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bean-bean2000 · 2 months

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The Maid - Part 1

Pairing: Loki x reader (on going series)

Warnings: Angst, abuse, mental health (depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts). Eventual loki x reader pairing.

Please read at your own risk. Your own media consumption is not my responsibility. Please read and review the warnings before proceeding.

Thank you and enjoy!

Part 2 Series masterlist Main Masterlist

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You stare up at the ceiling as you lay in bed next to the man who calls himself 'your saviour'. Every time he stirs in his sleep, you gasp and wince in fear of waking him. He is far better asleep than he will ever be awake.

Three years ago, you fell into the arms of a man you thought would help you. You were alone, homeless and desperate. Your parents had died in a house fire, which left you with nothing and no one. Naive, you trusted the first person that showed you an ounce of kindness. You had fallen intro a trap, one you thought was love, but was in fact a cage. Your parents had left you with a significant debt to repay to the crown. He forced you to work for him, do whatever he wants, in exchange for money to help pay off the debt. You have been stuck in this horrific home since, unable to do anything without consequence.

You haven't had a proper night's sleep in years. Your eyes are sunken with deep dark circles beneath. You hardly eat anymore.

You stopped feeling anything at all, years ago. All you feel is numb, like a zombie, a shell of your former self. A life that is so far away, the memories have long faded.

You're so lost in thought, gazing into nothingness when you're suddenly yanked out of the bed.

"Get up. You're leaving. I finally found a use for you." he spits at you.

You don't have enough energy to question him as you get up sluggishly and head to the bathroom to change.

As soon as you exit the bathroom, he is dragging you outside where a a dozen soldiers await; people are lined up in front of them.

"Here. Take her." he says to the guard as he shoves you towards him.

The soldier looks you up and down and nods. You're swept away by other men and hoisted onto the back of a carriage. Other men and women peer up at you in fear.

It doesn't take long for you to realize what has happened. You've been sold to the crown to be a worker. You stare at the floor and zone out, wondering if you will forever be forced to be at the mercy of others that are powerful and wealthy. As the carriage takes off, you feel nothing, you hear nothing, all you see is your so-called 'home' slowly fade behind the trees.

The others have fallen asleep as you stare out the carriage. You have no idea how long it has been but the sun has long set and it is deep into the evening when you arrive at the castle. The guards shuffle you out, line you up and assign you your duties.

"You." The woman points at you. "She will do." she says as she hands you a pile of clothes. You stare up at her as she clarifies your new job: maid.

The guards lead each group of workers to their designated quarters.

"You are maids. You will follow the schedule, with no excuses. You have been sold to serve for the crown. You will receive no pay. Your pay is the right to live in the castle. You will be provided food and shelter. Any act of disobedience will be punishable by any means appropriate that is decided upon the guards or anyone of higher status. You are to speak to no one. Do your job and stay quiet." The guard finishes explaining your new life then turns around and shuts the doors closed behind him with a loud bang.

The silence is deafening. Everyone too scared to say a word. They all choose a makeshift bed on the floor and prepare to get some sleep before the new day.

You sit in your cot and stare at the floor. You don't realize how much time had passed until the sun shining on your face and the guards are yelling at you all to wake up and start the day.

Will I ever know freedom? Will I ever find happiness? Or am I forced to succumb to this measely life until I die?

The first two weeks seem to pass without problems, until the guards decide to take it upon themselves to 'discipline' as they deem fit.

Most guards resort to name-calling, degradation or sometimes physical punishment. Nothing, nobody was as terrible as one who we called "Snake". He would slither his way into the chambers and choose his prey for the week, sometimes longer. He did as he pleased, if met with opposition, he would often beat them into submission.

You managed to avoid him as long as possible until one night, his large finger points towards you.

You stare at him, expressionless. You refuse to give him the pleasure of seeing your pain, your fear or your desperation. His eyes turn cloudy with anger as he watches you approach him, emotionless.

The others look at you with fear and pity as he drags you out of the maid's quarters towards his room.

He throws you on the floor and closes the door behind him.

"You think I don't know your little game, you harlot?" he sneers at you as he picks you up and slaps you so hard you fall to the floor, your cheek pulsating in pain.

He grabs your cheeks tightly with one hand and squeezes "You will fear me. You will obey me." he threatens you.

Once again, you stare at him blankly. You feel nothing, you haven't for a long time now.

He growls in frustration and punches you again, searching for any reaction; tears, a grunt, a whimper, anything, and yet you show nothing.

"You witch. Impossible. Everybody fears me." he yells at you as he strikes you again. You lay on the floor motionless, your nose and mouth bleeding.

"You will answer me when I speak to you!" he growls in anger as he strikes you again.

You stare up at him and remain silent.

"Are you deaf? mute? Useless! Maybe, you will be useful for other things instead...." he sneers at you as he smirks disgustingly with a knowing look.

Again, you stare at him blankly again. As he begins unbuckling his belt he says "Submit to me. You will do as I say, maid."

You start laughing which makes him look up at you in rage.

"You dare laugh at me?! You filthy servant!" he grabs you by the neck and holds you down tightly, slightly cutting off your airways but enough for you to remain awake.

"Submit to me!" he yells at you.

"Never." you croak.

He screams in a fit of rage and strikes you again. You continue to laugh.

"Witchcraft! You're a disgusting witch! Submit to me or I will have you burned at the stake!" he spits at you.

"I promise you, I will bite your dick off if it comes near me. The human jaw can be so powerful, sometimes a crowbar isn't strong enough to pry it open and I promise you I will not let go until my jaw is pried open." you threaten him as you begin laughing hysterically.

He stares at you in confusion, disgust and fear.

"I knew it! You're a witch!" He screams.

"Are you sure you want to test that theory?" you laugh at him.

He yells in frustration as he strikes you again "I said submit to me!"

You stare him directly in the eyes "No matter how loud the wind howls, the mountain will not bow down to it."

His eyes turn red with rage, he picks you up and throws you across the room. He kicks you on your side.

He continues hitting you as he demands you submit to him. You repeat the same word, almost as a prayer "Never".

You didn't care if you died or how, but you promised yourself that no matter how desperate you would become, you would never submit yourself to another man again, no matter the cost.

Once he is finally done he spits on you, drags you back to the maid's chambers and throws on you the floor as he slams the door behind him.

A few women crowd you and help you to your cot. You're bleeding from your nose and mouth. Your eye is black and swollen shut, your lip is split, your ribs hurt when you breathe.

Even after all that, you realize you still feel nothing. You stare up at the ceiling as the other women surround you to help clean your wounds.

From that moment on, you have been the subject to the Snake's abuse. You have spoken no words, except for "Never" every time the Snake commands you to submit to him. You would rather take on every physical punishment, than let him touch an inch of you.

A few weeks pass with the same abuse, except now other guards have partaken in it as well. You are now referred to as "witch" by the guards. They sneer at you when you walk past them. You keep your head held high and walk straight forward, without giving them a glance.

I am my own person. I have my own thoughts. I am not a puppet.

You repeat these phrases everyday in your head, like a chant to keep you grounded. You've taught yourself to recite small facts about your life to yourself in your head, such as your birthday, your favourite colour, your favourite author and book. It reminds you of who you are, of who they can never take away from you.

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As the months go by, the abuse never ceases. It periodically skips you, allowing your body time to heal before being targeted again.

You have managed to be friendly with the other maids, but still keep to yourself and limit your words. You rarely speak and only do so when absolutely necessary. You decided it was safest for you this way.

You have been generally assigned menial maid tasks, such as cleaning the chambers of the guards or other members of higher status than you, until today. You’re assigned to clean King Loki's quarters. He owns an entire wing to himself, therefore you are to do it alone as he is very particular about his items. It was decided upon the head maid that you were the least likely to steal and most likely to complete the job to Loki's very high standards.

Without much of a choice, you accept the new assignment and make your way to his wing. As grateful as you are for this opportunity, to work alone and use the specialized cleaning supplies for the king, you were also in so much pain. The previous night was the harshest in a long time. The guards told you the king wanted to send you a personal message. By the end of it, you could hardly move and had to be dragged to your cot. Laying in bed, you wondered why the king would choose you for this punishment. You had done nothing wrong, what made you deserving of such poor treatment?

As you're walking to the kings wing, every step you take is followed by a limp and a wince. Nevertheless, the work had to be completed. The consequences were too severe if the work were not to be completed to his prestigious standards. If the king was willing to send you such a message the previous night as a warning for what was to come, the current pain was worth suffering through. From what you've heard the kings punishments never ended well. Nobody ever returned.

With that in mind, you headed to his wing with a slight limp and a wince under your breathe with every step.

Two week pass by and you've been permanently assigned to clean the kings wing, as per his request. You hope it is because he is satisfied with your work, rather than this be some cruel plan.

