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lunarbuck · 1 year

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Dumb Bunny (dark!winter soldier xf!reader)

a dark little red riding hood retelling

pairing: dark!winter soldier x f! reader (any race)

wc: 3.3k

summary: The Wolf sees you walking through the forest on your way to your grandmother's house, and he just can't help himself.

warnings: dark fic, knives, oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), pet names [bunny], degradation, primal play, predator/prey, fear, crying

a/n: this is my entry for @boxofbonesfic's fairytale writing challenge :) I hope you guys enjoy!

beta'd by the amazing @sgt-seabass <3

my masterlist

The sight of your home village warms your heart. You’ve been away for so long and missed so much. It’s good to be back. You pull the hood of your cape up to keep the sun off your face and venture into the heart of the village.

After gathering some sweets and a few loaves of bread, you bid farewell to the friendly faces you pass. As lovely as the village is, you can’t shake the feeling that something is just slightly… wrong.

The edge of the forest calls to you, the familiar sound of songbirds lulling you in. You’ve traveled this path hundreds of times; you know it with your eyes closed, even after all this time. Beautifully bright flowers bloom just off the beaten path. You gaze at them but don’t stop to pick any. Grandmother is expecting you. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her, you feel guilty you haven’t visited sooner.

As you walk, you hear footsteps crunch through the fallen leaves. You turn around, the hem of your cape fluttering with the movement. Behind you, you see a tall mountain of a man. Cloaked in black, the man stalks toward you. You’ve heard whisperings of him in town, the Wolf, they call him.

“Excuse me, miss,” he coos, voice deep and gravelly. “Where are you headed? A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone in these woods,” he whispers. “There is danger around every corner.”

You know what people say about the Wolf, the things he’s rumored to have done. That he’s a killer, that he roams the woods hunting unsuspecting victims. He’s ruthless, coldblooded and animal-like in his violence. You’re sure the rumors are true as you gaze up at his bright eyes. Fear flashes through your mind as you stare at him. His eyes are a stark, beautiful blue. His hair, dark and inky, frames his face, though most of it is covered by a black mask.

“I’m visiting my grandmother’s house,” you tell him, smiling politely. You’ve always been taught to be kind to strangers, and this stranger, in particular, the way he’s looking at you, seems to scream danger. You don’t want to risk slighting him.

“Ah,” the Wolf replies, raising his eyebrows. “And what might you have there in your basket?” You move the cloth, showing the Wolf your various sweets and loaves of bread. You imagine he is licking his lips behind his mask. Images of his lips on you, of him kissing you deeply, of him tasting you, flash through your mind, and you quickly shut your eyes. You try to shake off the heat that’s settled in your belly. You shouldn’t think that way about a stranger.

“Well, I must be going. Grandmother is expecting me.” You nod to the Wolf and cover your basket, returning to the path you’d been following. Each breath feels tight in your chest.

“What a shame,” he calls. “The birds are singing so sweetly.” Your steps slow as you allow yourself to listen to the songs that float through the air, but you continue on. You can always listen to the birds as you walk.

“Ah, but the flowers are so beautiful this time of year. Wouldn’t your grandmother enjoy a bouquet?” The Wolf asks, again halting your walking. You glance at the flowers off the path, practically preening for you in the sunlight. Grandmother has always loved the wildflowers; maybe you could spare a few moments to gather a small bouquet.

“I suppose…” You glance back at the Wolf, finding that he has continued to follow you down the path. He’s so close now that if you breathed deeply, your back would touch his chest. Your heart stutters with fear. How did he move so quickly without you hearing? How did you not feel him approach?

“You don’t want to miss out on all the beauty,” he whispers, leaning down beside your ear. With two long fingers, the Wolf tugs your hood off your head, letting the breeze flutter against your neck. He breathes deeply, and your knees wobble as you feel the heat the Wolf emanates. Something sharp trails down your neck, a stinging pain following close behind, and your eyes widen.

Not even a breath later, he’s gone. You shudder at his sudden absence and quickly dart your eyes around, looking for the Wolf, but he’s disappeared into the shadows.

You try to calm your nerves, focusing instead on the flowers glittering just a few paces away. You kneel down, gathering your skirts to prevent them from getting dirty. The flowers are soft against your fingertips as you pick the perfect ones. All the while, the Wolf’s beautiful blue eyes burn in your mind.

The Wolf

Poor, poor grandmother, I think to myself as I drag the woman out of her woodland home and into the glade. She’ll wake up eventually, but not before I do what I want. Not before I take care of her sweet, beautiful little granddaughter.

I go back into the house and take in the empty space. Photos of my little bunny are everywhere, school photos and memories of vacations. She looks so delectable in her too-small bikini, her bright smile practically blinding me.

Next, I climb the stairs, finding myself in the room I had just dragged her grandmother from. The four-poster bed takes up most of the room, fabric hanging from the top of the frame like a canopy. I grin at the thought of taking my bunny here, her tears staining the blanket. Her screams filling the air. I feel myself hardening in my pants, and I adjust my cock.

When I saw her walking through town, my mouth watered. She looked so beautiful in her red cloak, the sun warming her skin. She looked good enough to fucking eat. I followed her from a distance, but once she entered the forest, I couldn’t hold back any longer. The smell of her when I got close… I could barely hold myself back. I wanted to grab her right then and there. I wanted to fuck her into the dirt. But good things come to those who wait.

I am not a patient man, and I always get what I want. Always.

So, I lay down on the bed, the canopy concealing me well enough, and wait.

And wait, and wait.

Until I hear the door creak open.

“Grandmother?” My bunny calls. I can practically hear the smile on her lips. I grin beneath my mask, fingers itching to touch her. To mark her. I hear her footsteps as she wanders into the house. My heartbeat speeds up, ready for the hunt.

“Grandmother?” She calls again, this time even closer. I see her shadow as she comes up the stairs, and a moment later, she pushes open the bedroom door. “Oh, Grandmother, are you ill?” Through the canopy, I see her set down a vase of flowers, the ones she picked in the woods, and her basket, full of sweets.

Her fingers gently curl around the canopy’s fabric and tug it aside. Her eyes widen, and her lips part on a scream, but I’m already moving. I lunge, grab her, and push her down onto the mattress. My hand presses over her mouth, absorbing her scream.

“So fucking beautiful when you scream, bunny,” I growl, dipping my head into the crook of her neck. I breathe her in, the sweet scent of fear mixing with the floral scent of her perfume.

My bunny writhes and struggles against me, but it’s no use. I’m bigger than her, stronger than her. She’ll never escape me. She heaves her breath behind my hand, so I take it off of her, not minding if she screams. No one will hear her anyways.

“What– what are you doing?” She whimpers, tears streaking down her face.

I don’t answer. Instead, I straddle her hips, pinning her to the bed. I run my hands along her torso and up to her breasts. She fits perfectly in my hands, and I flick my eyes to hers, watching her reaction. I can see the way she struggles with herself. The way she wants to give in to me, but something holds her back.

“Oh, bunny,” I whisper, my hands coming up to curl around her neck. “What a beautiful neck you have.” I squeeze her neck lightly, giving her just a taste of what I want, and I see the way her pupils dilate. Her hips jolt up into mine, and I grin beneath my mask.

She breathes heavily, lips parting into a perfect, soft ‘o’. “And what perfect lips you have.” I move one hand up, running my thumb across her beautiful mouth. I lean down close, cupping her jaw.

I want to taste her, I want to rip this fucking mask off my face and taste my little bunny, but I can’t. Not yet. I need to be patient. I sit up, slipping a knife out of my belt and flicking it open. Her eyes widen at the glinting blade.

“Please,” she whispers, tears brimming in her eyes again. “Please don’t hurt me.” I grin.

“My poor, stupid, little bunny. The more you beg me not to, the more I want to hurt you.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and I stifle a moan. I don’t know how I’ve lived so long without her, how I’m going to go on living if I don’t have her by my side.

“What did you do to my grandmother?” She asks, voice wavering.

“You don’t want to know, bunny.” Her tears stream down her cheeks, and she hiccups as she sobs. She’s fucking perfect. I take in the sight of her blood-red cloak stark against the white sheets. I run the knife along the side of her face, not cutting or scratching her but letting her feel the sharp edge.

I slide off the bed, dragging the knife down the center of her sternum between her breasts and down her torso. I see the thoughts running through her pretty little head. I know she wants to run. I hope she does. I step back and watch her fingers twitch before she darts off the bed. Her red cape flutters behind her as she saints down the stairs. I give her a head start before giving chase. My little bunny is more perfect than she could ever know.

After taking a steadying breath, I take off after my bunny. She left the front door open, and I catch sight of the hem of her cape as she dives behind a tree. She ran pretty far, I’ll give her that, but she won’t escape me. Never.

My feet pound on the ground as I chase her, adrenaline coursing through my veins. She keeps running, doing her best to hide as she goes deeper into the forest, but she’s not fast enough. I catch up quickly, making sure she knows just how close I am. Whenever she hears my boots snap a twig, she yelps, tripping over her feet. As we get further away from the house, she loses steam. I grin as she stumbles, constantly looking back to see me hunting her.

Bunny’s cape gets caught on a branch, and she falls, landing hard in the dirt. She tries to crawl away, but she knows it’s no use. I stalk toward her, loving the way she shakes with each breath, and sink to the ground by her head.

I grip her by her hair, lifting her face out of the dirt, and lean down. “You lose, bunny.” She gasps as I bring out my knife, holding it near her cheek as I turn her. Even though she ran and wants to think she’s afraid of me, I know what she wants. I can fucking smell it on her. Can taste it in the air.

