touch what you have not allowed. However, his silent question is met with the lack of denial.
Pleased, he rests the layers of your dress against your hips, then places his hands on your knees. He pushes them apart, just as he had done only a handful of hours ago in the tub.
“This is how it is to be,” James repeats, leaning forward. A kiss is placed upon the inside of your thigh, lips trailing upwards. “It is I that shall be on my knees, not the other way around.”
You’d seen him beneath you many times. The first time was during your first meeting. Him, at twenty-one years of age, assigned to guard a princess that none had wished to protect. For all the wisdom you had, you assumed his greeting was one of pity. Mockery. You did not return his pleasantry, choosing instead to walk away.
Yet he did not stand until you ordered him to rise. When you passed by your chamber’s drawing room, the knight was still there. Resting on a single knee, a hand pressed over his heart. Your maid at the time informed you he had been there since his arrival.
As time went on, the view of him on his knee became more scarce. At your orders, of course. He only fell to a knee when the occasion called for it, or when others had eyes wandered to the two of you, James was always quick to show you were someone worthy of respect, someone that commanded rather than obeyed.
Many times he bent down on a knee for you.
This was the first time it sent excitement shooting through your body. Shivers of anticipation ran down your back as he trailed higher up your thigh.
“You smell delectable, Your Highness,” he murmurs against your skin.
You lean back onto your hands, eyes still fixated on the sight before you. A strong man, one that had changed the tide of wars he was called to, a man who had built his future from nothing, kneels before you as if he were a sinner in church.
His nose brushes against your undergarments, eliciting a soft exhale from your lips. Gently, experimentally, he presses a kiss against your core. Fabric be damned— you can feel everything.
Still, you wish for more. More stimulation. More of his touch. More of him. James doesn’t fail to notice.
The barrier between you two is pushed to the side and secured by a hand. Your knight wastes no time in ravishing you, his tongue flattening as he takes a long drag between your folds.
Silk sheets wrinkle in your fists. You find yourself opening your legs more, inviting him to take more space against you. He does, pulling your legs to hook over his broad shoulders as he presses himself closer to you,
The wet muscle slowly parts your folds over and over again, testing what makes you sing the most for him. He circles your clit slowly, moaning at the taste of you while you whine above him.
“James…” you whine from above him, chest heaving. You’ve fallen to rest back on your elbows, no longer having the strength to fully hold yourself up. Still, your chin presses to your chest, entranced at the sight before you.
James finds pleasure in the sin of your fruit. He defies the law of hierarchy, the unspoken truth that goes against the affection he holds for you. For a brief moment, he believes it must be a dream to have you like this— legs shaking on either side of his head, soft moans and incoherent babbles filling his ears, and the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue.
He has to take advantage of this time, he decides. Like a man that had come across a stream, he drinks. He drinks until the desire ebbing deep within him dissipates, until his thirst is quenched by the nectar you produce.
Just as a musician would, he plays with you until you create a song. Joining the efforts of his tongue, two fingers are pushed deep within your aching cunt. He parts your walls, allowing space for his tongue to push within you. He curls the muscle against your velvety walls, soaking his tastebuds and garnering noises of approval from you— but it’s not enough.
He wants you to fall apart against his tongue, wants to listen to you cry as you suffocate him with your thighs. This death would be one met with open arms, and he is eager to get his fill in before he’s dragged away to the depths of Hell.
The tight rope within you snaps, hips bucking up into his face as he proceeds to swallow down your pleasure. Coupled with his fingers still moving, stars burst behind your eyelids as you collapse into your bed.
Weakly, you try to shove his head, to push him away as the sensitivity overcomes you.
For the first time, he doesn’t bend to your whims.
“God— It’s too much,” you choke out, chest rising up and down fast.
Perhaps he couldn’t hear you, with your thighs muffling any sort of noise that came his way. He continues to feast, moaning against you as you tug on his hair.
James is greedy, and you’re not sure if his actions are for your pleasure or his. Desperation overcomes him as his jaw moves against you, tongue swirling over your sensitive clit. His fingers explore your every crevice, pistoning into you with precision. It’s only when his fingers are knuckle deep does he find it— that sweet, spongy texture that makes you cry his name.
Your back arches against the bed, pulling your hips away— he will not have it. His free hand clasps around your thigh, keeping you grounded against his mouth as he pulls another orgasm from your body.
Only when you start to pry his fingers off of your thigh does he back away. Your slick is all over his mouth and chin, but he does not mind. It’s an erotic sight, watching him collect your juices onto a finger only for him to clean it off with his tongue.
“James,” you murmur, and watch him rise from between your legs.
“Yes, Your Highness?” he questions, demeanor relaxed as if he hadn’t sent you to the Heavens multiple times.
Though your body screams in protest, absolutely spent, you force yourself to sit up. Your hands rest on his chest, fists closing around the fabric of his uniform.
The knight doesn’t stop you as you begin to peel layer after layer off of him, discarding each garment off to the side somewhere. Even his sword clatters to the ground, but he pays no mind. His eyes are on you, watching each and every single movement.
Bare before you, you can’t help but admire him. Slightly tanned skin, warmed from his days training and on display for you. Jagged scars paint his body, proof that he had lived throughout every battle. His muscles ripple beneath your touch, almost as if his entire body is waking to respond to you.
“Will you help me out of my dress, Sir Barnes?” you whisper, meeting his eyes. For a moment, you see hesitation. Your stomach drops, shame and humiliation settling deep into your body. You pull your hands away, but you don’t go too far.
James holding your hand in his, guiding it towards his lips. Softly, he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.
“Are you certain?” His fingers are pressed against your pulse point. He can feel your nerves, your heart rapidly trying to supply your body with more oxygen to stop you from fainting. He’s giving you a chance.
You’re not certain what the future would hold— if this one night would be a mistake. James knows this. You know this. And yet, you can’t help yourself.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Silence fills the air as he undoes your gown. James is careful, as if he’s unwrapping a gift far too fragile for him to have. Callused hands run over the smoothness of your skin, sending goosebumps and anticipation down your spine. Before long, you’ve made it out of the prison called a corset, and he’s pushing you back into your pillows.
He settles between your thighs once more, pulling your legs onto either side of his hips as he takes in the view. You, completely bare beneath him, watching him with excitement shining in your eyes.