Once the guards heard of your new permanent position as the kings personal maid, their visits became daily. You were now the only maid being succumbed to their harsh treatment. You knew they were trying to sabotage you so the king would be displeased with your work and be rid of you.

Even so, everyday you wake up and perform your duties. You persevered and refused to let them think they won, no matter how painful, you always kept your head held high.

You're walking to the kings wing, products and cleaning items in hand when a guard approaches and swings his arm at you. You fall to the floor, Cleaning products go flying across the hall, splattering on the floor, against the wall and all over you.

"Tsk tsk tsk... what a shame... you better pray the king doesn't see this mess you caused...." he laughs as he walks over you.

You say nothing as you try getting up but slip on the soapy wet floor. You curse at the mess.

He can't see this. I have to clean this up. I can't be delayed, the king accepts no excuses for punctuality. He will kick me out on the streets... or worse... have me killed.

You get up shakily, holding on the wall for as much support as possible. Your body aches as you start mopping up the mess with speed that can only be explained by pure fear.

Once it's decently done you run to the next room and start cleaning as fast as possible. The pain from the abuse inflicted upon you daily is taking its toll. You decide you have to suck it up until you're done.

You're doing your final task: The king's bedroom. With one wrist against your chest, you clean the bedroom. You're trying to make the bed but can't do it with one hand. Shakily, you move your other wrist and try grabbing the sheets. You hiss in pain and pull back. You're slowing down, taking longer to do simple tasks. Your wrist is swollen wrist and throbbing in pain from the fall earlier. You can hardly move it.

You manage to finish making the bed and is finishing off by dusting the room, keeping your wrist to your chest to stabilize it as much as possible. As you were working through your pain, you didn't notice the time until you hear somebody clear their throat behind you.

You gasp in surprise and spin around.

"King Loki... your highness... I apologize for my tardiness... I-" you start rambling, your head looking down and your legs in a curtsy.

"The hall is a mess. You're late. Your work is very subpar today. I'm disappointed." he tells you coldly while staring you down.

You say nothing as to avoid accidentally insulting him or frustrating him further.

"Consider this your first and last warning. If this happens again, you will heed the consequences." He says to you, chin up, staring at you while you keep your eyes on your shoes.

You mumble another apology when he dismisses you.

You quickly run out of his bedroom. Your heart is racing, you're shaking.

You run to the maid's quarters and go to your cot, avoiding the others. You're staring up at the ceiling, wondering how you possibly escaped his wrath. Replaying the scene in your head, you realize you never looked at him. You've never seen the king in person, only in pictures.

Luckily, tomorrow is the weekend the guards go out to the neighbouring city as a security check-up. You stare at your wrist, which is now purple, blue and swollen. You go to the bathroom and lock the door so you're alone. You remove your clothes as take in a sharp breath as pain courses through your body. You use two wooden sticks you found outside earlier, to stabilize your wrist, hoping it will speed the healing process. When you look up at your reflection you notice the deep colouring littering your body. Purple, blue, yellow, green.... bruises in various levels of healing spread across your body.

You come to the conclusion that you need help... medical help. You slip on a night gown and make your way to the clinic where Dr. Banner resides. He is the only doctor the workers of lower status trust, as he is kind, caring and genuine.

He welcomes you in his room and questions why you came to him so late at night.

You say nothing. You lift your night gown and watch as his eyes widen in understanding. He turns around and files through his medical cabinet.

"Here. Take one pill a day for 3 days. It will completely numb your pain and significantly increase the healing process. Put this healing balm over your bruises and on your wrist, every night for a week." he says to you as he hands you the medicine.

You open your mouth to thank him when he lifts his hand up "No need... please stay safe... if ever you need anything, you know where to find me." his eyes filled with pain and compassion.

You nod and turn around to walk back to your cot.

You immediately spread the balm over your body once your in the bathroom and wrap what you can in bandages to keep it from absorbing into the clothes rather than your skin.

Laying down in bed, the adrenaline from the day wears off and fatigue takes over until you fall into a deep sleep.

Part 2

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I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Feedback is always welcome. Feel free to send me suggestions for scenes/drabbles that I could add into the stroy :)

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

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giorno-plays-piano · 1 year

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Adore Adore

Part I

Pairing: king!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: yandere-ish Steve, obsession, noncon, threats, mentions of murder and misogyny, magic.

Words: 1.3k

Summary: The King looked just as you remembered him the last time you were summoned to the court along with your father to the coronation: he seemed to emit light anywhere he went, bold and overpowering and radiant, with his perfectly golden hair and white teeth and unearthly blue eyes, and people were drawn to him like moths to the flame.

P.S. There is no description of reader's appearance, but there's a mention she has short hair.

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"Our fair King is looking for a bride," your father said one evening at the dining table, dropping the words carelessly as if to delude you, reducing their importance.

The King was looking for a bride. It meant that your days - just like the days of many noble unmarried daughters in the kingdom - were now all about fitting of new dresses, honing your skills of seduction, and refining your already impeccable manners while waiting to be invited to the court. As much as you despised being paraded around like an exotic animal with your father spreading false rumors about your amazing beauty and incredible charisma, it would be more tolerable if you knew you were to be wed to a promising young man of the same social standing, with soft eyes and kind hands. But the King...

The King was young and handsome and clever and cruel. His affection was alike to Damocles' Sword hanging over your head.

But, perhaps, you didn't need to worry too much. Despite your father claiming you were the most beautiful young lady in the whole province, upon seeing you anybody could tell you were not handsome in the conventional sense. The court had far more impressive - and far more eager - ladies who would be a better match for the King. You were just a count's daughter, and although you were promised a king's random for your dowry, it wasn't colossal enough for the King.

But the invitation had been delivered to your doorstep anyway, and soon you begrudgingly left your home for the capital with your father hoping you would catch attention of some lesser noble, at least. You were of age to get married, he reminded you as he looked at your sour expression.

The King's riches hadn't impress you even when you stepped in the grandest ballroom of the royal castle where walls seemed to be made out of gold and green tourmaline. You were itching to escape the moment the King had arrived, surrounded by his royal entourage, all of them dressed too extravagantly to your taste, like a flock of peacocks. The King looked just as you remembered him the last time you were summoned to the court along with your father to the coronation: he seemed to emit light anywhere he went, bold and overpowering and radiant, with his perfectly golden hair and white teeth and unearthly blue eyes, and people were drawn to him like moths to the flame.

Underneath all this shine was nothing but a cold, cold man with a heart like a burning iron fresh from fire. They said he got it from his mother, a mere maid who bewitched the last King with her deadly charms.

But you were plain in the eyes of nobles of the court, and you wore no gold, only silver, and your hair were cut short when other daughters wore them long, in the most elaborate hair arrangements in accordance with the latest fashions. The King merely spared you a glance and moved on, surrounded by women so beautiful each of them could be a fairy queen. All of them were eager to please him for a chance to wear a golden crown, and you were not.

You were safe with your plain-looking face and the stupified expression you wore as if you were nothing but a country bumpkin. Soon you left the ballroom behind and descended down the stares into the royal gardens for a breath of fresh air - luckily, an acceptable excuse for a young lady - to get as far from the King as you could. No one would look for you since your father got carried away by the endless talk of politics and rumors circulating in the capital he would never get a hand of back in the countryside, and all the ladies you were acquainted with were busy trying to win King's affection.

Finally, you let yourself breathe, exhaling too loudly for a young lady of your standing as you stared somewhere up, at the silver stars shining high up in the midnight sky. Soon you'd be home again, in the safety of your mansion where the King would never come because he showed disdain for houses like yours, plain just like you and your face and your dress, blind to its warm, welcoming charm. What did a man like him know of true beauty?

Letting the long silver gloves slide off your hands, you took a breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a mere moment, listening to the joyful sounds coming from some other ladies who descended the stairs. Perhaps it was wise to wander further into the gardens to escape their attention.

"What do we have here?" The King's voice cut through the silence, and you felt like a wave of heat flushed through your body, the tips of your fingers burning as if you put them on the red-hot surface of the furnace. "It is a shame a beauty like you hides herself in my gardens."

Carefully, you turned around to face him, remind him of your plain looks and be free again, and you nearly succeed: the King frowned a bit at your face, his silent dissatisfaction with your appearance stinging a little.

"I wouldn't call myself a beauty with so many ladies much more refined than me present, Your Majesty", you bowed your head in respect and curtsied, hoping he would leave you alone at once.

He spoke softly, "My, that is true. But why wouldn't you compete with them in matters other than beauty? I am sure you have something else to offer."

His quiet words and suddenly gentle tone surprised you as you blinked at him, unsure, but the heat he seemed to radiate was suffocating, and you nearly choked out, "I am afraid I do not have much to offer comparing to the esteemed noble daughters of the capital, Your Majesty."

