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tarithenurse · 1 year

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The Sweetest Taste

Fandom: MCU AU Pairing/starring: Knight!Sam Wilson x princess!reader Content: Medieval!Royal AU. Pining? Trauma (attempted assassination) and mild PTSD, flirting (perhaps badly), food as love language. A/N: Trying to get back to writing after having been sick, but it’s hard to be motivated, you know? Thanks to Tantefrutsel-creativenurse for betaing! Also: there’s a severe lack of art (or GiFs) of Anthony Mackie as a knight.

The sweetest taste

Looking at him over the brim of the goblet, you knew he was perfectly suited for his task: guarding you, the princess of the realm. He was strong and calm, stoic even. The stories of his prowess well known to the extend that even you couldn’t deny his skill. He’s handsome too which was the subject of much gossip among your chambermaids – you knew this even though they tried to keep such subjects away from your ears.

They were right though, the maids: sir Samuel Wilson was quite attractive and lately his visage was all you’d been able to dwell upon when bored out of your mind attending to your duties. Strong features, a rigid posture as he stood to guard you, his mesmerizing eyes taking in everything that moved in the room and beyond the windows and door.

Mesmerizing, you scoffed at yourself for the choice of words.

Truth be told, a year ago you wouldn’t have bothered to look at him twice, preferring to be without guards if it wasn’t for the obstinate notion that your father harboured that you might be killed at any moment. But then, after a few spectacular failures where the previously assigned guards had tried to limit your freedom and you’d had none of that...well then your father had assigned sir Wilson to the task. Rumour had it that he volunteered, but that you didn’t believe.

“You can’t keep me from going to the stables,” you’d announced to him on the very first day, expecting him to balk.

Instead he’d nodded, “Very well, your highness.”

“O-or the market!” you had continued, unused to being granted the freedom without a fight like with all of the previous guards.

“If you wish,” was all he said.

And he really did let you go where you pleased on one condition: he was always to escort you. If he couldn’t attend personally, then you had an entourage of five other guards and you quickly learned that that was much more bothersome than just waiting for sir Wilson.

He would always be there on your little escapades about the palace or into the city. He would stand in a nearby corner or behind you, vigilant of any dangers there may (or may not) be...but soon also helping coax people around you into abstaining from actions that simply made you uncomfortable or bored. More than once, he’d whisked you away to the stables rather than sit with your grandmother and embroider, for instance. He brought you to the cook’s home to show you the little puppies that had been born over night (having the cook and his family stand in awe at the visit at the other end of their humble home).

Now his presence brought you comfort. How peculiar, you mused as you watched the mingling court for a moment, to feel warm in the shadow of someone else.

Getting up, you bade you parents and grandmother goodnight before moving through the grand banquet hall, aware that sir Wilson was shadowing you.

It happened so quickly that you only had time to raise your arms to shield yourself: a rapid movement in the corner of your eye, a flash of steel glinting in the light from the braziers and candles, then the looming presence between you and the man with the crazed look in his face before finally a thud as the latter landed in a heap on the ground, unconscious.

Sir Wilson barked out an order before turning to you. “Are you unscathed?” You could only nod in response, but he accepted your answer after glancing you over. “Then pardon me, my lady,” and he unceremoniously swept you off your feet and carried you at a quick pace out of the hall and to your chambers.

That night he stayed outside your door as you lay restless in your bed, unable to find sleep as the memories both tormented you (the assassins gruesome expression and intention) and soothed you (the feeling of safety as you clung to sir Wilson). You knew you should be more frightened as you went over the incident again and again, but how could you with such a guardian angel? Still sleep didn’t find you, and every time you creaked the door ajar, you saw Sir Samuel’s reassuring face.

He barely left your side at all during the next fortnight.

...

You have taken almost all your meals in your private chambers since the incident but today, you announce as much to Samuel as to the maid, you would like to take it in the garden: the weather is perfect and a gentle breeze carries the notes of lilacs. As the maid scurries off to see to the arrangement, you could have sworn there was a shimmer of a smile on Samuel’s lips but you brush the notion aside.