Words aren’t needed as he presses the tip of his cock against you. He slides the length through your folds, coating himself in your slick, rubbing against your clit slowly. His hands roam your body, running along the curve of your waist and up to your chest, a low moan slipping out of him as he explores, maps you by touch.
The head of his cock catches at your aching cunt, and so does your breath. With one easy roll of his hips, he presses inside you, stretching you open to accommodate the thick girth of him.
Sharp pain flashes through you, and you cannot help but smile.
You reach for your knight, holding his face in your hands. His breathing is erratic and shallow, and he stills his hips against you— only halfway sheathed into your aching pussy.
“You’ve ruined a Royal Princess, Sir Barnes,” you tell him, head dizzy with need and voice dripping with want. “How will you take responsibility for this? The King will have your head if he ever finds out.”
His cock twitches within you at your words, at your sultry smile, and the feel of your walls closing around him trying to pull him in deeper.
James swallows thickly, and rests his hands on your hips. He stabilizes both you and him—
Your bravado dies as his hips slam against yours. He forces you to take the length of him, body flush against yours. The stretch hurts, but in a way that leaves you wanting more.
He leans down, face only centimeters from yours.
“The King does not care about you, Princess,” he whispers into your ear.
Your heart rate spikes. It’s the truth, yes, but this disrespect? This insolence? Your knight hadn’t ever dared to speak to you in such a manner. However, you don’t get to scold him before he speaks again.
“But you don’t need him,” James grinds his hips against yours in experimentation, delighted when you make a small noise of pleasure. The corner of his mouth curls into a half smile, and he chuckles. “You don’t need anyone else to care about you. I am more than enough.”
The air is stolen from you as James’ hips pull back. Your cunt tightens around him in a feeble attempt to keep him buried inside you. He only allows the tip of his cock to stay behind, holding himself there for just a few seconds before sinking deep within you.
James wastes no time— he’s craved you for so long, there’s little that can stop him from ravishing you now that he has you. Virgin or not, pure or not, he won’t stop until he is satisfied.
Your fingernails dig into the thick muscle of his biceps, desperate for some purchase as he continues to piston his hips against yours. You can feel everything. His fat cock splitting you open again and again. The thick vein that you sucked on just moments prior rubbing against your walls, somehow even larger than it was before. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each deep thrust.
Your breasts bounce with each thrust, the sight mesmerizing. He bends down, tongue closing around a nipple and swirling at the stiff bud. His hips still, but you do not. With leverage from your hips, he continues to pull you into him, fucking you onto his cock. And when your hips started moving, when you began to grind against him, he could only laugh.
“My Princess… Are you that desperate for me?” he coos softly, The lilt is teasing. He’s amassed by you, and finally, finally, his exterior is crumbling. “Do not worry, Your Highness. I will ensure none will take my place.”
“You… you think too highly of yourself,” you manage, though your voice body betrays you. You’re still lifting your hips to meet him with every thrust, your legs are wrapped around him to keep him from going too far, and your hands won’t stop the exploration of his body.
“Oh? Is that so?” he asks, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe you. He almost sounds amused at your attempt to push him away.
His hands tighten around your hips, pressing them into the mattress to keep you still. Suddenly, you’re unable to move. Unable to do anything as he begins to drag his cock in and out of you with the pace of a man who has too much time on his hands.
You whine, cunt tightening around him. His hips stutter slightly, and his eyes fall shut. It takes him a moment to compose himself, to force himself not to get lost in your body.
Then, he says your name. Again, as sweet as fresh pastries, heavy with responsibility. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans forward, forehead pressing against yours.
“My sweet… beautiful Princess,” he rasps. He isn’t speaking from lust. It’s the same feeling once again, that same emotion you caught earlier. “Won’t you let me have you?”
Your heart rattles in your chest, caught off guard with his affections once more. Still, you don’t answer him. Don’t give him the response he craves. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer to you, meeting his lips with yours.
“Hurry up and fuck me, James,” you mutter against his lips.
A low groan exits him, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He hooks your knees over his elbows, folding your body beneath his.
The new angle has you seeing stars. He’s hitting you deeper than before, filling you in ways you had never imagined. You can’t keep up with him as he fucks you, stuck with simply laying beneath him as he does all the work. After all, his darling Princess should not have to work for what she wants.
Within a few moments, you realize what he’s doing. He’s ruining you, drilling himself into you to leave behind the imprint of his cock. You’ll feel its ghost for days to come, leaving you desperate and forcing you to run back to him. If James cannot have your heart, he will settle with your body.
The wet squelch of your pussy fills the room. Moans harmonize as pleasure overcomes the two of you, and you can feel yourself about to snap. His cock twitches within you as your pussy holds him hostage, and you know he won’t last long.
When his thumb presses against your clit, you are sent off the edge. You cry out his name, body seizing beneath him as he mutters words of encouragement— all of it falls on deaf ears as he fucks you through your high. All you can feel is him. His body moving against yours. His hands running up and down your sides. His mouth on your neck, suckling and kissing bruises onto your skin.
Then you feel it— that same warmth spills into you once more as his hips catch and stutter, unable to keep his pace smooth. Thick, hot ropes of cum fill your dripping cunt, mixing your juices in a display of passion.
Once more, his lips crash into yours. He swallows your whimpers and moans and gives you his own. Your hearts thunder together in tandem, and your legs are slowly released back onto the sheets below.
A few moments pass, both of you silent as his head falls into your shoulder. He squeezes at your sides, almost as if he’s trying to determine that this is real— that he had defiled you in a blind act of lust.
Soft whimpers escape you as he pulls his softening cock out, your shared cum spilling out of your abused cunt and soaking the sheets you lay on. The warmth of his body leaves you, allowing the chill of the night to wash over you.
You can’t even move, body too spent to care. You’re pliant under his touch as he returns, brandishing a fresh cloth from the bathroom. The knight cleans you without a word of complaint, then scoops you into his arms.
“The bed is dirty, Your Highness,” he tells you as you rest your head onto his shoulder.
You’re not certain how he does it, nor do you really care, but fresh sheets are laid out and you are returned to the plush mattress once more. Blankets are pulled over your body, giving you warmth against the chill air. Lullabies come in the form of rustling fabric, its gentle noise coaxing you to sleep. It’s when you hear the clatter of his armor and sword do you open your eyes.
“Where are you going?” you ask, voice thick with exhaustion. He’d dressed himself once more, ready to resume his job– to guard you. Only now do you realize you had never seen the man take a break. You weren’t even sure if your knight slept. “I did not dismiss you from my presence.”