Which was particularly true to those of high standing who had no need in a wealthy wife. If the King knew your name - you very much hoped he didn't - he knew as much.

"It almost seems you do not want to compete with others at all," he mused, surprised with your honesty, and took a step closer to have a better look at your face. You despised the way he loomed over you like a tower, tall and proud. "Do you not want to become a queen? Wear a jeweled crown with great pride and sit on the golden throne on the right side of the King?"

The heat coming from him was nearly making the flush melt off your face, but your blood boiled not because of it. Anger tore through your chest like a knife, and for a second you forgot that he was the King, and you were but someone's daughter, and you said to him, keeping your eyes on his face, "No."

It took him aback, your honesty, your anger, the intensity of your voice, and then it took you aback when you remembered he was the King, and he could take offense and call you undignified and unworthy of marriage. But all for the better, you thought. As long as he didn't marry you, you could come to terms with anything even if you would have to grow old alone in your father's house, unwed and with no one to leave your wealth to.

But he didn't look at you with disdain. He didn't call you unseemly. Instead of displeasure there was something strange in King's expression, something dark and cruel and eager when he watched you with a sharp glint in his eyes as if he could bore a hole in you just by looking. And then all of a sudden his handsome face flushed and his eyes grew eager as he took your ungloved hand firmly, and the young King said, "But you will make a fine Queen, I think."

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#steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers #yandere #captain america

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anika-ann · 2 years

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In the Name of the King (S.R.)

Type: medieval/fantasy AU

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 13,000 *

Summary: Sir Steven Rogers, having risen from common people, now one of the most trusted knights to prince Anthony. You, nothing but a servant, albeit to Princess Maria herself.

Love blooms in any place and it cares little for the rules of the court – much like your Steven. Then again, war cares just as little for any feelings you and your knight might harbour for each other...

Warnings: 18+ for NSFW thoughts, talk and sexy times in making, inexperienced and rather reader, probably desperately era-inaccurate, blood and mention of violence, death, religious ambiguity, tooth-rotting fluff, angst, language, (reader has hair long enough to be braided)

A/N: This is sort-of a song fic for it is based on a Czech song. You can find it here. I took the liberty to loosely translate the lyrics for you throughout the fic.

* A/N: If you prefer reading it in two parts, the best part for a split is after 5,5k words – you will find a gif there. Divider’s mine, btw. Enjoy 🥰

Another bolt of lightning illuminated the room. You rolled around in your small bed, squinting against the violent light leaving you blind when the darkness of the night took over again. Your heart, already racing for it was filled with worry, jumped at the clap of thunder – as did you.

A bad sign.

A warning from the Gods.

They should not be out there, settled in a camp and preparing for battle. Storms like these were meant to make mankind bow in front of higher power and yet the cavalry had left in the morning, several troops heading to the West to protect the borders of the kingdom against Hydra, against the self-proclaimed king Pierce.

Gods, how you wished he would get struck by lightning for all the misery he caused to so many people, his own and others alike.

As if the Gods heard your thought, another clap of thunder seemed to shake the castle walls – a scolding for your blasphemy. You should not wish harm to another human being.

Then again, you should not pray to the old gods in the first place, but to the Lord, who shall save your soul from eternal flames of hell. Such were the ways of new religion; yet, it was impossible to let go of the ties to the dogmata you had been raised in.

And so you prayed to both. As fresh light exploded behind your closed eyelids, you prayed not for another man’s harm, but for one’s safety.

You shuffled on your bed, kneeling up, clasping your hands together, whispering under your breath as not to wake the two women sleeping beside you.

Please, bring him home. Protect him. Please, please, please. Should any harm come to him, the world would cease to make sense. Keep Steven safe.

Your Steven.

Your knight.

Your sun, your moon, your stars; with his smile shining as bright as all these combined, surrounding you with gentle warmth from the very first moment he had set his cerulean eyes on you and kneeled by your side to help you collect what your clumsy hands had spilled.

It was early morning, the sun barely peeking out from behind the horizon, colouring the East walls of the castle in orange and pink, the warm sunrays pleasant on your skin as you carried Princess Maria’s breakfast tray. You could not but smile at the gorgeous play of colours; and yet, your gaze wandered as you heard the grunts of effort mingling with light-hearted laughter from the grassy training areas.

A maid could never think herself anywhere near equal with the knights, therefore it was considered unthinkable to harbour feelings for any of them – the laws of the court would frown upon such union. And yet, you were only human of flesh and blood and the warm liquid rushing in your veins always felt hotter whenever you set your gaze on the well-built men.

Their physique easily made for a woman’s heart to race, the heroic tales of their bravery only strengthening the sentiment, as did the tales of their gentlemanly ways. You had witnessed differently, many of them acting overgrown children, but it would be foolish to deny that they were a sight to behold, every single one of them.

One in particular, however, stood out; for he was not only a handsome man, but an extraordinary one. The story of his heroics was spoken of long after it took place, long after his ascension to knighthood.

Of common origin, Steven was the only son of the town’s most valued blacksmith; Steven himself was adept at forging a sword, armour or a shield of the highest quality, but apparently also at wielding it – alert and bright.

Attentive to his surroundings, he had been fast and strong enough to prevent fatal consequences of the attack on Prince Anthony during his visit of the town where he was ambushed by two slayers of the Hydra kingdom. He stopped a deadly strike when dashing between a slayer and the prince, strong arm wielding the shield he had finished earlier that day.

Of all knights, Steven was most loved by the common people for while the rules for knighthood had not changed with his actions and he remained the only one graced with the honour to date, he had proven that a man, no matter of how humble origin, was capable of great things.

A knight from the people. A humble hero.

His features were sharp, but his eyes spoke of softness; he did not seem to lack determination, on contrary, his lineage forged his desire to fight for a better world. Of tall build, he held his head high – an aristocratic face lined with sandy chin-length hair – but for he never forgot where he had come from, he did not look down at people.

You had never spoken to him, but you had heard his voice before; deep, pleasant, respectful. Falling for him despite the distance between you had been as easy as dangerous for your heart. You were but a maid; had you been in love before he was knighted, then perhaps the circumstance would be different, but you had not met him before then. And so you were destined to long him in silence, busying yourself with serving to Her Grace Princess Maria.

Such was your goal at the moment; you were carrying breakfast, you reminded yourself, vainly, of course. The sight offered to you was too distracting to ignore.

As your gaze lingered on the expanse of Steve’s arm swaying the unsharpened training sword with ease, you lost your step – and sent the tray and its content flying, the metal clinking loudly as it hit the stony path.

All the knights’ heads snapped to you in an instant, alert, causing your face to be set aflame under their scrutiny; and as you swiftly kneeled to gather the utensils and food with a silent curse and prayer that most of it was salvageable with another wash, booming laughter hit your ears, causing your cheeks to burn in shame.

“Well done, my friends, our training must truly be aesthetically pleasing!” Prince Anthony’s voice called out, followed by another roar of laughter that chased tears of humiliation into your eyes you barely kept at bay.

Your shaky hands frantically started gathering the fruit – grapes, apple, pear, hopefully not too bruised – as you made to ignore the quickly approaching footsteps. You refused to look up, shame settled deep in your stomach as you assessed the damage, the smallest relief when you found the slices of bread still wrapped in cloth, albeit considerably less white now.

You felt the large man kneel by your side before you registered the hand, clad in fingerless leather glove, appearing in your field of vision. Only when the man begun to gather the scattered grape berries, you dared to look up; and the time must have stopped.

Your heart certainly did as your gaze was met with a pair of the most beautiful kind eyes without a trace of laughter. You lost the reigns of your body – it froze, your mind occupied fully by seeing such grace from such short distance. You had never noticed how plush and alluring his lips were, framed by a short beard; how handsome his face was when one corner of his lips curled up almost uncertainly.

It was the unusual emotion in his smile which pulled you back from your reverie. A knight was kneeling by you, the kingdom’s hero, helping you clean up the outcome of your clumsiness.

How kind of him – how below him

“Oh, Sir Rogers, you must not bother-“

“But I must,” he opposed before you could even finish your sentence, sincerity lacing his voice and by gods, his voice was like velvet lined with silk. His gaze flickered back to the group of knights whose eyes you could feel at you still, intent. “Do not mind the blockheads that are laughing instead of helping a lady.”

A giggle of surprise escaped you, your hand quickly covering your mouth so no one could see; but Sir Rogers could and a smile broke out on his face, a boyish grin sprinkling his eyes with laughter and pride, warm and inviting.

By Lord, he must have been the most handsome man to ever walk the world, more so when he smiled like this. And he called you a lady – you, but a maid.

“I am hardly a lady, Sir Rogers,” you whispered bashfully, your lacking status bringing you grief like you had never experienced – a reminder.

But a mere smile from the man, and you lost the ground under your feet, your heart on your sleeve for him to take, no matter how unthinkable your romance would be.