Setting aside your book, you glance at the reflection in the vanity before slipping on your dainty shoes (knowing that your parents will scold you if they found you walking barefoot as you prefer). Samuel has never raised a brow at your habit. One would think adults are permitted making their own rules for things as small as this, you muse wryly.

Nevertheless, you find yourself walking through the palace towards the gardens wearing your shoes. And an invisible sheen of nervousness as this is the first time you venture outside since the attack. Your heart is racing and you find your finger clutching to the hems of the sleeves. By the time you reach the grand glass doors, it’s as though your legs won’t carry you any further.

“Your highness.” Samuel is right behind you and his voice helps to calm the nerves. “There is nothing wrong in changing one’s mind...” he trails off, knowing that he is treading the line of what’s appropriate to interfere with.

You glance at him. “Thank you,” and you mean it, “but this is something I must do and I’d rather cross this bridge with you than anyone else.”

There’s a glimmer to his eyes that you can’t decipher but he says nothing that might clarify it.

Walking through the gardens, you take your time to really look at the flowers, to smell them. Preferably you’d been feeling the sun-heated grass underneath your feet too. Looking around, there’s no one save for Samuel (who always is there) and you finally give in to your desire and kick off the shoes, knowing that the dress reaches the ground and likely would cover the offensive behaviour. The grass, although heated, is cool between your toes and you can’t restrain a little giggle. Glancing at Samuel, you see a shimmer of a smile at your decision but there is no judgment to glean from his calm expression...however you do see a bead of sweat roll down his cheek and throat and disappear under the shiny armour, but the man doesn’t complain – he never does and you admire him the more for it.

Instead, you make it to the terrace where a golden and sky-blue canopy has been erected to cast some shade over the arrangement below: a table and a single chair has been brought out and prepared for a light meal. You take the seat and as usual Samuel finds a spot to the side and slightly behind you where he can see everything.

“Sir Wilson,” you begin without having thought through how to formulate your question, “are you...do you require a chair?”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in which the maid that had just arrived looks between the two of you questioningly.

“Thank you, your highness, but no,” is the polite answer.

You nod, feeling stupid for having suggested it at all but doesn’t the man get tired of standing all the time?

The maid pours your wine before disappearing to fetch the food. You notice how Samuel eyes the wine suspiciously and a thought strikes you: he must be thirsty too...in fact, he must be hungry as he can’t have had anything since early this morning and it’s now just past noon.

“Perhaps you should have a taste of the wine, sir Wilson,” you suggest sweetly and to your surprise he accepts.

The goblet nearly disappears in his gloved hand as he grabs it and you wonder how his hands actually look. They must be large and strong, especially compared to your own.

He hands the goblet back to you with a satisfied breath: “It seems safe but wait a few minutes before drinking.”

He thinks I wanted him to be my taster?! Realizing that he, once again, has been ready to put his life on the line for you, your heart swells just as shame creeps into your bones because that was not what you had intended just now. But how can you explain that? Short of saying it outright, you can only think of one way but you abstain from grabbing the goblet and downing the cool white wine, afraid that he would take affront.

The maid returns with large tray laden with all sorts of delicious food, forcing you to look on in silence as it is served before you can dismiss her to once more be alone with Samuel whom you find eyeing the food as though he suspects it to come to life and strangle you.

Tearing off two chunks of the bread, you smear them with butter and hold one out to Samuel. Hesitantly, he takes it but then nods and bites into it. Already the golden substance on your own piece is starting to melt and you decide not to wait for Samuel’s assurances before taking a bite yourself, ignoring the protesting sputter that comes from next to your chair where he stands.

“Your highness...” he sighs with exasperation as you swallow, “it could have been poisoned.”

The fear that creeps into your gut for a moment is real, but it’s weak. “You are my guard, not my taster,” you say dismissively, “cheese?”

“But...?”

Perhaps he’s simply taken back by your words, you can’t know for sure, but in his flabbergasted state, Samuel automatically accepts the morsel and pops it into his mouth before realizing that the actions hardly fit the words. Meanwhile, you take a sip of the wine without taking your eyes off of him.