James seems to pause, looking down at himself. A few heartbeats pass before he lowers his sword, allowing it to properly rest against your nightstand as opposed to on the floor. His boots come off, and so does his outer layer of clothing.
Hesitation is clear on his face as he looks down upon you. You take it upon yourself to grant him space, lifting up the blankets for him to join you. Slowly, he lowers himself into the bed, settling once more beside you.
At first, he’s rigid. As if the last couple hours did not happen– that he hadn’t taken you for all you are worth. A tired sigh slips from you, and you shift closer to him. Your knight stiffens once more at the touch, probably keenly aware you are still bare.
You know you’re being selfish as you nuzzle into his side. You steal from him what you cannot give– the warmth of his body, the scent he gives off, and the gentle beating of his heart beneath your ear. James allows you to take over and over again, and you are too cruel to make yourself stop.
When the sun breaks through the horizon, you’re certain he will have questions that you refuse to answer. You’ll cover up your inability to commit with half hearted teasing, flirtatious touches, and impossible demands.
James will have to settle with watching you from a distance, unable to reach for you unless you give him the order. He’ll endure your endless taunts and unfair requests, and do so with affection running so deep that you may feel suffocated. He will stay by your side, just as he had promised you years ago.
You have yet to keep your own promises to him. Perhaps after you obtain the Crown, this game will cease. He will be free of your jests and demands, though you know he will continue to follow you around out of his own free will.
Maybe you’ll properly face him when the kingdom is yours, after he serves you the world on a silver platter. You could take him in as a consort, raise his title up so that none could look down upon him again.
The soft rumble of his snores break your thoughts. Carefully as to not stir him, you look up at him. You’d never seen him at peace like this. Your heart squeezes in your chest, prompting you to settle back into his arms.
In his sleep, he tugs you closer. He wraps himself around you like a cocoon, safe from the world. Even deep into rest, your knight is unable to stop himself from protecting you.
If only you had the strength to gift him what he longs for.
bucky barnes taglist: @superbassbuck @flockoff-featherface @unificsation @54nboo @earthsmightestbenders @umbreoni @iamthatonefangirl @winterdecember18 @houseofhyde @blowingbarnes @heldbybarnes @bckyslover @duacruel @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn @gallifreyansass @nanikio @jmclouds @sundaepoet @the-salty-asian @overwintering-soldier @kjmonster111 @bbyanarchist @buckmybarnes
⤷ to be eligible for my taglist, you must have your age stated somewhere on your blog!
Teen Wolf had the BEST music idc what anyone says the original songs chosen for the episodes were fucking PERFECT I found so many great songs and artists through that show
literally that show introduced me to James Vincent McMorrow! That show was the first place I ever heard Like Real People Do by Hozier! Teen Wolf introduced me to Kids of 88! And Gin Wigmore! And fucking ALT-J!!!!
i am gonna preface by saying: your media consumption is not my responsibility.
this is a saying that goes for every adult in the community. this is something i say in almost all my fics and this is something i will continuously repeat. frankly, i do not care if you are a minor who actively chose to read my fics because at that point, i have done everything i can to make sure that it doesn't lead to this case.
all i ask is do not make it my problem.
if you are a minor and decide to age yourself up to an adult to be able to interact with fanfics, that is not my responsibility either. whether you are a child or not, at the end of the day, you are in charge of what you consume on the internet. i cannot police you outside this, i cannot tell you what to do, and frankly, i do not want to, because that is something you, your parents or guardians should be doing. not me, or anybody else on the internet.
what baffles me is the little context everyone has yet they continue to run their mouth. such little context, and so much to say. another thing that absolutely baffles me about this entire situation is the amount of times i have had to deal with minors invading spaces that were not created for them in the span of a month. four times. i have dealt with this issue four times in thirty days. that is once every week for the past fucking month.
now as i have stated, i am not responsible for anybody's media consumption. there is only so much i can do to prevent this from happening. but what drew me to my breaking point is the fact that i had a minor invade a personal space for me and my friends, who are all adults, by lying.
with this, i would like to remind everyone that i have always been an mdni account. i have always stressed this. it is in my intro. it is in nearly every post i have made. i have made it a big, bolded red. it is easy to find, and easy to see. but coming back to this, there is only so much i can do.
what my problem is that a fifteen year old pretended to be a twenty two year old on this app and in a private chat with friends. this is the context everyone is missing. i have always prided myself and my friends in our ability to be able to separate our personal relationships and our life here, but i think we can all agree that this is a line that has been absolutely crossed, not just once but multiple times, and is not something we can stay silent about any longer.
what is even worse is that it went on for a week (this may not seem like a long, but i assure you it is long when you are trying to hide the fact that you are seven years younger than what you say). people, in their personal space, believed this person to be twenty two years of age for an entire week. that is a huge violation of trust.
this person went on to fabricate things about themselves, such as their birthday, their major, down to the day they fucking "graduate". thousands of people have interacted with this child's explicit work not knowing she is a minor. that is the problem.
this is absolutely not something that can slide and be slipped under the rug. like i have stated multiple times, i am not responsible for the media consumption of others and i am absolutely not responsible for somebody lying to my face about who they are to the point where they have essentially played a character.
to reiterate this fucking point, i do not care what minors do. i do not care if you decide to read my fanfictions despite being told multiple times not to. what i care about is my privacy, and the privacy of those around me. what i care about is the blantant violation of boundaries that i have set up for a reason to be able to protect minors. i get it, i really do. trust me, i was once a minor who longed to fit into spaces that weren't for me, and maybe i am hypocritical for admitting that, but that is the reason why i, and so many others, are so heavy on protecting minors against the things that we were not protected from.
in the words of hyde, who are one of the many people affected by this situation, "if you're old enough to know you need to lie to be accepted into a space... you're old enough to know you do not belong in that space."
even with honesty in the end, i cannot let this slide. i absolutely cannot just let it go. this is not obsessing over "policing" minors. this is not "protecting themselves from harassment" because this is not harassment to begin with. it is protection, not only for them but the adults who are unaware of who they are fucking talking to. this is absolutely nothing, but a blatant invasion of privacy and a violation of trust.
nobody is having a power trip. if i was, trust me this post would have been made a long fucking time ago. i have done everything i fucking can to keep my space away from minors and even adults who cannot seem to grasp the topics i write and talk about.