His fingers took a gentle hold of your wrist, eliciting a gasp from your lips at the tender touch; he spilled several berries into your hand, thumb brushing your sensitive skin, sending the sweetest tingle up your arm.

A blissful smile fought its way to your face despite all reason.

“Well. Your beauty rivals one of a lady. … especially when you bless the castle with a smile like that.”

Oh, your heart fluttered like butterfly wings, your gaze instinctively searching his for the faintest trace of a jest; yet, you found nothing but sincerity.

“S-sir Rogers…”

He released your wrist, already having you mourn the loss; instead, his nimble fingers found one of the loose cornflower blossoms which had broken away from the small bouquet you had gathered to bring with the breakfast. He twirled it in his fingers for a moment, almost absent-mindedly, before his smile softened.

“This one might be broken, but perhaps it could serve its purpose in your hair at least?” he suggested, beckoning lightly to your braid.

Before you could as much as realize he meant it, he reached out, careful fingers – surprisingly so, for such a strong man – stuck the stem to the base of the braid behind you ear, sending your heart into frenzy when the pads of his fingers accidentally brushed your cheekbone.

“Lovely.”

A thank you never spilled from your lips for another voice rudely interrupted your intimate conversation.

“Steven! We fighting or picking flowers? Get your pert arse in here!” Sir Clinton howled, causing you to wince – and the dream world Steven had created for you, one where he could harbour affections for you, started to disperse like a morning fog.

“He’s charming a girl for once in his life, give him a moment!” Sir Barnes, prince’s most entrusted Knight, cried out.

His exclaim was followed by a wave of suggestive boo noise at which Sir Rogers finally tore his gaze from yours, staring at his friends.

“Well if you acted more like knights and less like barbarians, making fun of a lady like that, perhaps I would have taken more haste to come back to you!”

All he earned by his chivalrous defence of your long-lost honour was a chorus of “oooooh” and perhaps later, he would be laughed at just as much as you had been when you had tripped. Yet, he seemed to be bothered little by that fact.

He shook his head, expression speaking of an apology not needed.

“I’m afraid I have been summoned, as rudely as it was.”

You gathered the last items, carefully laying them on the tray, a sad reflexion of how it had looked before you lost your balance and practically fell to Sir Rogers’s feet. As if it was not too late for that.

“Thank you for your assistance, Sir Rogers,” you thanked him sincerely, astonished to find him swiftly rising to his feet – and offering a helping hand you could not dare to refuse even if you wished. His strength made itself known as he pulled you to your feet with little effort on your part, causing your head to spin, the brief curtsy you gifted him at last feeling like a daydream. “You- you are most kind.”

The breath-taking smile shone the force of thousand suns, yet caressed you as gently as a summer breeze. “It was an honour, my lady.”

“I am not a-“

“I hope to see you again soon,” he spoke before you could protest fully, laying his arm over his middle, gracing you with the tinniest of bows you were not worthy of, “smiling just as beautifully.”

With those words, he turned back to the prince and his knights, leisurely running back to the group.

As you walked away, you could not but waver at the corner, casting a last glance at the man; Sir Barnes mimicked a curtsy and proceeded to punch Sir Rogers in his shoulder with laughter. Sir Rogers pushed him away with a playful scowl, gaze wandering you to.

You rushed away, smiling to yourself for the rest of the day, embarrassment long forgotten.

Smiling you were not tonight; fear had seized your heart, consuming you by every moment as you silently stepped out of the princess’ maids’ room, leaving Wanda and Carol sleeping peacefully despite the rumble outside – and in your heavy heart.

You missed your Steven greatly whenever he went, but you understood his duty. Tonight, however, something hovered in the air, an aura of something ominous which had you losing sleep. With a candleholder burning in your hand, you wandered the corridors, nodding to the guards on patrol.

“The seamstress is awake,” Pietro, Wanda’s brother, uttered knowingly, beckoning the direction of Natasha’s chambers.

Perhaps it should have not surprised you that Sir Barnes’ beloved, too, could not find peace on this trying night; and as much joy as it brought you to find yourself not alone, a suffocating feeling squeezed your chest tightly for it meant she might sense the same unease surrounding tomorrow’s battle.

Yet, you headed for her chambers, nodding at Pietro in thank you.

That night, we were all losing sleep it was as if God sent the storm to warn us; oh foolish men, there is no peace in a war I, too, laid down my life in the name of the king.

The warm light of the candle was casting long shadows as you walked, reminding you of how the light and darkness played on Steven’s handsome face last night. The princess had been laid to sleep, providing you with a few moments to spent in your beloved’s presence before he would leave to fight for his country, yet again, and you were not one to waste the chance.

Goodbyes were never easy. Whether it had been just a chance meeting after the fateful breakfast incident, meetings when Steven would insist you called him his name, offered you a flower of a compliment in exchange for your smile or whether your encounter had been planned when he revealed his intention to court you, rules of society damned. Whether you were to tell him goodbye for several days due to an upcoming quest or just for the night. Whether the goodbye consisted of words, a touch, a kiss on a cheek or lips… never easy.

Yet his absence left larger ache in your heart the deeper you were falling in love. Every goodbye seemed harder than the previous one; last night parting made for no exception.

“I will think of you every moment I am away,” he promised sweetly as he sneaked his arm around your waist, sitting on the bench by the dying fire in the kitchens, long abandoned by the cooks.

Your body, pliant to his touch, melted into his strong form, arm laying over his torso, temple resting against his chest as you sighed, feeling your worry heavy in your stomach.

“As much I appreciate the sentiment, please do not, Steven.”

You could almost hear his frown as he nuzzled your hair, his lips brushing your forehead lovingly.

“Why not, my sweet? Will you not think of me as well?” he questioned, voice wavering despite his teasing tone.

You swatted his hip gently, soothing the attack with a caress then.

“You must know that is not true. I—you must focus. Be careful. So you can come back to me,” you whispered, doing your best not to let the depth of your anxiety show.

Steven carried enough burdens for the time being, he needed not your fears to add to them.

“Oh my sweet…”

His fingers slipped under your chin, leading you to meet his gaze, a smile playing in the corners of his lips; not even his beard could hide his amusement. You pursed your lips in slight offence – his safety was no laughing matter.

“Please, Steven. I could not bear any harm coming to you. Be careful.”

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, his smile only growing, wandering gaze warmer than the remnants of fire.

“You know I will, my sweet. I have a duty to my king and I have a duty here, to you,” he muttered, gaze flickering to your lips, following the motions of his thumb as he felt the softness of your flesh.

You had not enough time to process the words before he leaned closer, capturing your lips with his in a kiss, hand moving to cradle the back of your head, parting your lips to engage in a dance of love which could have consumed all your thoughts, all your worry – and yet, the anxious feeling only dug its claws deeper, chasing tears into your eyes.

Steven released you to breathe the moment he felt the salt of your tears, sighing as he tucked a lose strand of hair behind your ear. Still, a smile adorned his now kiss-swollen lips, condescending and kind at once.

“Promise me?” you demanded, the prickle of his beard leaving your skin tingling, your heart racing.

“I promise, then. Do not cry, my lady…”

Oh, the traitor… the corners of your mouth twitched, the difference in your status having turned more of a teasing matter than anything else.

“Steven, you must stop this. I am not a lady.”

“Oh, but you are?” he opposed with a twinkle in his eyes before his lips went to catch the tears from your cheeks, drinking them as if they were nothing less than ambrosia gifted by the gods.

The warmth of his lips and the burn of his beard combined with his jesting drew a giggle from your lips, turning into a breathless moan when his strong arms winded around your waist, pulling you into his lap just like several nights ago.

Dirty, dirty cheater.

His lips found yours again, playful nips causing more giggles spill right into his mouth.

“Am I, truly?” you asked doubtfully. “What are my possessions? What lands do I own and command, Sir Rogers?”

“My heart.”

The jesting and games left as swiftly as they arrived, silence filling the room, your heart stumbling in your chest as you felt your expression morph into something much softer.

How had you ever stood a chance of not falling for this man? For his strength, for his beautiful brave spirit and his gentle, gentle heart? A heart he claimed was yours to own and command?

You let your fingers map out his handsome features, running tenderly over his forehead, brows, the nose of a true aristocrat, his pushy lips; a careful touch which had him flutter his eyes shut, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, the fire as if accenting his beauty, revealing his soul to entice yours to entangle with it forever.

“It shall be my most prized possession, then,” you whispered, barely audible, his hand blindly reaching for yours to kiss your fingertips, one by one, the tender gesture tugging at your heartstrings.

He looked at you then, with overwhelming affection that would choke you once he left in the morning – but you could not think of such things now. He was here still. And he was yours, as you were his.

“Good,” he hummed. “Should you trust me with yours-“

“I do-“

“I shall ask for it in front of the Lord and the gods themselves.”