“Please,” she whispers, fingers digging into the leaves on the ground. Her thighs rub together beneath her skirts, and my mouth waters. I know she won’t run this time, not when she’s so close to getting what she wants.

I remove my mask, tugging it from my face with my other hand. Her lips part as her eyes search my features. I move between her legs, running a hand along one of her legs. I push up her skirt, exposing her soft skin. With my knife, I run the tip along her leg, up and up, until I reach her panties. She can’t hide how needy she is. My bunny writhes in the dirt, begging me to touch her with her big beautiful eyes. I slide my knife beneath the waistband of her panties, slicing the fabric. I cut a matching slit near her other leg, tugging the material away. She shivers as the cool air hits her cunt.

“What a pretty pussy you have, bunny,” I growl, lowering my face to the crux of her thighs. She watches me with lust-filled eyes, nodding like the dumb little bunny she is. I bite her inner thigh, leaving an imprint of my teeth on her skin.

“What beautiful eyes you have,” she tells me, a small smile on her lips.

“The better to see you with, bunny.” I run my nose along her pussy, and she bites back a moan. My tongue laves along her clit, and I hear her breath hitch.

“What–” she gasps when I press a finger inside her tight cunt. “What a perfect mouth you have.” I groan against her pussy, devouring her like my last meal.

“The better to eat you with,” I mutter into her pussy. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. She tastes so fucking sweet, practically dripping against my lips. I knew my bunny would be perfect, but she’s better than I ever could have dreamed.

“Please, please,” she whimpers, begging for her release. I curl my finger inside of her, looking for the spot that makes her squirm, and brush my teeth over her sensitive clit. My little bunny is so responsive for me, writhing around in the dirt.

“So fucking sweet, bunny, my own little treat.” Her whimpers get higher pitched, and I know she’s close. I’m practically humping the dirt, I’m so hard, but all I can think about is how good my bunny is being and how fucking perfect she’s going to feel wrapped around my cock.

I work her right up to the edge, and when she’s gripping my hair so hard she’s about to pull it out, she breaks. She comes all over my tongue and finger, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I crawl up over her, my tongue running over my lips, gathering her taste. “What a good bunny,” I whisper, taking in the sight of her blissed-out expression. She wants more, though, I can tell.

Her eyes roam over my face, her hands tracing over my features. Her lips part, but she can’t seem to find the words. “Tell me what you want, bunny.” My finger circles her sensitive clit; she jolts.

She shudders but doesn’t speak. “Come on, bunny. I know you’re afraid. I know that you don’t want to admit it. You want my cock? Is that it, bunny? You want me to fuck you here in the dirt?” Her eyebrows pinch together, and fear flashes in her eyes. She knows I’m dangerous; she knows I am unpredictable.

“You wanna be my dirty bunny?” I ask her, nipping at the soft skin of her neck. “You’re my dumb fucking bunny, you know that? You’re gonna let me fuck you into the dirt, and you’re gonna love every second of it, isn’t that right?”

“Oh my god,” she moans, hips bucking against my fingers. “Please.”

“I need to hear you say it, bunny.” I bite her shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and she gasps. “Tell me that you’re my dumb little bunny. Tell me what you want me to do.”

I see the way she hesitates, the way her mind runs through all the reasons she should fight me, but then I see the shift. I see the moment lust takes over, and she succumbs to her primal desires.

“I’m your dumb little bunny,” she whispers. I slide two fingers into her pussy, scissoring my fingers to stretch her. “And–” she sucks in a breath. “And I want– need you to fuck me.”

“Such a good bunny.” I settle back between her legs and pump my fingers, working her up again. I use my other hand to take off my belt. When my pants are down far enough, I palm my cock, moaning. She watches me with hooded, lust-drunk eyes, and I smirk. My dumb little bunny looks so pretty taking my fingers, but she’ll look even better taking my cock.

I take a long look at her pretty face before I grip her hips and turn her over. Hooking my hands underneath her, I position her with her ass high and her head in the dirt. This is how she was meant to be; she was fucking born for this.

I line my cock up with her perfect pussy and tease her clit, loving how she jolts each time. My little bunny has never looked better with her skirt shoved up on her waist and her face pressed against the earth.

“What a perfect bunny for me,” I tell her, spanking her ass. I press my cock into her, groaning as she squeezes me. She’s so fucking tight, so perfect, like she was made for me. Made for this. I slide in, loving how she stretches around my dick. Her face screws up the deeper I get, but I don’t give her time to adjust.

I set a brutal, deep pace, and electricity shoots up my spine. The sounds she’s making, the way her fingers dig into the dirt, are nearly too much for me to handle. The smell of sex and earth floods my nose, and I feel it flood my bloodstream.

She moans and whimpers with each thrust, pressing back with each thrust, egging me on. My little bunny wants me just as much as I want her. I lean down, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and haul her torso up so she’s kneeling, arching against me. I run my tongue along the spot I’d cut earlier when I’d first spoken to her, tasting the sweet tang of her blood.

My little bunny has tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. Her eyes are screwed shut as she takes my dick.

“Such a good little bunny,” I groan into her ear. “You were fucking made for this. You were fucking born to be my dumb bunny, to take my cock.” Her cunt flutters around my dick, and my hips stutter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants like a prayer. I drop a hand to her clit and circle it in a way that makes her throw her head back, and bite the cut on her neck. The combination of sensations throws her over the edge, and she convulses on my cock.

I press her back into the dirt and pound into her, slamming into her over and over again. I come on a moan, both of us collapsing. “Good bunny,” I whisper. “Such a good little bunny.”

She falls asleep, drained from the way I used her body, and I grin at the sight. She should know better than to fall asleep next to a predator like me. I brush the dirt from my pants, tucking my cock away, and pick her up. I carry her back to her grandmother’s house and lay her on the four-poster bed.

Next, I retrieve poor old grandmother. She’s still asleep. The drug I gave her will wear off soon. I place her on the couch in the front room. I’ll let my bunny find her when she comes to. I return to the bedroom and stare at my beautiful little bunny.

I don’t clean her up; I don’t even put her dress back. She looks perfect, dirty, and used against the bone-white sheets.

Just the way I like her.

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strijkdesign · 17 days

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To kick off #MerMay, I enjoy reflecting on my top mermaid artworks from the past 6 years. Each piece symbolizes a year of personal growth. I'd love to know which one stands out to you.

I took a brief hiatus from creating mermaids last year, but I plan to be more active this May, so stay tuned for some new pieces ;)

You can find prints of these paintings in my Inprnt shop

#sylvia strijk #artists on tumblr #my art #fantasy art #illustration #merfolk #mermay #fantasy artist #mermay 2024 #Art challenge #fantasy character #character art #merpeople #Mermay2024 #mermaid art #mermazing #mermaid dreams #Fairytale #ocean life

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toadlett · 3 months

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Doing a lazier version of @mortiscausa's fantastic arthurian drawing challenge! I'm using the prompts to inspire some pencil drawings based on the Mabinogion's tale of Kilwhch and Olwen (which in turn is the basis for a book I'm working on). First up, "Quest."

(edit: reuploaded the image without embarrasing typos oops!)

#arthuriana #folklore #drawing challenge #illustration #fairytale #giant #knight #legend #myth #british mythology #welsh #welsh folklore

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biteofcherry · 1 year

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Make the dust fly

dark!Steve Rogers x female reader; dark!Captain Rogers x fairy reader

Author’s Note: This is a dark retelling (with a wicked twist) of a Peter Pan fairytale, for @boxofbonesfic “Once Upon A Time” challenge and 10k milesestone celebration - once again, congratulations!

summary: You’ve always been loyal to Peter and to his group of rascals, fierce in the way you protect them. So when the bloodthirsty Captain Rogers is close to catching your friends, your fairy heart bursts with courage and you place yourself between them. Little did you know that Captain was never after Peter. It was always about you…

warnings: dark!Steve Rogers; dub-con (bordering on non-con); captivity; stocks/pillory; spanking; size kink; forced orgasm; explicit sexual content; mentions of drug use;

Reader is a fairy, Peter’s sassy Tinkerbell, but in my take on this universe fairies aren’t that tiny tiny. They’re “regular size”, but definitely smaller than Captain Rogers.

Also, there’s a light hint at WS!Steve, regarding his prosthetic (after all, he’s serving as Captain Hook in this).

word count: 5.8k

Though the sun spilled through the half-broken window of the old sanctuary, the splashes of colors softening the stone floors where stained glass-work cast its reflection, the soothing atmosphere was dispersing.

Fear and charging darkness chased you through the corridors as the pirates’ trap closed in on you.

How did they even find this place? It was an abandoned little playground which you found a few months ago and to which you brought Peter and the boys, Wanda too. Her stories gained a new dimension of life when told here.

It should be safe! So far from the seas and rocky beaches where the pirates often lurked. Far from the lush green forests, which Captain seemed to roam alone with ease, as if he wasn’t a bastard limited to the seas, but a nomad who found his place anywhere he wished. Anywhere his power allowed him.

And he had power in bulks.

Elders of your fairy clan have spoken of him with fear. You always thought it to be because of his ruthless mastery over the seas and the merciless determination with which he hunted Peter.

Somehow, he found Peter even here, so deep into the land it felt impossible to meet him and his crew here. But the warning came crisp and clear as MJ ran inside the sanctuary, breathless and panicked, yelling about pirates securing nets outside and preparing to storm in.