to any adult who is defending this and ranting on and on about something they know nothing of, shame on you. if you are an adult who is okay with not letting other adults know that they are reading explicit work of someone who is a minor, specifically a fucking fifteen year old, shame on you.
you are part of the problem for allowing this all.
literal insanity. stop crossing people’s boundaries and start respecting the fact we do not want to interact with you.
how i feel opening up tumblr to read x reader ffs at my big age
reblog if you love getting asks
in this life | ch. 1
bucky barnes x female reader
summary: "There's only one God, doll, and He's gonna bring me back to you." "I don't need God," you told him, fresh tears brimming over your eyes. "I just need you."
warnings: 18+, mdni, eventual smut, reincarnation trope, language, mentions of financial instability, memories are written with italicizes, no use of y/n, angst, yearning, longing, everyone's alive no one is dead because i said so, alternating pov's
word count: 4.5k
a/n: hello. this was supposed to be a one shot... then i quickly spiraled and kept writing so i suppose everyone must enjoy my word vomit of a series ermmmm i apparently dont know what restraint is
masterlist | next chapter
The sound of clinking utensils and pots and pans reaches your ears before the scent fills your nostrils. If you had to guess, he was making his basic staples– bacon, eggs, and his favorite, pancakes. You smile as your eyes slowly open. Your lover must be in a great mood this morning to have such a feast prepared.
In the back of your mind, you quietly wonder how in the world he scrounged up the pennies and dimes to be able to afford the ingredients. You shove it away, deciding you wouldn’t even bring it up to him. The two of you had more than enough talks about your money issues this month, and he had already done everything in his power to stop you from picking up extra shifts at the diner just to make the rent for the month.
Quietly, you get out of bed. If he didn’t wake you up when he did, then you were certain he was aiming to surprise you. You wash your face, brush your teeth, and slowly make your way out your shared bedroom into the small, cozy apartment that you have called your home for the past year and a half.
There’s decorations on the wall drawn by one of your closest friends, saving you and your lover the extra expense of trying to search for something cheap but not trashy in order to spruce up the place. There’s a few of your own childhood items also lining the walls– an old photo of both of your grandparents before they had passed away when you were a teen. It was the only photo you had of them. There were more than a few bouquets of dried flowers collected over time, given to you by your lover from various dates that he had taken you on. Other decorations include some record vinyls to go along with the record player you two had on display. It was a housewarming gift from your lover’s father, one that the two of you used often.
Most of your nights were spent dancing together slowly in your small living room. He twirled you around, both of you in your pajamas. You two would ignore the sweltering heat of the summer as he held you close to his chest while bumping his nose against yours. He’d whisper sweet words that only your ears would hear, and your heart would be full.
This man, the love of your life.
You continued your journey into the kitchen, finding him there, just as you thought. He was humming to himself as he cooked. You couldn’t help but admire him for a few moments. His strong back, broad shoulders that carried the weight of your world easily. His hair, soft and always well maintained. The sunkissed skin that came with how hard he worked outside these four walls to ensure that you could rest as much as possible.
You reached for him, your arms wrapping around his waist. He let out a small chuckle, one that sounded like bells in a church– the most beautiful song you’d ever heard in your life.
“Doll,” he whispered, placing a hand over top of yours. “Couldn’t even let me bring you breakfast to bed?”
“Missed you too much,” you said, a smile pressed against his back. “You upset I ruined the surprise, baby?”
“Well, I can’t be mad about that,” he said, and you could hear a smile in his voice. The stove flickered off and he plated the remainder of the food before turning in your arms. “Hungry?”
“Starved,” you answered with a wider grin.
He carried the plates over to the table, and pulled out a seat for you, then pushed it in as you took it. The same song and dance you two always did. Before he sat down himself, he leaned down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.
You turned back to the table, pausing at the stack of mail at the side. You knew what was there– bills, ads, some letters from friends that no longer lived in the area. However, you saw something underneath the stack that you had already gone through.
“What is this?” you asked.
“What is what, doll?” he asked.
Then, he saw what you were looking at. You were faster than him, grabbing the mail before he could. You stood out of your seat, walking away from him as he tried to take it from your hands. Your heart was racing.
It was already torn open. He had already read the contents, but you already knew what was inside. You just needed to see it with your own eyes to confirm.
He stood behind you as your eyes darted across the paper. Once. Twice. Five times over again. Tears were filling your eyes, then dropped onto the paper, making the ink smudge.
He moved, standing in front of you now. He took the letter from you, your hands falling limp to your sides. You were numb all over. Reality was crashing upon you. This was one of the last few mornings you would have with him now, like this. He tried surprising you with breakfast to break the news easier to you.
“Don’t cry, doll,” he whispered, a thumb brushing under your eye to wipe away the tears. You can’t answer him. It’s difficult.
Sergeant of the 107th Infantry Regiment.
You thought you would have more time with him, but you realize now that it was a simple delusion that you were holding on to. He was one of the few able bodied men left in New York that hadn’t been sent off to Europe yet. It was only a matter of time.
Hell, it wasn’t even a draft. He signed up to go on his own. You argued with him over this, not too long ago. It was the first argument the two of you had in a long time, both of you yelling at each other, and ending the night crying in each other’s arms.
It was a petty argument on your side. You knew that he would be taken from you whether he decided to go or not. You just wished you had more time with him. Then again, you knew him like the back of your own hand.
He was fighting for his country. For Freedom. For you.
What could you say to that?
All you could do now was try to swallow back the tears and sobs that were threatening to make their way to the surface, but he also knew you like the back of his hand. He reaches for you, hands cradling your face as he tilts your head to look up at him.
“You don’t think I’ll make it back home, do you?” he whispered. He sounds… sad.
“I’m scared, B̷̺̝̤̉ṵ̷̓̑͑c̷̠̆̈́̒̋k̸̢̖̰͚͔̾͐̐̒͌,” you whisper, your voice breaking as it came out. You were shaking like a leaf, about to shatter into a million pieces just like your heart. “I’ll be sitting here, waiting forever until you come home to me.”
“You know I’m strong, don’t you?” he asked, and you can hear a smile on his voice. He’s trying to cheer you up. “Those Nazi’s don’t got a thing on me. You don’t believe me?”