Your lips parted in surprise, your heart suddenly so loud you could almost hear it, breath catching in your throat. Surely, he did not mean-

“Once I return, I shall ask for your hand, should you agree, my sweetness,” he promised, eyes wide and sincere, stunning you into silence lasting long enough to have him hesitate. “Do you not-“

Oh, how could he even question your wish to marry him!

“I do! I--- but Steven, you are a knight. I would spend thousand lifetimes with you if I could, surely you must know-“ you babbled, his index finger covering your mouth before you could explain.

You would love him always, day and night, from summer solstice to winter and back, and you cherished every moment--- yet the void between you was immense.

“I will settle for one lifetime. You know Anthony cares little for rules and I am but of a common origin myself. What kind of a monster would stand in the way of our love?”

It was not until morning when you realized the answer to his question; when you watched him from above as he stood in the courtyard by his horse, fastening the scabbard to the saddle and tugging at the leather, checking it would hold as they would ride.

You hated seeing him leave more than ever – you dreaded the moments his horse would canter out of the castle’s gates, rushing so willingly to face dangers the other kingdoms posed; to serve his king, your king, to protect what he held dear.

His gaze travelled up the castle’s walls, lingering at the windows of the princess’ chambers – the very windows you were watching him from, stealing last glances as your heart wept and trembled in fear for his life, longing for him to keep the promises he had given you last night.

With the prince’s command, the knights and soldiers left but ache and dust behind, along with an answer.

War.

The biggest and only true monster standing in the way of love was war.

The word resonated with you, leaving you weary and in frenzy at once, as you reached Natasha’s chamber, not needing to knock for her door was ajar – as if she knew you would be coming; as if she did not want to be alone either.

You slipped into her chamber, welcomed by a humourless but gentle smile.

“A pleasant night, is it not?” she hummed noncommittally, “leave the door open, please. Just in case…”

Just in case there would be any commotion in the castle. Perhaps the knights and soldiers would come back, accepting the warning from the Gods. Perhaps, perhaps…

Natasha’s room was relatively spacious for it equalled her craft-space. Besides a small bed with a solid wooden frame, several tables stood covered in pieces of fabric from simplest to the rarest ones, embroideries, bobbin lace, silk. Dresses in various state of completion laid over them or hung on improvised metal frames imitating princess’ lean figure. Silver and golden threads shone in the warm lights provided by a few candles by the stony walls, flickering to life as another lightning erupted behind the window, followed by a distant clap of thunder.

The storm was leaving. Could that be because the danger was not as great or that the gods had given up on the king’s army since they were not heard out?

“Personally, I would say a long night. An ominous one,” you whispered, earning a sigh.

Natasha ceased her work on a lovely silvery embroidery, laying the tambour frame on the nearest flat surface and rose to her feet, a silent offer you accepted with gratitude for the arms you longed to find yourself in were miles away.

She reciprocated the embrace firmly and you felt an ounce of your fear fall from your shoulders for now you shared the weight of it – yours and hers alike. Her goosebumps matched yours as she slipped hr arms under the flimsy shawl you had taken to cover yourself form gazes of the guards. Both of you wore but in simple nightgowns besides it, yet you sensed cold was not to blame for the prickle of her skin either.

Losing sleep with anxiety and intrusive thoughts were at work instead.

“The weight of fears is lessened when one’s hands are occupied,” she informed you as she let go, brows furrowed with worry still, sighing. “But what of mind…”

Oh, you wished…

“I must try to busy my hands too then, at least.”

At your words, Natasha’s lips curled up in a smile yet again as she handed you your very own tambour frame which you kept in her chambers for such occasion, for sleepless or nightmare-filled nights such as this one.

You found your seat by hers, not fully across, not fully by her side, assessing the floral pattern you had started almost a month ago.

Natasha had been kind enough to sneak some of the royal threads for your work, expensive ones; threads no one would miss nevertheless for Nat was likely the most trusted woman in the castle besides the cook and the princess herself.

She jested you only deserved the very best for your wedding gown once Steven would lay his heart to your feet and you had been working on it since with the deepest care. Tonight, however, tears burned in your eyes as you observed it, the pattern as if mocking you with Steven’s entirely serious promise.

“He shall come back,” Natasha spoke, your expression not escaping her sharp attention. This of all her qualities was what made for her unparalleled ability as a seamstress – her attention to detail. “They all will, Steven and Bucky included.”

Bucky. Sir Barnes. Natasha’s beloved. He too was likely to be pestered about courting a seamstress, but Natasha was well-loved among the noble – the court would never bat an eye and passed no judgement, yet Sir Barnes had not yet asked Natasha’s hand in marriage. She rested unbothered by such; for all you knew of your friend, she would have asked his hand in marriage should she decided she was in a rush.

The thought made you smile for you were aware of the fact Sir Barnes would have said yes and thanked her, worshipped her more than ever. Their love was strong… and word had it that they shared a deep bond beyond pure love, crossing the lines of physical and perhaps the lines of proper. Natasha had hinted at such herself before.

Should you marry Steven as you wished, you were willing to cross as many lines as necessary yourself. You were willing to do just about anything to ensure he would not change his mind, that he would not be plagued with as much as a seed of doubt.

You believed your most trusted friend could be of assistance… without passing judgement.

“Natasha?” you spoke without looking up as you focused on continuing the cornflower with your needle. “I heard rumours.”

“Oh? Of what? Do tell, my dear. I am always happy to learn of the whispers laugh over them at times.”

You felt the blush creeping up your neck, your stomach twisting in embarrassment. Perhaps what you had heard was nonsense – something to laugh over as Natasha just said, nothing but a foolery you had believed in your naivety and inexperience.

“I must say now I am truly curious for your silence lasts too long. And you seem ashamed… just tell me,” she prompted you gently.

You noticed from the corner of your eye she had stopped working, only adding to your nerves.

Your felt the tips of your ears burn as you attempted to keep your tone and expression nonchalant nevertheless, clearing your throat.

“I heard rumours of… making men happy.”

“That does sound promising. Gold, glory or a woman can do that do them.”

You chuckled despite yourself as she deadpanned, some of your embarrassment melting away.

“I overheard a servant talking of ways a woman can please a man without… without sinning? As in truly sinning in the eyes of the Lord? Have you ever, uhm, heard of such thing?”

Silence settled over the room, hanging heavy above your heads.

The storm had left far enough so that no claps of thunder reached you anymore, no bolts of lightning interrupted the intimate atmosphere.

Nearly pricking yourself with a needle in anticipation, you opted for ceasing your work, hesitantly looking up, meeting Natasha’s curious eyes with a sparkle of mischief that had you lower your gaze again.

“I have. And they are true,” she said simply at last, sending your heart racing.

Oh. So it was the truth then. There was an experience more pleasurable for men than you knew, places where Steven might appreciate your lips more than on his cheek, in his hair, on his mouth or even his neck. Your temples pulsed with the intensity of each beat of your heart at the revelation.

“Do you… do you know of it, Natasha?” you asked, fingers toying with the fabric in your lap.

“I do.”

Your head snapped to her; she was smiling playfully, head tilted to side – a cat that got all the cream and was bragging to her less sneaky friends.

You huffed and pursed your lips, not liking one bit to be made fun of; yet, you needed to know. And so you eased your offence, looking at the redhead pleadingly, baring your heart to her; for you knew that despite her smirk, she would never truly laughed at you.

“Would you please, please, tell me? I… he promised me yesterday. That he would come back and ask-“

“To marry you? Good Lord! Steven promised to marry you at last?!” she gasped, her eyes truly sparkling now, all teasing gone.

You nodded, unable to prevent your lips from forming a smile at the thought, and continued.

“I want to be a good wife to him one day…. but I would like to show him I will be able to make him feel good. What if he wonders if I can please him? He promised me everything and I-- I want to give him the same. Gods know marrying someone of my status will come with burdens and judgement… I don’t… I don’t want to disappoint him, to make him question his decision.”

Natasha’s booming laugh was a reward for your honesty, startling you.

Was this the first time you appeared utterly stupid to her? Silly? It was such a painful feeling… But once her laughter died down, she observed you with kindness, grinning wide and shaking her head.

“I cannot imagine a world in which Sir Steven Rogers could ever be disappointed in you. That man would build a ladder tall enough to reach the stars should you ask him to bring you one.”

Oh.

The shame dispersed in a blink of an eye, warmth enveloping your heart instead. Was that how Steven appeared to others in regard of his feelings for you?

“But very well. I shall tell you – he is only a man, after all. He will appreciate it, of that I am certain. But know, he can please you in a very similar way. And he should – sin or not.”

“…does Sir Barnes please you in such way?” you asked on a whim, taken by surprise at her revelation.