Then eyeing the pâté, you prepare a new bite for him topped with some of the crunchy, red bell peppers that have been sliced thinly. “Pâté?” you offer him the food by holding it up to his lips yourself.

“Your highness...I do not think it’s appropriate...”

But you can see how he eyes the food with hunger in his eyes.

“Would it make it easier, if it was an order?” you ask innocently.

There are flecks of gold being obscured by heavy eyelashes as Samuel narrows his eyes at you, but then he lifts a gloved hand and guides yours with the morsel to his mouth – even the birds have gone silent to witness the exchange and you can hear the crunch of the bell pepper the first few times he chews. This time you find that as you try to look away, you actually can’t because Samuel’s eyes are boring into yours. A fluster spreads through your body and you refuse to acknowledge the reason why.

Something has changed and you aren’t sure what. It thrills you, though.

Reluctantly, you turn back to the table and cast about for something else to offer the man. The quiche. Pulling it towards you, you are surprised when a now naked hand covers yours and you watch almost in awe as Sam cuts two small pieces. At least he lets you spear the first with a fork and he accepts the bite, once again guiding your hand before taking the cutlery from you and mirroring the act.

You can’t recall ever being fed by anyone before, though logically it must have happened. That flashes through your brain. That and the taste of the quiche: the saltiness of the goat cheese, the crispness of flavour from the leeks, and the buttery savoury dough.

Mostly, though, what fills you attention is how intimate it feels, how exposed you somehow are as your lips have closed around the morsel and fork that’s being offered to you by Sam. Even more so, at you watch his tongue dart out to wet his own lips.

Slowly, he removes the fork, watching how your lips pucker for half a heartbeat around nothing. Then he returns his attention to the food on the table, picking a grape which he offers to you. His fingertips are warm and rough as they brush against your mouth but gentle and your mind and heart races with the thoughts of how it would feel to hold his hand or to...Stop it! You scold yourself helplessly.

But the damage is done and all you can imagine is Sam cupping your cheek as he leans in close. And then, before you can prepare for it, the dream becomes reality and the touch is warm and steady just as you thought it would be.

“Princess [Y/N],” he whispers, “order me to stop and I will.”

His gaze searches your face for any sign that you are uncomfortable but you can only lean into his touch as you look up at him from under hooded eyes.

“And if I order you to continue?” you ask boldly.

“Then I will gladly obey even it were to cost me my title or my position.”

Forcing yourself, you glance about and find the gardens deserted.

“If those be the consequences, then I’m sure I can offer you a more advantageous future if you will let me.”

Lips meet lightly, merely brushing before he pulls back to whispers in your ear: “Say the word.”

“Please,” you breathe.

The kiss might be chaste, but it’s the first of its kind that you’ve experienced and the gentle moulding of lips takes your breath away and leaves you longing for more when Sam withdraws to watch your reaction with the first full smile you’ve seen and it melts your heart.

#sam wilson #AU Sam Wilson #sam wilson x y/n #Sam Wilson x you #Captain Sam Wilson #x you #x Y/N #x reader #Sam Wilson x reader #Sam Wilson Pining #Sam Wilson knight #Sam Wilson love

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lokiswifeduh · 1 month

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Long Night

Pairings - Roommate!tfatws!Bucky x Fem!Roommate!Reader

Summary - You've been stood up twice in a row now. Bucky is tired of seeing you disappointed. So he takes you on a date.

Warnings - angst, being stood up, angry/annoyed bucky

Notes - I'm horrible at summaries, I know!! This happened to me a couple days ago, wishing I had a Bucky to take me on a date in Brooklyn right about now! Not proofread so lmk if there are any mistakes! Thank you for reading loves!!

WC - 1,750

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"Whatcha gettin' ready for, doll?" Bucky leaned on your bedroom doorframe, watching you straighten your hair in the mirror on top of your dresser.

"I have a date." You smiled, not noticing the slight drop in Bucky's smile.

"Oh, with anyone I know?"