“I believe that lots of boys tell their ladies the same thing,” you sniffled, shaking your head. You can’t look at him. It hurts too much. You close your eyes tight, and release a singular, shaky breath. “And I see those same ladies in the diner, whispering prayers to every single God they think exist.”
“There’s only one God, doll, and He’s gonna bring me back to you.”
“I don’t need God,” you told him, fresh tears brimming over your eyes. “I just need you.”
You feel him soften against you as he stares with eyes that you cannot see. Then, his lips press against your forehead. He moves his mouth to both your eyes, your cheeks, the curve of your nose, then finally meets your own lips in a sweet, soft kiss. He’s trying to be strong. You know he is, but his body is betraying him. The soft tremble his hands have as he holds your face is all you need to feel to know exactly what he’s thinking.
“I love you,” he told you, wrapping his arms around you to hold you tight against him. “There’s nothing in the world that would be able to keep me away from you.”
You opened your eyes to see the familiar white ceiling above you. You shivered slightly, pulling the covers closer to you and over your head. You’ve dreamt of this man many times before, for as long as you could remember actually. The dreams started as a child.
He seemed to age in your dreams just as you did.
At first, he appeared in your dreams as the boy down the street. He was a little kid, riding around on his bike in the neighborhood and delivering newspapers to everyone that had subscribed to where he worked. He would get an extra tip here or there just for being cute.
Then, he was a bratty pre-teen. In this era of your life, he would tease you and the way you dressed, then run away before you would start crying. There were times when he would tug on your braids to get your attention, then act like he never even looked your way. You two would often fight in these dreams, and he would often be the reason why.
In his teenage years, he became quite the charmer. You were still his friend, for some reason or another, and you would watch as the girls around you would begin to swoon. Other girl friends would beg you to help set them up together, to help them go steady together. You relented at first, helping your closest friend gain some experience with other girls until you decided you hated every aspect of it– until you realized that you wanted to be the girl he would go steady with.
Those feelings were held in for a long time, and never acted upon until after he became an adult. It was him. It seemed something had changed within him, though he said that his feelings for you had been a lifelong endeavor. The only thing that was different was that he realized you had finally fallen for him after so many years.
The worst part about these dreams was you had no idea what this man looked like. He plagued your mind every single night, but you could only make out the shape of his body. You memorized his touch, the way he smelt, the way his voice said your name– but it was almost like his own name was omitted from the dreams. Every time you said it, there would be a strange buffer in the way, refusing you to tell you who he was.
You sought help at one point, trying to see if there was a reason for you having all of these dreams. You weren’t even sure if these dreams were you or if you were just imagining things, seeing this mysterious soldier man through the eyes of someone else– seeing someone else’s life like this. You went through a brief period of wondering if you had some sort of psychosis induced from learning about World War II, especially when you realized your dreams were very prominent starting from the Great Depression and going into the war.
Doctors would tell you it was simply your subconscious taking in everything you saw in the day before you went to bed, and your brain was compartmentalizing everything to allow you to be ready for the next few days to come. You thought this answer was full of shit.
You even went through therapy to see if you would be able to get rid of these dreams.
Truth of the matter, you were attached to a man that you knew everything about, but knew nothing of at the same exact time. It was heartbreaking and soul shattering. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, how to let these emotions out or where to put your energy to. You still had school and work, and continuously daydreaming over a faceless man would get you nowhere in life.
You couldn’t help but try to find him in every single person you saw on the street, every person you met, and every face you saw online. There was no one that was spared from your view, from your thoughts. You hoped that the next person you saw was him. That he wasn’t just a figment of your imagination, and you weren’t crazy.
So, you started drawing. It seemed silly at first, but it quickly became the only outlet that you had to get out your feelings. You found this to be the only way that you were able to get the images out of your head and be able to do something else with your life. So, you drew absolutely every single one of your dreams.
Scenes from your dreams became translated onto paper, then scanned online and posted onto your own faceless blog to share with the world. You never included any details of the dream, just that the man in your art was your muse. Someone that you could never stop thinking of.
You drew him from your memories as a child on his bike. Drew him next to you as a pre-teen, stealing a bite of your ice cream. There were several art pieces of him with another faceless man, but this boy was never as prominent as he was. Over time, you realized the small blonde boy was a close friend of the two of you. You drew your faceless man as a soldier, preparing to head off to war. You drew him with his dog tags in the early mornings of the day, sitting in the kitchen, contemplating all that was to come.
At some point, you had even tried to draw his face. You attempted to guess what his features were like, but you decided everything felt wrong. No matter how many times you tried, it never worked. Nothing you did could ever do him justice. He was faceless in your reality just as he was in your dreams.
Bucky’s glaring at his phone like it owes his money. Honestly, he feels there should be some sort of financial compensation given to him from somebody for the shit he has the misfortune of seeing. Never in his century-long life did he think he would be scrolling through a dating app just to see another human being wearing a suit made of fur and stating their interest was to pretend to be an animal.
Bucky had to put his phone face down on the coffee table, and pinch his nose bridge as his eyes closed shut.
This was Sam’s idea, and Steve backed him up.
“You should get out into the world, Buck,” Steve said with a smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “When was the last time you had a dame?”
Bucky wanted to throw his fist into Steve’s face. He’s been more well acclimated to this day and age– Steve had to know what the fuck was on these apps. This had to be some sort of sick prank done by the two of them, to mess with him.
Moreover, Steve knew the last time Bucky had someone.
He pushed the thought of his mind, swallowing thickly. It’d been a long time since then. He could still remember everything like it was just yesterday. The time had come and gone, and there was the opportunity to search. To see what had become of his lover– to do what Steve did and possibly see the end of her life.
Bucky could never bring himself to do it.
Looking at the time, Bucky realized that he could throw his fist into Steve’s face. It was time for training now, with both Steve and Sam. He decided he would throw his metal fist into Sam’s. Just for fun.
Happy with his new plan for the afternoon, Bucky collects the phone that he wants to crush into little pieces in his left hand, and gets ready for the training session.
On the way to the gym, he gave a brief nod to Bruce. The two didn’t talk often, but there seemed to be a sort of kinship between them. Something about both of them having an angry and dark side. Bucky respected the scientist.
He passed by the lab, finding Tony upgrading some of his suits. He supposed that was Tony’s version of the gym– his tech needed to be in top shape for missions and protecting the world the same way that he needed to keep his body active. Speaking of which, he needed to visit Tony later. He could feel a twinge in his arm that was bothering him. He definitely could work on it alone, but decided that Stark would be able to figure out the issue much faster than he would.