“Oh, but a lady does not kiss and tell!” she mocked offence, her coy smile answering your question. “Perhaps he shares the secrets of his mastery with Steven and you shall be very surprised when you succumb to him.”

The mere idea – so strange and yet incomprehensibly arousing since you had no experience with it nor you could imagine drawing pleasure from such activity – chased blood to your cheeks, having them burn hotter than fire.

The longing for Steve’s presence hit you sharper than the edge of his shield and sword combined, leaving your head swimming and your chest aching.

“He must return home safe first,” you murmured, exchanging a gaze of understanding with your friend, followed by her smile when you asked an innocent question. “Would you pray with me later?”

“I will. And they will. But now… I shall share the wonders of driving a man mad in ways he will thank you for.”

And by gods and Lord, she did.

Strange cavalrymen are racing from the forest in our eyes, but droplets of fear – here, to kill is no sin. The very first shot has silenced my heart I shall not return home; my time has come.

(In the name of the king!)

Little did you know that in the darkness of the night, cut by bolts of lightning, howl of the wind, distant claps of thunder and the aroma of rain in the air as if warning them not to go into the battle, Steve laid awake, his thoughts were with you as well.

The tent shared with the rest of the knights protected him from the disgrace of a weather raging outside, light snores a strange lullaby Steve had grown almost fond of during the years of comradeship. He could recognize every single one of his friends by that sound alone, distinct to each; and despite that fact only strengthening the sense of belonging and his gratitude to be given the opportunity to become a knight, he longed for nights to spend with you at last.

The idea brought a smile to his lips; you would lie beside him, facing him, wide eyes watching him with affection, drunk on the pleasure he would have given you but moments before, warm palm gently laid on his cheek as if begging him to kiss your wrist. He would oblige – he would always give in to whatever you asked – but in the end, he would wrap his arm around your waist and roll you over to pull you to his front, align his body to yours, inch by inch. He would drop a goodnight kiss to your bare shoulder, causing you to shiver and snuggle ever closer and let the sleep take you both.

And in the morning, he would wake only to make love to you again, because he would be allowed; because you would be married at last.

He had promised you as much last night and it was a promise he intended to keep. Just like he had promised himself he would bring all the pleasure he ever dared to think of, clinging to his mind ever since the night you had treated his wound from training, giving him but a taste of bliss.

The way you lowered your gaze when he called you beautiful still, the shape of your lips when you smiled, your tender hands scratching at his scalp when he kissed you.

The warmth of your body seeping into his skin.

He could only imagine how much warmer and inviting your heat would be once he was allowed. Oh Lord, how he had wished to have been allowed that night…

The way the torches illuminated your face made him yearn to pick up a piece of charcoal and a scroll of parchment meant for significant documents to capture the alluring image of you – an image which to him felt just as important as a treaty between kingdoms.

It was rather unusual for him to see you from his angle for normally he towered several inches above you, having you have to tip your head back to reach his lips. You had seated him there, however, and your expression left no space for protests once you learned he had been injured in the evening training, grazed by a little too sharpened sword which cut through his armour, made for a bruise and broke through his skin as well.

You were no physician, you had said, but you could clean and dress a wound like this.

A frown to your brow clouded your soft features with disapproval as you placed the bowl of warm water on the only table in the room, careful not to tip over the small vial of alcohol you had obtained for him. You pulled at the white cloth thrown over your shoulder, dipping one of the edged in the water before glancing at him and halting in your movements as if seeing him for the first time that night.

“What weighs your mind, my sweetness?” he asked silently.

“You not being careful enough,” you retorted as if on instinct; and then your teeth pulled lightly at your lower lip, indignation melting into bashfulness. “Uhm, I believe you will have to- to take off your shirt.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Steve’s lips. That did sound reasonable, yet he felt a slight pull at his nerves as you did at the realization.

You had never seen him bared of his garments, never seen his upper body exposed – or his lower half for that matter. He feared not your judgement for that would be ridiculous. But perhaps he did feel a bit anxious to fulfil your expectations.

A baseless worry, truly; the moment he slipped his shirt off, gritting his teeth at the pull at his cut, you were left staring at him, suddenly mute, lips parted with a soft sigh that spoke of everything but disappointment.

Steve would have been a liar should he say he did not feel pleased, his ego stroked gently. He had worked for the strength in his upper body his whole life and he worked hard for he had been born a weakling. Now muscles adorned his torso, a prove of power he had when wielding a sword and a shield. And by Lord, by would wield it for your eyes only had you always watched him with this silent wonder.

“Did cat get your tongue, my dear?” he teased lightly, unable to hide the smugness when you tore your gaze away from the newly exposed skin, caught staring. “I would never use my strength to hurt you.”

“I know,” you squealed before clearing your throat and composing yourself. “I was merely… assessing the damage.”

He was sure you were.

“Of course. Do you need me to strip anything else-“

“No--! This… this will certainly suffice. Thank you,” you smiled at him shakily, feeding his ego further with your embarrassment. “Just sit back for now, Steven, and let me clean the wound-- oh.”

You tilted your head to side curiously, gaze zeroed above his left hip.

Steve knew instantly what caught your eye.

The black lines were thick despite the size no bigger than his own palm, a small work of art many still frowned upon. You did not seem offended nor, Lord forbid, horrified. Merely curious – perhaps even fascinated.

“May I?” you asked in a whisper, already moving forward and reaching out your hand.

Steve gulped.

Yes, you may, by all means, he longed to say. Touch it, trace every line with your fingers, with your lips, your tongue even-

“Of course,” he rasped instead, scolding himself for his dirty thoughts.

Yet, as if you heard what was on his mind, the pads of your fingers brushed over the tattoo, a featherlight touch in a place where your skin had never met his before and set it on fire.

“A wolf?”

“Yes.”

You pursed your lips lightly in a sign of disapproval and so Steve rushed to explain.

“Bucky often jested we were a pack of wolfs rather than a group of knights and so we all chose a wolf. Do you… not like it? “

You met his gaze briefly, shaking your head with a shy smile, taking your touch away; and he already carved it again.

“No, it’s beautiful, just… a little aggressive.”

“Well, wolves are fierce warriors. Strong, loyal,” he pointed out, hoping you would not miss the weight behind his next words. ”Protective of their own.”

Their own. His own. You might not be a fellow knight nor family nor his wife yet, but he would lay his life to protect you should it be necessary.

And you could bet the royal jewels he would fight aggressively had anyone tried to harm you.

“Then you could have not chosen better,” you whispered, laying a kiss to your fingertips before pressing them to the artwork again, having Steve’s breath catch.

He wished you would kiss it with your lips directly – but then you would have to kneel in front of him, giving him a completely different idea as to where your lips could be and the imagery alone would be permanently etched into his mind.

So perhaps it was for the best that you had not, for he felt his arousal growing at the thought alone; instead, you moved to take care of his cut.

Your dominant hand dutifully wiped around the wound first, tender but thorough, your focus as sharp as one of an archer aiming to hit the middle of the clout. Your other hand rested against his shoulder for balance as you stood between his legs crouched and a little twisted, your position slightly awkward and no doubt uncomfortable.

“Sit, my sweetling.”

You gazed up at him, eyebrow raised questioningly, as surprised by his suggestion and he was for a moment.

Needless to say that at the moment, he was eternally grateful that Bucky and Clint had left for the town’s tavern, celebrating news of Clint’s wife Laura finding herself with her first child – leaving you and him alone.

“I must not block the light and have to be able to reach the bowl. I cannot very well sit, Steven,” you explained softly, blinking when he grasped at your hand and tugged at it lightly.

“You will not block the light,” he opposed, closing the gap between his thighs and leading you closer to stand by his legs and pulling at your skirt a fraction, “if you are sitting, straddling me. Come, my love. It shall be much easier for you.”

Your eyes grew adorably wide at his suggestion, softening at the endearment. Reluctantly, you obeyed, climbing over him and lowering your weight on his thighs, leaning onto his shoulder as not to fall. Steve welcomed the weight you brought with you, your breaths fanning his face as you shifted in attempt to find a comfortable position.

You met his gaze with an apologetic smile as if you had not just gifted him with your intimate proximity.

“Am I not too heavy like this?”

Oh even if you were, Steve would never dare to tell you in order to keep you so close to him for the rest of his days; let alone when you moved a few inches and brushed his most sensitive spot.

Oh Lord, he was going to hell, but it mattered not if he had his time with an angel before he would go.

“Like a feather, sweet. Comfortable? Stable?”

He placed his hands on your waist to ensure better balance and you smiled at him, gaze flickering to his naked chest, a gorgeous flush rising to your face.

Yes, he could go to hell for at the moment, he was having a taste of heaven.

“Yes. I shall work now.”

Steven wanted not to show he felt the sting as you continued cleaning the wound; but he found out letting you see him vulnerable was not the worst thing possible to happen.