Nets so they could trap all of you, even if your dust gave your friends the ability to fly.

“Go, Peter!” You hissed at him, handing him a small pouch with gathered fairy dust.

“Take Wanda and leave through that tunnel we found last week!” You urged them. “Once outside, you’ll be able to fly off. They won’t be able to set up nets over a cliff!”

“Come with us.” Peter caught your wrist. “We can all fly.”

You shook your head, yanking your hand from Peter’s grip. That spontaneous escape would work on most, but not on Captain Rogers.

As rash and reckless many men were, he was a brilliantly strategic son of a bitch. The fact he somehow found you here, was able to build up a quick trap, spoke of how dangerous it was to underestimate him.

Somehow- someone had to play decoy, so the others could save themselves.

You knew Peter managed to get free in the past, always so creative in improvising and audacious enough to follow through with quite crazy plans, but this time it felt more dire. Your instinct told you it was no playful risk, but could be the end to all ends.

Captain Rogers wanted Peter, you were merely an annoyance he’d wave off like a fly.

“Go! Go now!” You pushed Peter toward the secret exit. “I’ll meet you later.” You vowed, determined to squirm your way out of the pirate’s grasp.

When the group started squeezing into the tunnel, you took a deep breath and fluttered your wings out. You flew up to one of the partially broken windows and peeked over the red stained glass that used to be a part of a rose.

Hook’s crew was indeed outside, in a formation that looked threatening and discouraging to any rebellion. Well, it made your rebellious streak flare. After all, fairies weren’t known for mellow, compliant behavior. You certainly weren’t that kind of a fairy. Nor that kind of woman.

Hook. You shook your head as you thought of a rather cruel nickname the boys gave Captain Rogers.

He lost his arm - there were various tales regarding the circumstances behind that. Some included a ridiculous brawl with a crocodile; another a power hungry demi god from the outerworld who turned into an alligator; other stories were about wars in far lands after which Rogers’ body washed up on the shores nearby, already lacking an arm.

Whatever the truth was, each tale had a significant truth to it which your friends liked to omit - Rogers survived. Perhaps even won.

It should keep you all scared, not underestimate him as a pathetic, crazy pirate with a prosthetic.

There was a hook attached to his prosthetic many years ago, but it was long gone, replaced with a functioning metal arm whose endurance and strength matched Rogers’ general power.

Still, Peter and the boys snickered at the Hook nickname.

Most of the time you called him Rogers or Captain Rogers, only when you were truly pissed, or scared of losing your friends, did you call him Hook; and many other degrading names.

He stood there, so close to the entrance. His head was slightly bowed as he talked to a man beside him. Sun streaks seemed to catch in his blond hair, his features bathed in warm glow. It annoyed you that someone so ruthless and despicable dared to look so beautiful, so stunning. Light and magic of the world were for fairies like you, to shimmer in your nearly translucent wings and burst full of color as you shed dust. It shouldn’t caress a man like Captain Rogers, making him appear innocent-like.

No, he was not innocent.

He was a bottomless pit of darkness and all things wicked, only luring with his handsome veneer. Like those flowers Tiger Lily once showed you - they were so lush and aromatic, but when an insect touched their petals they’d trap it inside and feed on it.

Not only because Rogers had this sick obsession with Peter, trying to hunt him down, but there were other instances that turned your blood cold.

He kidnapped three mermaid younglings, taking them far away over the seas and selling them as an attraction, or maybe as pets. He spread bodies of his enemies on the rocky shore, arranging their corpses in wooden galways, leaving them for animals to feed on.

There was a tale of Echo, one of the Tribe’s people, who disappeared unexpectedly. Rumors of her fate laid at Captain Rogers’ feet. Yet there was no gossip of her potential whereabouts. And the Tribe, for some unknown reason, still occasionally traded with the pirates.

Rage at his conscienceless acts made you itch for your daggers. Though you probably couldn’t hit him from a distance.

So you flew up slightly higher, to get a better look at the siege, seek a hole through which you could escape and show them the middle finger.

At that moment Captain turned his head and looked up, as if he sensed he was being watched. His gaze zeroed in on you.

Stupidly, really, but you stuck out your tongue at him when your eyes met.

Rogers cocked his head to the side, his gaze slid from you to the building then back up. He was assessing something, calculating. Suddenly he turned on his heel and marched straight inside.

Heart jumping to your throat in fear, you flew down.

It dawned on you that he had to be considering where your group may hide within the sanctuary’s corridors, but your little peek gave him the answer right away. It meant he was aiming straight to your place of hiding.

Which was good, you reminded yourself. It drew attention away from Peter and Wanda and the rest. You had to stand your ground.

You couldn’t just fly around like a butterfly anyway, since a few months ago it turned out that pirates have shipped in some new kind of weapon that splutters rapid fire at any object in motion. It would hit you at some point, even if you’d manage to dodge most of the shots.

Taking Rogers on in a fight was a task near impossible, but you were fast, agile and quite good with your daggers in close distance. Maybe you’d be able to surprise him with a nick, or two, and use the distraction to escape. The tunnel Peter and the rest went through was so narrow that Captain’s broad, large frame would never fit through it.

You drew out your daggers, clenching your fingers around the ornately carved wood, as you heard booming steps approaching. Captain Rogers barged in, his pace slowing as he entered the chamber fully.

A small group of his pirates followed, but when they realized there’s no one beside you inside, they stopped in their tracks.

You felt a surge of victory. You tilted your chin up defiantly, a smirk curving your lips as you threw Captain a challenging look.

“Peter’s not here.” You called out, triumphantly. “You’re not gonna get him, old man.”

It was an overused jab that had more spunk when Peter yelled it. His youth could rub it in for a man of Rogers’ age (truthfully, you did not know his actual age, but he was at least twice the age of Peter and Wanda).

You? Fairies aged differently. You may as well be his age, if not older.

Captain Rogers didn’t seem enraged at your challenge. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but his face remained impassive as he stared you down.

He motioned at his people to stand down behind then slowly drew out his sword. The sound of a sharp blade leaving its sheath pierced the silence that fell over the sanctuary.

Your fists clenched, the hilt of your dagger digging painfully into your delicate skin. You drew your wings together and rested them against your back to gain more momentum as you charged at him.

You were fast and sneaky, easily avoiding Captain’s first cuts. Unfortunately for you, his large size wasn’t an obstacle to his agility. You learned it quickly as his moves sped up and he matched you in your rapid twists. His bulky frame was surprisingly graceful in a fight.

With a snarl, you managed to cut his shoulder, dark shirt parting where your blade nicked it. Blood soaked that spot, but the Captain didn’t even hiss, nor did he falter in his steps.

He attacked you with ferocity, though you didn’t notice that each of his moves was to disable you rather than kill you. Too immersed in your own rage, you slashed like a caged animal while he remained a sophisticated predator toying with his food.

You twisted around, swaying your arm in a half circle in an attempt to slice his other arm. A sudden pain in your wings pulled you backward. He caught your wings in his metal fingers, delicate filaments nearly crushing under the pressure. With a yelp, you bowed your back to lessen the tugging pain, flailing your arms around to lash at anyone who dared to approach.

Captain Rogers hit your fist with the broad side of his sword, the strength behind it hard enough to make your fingers seize in pain. You dropped the dagger. Before it clattered to the floor, he did the same to your other hand, leaving you weaponless.

Another tug at your wings pulled you backwards to him, then his hand caught one of your wrists, wrenching your arm behind your back.

He had you locked, your side pinned to him as he forced your back to bow further, your face tilting up to him as you did.

Striking blue eyes, reminding you of the electric clear sky after stormy clouds disperse, stared down at you. A cold victory shimmered in his irises.

“I don’t care about getting Peter, little sprite.” Captain’s deep, velvety voice resounded over the rapid fluttering of your heart.

“It was always about you.”

His dark chuckle caused your heart to stop, dread swallowing you in a cold wave.

You never expected to become a part of his sinister plans; your mind filled with horrifying images of being shipped away to unknown lands, sold like a piece of meat, or forced into labor to survive. You were ready to die, if it meant saving your friends, but you never considered a worse fate awaiting.

One of the Captain's crewmen brought a set of shackles, which they locked around your hands. Usually you were able to get out of any regular cuffs, but these seemed to be tailored for a fairy’s slimmer wrists. Attached to it was a heavy chain, the end of which Captain Rogers wrapped around his metal hand.

“You can walk, or you can fly, I don’t care.” He said to you, yanking on the chain and forcing you to stumble into his chest.

With his other hand he gripped a fistful of your hair and loomed over you.

“But you will follow me, sprite. Or another chain will go around your neck and I’ll drag you by it all the way to my ship.”

He led you out of the sanctuary, your feet scurrying after his big strides. Once outside, you spread your wings, helping yourself catch up to Captain’s pace by floating in the air. A small group of his pirates joined you, trading beside and behind. The rest stayed to take down the nets and pack everything.

It really seemed that Captain got exactly what he wanted and you had no idea why it was you.

You looked for any familiar faces that might lurk in the thickness of the jungle, or hide behind rocks, as the pirates led you to the beach where the boats awaited. Anyone, who could carry the news of your capture to Peter, or to your fairy clan.

However, all forms of life seemed to scatter from the Captain’s path.

Perhaps it was the right thing to do. You should’ve abandoned your bold, fierce courage - or stupidity, really - and hide from him, like all reasonable creatures did.

As some of the elders of your clan sighed, you spent too much time joining Peter’s reckless adventures, forgetting your survival instinct.