Wanda and Vision were out of the compound for the day, and probably the next couple days. They’d requested the time off for their anniversary, which is what made Sam download that godforsaken app on his phone to begin with. Sam decided Bucky was lonely and needed to spend time outside the compound walls.
Inside the gym, Natasha and Clint are already warmed up and getting down to business. Or, Natasha is. As Bucky walks through the doors, Clint’s being thrown onto his back, groaning and muttering something about Natasha promising to take it easy on him today. Natasha only gives him a cheeky grin before waiting for him to get back up.
“Find anyone that strikes your fancy yet, Barnes?” Sam asked, and Bucky wanted to throw him on the mat next.
“Do you know what’s on these things?” Bucky asked, ignoring Sam to turn to Steve. The super soldier was stretching one arm across his chest. He gives Bucky a look of contemplation before shaking his head.
“No. Never been on one.”
“I’m gonna rip your head off your shoulders, you punk,” Bucky threatened, making Steve laugh.
“It can’t be that bad,” Steve said, grinning.
“Yeah? Download the damn app and make yourself a profile. Then tell me how not bad it is.”
“Well, he can’t do that. Tried it already. He immediately got his accounts taken down because he was reported for impersonating Captain America,” Sam reported, shrugging. “He’s too recognizable of a face.”
“God,” Bucky groaned. He was set up, and he just fucking realized it.
After a friendly match of throwing hands, Bucky feels a little better. Especially when he sees Sam clutching his side after a particularly hard hit. Once he’s done with his shower and gets the residual feeling of sweat and grime off of his body, he deletes his dating app profile and the entire app itself.
He would rather lose his right arm than do this shit again.
At the end of the day, he knew that he was setting himself up for failure. He never got to say goodbye, not properly at least. He made his promises, and he meant it. Bucky broke every single word he had, and never got to see you again.
The thought of settling down with someone that wasn’t you felt wrong. It felt like betrayal. He never broke up with you, even if he never came home. You were his everything. You sent him letters upon letters to the battlefront. They were straight essays proclaiming your love for him, along with updates of your daily life.
Bucky couldn’t remember the smell of the perfume you used to spray on the pages, but he could recall the lipstick kiss you would press on the paper at the end of each letter next to where you signed your name.
Someone that wasn’t you wasn’t good enough for him.
No, he takes that back.
If it wasn’t you, then no one was good enough for him. You were it for him. The chapter of romance and love died when he fell off the train, unable to return home to you. He had so many plans for your future.
Bucky had been so close to having just enough money to buy you a ring. He kept the cash hidden under his side of the mattress before he went off to war, then moved it to his sock drawer right before he left. On the off chance that he didn’t make it, he wanted to ensure that you would have it. After all, you wouldn’t be receiving the checks the military sent back home anymore. He wanted you to be taken care of for as long as possible.
He dreamed of a white picket fence with a front lawn and a backyard planted with roses and other flowers that you liked. He wanted to open up his own mechanic shop, and hire you as his manager to take care of the finances and other business related items because you were just better than him in that aspect.
Somewhere along the way, he wanted children. He knew you did, too. The two of you had spent more than enough nights, naked, holding each other, while whispering baby names. You would name your first son after him, you said. A little James that would run around the house Bucky bought for you, a spitting image of himself– another charmer. But you would teach him not to pull the hair of the girls he had a crush on.
Bucky wanted a little girl, though he truthfully didn’t care what his children ended up being. He wanted a mini you. Cute, adorable, sassy little girl with all the smarts to back her attitude. You told him that he’d be in trouble as a father. He’d be wrapped around the finger of your hypothetical daughter and she would be able to get him to do whatever she wanted.
He smiled when you said this and told you, “Just like how I’m so whipped for her mom.”
Bucky let the memories wash over him. It was only once in a while that he allowed himself to be transported back to those days. He felt the nostalgia of every memory. He felt the guilt of the promises he wasn’t able to keep. And Bucky missed you with every fiber of his being.
He would have to distract himself again. With his stomach beginning to growl, he decided this would be the best time to raid the kitchen. Eat his feelings away. He ignored the tugging thought in his mind that he wanted to go home and eat your cooking, at least one more time.
Steve and Sam are here as well, probably doing the same thing that he’s doing. Except without the longing. Probably just hungry from the workout, he figured. Without another word, Bucky pulls out even more ingredients to accommodate the two other men. Both notice, and take a seat at the kitchen island.
“Steve, you posting your drawings online?” Sam asked, looking at his phone.
“Hm? I don’t even draw a lot these days, if I’m being honest,” Steve hummed, turning his head.
“Is someone stealing your old drawings?” Sam asked, frowning now. His eyebrow is creased with suspicion and confusion.
Bucky turns, sliding over three plates over the island counter before grabbing some utensils for them to use. Both men murmur a soft thank you as they begin to pick at their food.
“Unless they managed to sneak into the compound or mine and Buck’s apartment, there’s no way my drawings are anywhere. They’re not even in the museums,” Steve said, raising his eyebrow.
Sam lets out a soft sigh, then puts his phone flat on the counter for them to look at. He taps on the screen a few times prompting for a hologram to pop up, hovering above his phone. Bucky pauses at the drawing, eyes narrowing.
“The fuck is this?” Bucky grunted, lowering his fork.
“It looks like you,” Steve whispered, examining the art closer.
“I’m more than certain that it is him,” Sam said.
Bucky can’t help but agree. There’s a strange feeling in his chest with each piece of art that they go through. He has no face in these pictures, these drawings. Moreover, these are things that only he knows. That he’s aware of. The apartment in Brooklyn. The layout of the kitchen and the way his old bedroom used to be decorated. The specific diner booth closest to the wall where he would wait for you to get off of your late night shifts so he could walk home with you.
There were some sketches that even had Steve in it, before the serum. Steve didn’t have a face either, but there was no denying the fact that this was somebody that knew them.
“Bucky…” Steve said slowly, trailing off.
“It can’t be. She’s dead, isn’t she?” Bucky asked, ignoring the way Sam’s eyebrows raised.
“Yes,” Steve answered immediately, as if he had been waiting for Bucky to ask this question a long time ago. “Peggy attended her funeral… She passed away about twenty-five years ago.”
Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and closed his eyes tight. “She have kids? Anyone that could be posting this shit? Grandchildren that went through her things after she passed away?”