When a hiss escaped his lips at the burn of alcohol, your eyes snapped to his with an unspoken apology; and his pain was soothed by the softest of kisses.

He stole several more from your lips, squeezing your waist, toying with the hem of your bodice before he let you continue, demanding such compensation every time you made his jaw tick with pain; and with each kiss, his hunger grew, each encounter of lips longer than the previous.

The moment you were to take a fresh cloth to finish cleaning with water once again, Steve knew he could not let you. Not yet; he drew too much pleasure from this, having you, his dutiful carer, seated in his lap, soft and tender and unwittingly seductive.

Your lips had grown swollen from the kisses, calling for him to taste you again – and Steve was not one to ignore a call like that.

With a small noise of surprise on your part, he claimed your mouth again, hand reaching to cradle your face, gentle thumb stroking your cheek and coaxing you into giving in. Your body melted into his, pliant, lips succumbing to his advances and he felt something in him roar, a proud primal thing boasting at your trustful submission.

His arm wound around your waist firmly, pulling you chest to chest, your gasp of surprise swallowed by his mouth, your hands catching on his arm and in his hair, making him groan at the sensation which sent an impulse straight into groin.

It made his pants too tight all of sudden; he had no doubt it did not escaped your attention.

Yet you did not protest, your breathing turning heavy, your heart hammering against his chest and under his palm laid on your neck. You seemed to force your grip on him to ease, grasping at remnants of sanity in the whirlwind of need – and so he followed your example and released your lips for a moment.

“My love, my sweetling…” he whispered, drunk on the assault of sensations, drunk on everything that made you you.

How sweet you were, so effortlessly, unconsciously alluring to all his senses. The scent of your skin, the taste of your lips, the tender heat of your touch as you mimicked all little acts of affection he had ever shown you, your lips, hesitant and shy, wandering to his neck or the hollow of his throat to treat him.

The most beautiful sight, eyes unknowingly blown with lust and wide with surprise at once as you felt his arousal he simply could not help, not with a temptress like you in his lap. Innocent but quickly learning from him, from others too no doubt – for you recovered from your shock, your trembling hands settling on his shoulder for support, grinding against him and by Lord, Lord, he wished to take you right there.

He had women in the tavern touch him before for money, he had eased the pressure in his loin thinking of how sweet your heat would be, but he would never – he could never. Not before he married you, not before he promised his love to you in front of the whole world.

Yet, the way your eyelids fluttered shut at the foreign feeling, your lips parting with a shaky exhale at the first taste of pleasure, had his hands travel up your waist, teasing the underside of your breasts. He craved to taste you there too, almost as much as he longed for the ambrosia awaiting him between your legs, a cure which would make all the pain above his collarbone disappear completely.

“Oh Steven-“ you whispered as your thighs trembled when his hips buckled up, his name on your lips like an oil to the fire and a gush of wind strong enough to put the fire out at once.

He could feel the pressure in him building, his hands twitching to untie your bodice, ruck up your skirts and pull his pants down to remove all barriers between you, just him, you and absolute bliss--- but he could not, fuck, he must not do that to you.

He seized your mouth with his to swallow your sigh of pleasure; a desperate claim with a smidge of teeth for he felt his control slipping and he needed to take reigns of his desires at once, before he’d do things that could grant him instant gratification but would make for regrets later on.

He grabbed your hips, forcing his own to cease the instinctive motions, preventing your own as well.

A small pitiful sound which almost broke his resolve for it had his blood boiling escaped your kiss-swollen lips, leading him to stray from your mouth to your neck, heavy breaths expanding his chest as much as they did yours, every inhale of yours causing your breasts to brush against his naked chest.

You shall not give into temptation, you shall not give into temptation—

“Lord--- my sweet, my sweetling, how you tempt me,” he panted into your skin, unable to resist a small taste of it, one last time, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

“I must not dishonour you in such way, but…” He dared to look up to your flushed face, instantly regretting it for the acute need in his groin grew tenfold at the sight of your own desire written all over your features. “Lord knows it is the most difficult and yet the sweetest trial I have ever faced. You are beautiful, so beautiful…”

He ran his fingers over your cheek, over the slightly irritated skin where his beard scratched when his lips had sought to drink from yours, the corners of your lips now lifted in a shy smile.

“As you are handsome… how hard it is not to give in to a sin. I have never known until I met you, Steven,” you admitted, somehow appearing abashed and pleased at once.

His beautiful kind bashful minx of a woman. How could he not fall in love with you?

“I feel the same, my sweet. I love you. I thank the Lord for you every day.”

Your eyes shone with affection as you cupped his face and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I thank the gods and the Lord for you and your love every day as well. I love you. You must be more careful, Steven,” you whispered, gaze flickering to the wound you had not finished cleaning, worry clouding your features.

Oh should you always react in such way, curing him with loving kisses and the same passion you had shown him a moment ago, Steven thought that he should be, as matter of fact, much more careless.

But he could not tell you that – and he would not. He would soon put a plan in motion to spend the rest of his life with you. What kind of a fool would he be should he not try his hardest to make that life as long as possible?

“I will, my sweet. I will.”

Momentarily soothed, you kissed his lips softly and returned to your original task.

Should he keep his promise, Steve needed to catch a shut-eye at last – and chase those sinful memories away.

An early morning awaited them, the last training and a battle to be won to earn his reward; to no longer think of you, but to be graced with your presence… and to be granted your hand in marriage as well.

To reach victory, however, every single man, every knight and soldier, had to be in their best shape, in their sharpest minds, for Hydra could be cunning and unpredictable.

Defeat was not an option for Steve; he had too much to fight for.

For his king.

For his kingdom and the people.

For you.

Oh you.

How you would cry upon learning how desperately outnumbered the Starkerbürg army was. How you would weep, precious tears running down your face once you were to be informed of the victory coming with too high of a price.

Your tears would make for an ocean when you would see only a handful of men coming back, Natasha’s beloved a picture of blood and grief as he had witnessed Steve being one of the first men to get hit.

You would have drowned in your own tears if you only knew Steven’s last thoughts belonged to no one but you. The last thing he had seen looking up into the morning sun as he lied on his back, body too heavy to rise once more and fight, was your loving smile.

Steve could not bear to see you crying; so he was grateful for leaving this world with your smile in his thoughts instead.

Do not weep for me, my beautiful Marian, when the tower bell rings to honour soldiers, proud My heart is silent, but in you there shall remain all the words that flare up like fire.

The storm did not return the following night – yet the uneasiness in your heart found you in Natasha’s chambers again, frantically working on your embroidery for busy hands were meant to settle an unsettled mind.

You retreated back to your simple bed earlier than the previous night however, your body feeling the consequences of missing sleep the night prior, exhaustion wearing you down and sweeping you to dreamland as soon as your head touched the sheets.

Yet, you were woken up with the first chirps of birds, the castle still wrapped in dark shadows – but lively with a haste that could only mean one and one thing only.

The troops were coming back.

You threw away your flimsy cover, searching for your shawl in a haste, your heart threatening to jump out of your chest with anticipation.

They were back. Steven was back!

Wasn’t it too early for them to return? Had something gone wrong? Was he injured during the battle? Had he lost a dear friend?

You caught Wanda’s sleepy eye as you stumbled out of the room, noticing Carol’s bed already empty – she always had been a light sleeper so the commotion in the castle must have intrude her rest before it did yours.

The corridors were brimming with servants and guards, all taking haste to gather in the courtyard by the gate, heavy footsteps and the rattle of armour ominous as you were still wiping sleep from your eyes and hurried along.

Gods please, I am begging you, Lord – let him be alright. It is but all I ask. Perhaps a cut for me to clean with care and love, a bruise for me to kiss tenderly--- grant me the sight of him, standing tall and healthy, smiling with relief to be home.

Breath had nearly left you by the last stairs, every beat of your heart almost painful against your ribcage, but you cared little for it, willing your feet to hurry still.

They had returned! Only a few more steps and you would be able to see them, dealing with neglecting the princess later on after your soul would meet its other half, chasing all worries away and wrapping you in his love instead. A few more steps only, to find peace-

You gasped as you found yourself in the courtyard at last, your soul nearly leaving your body in fright at the sight of several men looking a miserable excuse for knights – clothing torn, bloodied, articles of armour missing, two horses barely limping by their side.

Prince Anthony in the centre, supported by Sir Barnes and Sir Barton. Sir Drax leading the horses. Your eyes skimmed over what you believed was Mr. Thorn, Mr. Vaughn and Mr. Richards and a few men you did not recognize for their beaten faces or for having never met them before.

Cold seeped into your bones upon seeing that there were not more than thirty – and they appeared to carry themselves with the last remnants of strength, attempting to support one another.

There was no doubting whether there were others on their tail – they were not.