At the shore, Captain brought you with him into one of the boats. Only two other pirates joined you, their task to row the boat toward the monstrous, black ship out in the open sea. Rogers made you sit down on the bottom of the boat, curled between his spread legs.

He ran a finger down the back of your neck and to where your wings grew out of your back. You hunched forward, then turned your head and glared at him. His mouth curved in a cocky smirk as he teased the outline of your shimmering wing.

You clenched your jaw and hung your head down, feigning pure anger to cover the hint of trembling.

Fairy’s wings were exceptionally sensitive to touch. The stroke of Captain’s fingers evoked a sensation contrary to pain or discomfort. That side of your wings, when teased, would cause your nipples to stiffen and a fire to bloom in your abdomen.

You would never let Hook know about that. He’d use it to humiliate you, or to think of an even worse fate for you. You were sure he had some depraved, disgusting buyers in the dark human offshores.

Once on the ship, the crew parted as Captain Rogers prowled toward his suite. Their eyes leering as they watched you trot behind him. You swallowed, but tilted your chin high. You even sent a glare at one or two of the pirates.

Your breath stuttered in your chest, your eyes growing big, when among the crew you noticed a dark haired woman. Tight braids adorned with beads and a pirate’s outfit on her body, but you recognized Echo. Or someone who looked so much like her. She sent you a dismissive look, as if she wasn’t bothered by your presence. She definitely didn’t seem to be in distress.

You had no time to wonder about Echo’s ties to the pirate crew, because Rogers opened the door to his cabin and pushed you inside. Heavy wood closed behind you with a booming finality.

The first thing you saw was a long table with maps, plans and navigating instruments. Books lined shelves on the sides. A few trinkets glinted in the dimmed darkness.

The cabin was separated in half by a heavy curtain. When Captain led you around the table toward it and parted the folds of the embroidered fabric, you froze on the spot.

That you’d see the private, sleeping part of his quarters was something you expected. But it was the thing beside his big bed, lined with layers of soft looking linens and silks, that made you stumble a step back.

A large, human sized birdcage hung beside the bed. Pillows fluffed atop its bottom didn’t change the fact it was a scary, humiliating prison. Undoubtedly made for you.

“I’d rather be tossed in the brick with other slaves you’re about to sell.” You gritted your teeth, yanking on the chain which Rogers’ held in his hand.

“Sell?” He approached you, a cruel smile on his pretty lips.

He traced a single finger along your cheek and you flinched away from his touch, despite how strangely soothing it felt for your rattled heart.

“Sprite, why would I sell something that can bring me regular profit rather than just a one time gain?” Captain chuckled.

Not the least discouraged by your body leaning away, he slid his hands down your arms. The fact his touch was gentle and not a forced manhandling, somehow made the disgust in you grow.

“See, I’m well aware that fairy dust gives more than just the ability to fly for a few minutes.” He opened your shackles, dropping them and the chain to the floor with a loud clunk. “Though, that in itself would sell greatly.”

He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing tightly and forcing you to look him in the eye.

“I know that fairy dust gives an euphoric rush and enhances strength, speed, and senses. Even if the effect is short, it's a drug most sought after.”

You heard of it - of what your dust gave people. Peter and your friends gained from it, but for joy and freedom. Others wanted the power of it for more nefarious deeds. And, as it always was with people, they wanted more and more and more.

“I plan on reaping the benefits of selling it regularly. And you, little sprite, are my source.”

With a wicked grin, Rogers kissed you on the lips. A short, harsh thing. Then he pulled back, laughing at your stunned face.

It took you a second to regain your train of thought as your brain scrambled - both at his admission and the kiss. Ire rose, rebellion against aiding the damned pirate in any way bubbling hot like lava.

“Ha!” You scrunched your nose and crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not shedding a single flake of dust for you, asshole. Keep me locked as long as you want, you’re not getting any.”

You expected a flash of anger. Hell, you wanted to annoy him! You wanted to push all his buttons, rip them free and stuff them down his throat so he chokes.

But he remained calm, amused even. Studied you with a head tilted to the side, corners of his mouth still lifted upward in a smile.

Then, in a split second, he had a hand behind your neck, fingers gripping tightly.

He dragged you across the room, toward a wooden pillory which you didn’t notice earlier. You growled out your protest, heels digging into the floor planks as you fought against Captain's grip. It was futile. He overpowered you easily.

With the help of his metal hand, he had you bending down. Your neck settled into a bigger half-moon in the middle of the pillory. He forced your hands to rest in the smaller circles. Then locked the upper part, trapping you in. A padlock clicked in place.

Your wings fluttered wildly, your feet lifting off the floor, but it changed nothing. He had you bound in an uncomfortable, humiliating position.

He crouched in front of you, blue eyes staring into yours with a dark glint.

“Ah, sprite. You underestimate me.” His smirk grew and a dreadful feeling settled deep in your gut.

“I knew you wouldn’t shed dust for me willingly. I also know that there is another instance when a fairy sprinkles it. Uncontrollably, I’d say.”

No! He couldn’t know that. Nobody did.

That was a secret of the fairies, shared with absolutely no one. You never told Peter or anyone else. You knew no other fairies would reveal it, no matter how strongly they trusted human friends.

Yet everything inside you sensed that the Captain spoke the truth. He knew the truth.

“I- I have no idea what you are talking about.” You huffed out, but you suspected your bluff was easily caught.

“Of course you do, sweet little sprite.” Rogers chuckled.

He straightened and slowly walked around you. He didn’t even reprimand you for struggling in the stockade, trying to somehow break the sturdy wood. He was this secured in his dominance over you.

There was a long, silent pause, heightening your trepidation since you were unable to see what he was doing behind you.

A big, warm hand rested right above your wings, then teasingly slowly dragged between them all the way to your ass. A brush along your wings was enough to send a faint zap of sensation to your core. Rogers flipped your green dress up, exposing your butt. He splayed his hand over one buttock, warming up your skin.

He pulled his hand away. A second later a loud smack resounded, evoking a burning sting and causing you to squeak.

His fingers spread over the spot, rubbing soothingly and turning the pain into pleasant throbbing. He draped himself over you as he looked down at your bowed head from above the pillory.

“A fairy sprinkles dust when they’re aroused.” Rogers recited the most intimate secret.

“Well, you don’t arouse me!” Your fingers clenched into fists as you hissed at him.

“Don’t I?” Captain hummed.

With his foot he kicked your legs wider apart. Next his hand landed with a softer slap over your pussy. He kept his fingers there. Held them pressed against you, starting a slow circular motion that drew out wetness you shouldn’t be presenting at his proximity.

A whimper escaped your mouth as you felt your clit throb beneath his fingers. The thin fabric of your bottoms growing a wet spot.

“There she is.” Captain drawled in pleasure, tracing his metal finger along the back of your neck.

Dust glittered on your skin, the tiny flakes clinging to his finger as he touched your skin.

His touch disappeared, leaving you with a mixture of relief and confusing longing, as Rogers moved around to face you again.

He crouched down, showing you his finger that now shined with fairy dust.

“You may think I'm repulsive, sprite, but I will do things to your body that will make you burst in fountains.” He traced your lips with that finger, withdrawing it just in time before you thought to bite it (even if your teeth would crack against the metal of his prosthetic).

“No, I won’t!” You sneered, struggling in your bonds.

Captain’s face leaned closer, his breath puffing against your lips as he spoke:

“I’ll have you creaming and dusting yourself like a pathetic, needy slut. And you’ll learn to beg for it.”

He stood up, once again leaving you clueless about what he was about to do to you. The stocks prevented you from movement, but also blocked out any way of catching in your peripheral vision what was happening behind it. No way for you to prepare yourself for whatever the Captain did.

He slid your green bottoms down your legs in one swift move. You shrieked and tried to kick him. A cold, metal grip crushed your ankle. Your bones rattled, the pressure of his hold warning you of how easily he could break you if he wished.

“Keep your feet on the floor, or I’ll shackle them too.” He barked, releasing your leg.

You considered kicking him again, but then your brain lost the ability to connect thoughts to motions as another slap jerked your body.

His hand met your bare skin now, the sting of it more intense. He gave you no pause as he began raining steady hits across your ass. Your body tensed, heat from the burning in your butt spreading in waves through your body. Perspiration shone on your skin, your breathing growing heavier.

Then his fingers teased along your parted folds, dipping into shameful wetness that dripped out of you.

You couldn’t comprehend how he managed that. The spanking has hurt, it shouldn’t rouse your body. Your position was humiliating. You were a captive against your will! And yet… Captain Rogers had you trembling with growing need.

“Nooo!” You moaned a protest when his fingers gathered your wetness and started circling your clit.

Your thighs tensed. You wanted nothing more but to close them and stop this madness, but Captain slotted himself between them, the fabric of his pants abrasive on your delicate skin.

“Yes, sprite.” He rubbed your nub harder. “Let it go.”

He watched, mesmerized, as your skin started glowing. A delicate shimmer at first that turned brighter as your arousal spiked. The higher he pushed you the more dust appeared. Your skin looked like it was covered in a layer of sweet glitter. Your wings seemed to be encrusted with crushed gems, sprinkles falling all around as your wings fluttered.

A single long, big finger slid into you, spearing through your tight walls. An intrusion that set everything inside you on fire, causing the fairy dust to fall all around as you seized in pleasure.

He kept pushing into you, even as you sagged. Pleading noises bubbled on your lips; for what, you weren’t even sure anymore. A second finger joined the first, stretching you. He curled them and the spot he nudged elicited another lewd moan from you.