“She never settled down after we left, Buck,” Steve murmured, looking down at his hands. “Peggy tried setting her up with guys that she knew, but she said she was waiting for her soldier to come home.”
“Then how the hell would any of this make sense?” Bucky demanded, letting out a slow breath, trying to calm his beating heart. “This doesn’t– This is her, Steve.”
“I know, Buck. But she’s gone. She’s been gone for a long time. I went to her grave, I visit her grave every year on her birthday,” Steve confessed, his voice quiet. Bucky’s eyes shot up at him, shocked.
“You do?” Bucky whispered. Steve nodded, sighing.
“She’s lived… she lived a good life, all things considered. Worked with Peggy and helped build S.H.I.E.L.D. But she was just… alone.”
Silence washed over all three men for a few moments. Bucky swallowed thickly, closing his eyes tight as he dragged a hand over his face.
“Can we track down whoever’s behind this blog?” Bucky asked, pushing his plate away. He’s not hungry anymore. He can’t eat. He can’t even think straight right now. “Find out who they are, where they are– everything about ‘em.”
Bucky wanted to throw up, cry, then throw up again. The thought of you waiting for him, chasing a ghost– you died alone. He never looked into how your life played out because he wanted to assume that you were happy. He didn’t want to find out there were carbon copies of you running around in the world, having the eyes of another man. Bucky didn’t want to see it, so he chose to ignore it all together.
Yet, this felt so much worse. It was so much worse.
“We can,” Sam said slowly with a nod. “But are either of you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
next chapter
taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault **if you would like to stay on the taglist for this series or be added please let me know!! :)
this series is absolutely incredible !! 10000/10 Bucky Barnes rec !!
under his skin
[tasm!peter parker x reader]
spoiler free | word count: 4k
summary: in which you and peter parker realize there really is a fine line between love and hate.
warnings: unedited, constant childish bickering and arguments, enemies to lovers, swearing, violence, assault attempt, mentions of blood, possessive!peter, slight ooc!peter, toxic a little?? maybe idk?
Peter Parker generally considered himself a friendly guy. In fact, he usually made it a point to be exceedingly nice towards others. It wasn’t in his nature to stand around and not defend the little guy. Nor was it in his nature not to treat others with kindness and respect. I mean, he literally held doors open for grandmas in his free time. It went hand in hand with being New York’s Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.
But, for the life of him, Peter Parker could not explain his insatiable hatred for you.
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a fav 🫢
Might be my favorite academic rivals to lovers ever.
Ahhh 🤭🤭 thank you love!!
TASM Peter Parker Fic Recs
06/26/2025
⭒ Fatal flaw by @pogueswrld
y/n is a former widow that found a safe home in New York with the Avengers and a fellow former widow, more specifically with a certain brunette doe eyed spider named Peter Parker. But lately, Natasha got caught up with the red room and taking them down alongside her sister, y/n figured it's only right to help out.
⭒ My Spiderboy by @myflicker
⭒ Fake Dating by @marauder-exe
⭒ Wrong Window by @/marauder-exe
You live a floor below Peter Parker, your boyfriend, and you get the sneaking suspicion he’s hiding something from you. You find out once you get a surprise through your window.
⭒ Peter Parker #2 by @gothicwidowsworld
⭒ ‘Tis The Damn Season by @imaginesfordifferentfandoms
⭒ Chemistry by @its-an-obsession
Being on Broadway was a dream of yours since you were little, you loved watching musicals and plays with your friends and family. When you found out that you would be able to play your dream roll, you were super excited. After a few rehearsals you met Andrew Garfield. The two of you instantly hit it off when your director told you and the brown eyed boy to get to know one another.
⭒ Awaited Confessions by @/its-an-obsession
When you met Peter Parker, you never would’ve thought you’d fall in love with the brown eyed boy you called your best friend. He was different than other stupid teenage boys you had encountered throughout your high school career. As time ticked on, your awaited confession began to sink in, wanting to let itself go as it began to form into a loose canon. Little did you know, Peter felt the same way.
⭒ I’ll Crawl Home to Her by @embrassemoi
After a long day, all Peter wants is a bit of love and someone to take care of him.
⭒ Partners by @mads-weasley
You and Peter Parker are best friends, but neither of you know that you are friends behind your masks as you fight the Lizard together. Will one of you figure it out or will your friendship come crashing down because of it?
⭒ Bittersweet by @oswildin
Peter Parker lost you in his universe… Never did he think he would see your face again…
⭒ A bunch of coincidences by @spidey-webz
What are the odds to end up in a different New York where your brother acts strangely and you find a different, quite attractive, version of yourself? (Spider-Woman reader)
⭒ reminder of her by @/spidey-webz
You are Peter’s best friend, yet he is not the one to save you from a fall…
⭒ Dating Andrew!Spidey Would Include… by @bowieandqueen11
⭒ yeah right by @lunasdream
what if after the blip you don’t die and end up in another universe.
⭒ BEING FLIRTY BEST FRIENDS WITH PETER PARKER by @angelfic
⭒ Into Battle by @slowdownurdoingfine
⭒ Coffee Run by @curseofaphrodite
Visiting the Stark Enterprises and being a tour guide to someone from another universe wasn’t as fun as it sounded. Especially since the man in question was adamant on scoring a date with you.
⭒ Memories by @multifandom-gabi
You’ve been stuck in a different universe for a while now. You seem to have no memory of where you came from. All you know is Dr. Strange has been trying to help you out, but he’s had no luck. You seem to lose hope, until one day, a familiar face comes through a portal.
⭒ Welcome back by @kimmyiewrites
⭒ peter, won’t you be the one i really need? By @nghtwngs
you gift peter a new camera for christmas, but what will be his gift to you?
⭒ The Real Peter Parker by @upsideoffalling
Peter recalls the first time he really noticed you; when you defended him in class.
⭒ Missed Calls by @caramelcal
⭒ missed calls [2] by @/caramelcal
⭒ Attention by @/caramelcal
you and peter have already admitted your feelings for each other, but aren’t in a committed relationship yet so when you see another girl getting close with him, you can’t help but be a bit jealous and insecure.
⭒ Out of Focus, Eye to Eye by @irndad
⭒ Orbitational Pull by @/irndad
⭒ remember me by @softlymellow
Peter Parker had lost you in a different reality, but when he is brought to a reality with another Spiderman, he also finds you, but you don’t remember him.