You shook your head. "His name's Nash. Someone Sam set me up with," You explained. "He's supposed to pick me up in twenty minutes."

Bucky internally rolled his eyes. The guys Sam hung around with were nice, yes. However, he never got the guts to take you out on the date you deserved. A date with him.

"Are you sure you want him picking you up?" Bucky asked, making you look back in confusion. "I mean you don't know him that well... You could meet him there or uh, I'll drop you off." You let out a small laugh, "Yeah Buck, I'll just have my male roommate drop me off at a date, that'll go over well."

Bucky shrugged. He walked away from your bedroom to grab a beer from the fridge before sitting on the couch. He turned on whatever channel didn't require him to use the remote too much before slouching into the cushions.

Twenty minutes passed by when you slipped out of your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

"Wow, doll. You.." Bucky's eyes widened slightly, "You look great."

You grinned, looking down at your outfit. It was basic but it was the most comfortable yet fashionable outfit you had. Black flared leggings with a sage green sweater and some white sneakers. It was simple yet appropriate for a late-night-diner date.

And to top it all off your makeup had cooperated for once. Both eyebrows looked like twins and not sisters. Your highlight was perfect, shimmering, but not too much. And you had the perfect lipgloss that made your lips look sunkissed. Perfect.

"He should be here any minute!" You sprayed some perfume, your favorite vanilla scent, and went to sit in the armchair across from the couch.

Bucky hummed, keeping his eyes on the Tv, taking another sip of beer.

However, twenty more minutes went by and Nash hadn't texted you, hadn't called, and hadn't shown up. Bucky was starting to feel bad and you could tell by the pity looks he kept throwing your way.

"He uhm," Bucky cleared his throat, "Maybe he hit traffic. You know, with it being New York and everything." You nodded, trying to hold onto at least a small bit of hope. "Yeah, traffic." But then another forty minutes went by and he still hadn't even texted.

And then another hour.

And another hour.

By the time Bucky finally turned off the Tv it was three and a half hours since the time Nash was supposed to come pick you up.

You were still sitting in the armchair, having dozed off with a couple tears streaked down your face. Ruining your once-perfect makeup.

Bucky sighed, silently cursing Sam even though he knew it wasn't his fault.

"Alright, doll," Bucky whispered, placing his metal arm behind your back, and lifting your legs with his right. You groaned awake, holding your phone in your palm as you wiped your cheek. "What time is it?" Your eyes shoot open, "Did he show up?" Bucky placed you in your bed, handing you one of his t-shirts you had stolen a while ago. "No, doll. I'm sorry." You stripped your shirt off to change as Bucky went into your bathroom, grabbing a couple of makeup wipes.

"Here." He softly spoke, hating your distraught and disappointed expression.

You wiped your makeup off, shedding a couple more tears in the process. The tears dripped from your cheek to the grey henley Bucky had given you. "It's okay. Maybe he was just busy." Bucky wanted to roll his eyes. He wanted to tell you that any respectful man, any gentleman wouldn't have done what Nash did to you. But he kept his mouth shut, opting to hum in your favor, and threw the makeup wipes in the trash when your face was completely bare.

"Goodnight, Doll." He placed a kiss on the crown of your head as you hummed in response. "Goodnight, Buck."

---

A couple days later, you finally got a text back from Nash.

"Bucky I was right!!" You came sliding into the kitchen, your socks making it easy to ice-skate on the smooth wood floor.

Bucky chuckled at your ability to skid so gracefully without falling. He had tried it once but vowed to never do it again after he slid into the dining room table. You would never let him live it down.

"Right about what, doll?" Bucky flipped the pancake, adding some vanilla to the dough.

"About Nash! He actually was busy!" Bucky quirked an eyebrow. Wondering why he had waited this long to text you back. Six days to be exact. "Did he say with what?" Bucky turned back to making breakfast.

"He said he got busy with work, and that something at work pissed him off so he didn't wanna see me while he was upset." You explained what Nash had told you.

Bucky had never wanted to hit someone in the face so hard.