Captain’s cool, metal hand touched the small of your back. Surprisingly gently this time. He slid his fingers up, teasing the underside of your wing. Silver metal of his prosthetic covered in the thick brilliance of your dust, sparkles of rainbow caught in the light.

He moved his hand further and gripped your wing a tad harder, not enough to cause pain though. That, combined with incessant thrusting of his fingers, toppled you over another peak.

You came with a hoarse cry, dropping your head low as dust fluttered from your fingers which clenched and straightened in spasm as you rode out your orgasm.

When he pulled out his fingers, a squelch of your sopping pussy humiliated you further. His metal hand gave your folds a little pat; you had to clench your jaw to stop another moan from falling out.

Captain remained quiet. No teasing words, no victorious jab.

You thought you heard him hum in delight. A silent pause stretched. Then a loud groan.

“Fuck.” His low, husky voice sent a shiver up your spine.

His steps sounded heavier as he moved, as if he suddenly gained more weight or strength. He squatted in front of you. Your head felt heavy as you slowly lifted it up to look at him.

His irises weren’t simply blue anymore. They mirrored a jeweled shimmer of fairy dust.

His skin seemed aglow, too. All of him pulsed with power.

“That I did not know, sweet sprite.” He said, wonder and hunger bursting a starlight in his eyes.

“That your juices are more potent than a whole bottle of fairy dust.” He licked his lips as if savoring the taste. “I merely sucked your slick off my fingers and the power that it gave me? Oh, sprite- I feel it charging through me like a lightning bolt.”

“A thimble of fairy dust gives a kick. A nice high with some enhanced perks for a short while. Your cream? It’s a storm in veins, sprite. A little lick and I’m a step from a god.”

“No! No, please, no, you can’t-” Your brain turned frantic, fear creeping up through your still softened with pleasure body.

If he told anyone of that, not only would your fate be chained to the gutter, but all the other fairies would be at risk. Hunted and ripped apart for limitless greed of monsters like Captain Rogers.

“Relax, little sprite.” His hand cupped your cheek, his voice almost soothing. His eyes, a galaxy of captivating darkness. “I have no intention of sharing this power with anyone. No, sweetling, I’ll be the only one you give it to.”

“The others will pay high for the dust you sprinkle around plentifully. But your sweet, tiny cunt? It belongs to me now.”

He leaned in, sealing your lips with his own. You tasted yourself on his tongue, your juices not having the same effect on you as it did on him, but the hunger of his kiss stirred something inside you.

He broke the kiss with a bite to your lip, which he soothed with a flick of his tongue. Then he was standing up and moving again, until he nestled himself between your thighs.

His hands squeezed your buttocks, spreading them to allow him even easier access to your glistening, puffy folds. He licked you with a broad stroke of his tongue; the sensation made you shudder, your hips tilting upwards in an involuntary invitation.

He devoured you, mouthing on your pussy as if it was the juiciest, sweetest fruit. He lapped up each trickle of your slick, forced his tongue inside then swirled it around your clit. Bristles of his beard brushed your skin, adding to the hazy pleasure. You knew you’ll have burns from how ferociously he ate you out.

You came into his mouth, despite trying to hold it off. Your whimpers mixed with Captain’s groan of delight.

He licked you clean, wasting no single drop, then trailed hot open mouthed kisses across your inner thigh and over your ass. Your legs shook as he straightened up. Rustling of fabric reached your ears, your dizzy brain recognizing clothes being taken off.

“Might be a tight fit, sprite.” Captain’s husky chuckle made your pussy clench.

Your weak whine unfurled into a wanton moan as the tip of his big cock stretched your opening.

Captain Rogers was much larger than you in size overall, you never considered before that he may be proportionately bigger in every detail of his body. The breach of his cock felt nearly painful, yet his girth seemed to rub against spots which were never touched properly before.

He kept pushing in, in, in, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He pierced into you deeper, filing you completely.

“You taste amazing and you feel exquisite, too.” He gripped your hip with his metal hand and the curve of your upper wing with his flesh one as he bottomed out.

“Ah, sprite! You’re so tight around me I may want to stay inside forever.”

He ran his fingers along the curve of your wing, sending little shocks straight to your core. Your pussy fluttered, sipping more slick.

“You like that, sweetling?” Captain purred, stroking your wing again, at the same time rocking his hips into you slowly. “Yeah, you do. I’ll make you see fireworks. Turn you into a little sparkling firework, too.”

Tightening his hold on you, he withdrew. Then slammed back into you with force, evoking your cry.

He fucked you with steady, deep thrusts, speeding up when your skin covered in new sheen of dust. Glittering powder seeped through his fingers where they rested on your wing; speckles of dust flaked from your thighs and ass with each sharp slap of his hips.

Your whole body tensed, wings spreading wide and feet nearly flying off the floor as his cock drove into a particularly sensitive spot. You saw stars bursting white in your eyes and your whole body glimmered with a powdered rainbow.

Your cries grew louder, then your voice scraped raw after another, and another climax. Still, Captain was fucking you through it. You had no idea if it was him alone, or if your magic that he gorged on made him able to last so long.

When he finally finished, spilling inside you with a loud, beastly grunt, you were sweaty and shiny, and completely boneless. You nearly dropped to your knees when Captain slipped out and let go of you.

With a breathless chuckle, he wrapped an arm under you and pulled you up. With his other hand he opened the padlock and released you from the stockade. You fell into his arms half-consciously, even your wings felt heavy, dropping down, too tired to make any motion.

“See, little sprite, you dusted for me in abundance.” He mocked your earlier rebellion as he scooped you up.

The floor was covered in a thick layer of sparkling dust. Enough to fill a few vials.Your small feet left an imprint in the shimmery drizzle in the spot from which Captain picked you up.

You had no strength to fight him when Rogers carried you across the suite. He opened the birdcage and sat you down on fluffy pillows. Arranged your body quite comfortably in your new, narrow prison. He locked it and swayed the cage with a gentle push.

He watched you with clear, untired eyes (still sparkling with extreme power), while you peeked at him through heavy eyelids. You saw him wrap his fingers around his softening cock, gathering your mixed juices and bringing his hand up to his face. He licked it clean, his irises anew igniting with power.

His skin glowed, though you weren’t sure if it’s only the sweat from your coupling, or if your magic thrummed beneath his skin so vividly. His muscles looked to be carved from marble. Veins curved in places which you never paid attention to in any man.

He looked like a god he claimed to feel like.

A beautiful monster who you should despise for the rest of your life, no matter how your body shivered under his touch.

“Rest now, sprite.” Captain cooed as your head leaned against one of the bars. “If you prove to be good, you might earn yourself bed rights someday.”

He swayed the cage again, rocking you to sleep. Despite your effort to stay awake, to not waste a second and start forming a plan of escape, drowsiness was taking over your exhausted body.

You fell asleep as you watched Captain pull on his pants - and nothing else - and bend over the map table, scribbling something down. A new course to lands where he could profit from your dust.

Or doomed places where he could test the power that owning you gave him.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au #once upon a time challenge #dark fairytale #boxofbonesfic challenge #boxofbonesfic #make the dust fly

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jobean12-blog · 1 year

Text

The Shadow of Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Fairytale/Vampire AU, soft!dark)

Word Count: 6,017

Summary: James has spent many of his long years in despair...until he finds you.

Author’s Note: This is for @boxofbonesfic “Once Upon a Time” celebration and 10K milestone! Congratulations lovely and thank you for hosting! 💕This is also for Lilo and Aqua’s “Myths and Legends” writing challenge @sparkledfirecracker @tumblin-theworldaway thank you both for hosting!💕 The fairytale that inspired this is Beauty and the Beast. I also have references to the book Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I used a lot of Vampire myth and legend, including some form of magic-charming- to keep the reader under control. James and his companions are definitely from a different era of time than the reader and they come off kind of fancy for that reason.

Warnings: mentions of b-loo-d, mind c-ontrol and magic charming, k-id-napping, built up tension, moments of f-ea-r, s-ucking b-loo-d, b-iting, but there is some softness laced in between all of it (18+ONLY)-if I miss any please let me know :)

The banner above is mine. It’s terrible because I’m terrible at banners. The edit on the left was made by my dear friend Nix, which is the opposite of terrible, it’s amazing 💕This photo below is all Seb, I take no credit for his gorgeousness.

The last rays of a dying sun filter through the ornate stained-glass windows of the estate and cast shimmers of fading color upon the dusty stone floor. The only other light is from a pair of blue eyes, so startling, they rival the beauty of the ancient artwork adorning the walls.

“You are sulking again,” a voice calls from the back of the room.

It receives no answer and there is no sound of footsteps as the other approaches, materializing next to the set of blue eyes.

“Are you going to spend all of eternity in this constant state of shadow?” the new voice asks.

James turns to his companion, the years of their friendship spread out over centuries, and asks, “isn’t that the very nature of our existence?”

Steven only stares ahead in answer before placing a placating hand on James’ shoulder. “You have the power to take what you want. You must make a choice. Stop lingering in this…purgatory.”

James only nods before his legs begin to vaporize and tendrils of dark mist crawl up his long body. His eyes are the last thing Steven sees, the blue piercing the black cloud before James is gone.

Steven drops his head then turns on his heel, walking briskly from the large room.

The bar is busier than usual tonight, full of tourists regaling in their visit and drunk locals cheering them on. You run from table to table, dodging sloshing pints and groping hands. When you finally find yourself back behind the bar you let out a long exhale and lean on the counter, smiling when your friend the bartender dashes past you for more glasses.