⭒ The Click by @erule
you catch feelings for Peter Parker, but he’s from another universe.
⭒ Pretty Girl by @tomsparkyr
when peter finds himself in another universe like his, he never expects a pretty girl on the other side to completely throw him off.
⭒ Peter accidently hits the reader by @webslingingslasher
⭒ Negotiating by @literaila
you wake up on peter’s chest.
⭒ a constant state of bursting atoms. By @/literaila
stranger danger, and all that, except, of course when its a superhero. (part two)
⭒ perishable hours by @/literaila
peter reminds you how important sleeping is. and then proceeds to keep you awake.
⭒ just barely by @/literaila
⭒ Contacts by @/literaila
"what do you think would happen if i tried?" he asks. "with my reflexes? i'd blink fifteen times before they even handed me the contact. i'd run out the door as soon as they got the solution out."
⭒ bandaids & kisses by @bartxnhood
after a few encounters with the friendly neighborhood spider man, you let him in on a little secret. your crush on your best friend, peter parker.
⭒ size issues by @spidernerdsblog
you prank your husband by getting the wrong size of bra just to see his reaction.
⭒ Doughnuts by @cosmal
you’re really excited about doughnuts. peter really wants to kiss you.
⭒ doctor pete by @/cosmal
you freak peter out to get his attention.
⭒ YOU BELONG WITH ME by @slytherheign
you can’t help but feel insecure when you realize your best friend peter and the most famous girl in the school are keeping a sweet secret from you.
⭒ SPIDER-BOY by @spider-stark
Thinking he has no chance with y/n as himself, Peter begins approaching them as Spider-Man.
⭒ “standing on your tippy toes, frustrated you can't reach your lover's lips” by @flightlessangelwings
⭒ dating headcanons-peter parker by @mqctavish
⭒ Who Are You Really by @obislittleone
⭒ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛 by @curseofaphrodite
imagine being tom!peter’s bestfriend while having a crush on andrew!peter.
⭒ 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 by @/curseofaphrodite
When Peter enters this earth, he stumbles upon you first.
⭒ 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 by @/curseofaphrodite
when it’s time to say goodbye, you’re reluctant.
⭒ 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 by @/curseofaphrodite
best friends to lovers with our spidey
⭒ Redeemable by @empyreanwritings
You weren’t a do-gooder; the idea of saving the world gave you hives, if you were being honest. But you’d do anything to make sure Spiderman knew he was better than anger.
⭒ No Words Needed by @genesisrose74
Peter’s love language is something of which he is very deprived. You’re his exception.
⭒ Movie Nights & Makeshift Medics by @/genesisrose74
It’s Thursday, and Peter doesn’t realize you’re in his room until he’s quite literally crawling through the window.
⭒ scenes from a modern romance by @dameronology
everyone has stupid arguments, but it’s hard to stay mad at peter parker
⭒ thank you. By @saviorellie
⭒ Another Chance by @mgparker
[masterlist]
⭒ A Quite Love by @maybe-its-britney-bitch
⭒ Near-Death Experiences by @parkersbliss
The moment Peter Parker stepped through that portal, you knew you were definitely screwed, but it wasn’t supposed to be this bad
⭒ Body Heat by @/parkersbliss
They do say if you’re ever cold that body heat is a great solution, wanna test that theory?
⭒ puppy dog eyes by @saviorellie
⭒ “THE FALL” by @lemon-boy-stan
peter couldn’t catch y/n when she fell, but maybe he could get a second chance to make things better.
⭒ Secrets Not Left Unshared by @stylesparker
⭒ Monsters of Men by @/stylesparker
⭒ Kiss Me You Fool by @/stylesparker
⭒ Pictures by @dylcnobriens
⭒ Second Chances by @wondergotham
⭒ Second Chances - Part 3 by @/wondergotham
⭒ It’s Always the Quiet Ones. by @nyeddleblog
Peter and you weren’t friends, but you definitely loved arguing.
⭒ right where you left me by @loeyparker
when Peter Parker falls into another world, you’re there to welcome him with suspicion and a drawn gun
⭒ how it should have been by @pctcr
reader wakes up in the wrong universe after dying in her original one
⭒ serendipitous salvation by @maximoff-pan
After everything he’s been through, Peter finds himself coming back to the one constant in his life: you
⭒ you are not to blame by @/maximoff-pan
From your universe, you’re spider woman. You lost your Peter Parker and it’s all but destroyed you. What happens when you end up somewhere else, meeting a look alike of your Peter, but from a different universe?
⭒ You are here by @violetrainbow412-blog
⭒ Photographs and birthdays by @/violetrainbow412-blog
⭒ Changes by @/violetrainbow412-blog
⭒ band-aid brand by @kaylawritesfics
⭒ Daydreaming by @bristark616
Peter’s got it baaaaaad for his childhood best friend.
⭒ and then there was you by @ptersparkers
secrets come to light when peter parker breaches the universe’s threshold and the last thing you expected was to fall for a stranger.
⭒ Crush by @/ptersparkers
peter has been visiting you as spider-man long enough to develop a crush on you. the problem? you have a crush on somebody else.
⭒ best friends by @/ptersparkers
you’ve always considered yourself peter parker’s best friend. but when his interest in mary jane complicates your friendship, it gets harder to hide your feelings for him.
⭒ In Another Universe by @mrshipsmcgee
After the events of No Way Home, our reader finds herself in the arms of a villainous green man.
⭒ your hand in mine by @s-r-writes
the three times Peter shyly held your hand in his, and the one time you not-so-shyly did.
⭒ pain relief by @luveline
spider-man likes you a little bit too much, and wants to help you get rid of your migraine - by whatever means necessary.
⭒ Peter Parker Masterlist by @heliads
⭒ TASM!Peter Parker Masterlis by @writings-of-a-hufflepuff
⭒ Gratitude by @eunoiathewriter
She expresses her gratitude to Spider-Man in a different kind of way, knowing exactly who he is.
⭒ undeniable chemistry by @starrysoftie
it’s pretty obvious that you both like eachother
⭒ THE INTERNAL PRESSURES OF THOUGHTS AND AFFECTIONS by @donald4spiderman
peter isn’t sure why you make him feel the way you do. all he knows is that his heart races every time you say his name, and it’s bound to explode.
thanks for including my work <33 i’m glad you enjoyed it !!