Well, actually that wasn't true. But he did want to sock Nash in the face for standing you up and giving you a half-ass excuse days later.

"I mean that explains things, yeah..." Your brows furrowed at Bucky's flat tone. "Do you not believe it?" Bucky sighed, pulling the milk and eggs from the fridge as you sat on the countertop. "It's not that I don't believe it, it's just that it kinda seems like he forgot and or didn't wanna see you so he made up an excuse a little less than a week later to not seem like a dick." You nodded, taking in the information. Bucky couldn't sense your reaction quite yet, seeing how you were just staring at the ground with your hands in your lap, swinging your legs in the air.

"I mean, I'm seeing him tonight. If everything goes well after then I'll know it really was true."

"You're seeing him again?" You nod, "But this time I'm meeting him at the fourth corner Bakery. And I'm meeting him earlier this time, around noon."

Bucky looked over at the clock, seeing it was already 10:45. "Well you better go get ready," He said almost reluctantly, "Breakfast will be done before you need to leave."

You smiled, hopping off the countertop as you gave Bucky a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Buck. You're the best!"

He smiled, but then remembered he's only making you breakfast before you go on a date with a guy who's already stood you up once. Rolling his eyes, he scrambled the eyes, listening to your music in the other room.

---

You had already left for your date three hours ago when Bucky decided to go over to see Sam. His excuse was wanting to discuss the next mission they were due to go on in a week. But he just didn't want to sit at home all day, thinking about how you were on a date with another guy.

However, before he could reach Sam's he had to pass by the bakery where you were meeting Nash.

Yet when he looked through the window, there you were, sitting all alone at a table for two, eating a piece of cheesecake. No Nash in sight.

An internal war started in Bucky's mind. Should he go in and see if you were okay? Or should he believe Nash was in the bathroom and you were just sitting by yourself for a minute or two?

But then he noticed the solemn look on your face. The way your fork poked at the half-eaten cake. And that was your favorite kind. Bucky mumbled a soft curse, opening the door to the bakery and making his way over to you.

Without words, he sat down, his gloved hand resting on the table in front of your plate. You kept your head down, not quite looking at Bucky but knowing he was there.

"He didn't show, again." You mumbled. If Bucky didn't have super soldier hearing he doubted he could've heard what you had said.

"I know, doll. I'm sorry." You finally looked up, tears in your eyes which made Bucky's heart clench. "Why me, Buck? Why am I the one who's alone?" Bucky stayed silent, knowing you needed to vent.

"Am I unlovable? Is that what it is? Why does every single one of my friends get to find the one? Get to fall in love, get married, and have kids and I'm the one without someone?!" Your outburst made some other customers look over in concern.

You groaned, resting your head on your hand and hiding your face from the rest of the bakery. "I- uh, I'm not sure, doll. But I know one thing.. you're not unlovable. You just haven't found the one who wants to take the effort to show you how effortless you are to love."

You looked up at Bucky, fresh tears gleaming in your eyes. You had never seen him look so vulnerable before. He usually grumped his way through emotions. But not with you, not anymore.

He gave you a sad smile, clearing his throat before he stood, "Y'know what, doll. Let's go." He held out his hand. You looked around, "Where are we going?" Bucky took your palm in his gloved hand, "It's a surprise." You laughed, before standing and throwing the rest of your soggy cheesecake away. "You know how I feel about surprises." "Okay, I'll give you a hint." Bucky opened the door for you, making sure to walk on the side of the road with the bustling cars and traffic. Bucky called a taxi, opening the door for you. "You're about to have the best date of your life." You stared at him in awe before laughing and climbing in the taxi. Bucky's knees barely fit as he scooted in next to you. The driver asked where to go as Bucky licked his lips, "Brooklyn, please." You smiled, "Brooklyn?"

Bucky nodded, throwing an arm around your shoulder. "I may be old but I still know some good spots to take my best girl on a date." A blush rose to your cheeks as you looked over to him. "Your best girl?" Bucky nodded, picking up your hand with his metal one before leaving a soft kiss on your knuckles. "Always and forever, doll."

---

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