“Really hopping tonight,” Matt yells with a smile.

You laugh with an exaggerated wipe of your brow then grab your glass of cool water for a nice long drink. You take no notice of the pair of stunning blue eyes that follow your every move, their owner cloaked in shadow and hidden from the sight of most.

In the next hours that pass many of the patrons become too drunk to carry on a conversation and the travelers move on, so the bar is now quiet and you have time for your favorite activity. You reach under the bar top and retrieve your book, a smile gracing your features as you sit and open to your bookmark.

“Reading again?” Matt asks as he grabs himself a drink of water.

“Always,” you answer without looking up.

He’s silent for several moments until he leans down to whisper along your ear, “that man over there…he hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night. Do you know him?”

You keep your head down as if you are still reading but slowly lift your eyes and search the room. At first you see nothing and your brow furrows in confusion.

“Matt, I don’t see…” you start to whisper, stopping short when your breath catches in your throat at the sight of the man he speaks of.

It’s as if the world around you fades away and you’re consumed by the presence of this stranger. Your breathing slows and at first all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, until his voices penetrates the veil, smooth like silk even as you stare at lips unmoving. It frightens you but you can’t seem to break away and it feels as though you’re being pulled toward him by an invisible string.

“Hey!” you suddenly hear your body shaking under the force of Matt’s hands.

You gasp loudly and grab hold of Matt’s arm, turning to him with wide and panicked eyes.

“You ok?” Matt asks, much more softly now, his features etched with concern.

“I…,” you start and swing your head back in the direction of the stranger but he seems to have disappeared into thin air. “I think so.”

Matt follows your line of sight and whispers, his shock evident, “he’s gone.”

You swallow hard and cling to Matt with trembling hands. “I swear it was like I was under a spell,” you say quietly.

“It looked like you were in a trance,” Matt explains before handing you more water.

“Have you seen him before?” Matt asks.

You don’t answer right away, a chill running down your spine as your mind races.

“I don’t know…it all felt eerily familiar but I never even got a look at him.”

“Did you frighten her again?” Steven grins when James pushes through the large double doors of the estate with a loud bang.

James shoots him a cold glare and Steven’s grin fades.

“She is always with that young man…Matt” James states, his distaste obvious in the way he says the name. “Who is he? Why does she stay with him?”

Steven waits before answering, clearly formulating a careful response.

“I have seen him,” Steven answers. “You have mentioned they work together…perhaps they are just friends.”

“She isn’t in love with him,” James states after a prolonged silence. “But he is in love with her.”

Steven takes a step toward James, resting both of his hands on James’ broad shoulders.

“Do not make any thoughtless actions James,” Steven warns. “You don’t want to lose her before you even have her.”

“You think she would be upset if I…disposed of him?”

James’ question makes Steven raise his brows with a wry smile.

“Fine…I won’t kill him,” James sighs. “But I will not allow him to stand in the way of what’s mine.”

The next few nights of work are uneventful and slow and by the time the weekend rolls around you’ve almost finished your book.

You feel his presence before you see him, a warm rush of awareness overwhelming your senses. You lift your gaze from the page and meet his incredible blue eyes. He’s handsome in a way that’s arresting and your heart starts to beat faster.

“Hello doll,” the man greets.

You stare at him, your mouth curving into a cautious smile.

He smiles back, his plush red lips spreading wide over white teeth.

“Have we met before?” you muse as you openly study him.

“I don’t believe so,” he answers. “I would never forget such a beautiful creature.”

Your eyes linger on his handsome features, his eyes standing out above all else, before you lower your lashes at his compliment.

“Can I get you a drink?” you ask, as you close your book and hide it back under the bar.

“Please,” he says. “Red wine.”

You nod and go about pouring him some, setting the glass down carefully and noting how his long and thick fingers curl seductively around the stem.

“What book has you so captivated?” he asks as he swirls the liquid around the glass.

“Frankenstein,” you answer. “Have you read it?”

“I have.”

You instantly brighten at his answer and hold out your hand to introduce yourself. He takes it, filled with a sudden delirious hope as he dips his head to brush his cool lips across your knuckles.

Goosebumps erupt across your skin at the feel of his lips but thankfully you recover by the time he lifts his eyes back to yours.

“A pleasure doll. I’m James. James Barnes.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the recognition of his name.

“James,” you repeat in a soft murmur and he tenses at how keenly he wants to hear his name on your perfect lips again and again.

“So I do know you…sort of.”

You’d heard stories of the famous family but you always assumed they were nothing more than that…stories.

“You may have heard my name before, yes,” he acknowledges, “but I assure you that whatever you’ve heard isn’t quite the truth.

“Guess I’ll just have to find out for myself,” you reply.

James steels himself, hiding his pleasure at your words with a swift change of topic.

“How do you like the book so far?” he asks.

“I love it! It’s hauntingly beautiful and sad. I’m almost finished.”

With an agreeable nod he launches into a perfectly articulated and clever review of the book, much to your delight and you find yourself completely engrossed with his every word.

“You must come and see my library,” James tells you. “I have an extensive collection.”

You sigh at the thought, resting your elbows on the bar and leaning in close to him.

“I’d love that more than anything. I’ve always dreamed of having my very own library.”

His eyes flash, silver against his pale skin, and he brushes his fingers down your arm.

“You are most welcome any time doll. I think you would find my home has many things you would enjoy.”

Matt loudly calls your name, his tone sharp, and it startles you.

“Need some help down here,” he repeats, eyeing you suspiciously.

You pull yourself away from James, feeling slightly lightheaded but managing a smile.

“I apologize but I need to go help…”

“Of course doll,” James says smoothly, gritting his teeth with anger at the interruption.

“Perhaps I may request your presence at the ball I’m hosting next week. I can show you my library.”

You can’t hide your surprise at his invitation, your eyes filled with nervous anticipation.

“If you’d rather have a more private introduction I will understand,” he quickly adds.

“No, no,” you assure him once you recover. “But a ball…isn’t that old fashioned?”

You make sure to smile after you tell him this.

“Indeed it is!” he agrees with a smile. “You’ll find I can be very old fashioned…perhaps I should have used the term party.”

“There is much to do!” James bellows as Steven follows behind. “Everything needs to be cleaned and prepared. Nothing can be left undone!”

Steven rushes off to alert the others and begin the preparations while James stalks off to the library to make sure his most befitting gift is in order.

“Why wasn’t I invited?” Matt asks as he follows you around your small bedroom. “You need someone to come with you to keep you safe! We hardly know this guy.”

You turn to him with a smirk.

“Well, anyone who enjoys books as much as I do can’t be all bad!” you exclaim as you look him over. “Now go find something to wear.”

When you arrive at James’ estate you tilt your head back to follow the grand height of the edifice. It looms darkly against the star filled sky, backlit by the shine of the moon.

“Wow, it’s bigger than I imagined,” you whisper to Matt.

“This place is insane! It looks like some creepy house from one of your books,” he jokes.

You elbow him before smoothing your hands down your dress and using the knocker to alert your presence.

The door swiftly opens to reveal a tall blonde with a sweet smile.

“Welcome,” he states, keeping his eyes on you. “James is expecting you.”

He finally moves his eyes to Matt and his lips turn down into a slight frown.

“You’ve brought a guest,” Steven states dryly.

You fidget with your hands and drop your head.

“I didn’t wan to come alone…” you start to say quietly.

“Do not fret darling,” Steven says kindly. “You were simply being smart. Please, come in.”

He reaches for your hand and you take his, stepping inside with Matt right behind you.

As Steven ushers you down the long hallway you take the opportunity to look around, noting the elaborately decorated walls, with bold colors but delicate carvings and when you pass a set of large floor to ceiling windows you notice a splash of vibrant color outside.

“Oh!” you exclaim, stopping to look. “You have a garden?”

Steven steps closer to you, admiring the blooms.

“We do,” he says proudly. “It is James’ second most prized possession…his library being the first.”

A bright smile graces your features at the mention of the library.

“And all these flowers bloom at night?” you ask, your forehead furrowed now in thought. “How strange.”

Steven clears his throat. “Why yes! Excellent observation my sweet. James prefers the beauty and fragrance of things…nocturnal.”

“Now come, we don’t want to be late.”

With that, Steven urges you down the hallway toward large wooden double doors. He pushes them open with ease and sweeps out his arm with a bow.

You give him an elegant nod of your head and enter. The domed ceiling is covered with magnificent frescoes and the candlelit wall sconces cast various hunting battles, landscape scenes, and jousts in an eerie glow.

“Wow,” you whisper, still looking up when you feel that familiar shiver creep down your spine.

That’s when you turn and see him. He approaches slowly, his tall and powerful body moving smoothly across the floor. He’s dressed formally and when he reaches you he bows with a flourish.

You’re momentarily stunned, the opulence of it all something you are not used to.

James holds out an inviting hand just as you hear the first note from an organ hidden above you, the melodic sound reverberating in the open space.

You reach for him, placing your fingers in his palm and smiling softly.

“If I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness,” he murmurs, quoting a line from Frankenstein.

“Oh that’s one of my favorites from the story!” you gush.

In a whirl you are quickly in his arms, one of his hands holding yours and the other placed at your lower back.

“I’m so delighted you came,” he says tenderly as his eyes wander over your face then sweep down your body. “You are a vision. The stars will be jealous of you tonight.”

If the use of one of your favorite lines didn’t already work his most recent words make you swoon and you clutch his hand more tightly, nibbling your bottom lip.

“James…” you begin but he spins you away before you can say more and when you’re back in his arms his face is only inches from yours and you’re at a loss for any other words.

He keeps you close and you can feel every inch of his hard body pressed to yours.

The sound of voices draws your attention away and you suddenly remember Matt.

“Oh!” you exclaim, “what about Matt?”

James smiles and although the gesture is warm something dark flickers in his eyes.

“Your friend seems to be doing just fine doll,” James tells you as he spins you both around so you can see.

Matt is currently dancing with a beautiful red head, her pale face lit up in a smile as they twirl around the room.

“He certainly looks fine,” you finally say with a giggle.

“I assure you my friends are very engaging. They were overjoyed to know I was having company. Natasha especially. She loves to dance and it’s been quite some time since I’ve entertained.”

“Your home is beautiful,” you say. “Do you live here alone?”

“No. Not alone,” he says. “Steven is my companion…we have been through much together and our friendship runs deep.”

“I met him when we got here and he showed me a glimpse of your impressive garden.”

James smiles, doing nothing to hide the haughty lift of his chin, and says, “ah yes! You’ve seen my flowers. I do enjoy tending to my nightly blooms.”

“I noticed many of them were open even in the nighttime,” you state pleasantly, not wanting to come off as rude.

“Yes all flowers of the darkness. The moonflowers are my personal favorite.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those before,” you say.

“Well I’ll be sure to give you the grand tour of the garden after you see the library,” he beams.

As you continue to dance and talk you lose track of time, not even noticing that Matt has long since disappeared and you and James are the only two left in the large room.

“You’re a wonderful dancer James.”

“I’ve had many years of practice,” he explains. “And it helps having such an exquisite partner.”

You glow under his praise and find yourself craving more from him. You press yourself closer and release his hand, languidly sliding it along his shoulder to rest just below the base of his neck.

Joyously he returns your embrace, holding you affectionately as he continues to float you around the room. As the music slows so do his steps and as if sensing the change, you cling to him, your fingers sliding into the hair at the back of his neck.

His passion mixes with the innate thirst he has kept hidden and the scent of your skin, the feel of your body and the taste of you is overwhelming. He yields, and with a groan, dips his head to kiss your throat, his fangs emerging quickly and purposefully.

His kiss is gentle, not that of a predator but of a lover, and you gasp at first but don’t pull away. An ecstasy like you’ve never known takes over and any thought of pain ebbs away with every pulse of your blood.

“James!” comes a commanding voice that goes unheard by you. “Release her!”

You’re suddenly thrust from James’ arms, weak and dizzy. A soothing voice enters your head and your eyelids grow heavy, the room around you slowly fading into blackness.

James paces at the foot of his large bed, the four wooden posts holding up the deep velvet draping’s that partially shield you from his eyes.

“The thirst is commanding,” Steven states placidly. “But you must be more careful!”

James turns to his lifelong friend and stares, his lips parting as his fangs grow and sharpen.

“Yes, it does,” James answers, his voice low and menacing. “I need to feed.”

Steven nods with a quick glance at your prone form on the bed. “She will be safe here and she will sleep through tomorrow’s sun. Come. Let us hunt.”

The two men take long strides toward the door and with one last longing glance behind him, your soft features illuminated by a sliver of the moon’s pale light that escapes through the tapestries, James’ body shifts into the shape of a sleek black wolf and he races away.

At the smell of food you gently shift along the silken sheets, stretching out like a cat before you blink your eyes open. Darkness surrounds you and the smell of something sweet but weathered permeates the scent of the well-cooked meal.

You sit up slowly, clutching the sheets to your chest and noting that you are no longer wearing your dress from last night, only a thin chemise.

Last night?

Your mind begins to race and your voice catches in your throat as your eyes focus on the room.

“Where am I?” you squeak out, plastering yourself to the leather headboard.

“You’re safe doll.”

At the sound of James’ soothing voice you visibly relax. Something about his presence makes you feel calmer. You don’t quite understand it but he puts your mind and body at ease.

“What happened?” you ask. “Where is Matt?”

“You indulged a bit too much after dancing,” he explains as he moves closer, now standing beside the bed. “You were unfit to get home so I let you sleep here. As for Matt, he is safe at home.”

Again, for reasons unknown to you, you trust his word.

“Is this your bed?” you ask as you fingers sweep over the plush fabric.

You look up at him with the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Yes,” he whispers. “But I slept elsewhere. I promise you.”

More tension leaves your shoulders and you look past him to the steaming food on the small table.

“Hungry?” he asks with a mischievous grin.

“Starving!” you exclaim as you start to get up.

When you stand your legs are wobbly and you teeter at the edge of the bed.

James quickly wraps you in his embrace and holds you against his chest.

“Slow,” he instructs. “You have slept long and haven’t eaten. Sit. I will bring it to you.”

He gently sits you back down and goes to get the tray of food, setting it down beside you on the bed. He pulls up a chair and sits beside you, stabbing a piece of the food with the fork and bringing it to your lips.

Your eyes stay locked on his as your mouth opens and you take a bite. The low moan that leaves the back of your throat is unexpected but you are hungrier than you thought and the food is delicious.

His eyes flash and he grips the fork tighter, his already white skin pulled tight against his knuckles.

“Good, isn’t it?” he asks, plucking another bite from the plate.

“Yes,” you whisper, eagerly taking the second piece.

“Eat all you want doll. You’ll need your energy for all I have to show you today.”

He entertains you with stories of how he’s collected his books and how he came to love gardening. You brighten at his words and dutifully eat all the food on the plate.

When you’ve had your fill he stands and begins to collect the tray. You sit back with a contented sigh, fiddling with your necklace. Your fingers graze something on your neck and a rush of emotion floods through you.

“James,” you say, your voice wavering.

He’s instantly at your side, his face etched with worry.

“I…I have…” you stammer, fighting the growing warning in your head.

James delicately rests his palm over your cheek, brushing his thumb across your lips.

“Everything is fine doll. I have everything you need here. Just say the words and it will be yours.”

Your eyes refocus and settle on his as a sense of peacefulness washes over you once again.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, warm and inviting, and your eyes drop to his lips. You’re drawn to him in every way, his charm ever present in the forefront of your mind and you grab his wrist, leaning in closer.

A loud knock on the door startles you from your trance and you pull away, quickly covering yourself with the blanket.

James’ eyes narrow and he let’s out a low rumble.

“Come in,” he says dangerously.

Steven enters and looks between the two of you, his eyes widening slightly at the look on James’ face.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he regrets. “But you are needed.”

He keeps his eyes on James and waits.

“I won’t be long,” James assures you, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “You’ll find everything you need in the chest at the foot of the bed. Feel free to wander the house.”

He stands abruptly and moves toward Steven, brushing past him with the soft closing of the door.

“This better be worth my time,” James seethes.

Once the two men are far enough away from the bedroom Steven grabs James’ arm and swiftly turns him so they are face to face.

“Do you have her under your charm?” Steven asks, his teeth gritted.

James turns away, walking toward the windows to look out over the garden, the bright blooms like stars scattered across the darkness.

“She will try to run,” he states coldly. “I will not have it.”

“James,” Steven sighs as he comes to stand beside his friend. “You do not give yourself enough credit. How do you know she will not grow to love you?”

James is silent for a long time, his eyes still staring out at the darkness.

When he finally speaks his voice is smaller, carrying none of it’s usual authority and fierceness.

“One could no sooner love a monster.”

“Give her time,” Steven answers quietly.

James makes no further comment and simply asks, “what could be so important that you would pull me from my love?”

“The young man…Matt, came to the estate. He is demanding to know why she is still here in your care and when she is coming home.”

James is quiet for a long time after Steven’s explanation and finally he squares his shoulders and sets his jaw firmly in line.

“Deal with it and make sure I am not disturbed again unless absolutely necessary.”

Before Steven can give any sign of acknowledgement James whisps away into a bat and speeds down the hall toward the library.

You dress in the clothes that he left you, running your fingertips over the soft fabric of the simple dress and loving how it fits you perfectly. The floor beneath your feet is chilly and you silently wish for something warm to cover them. Just as you open the door of the bedroom you notice a pair of slippers resting at the side and you wonder if the house has heard your silent request and answered.

Now warm and comfortable you make your way down the long hallway, passing the room from last night where you danced with James. You continue further down, seeing many smaller adjacent rooms that hold cozy sitting areas and desks.

When you reach the end of the hall, moonlight gathers on the stone floor from one of the large windows, and a large oaken door sits slightly ajar.

You take a deep breath and gently push it open the rest of the way.

A large fire burns comfortably in the hearth, its ruddy glow infusing the room with heat and light. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with richly carved wooden bookshelves, every available space filled with books.

The scent of well-oiled leather and old parchment invades your senses and you throw your hands up and twirl with barely subdued awe.

“I was hoping I would be back in time to see your reaction,” James purrs from the doorway.

You spin around to find him leaning against the tall wooden doorframe, his perfect lips carved into a soft smile.

“Oh James!” you exclaim. “It’s just….”

You squeal in happiness, running to one of the shelves and plucking a book off, your fingers moving reverently across the worn binding before you carefully open it and lift it to your nose.

Your inhalation is loud and full and when you lift your eyes to James his own are crinkled with joy.

“Is it everything you hoped for?” he inquires as he moves toward you.

“It’s even better,” you whisper, clutching the book to your chest.

When he reaches you he presses his long fingers under your chin, caressing your jaw with his thumb.

“I cannot express the happiness this brings me. You may read anything you like. They are yours.”

Your mouth falls open at his offer and your eyes widen, brightening with tears.

“But…why? You just met me. Isn’t there someone else…?”

“There is no one else,” he says sharply, not meaning to speak so and he quickly smiles and tucks you under his arm.

“There is no one else who would enjoy them as much as you,” he says, this time his voice soft and pleasant.

“What about you?”

Your question catches him off guard and he studies you silently before gathering you in his arms and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Yes. I will enjoy them too of course.”

He’s reluctant to let you go but he can feel your body brimming with excitement.

“Go, enjoy! I will come find you shortly for dinner.”

He turns to leave but you grab his hand and give it a small tug, smiling under your lashes when he gives you a curious look. You press your palm to one of his cheeks and softly kiss the other, your lips lingering for a moment before you pull away.

“Thank you,” you whisper and with a wide smile you dash off to the shelves.

James wanders back down the hall, his fingers pressed to the same spot your lips had touched and for the first time he weighs the reality of Steven’s words.

Could you really love him? Would you stay because you wanted to?

When Steven comes to collect you for dinner you are curled up in one of the scarlet velvet cushioned chairs, a large book in your lap and a wistful expression on your face.

“My dear,” Steven says softly. “Dinner is ready and you must be hungry.”

You look up with a start but smile when you see him.

“Yes, I am!” you say with a laugh. “What time is it?”

“It is well past dinner time but your schedule is off after your night of partying.”

At that last word Steven gives you a playful grin and you match it but as you stand and go to him it begins to fall.

“I don’t even remember having a drink! All I remember is dancing with James and then I woke up in his bed.”

Your steps slow and you look at Steven, your eyes turning round with fear.

“Don’t worry,” he says carefully, moving forward tentatively to take your hand. “Everything is fine and you are safe.”

His words are like a warm caress and you feel the tension seep from your body.

“What have you been reading?” he asks as he urges you out the door of the library.

With your fearful thoughts a distant memory you divulge Steven in every little detail of the book you’ve read so far…a first edition copy of ‘Wuthering Heights.’

“I still can’t believe I have it in my hands,” you say with amazement as you look down at the book. “Where did he get this?”

“You can ask him yourself,” Steven smiles as he holds the door of the dining room open.

James greets you by taking your free hand and leading you toward the chair next to his, pulling it out so you may sit.

Steven clears his throat to get James’ attention, a silent exchange passing between them. James nods and proceeds to sit.

“So, what do you think so far?” James asks as his eyes drop to the book.

“I love it but how did you get a first edition copy?”

Your excitedness eases some of the worry that Steven’s earlier warning provoked and he relaxes, eagerly listening to your chatter about the book.

“Won’t you have something to eat?” you ask when you scrape your plate clean with your last bite.

James glances down at his still full plate and smiles.

“Well, I was so enraptured with you, I forgot to eat,” he says with a wink. “But come, we will go to the garden before we have some dessert.”

He stands and reaches for your hand, taking it and looping your arm with his. You press into his side and walk with him down the long hallway toward the garden.

The darkness of the night isn’t oppressive, the leaf-filtered moonlight turning the garden into a moving tapestry of shadows and wisps, and all around are the soft sounds of nighttime life.

James breathes in deeply, the subtle scent of your warm blood taking precedent above all the other fragrances from the flowers. A warm breeze travels among the leaves and blooms yet your body trembles.

“Are you cold?” James asks.

“It isn’t cold out but for some reason I feel a chill.”

At your answer he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. You smile in thanks and pull it closer to your body, discreetly sniffing the collar.

His smell makes you sigh and you snuggle closer to the warm fabric.

“It must be a lot of work to care for all these flowers,” you muse as you meander down the stone pathways.

“It takes nurturing and patience,” he says quietly as his eyes wander across the flowers. “Time is something I have a lot of.”

He steps closer to the moonflower plant and gently picks a blossom, twirling it between his long fingers.

“This, doll, is a moonflower.”

He holds it just under your nose, the soft petals tickling your skin as you inhale.

“It smells almost citrusy,” you remark. “They are beautiful.”

He takes the flower and tucks it under the thin strap of your dress, his fingertips tracing the outline of your collarbone before ghosting along your throat.

“Did you know they are deadly if ingested?”

Your eyebrows raise and you shake your head, leaning into his touch. “The seeds are highly toxic but thankfully once you educate yourself they are both very safe and very easy to cultivate.”

“Do they stay open in the daytime?” you ask, your voice breathless.

“They do not. They are true nighttime blooms. Only in the darkness do they come alive.”

His fingers move higher and curl around the back of your neck. Your scent surrounds him, drowning out all his other sharpened senses.

“James,” your voice trembles.

“Do you want to know another of my favorite quotes from your beloved Frankenstein story?” he whispers, his breath cool against your skin.

His fangs begin to lengthen and hunger tugs at every fiber of his unnatural existence.

“What is it?” you ask, your body now completely pliant against his.

His nose brushes along the length of your neck and he gently nips at your earlobe, pressing his thumb under your chin to tilt your head back and expose more of your throat.

“If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear,” he murmurs, pressing his lips just below your ear.

You tremble but this time it’s not from the cold and when your eyes meet his commanding gaze you smile softly and press closer to him.

“But I am not afraid,” you whisper.

He takes your face in his hands and smooths the pad of his thumb across your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own, their color red with the anticipation of the taste of you. His fingers slide down and graze your pulse point, the rhythmic throbbing sending a rush of heat through his body.

The clouds move slowly across the sky, exposing the full silver light of the moon and it floods the garden, bathing you both in an ethereal glow.

“I will no longer suffer this eternity alone. You will be mine forever.”

His lips press to yours, nipping and licking your warm flesh before he parts your tongue and swallows your gasps of pleasure. A fire erupts across your skin and your fingernails dig into his back, his jacket falling to the ground in a heap of dark fabric.

As his hands explore your bare skin he can barely contain his awe, the feeling of you is better than anything he could have imagined in his long life.

The flower that is secured in your dress floats to the floor as his fingers slip under the thin straps and slowly push them off your shoulders. His lips never leave yours when his hands travel lower, caressing every inch of you that he can.

“James, please,” you beg, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him.

He pulls away, your lips still chasing his, and looks into your eyes.

Slowly he loosens his hold over you and some of the light returns to your eyes like a spark ignited. You reach for him again; this time of your own accord and he growls in victory.

With languid movements he brings your lips to his once again, softly kissing them before he moves down your neck, lightly scraping your skin with his elongated fangs.

You gasp his name, a whispered plea, and he can no longer deny the thirst that burns inside him like a fever and without warning he embeds his fangs in your soft flesh.

For that one brief moment all desire leaves your body and is replaced with an innate terror at the realization of what’s happening. With a weak push on his chest you try to get away but it’s too late and before the cry of anguish can leave your parted lips you sink into an inky blackness, the feeling of ecstasy creeping over you like a veil, shrouding all else in shadow.

@book-dragon-13 @dreamlessinparis @lookiamtrying @loki-laufeyson-1054 @goldylions @seitmai @randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @flordeamatista

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #vampire!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #soft!dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #vampire au #bucky barnes au #fairytale au #sebastian stan x reader #mythsandlegendswithliloandaqua #once upon a time challenge

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starker-sorbet · 1 month

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Cinderella au with Peter as Cinderella and Tony as the Prince

#starker #fairytale au #a-z challenge #f #cinderella au #cinderella peter #prince tony #moodboard #my moodboard

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queenlucythevaliant · 3 months

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Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down.

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived.

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out. “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?”

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset?

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him.

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say.

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food.

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands.

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway.

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say.

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now.

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered.

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room.

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters.

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her.

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?”

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years.

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl.

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint.

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet.

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.”

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try…

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

#inklingschallenge #theme: storge #story: complete #inklings challenge #leah stories #OKAY. SO #i spend so much time thinking about king lear. i think i've said before that it's my favorite shakespeare play. it is not close #and one of the hills i will die on is that cordelia was not in the right when she refused to flatter her dad #like. obviously he's definitely not in the right either. the love test was a screwed up way to make sure his kids loved him #he shouldn't have tied their inheritances into it. he DEFINITELY shouldn't have kicked cordelia out when she refused to play #but like. Cordelia. there is no good reason not to tell your elderly dad how much you love him #and okay obviously lear is my starting point but the same applies to the meat loves salt princess #your dad wants you to tell him you love him. there is no good reason to turn it into a riddle. you had other options #and honestly it kinda bothers me when people read cordelia/the princess as though she's perfectly virtuous #she's very human and definitely beats out the cruel sisters but she's definitely not aspirational. she's not to be emulated #at the end of the day both the fairytale and the play are about failures in storge #at happens when it's there and you can't tell. when it's not and you think it is. when you think you know someone's heart and you just don'#hey! that's a thing that happens all the time between parents and children. especially loving past each other and speaking different langua #so the challenge i set myself with this story was: can i retell the fairytale in such a way that the princess is unambiguously in the wrong #and in service of that the king has to get softened so his errors don't overshadow hers #anyway. thank you for coming to my TED talk #i've been thinking about this story since the challenge was announced but i wrote the whole thing last night after the super bowl #got it in under the wire! yay!#also! the whole 'modern setting that conflicts with the fairytale language' is supposed to be in the style of modern shakespeare adaptation #no idea if it worked but i had a lot of fun with it #pontifications and creations

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