A pained cry erupted from your throat at the sharp pain piercing your chest, hand grasping at your sternum as to sooth it as the realization dawned to you.

No more men were coming. The pitiful remnants of an army stood before you by their prince, their future king, whom they protected with their lives--- and many loyal soldiers and knights were left behind, having kept their promise and laying their lives in the name of the king.

Steven was one of them.

Another sob escaped your lips as you rubbed at your breastbone, scratching that terrible itch that seemed to be spreading through your veins, burning and so devastatingly cold against the tears springing from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks.

Your lungs ached as you took a hungry gasp for air, violent tremble seizing your body, your head shaking of its own volition, stubbornly rejecting the plain facts laid in front of you. You understood – you understood in an instant, but your mind, and more so, your heart refused to acknowledge the gut-wrenching truth.

He was gone.

How could he---how could he be gone? He had promised! He had promised to come back and to be careful and to love you and to ask your hand in marriage for he cared not for who you were and who was him, only who you were together, he-

Steven was an epitome of strength and bravery and loyalty and trust and all the virtues known to man. How could he… how could he simply cease to exist? That must have been gods’ mistake for certain, for it made not an ounce of sense.

Steve was a knight, a fierce warrior, protective of his own as his comrades were supposed to be and yet they were standing there and he was not--- how could that be?

Surely this must have been but a nightmare. A nightmare your tired, fear-clouded mind had invented to make for an encounter all the sweeter, sweeter than Steven’s lips… sweeter than his promises.

Then why were you still dreaming? How had the terrible ache not tugged at your hand and pushed you back to reality?

Was your fear truly so paralyzing it had trapped you in your nightmare?

A flash of red hair caught your eye, Natasha’s hasty embrace nearly causing Sir Barnes topple over and the truth of the terrible scene in front of you twisted the knife in your chest.

There was no denying anymore; there was no waking up from this.

This was the price you paid for war: love. Your love was no more.

“What is it like?” you whispered shyly, teeth worrying over your lips as you wondered whether you had the right to ask.

You toyed with the soft ends his hair, a little too long perhaps, but only adding to the air of a nobleman he might be not, but certainly resembled. Steve was simply too handsome of a man to be a commoner, you would think people believed; and despite his heart of gold, his gentle hands brushing over your cheek as you laid on the grass only a few moments from the castle’s gate, you had to agree.

His beauty rivalled the sun itself; and his love bested the one of the sun as well.

“How-- I mean… on the battlefield. What is it like to fight?”

He tilted his head to side, frowning at you as he appeared to contemplate your inquiry – perhaps an inappropriate one. Yet you could not seem to help it for you wanted to know him more, you wanted to know everything… you wanted to be close to your love even at times when you were not for he had rushed to defend the crown and the kingdom.

“I apologize, I-“ you hurried, only to be interrupted with a shake of his head, sending his golden locks flying adorably.

“It is… loud. Chaotic. Cruel sometimes,” he tried to explain, cerulean eyes filling with an absent look, pulling him away from your happy moment.

And yet, his embrace was as tender as ever as you laid your heavy head on his chest.

His fingers slipped under your chin, insistent to see you instead of the horror which was no doubt etched in his mind. You were certain a single look at the terror would haunt you – left you terrified for your every breath. How could Steven simply lie here with you, heart on his sleeve, kind and inviting?

“And do you not… do you get scared?”

It must have been written in your eyes. Or perhaps Steven was such talented observer, reading between the lines, reading in your deepest thoughts; for he saw a plea and not another question.

Your plea of please, say yes. Tell me that for all your bravery, you do feel fear. Tell me that for all your heroism, you are only a human made of flesh and blood and strength and weakness and dreams, as am I.

“Sometimes, yes,” he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. He grasped your wrist in his long fingers tenderly, ran them over your palm and then fingers, only to bring them to his mouth, kissing every single fingertip. “But then I think of you.”

“You do?” you queried, doubtful and confused.

“Yes. And it gives me strength. I think of you, my sweet,” he whispered sincerely, “and my father and the kids playing pebble toss and five stones and… I recall in the midst of chaos what is it we fight for.”

Touched, you strained your neck to steal a kiss from the lips spilling the tender words, words speaking of Steven’s good heart; words helping you remember just how good of a man your Steven was.

And how your heart, whenever in his orbit, belonged to him more than to yourself.

He pecked your lips, smiling wider then, honest, and dropped a kiss on your nose.

“And I am not alone. Tony, Bucky, Clint, Drax, even Peter or Scott and others. They might all be dollop heads…” You failed to stiff a giggle at his choice of words, knowing he was not mistaken. “But they are skilled fighters. I shall not trust them with saving me lunch, but I trust them with my life.”

Skilled fighters they were, such you had had the chance to witness before. It stood to reason to believe Steven then. The knights could protect each other, having each other’s back, fighting all for one and one for all.

And so as difficult as it seemed whenever Steven had gone, you knew he trusted his friends – and you shall try to do the same.

The words Steven had spoken to you that day echoed in your head, bouncing around like little goblins, mocking you for your and Steve’s naivety.

I trust them with my life.

How foolish a man of his wits could be? How could you have allowed his empty promises to lull you into peace of heart?

I trust them with my life.

There was no denying Steven put his faith in those who were not worthy of it.

And for his foolery he had paid the highest of prices. His life. Your love.

Through the mist of your tears, you noticed the valets letting flags down the balconies; already signalling kingdom’s grief for the fallen men. Black as night and yet not black enough to capture the true nature of sorrow.

You blinked away the salty droplets burning in your eyes as people passed you, leading the survivors to the doctor’s chambers. Cries could be heard from several houses as the news spread like wildfire, burning everything in its wake, leaving unhealable scars.

Sobs shook you, but no one acknowledged you; each of you were overtaken by your own sorrow.

Sorrow was a lonely work after all, for everyone was destined to mourn in different manner, grieving different things… and different people. Sons, brothers, fathers. Husbands and lovers.

Lovers.

Your love. Your Steven.

A caress of a wind carrying his name ruffled your hair.

The night had just barely begun tuning into a day, the lower castle wrapped in shadows and darkness when the commotion disturbed your sleep and but upon learning the appalling reports of the army’s pitiful victory, the night seemed to cling to its reign.

Yet now, the wind made to disperse the heavy clouds which had surrounded the castle in sympathy. Sharp cold light of the sun broke through, a dawn of a new day; a beginning of an end. You let the violent intrusion of light fall on your face, eyes fluttering against the assault.

So bright… too bright in comparison to what your world had become.

Perhaps this was your punishment for praying to Lord and the old gods still at once; perhaps you displeased one or the other by not worshipping them and them alone.

Or perhaps the power of all of them together was not enough to protect your beloved Steve; perhaps the gods were just as powerless and helpless as any mere mortal like you.

Who even knew if there were gods and how mighty they were; what you did know with certainty was that they were not enough to protect Steve in life.

And so you fell to your knees, with no regard of getting in the way, clasped your hands together and prayed for Steve’s soul in death.

May the Gods protect him from ghouls and evil spirits. May the Lord grant him entry to the gardens of Eden, for his soul deserved peace and eternal love.

One day… one day you would hope to join him in afterlife; until then, you shall stay in the purgatory of living in the senseless world without him.

In the world where pointless wars slaughtered the mattes of love and tore soulmates apart.

With the last shot fired, the once lively meadow burst into quiet tears and embraced the bodies of the fallen and the winners – whom there are none for a war is not won when lives are the price to pay. And all the beautiful Marians, who received the report of our death just as night melted into day, lifted their inquiring gaze to the skies and in that moment, the sun rose.

Despite the truth settling in, despite every passing day screaming the loss the whole kingdom had suffered, your life, suddenly dull, resembled the strangest of fever dreams.

Your mind received the message of reality clearly and undeniably; yet there remained an immense rift between the thought and your heart. In your heart, you could not yet accept that Steven was no more; where your thoughts kept humming with grief, your heart awaited Steven’s return, welcoming smile and pretty words to wrap you in affection.

It was simply such an ungraspable idea, a world without him. Incomprehensible. Impossible.

And yet your mind accepted it, perhaps for Steven loving once seemed just as imaginable.

But before your heart could be ripped apart by harsh facts, you tucked them into an imaginary drawer in your head along with your grief to hide it from sight – for a mere glimpse of it hurt too much.

You busied your hands during your days and attempted to engage your mind as well; yet every night, images of horror awaited you, haunting.

Steven’s motionless body swimming in a sea of blood, vultures circling above him to swoop down in order to feed on his flesh. The tattoo of a wolf adorning his torso coming to life, climbing out of his skin only to tear away a limb to present it proudly to the pack and begin a feast with a growl.

You were waking up with tears drenching your face, screams on your lips which you profusely apologized for to your friends in the morning, earning their forgiveness and endless pity.

Steve’s absence was ever-present; while no longer amongst the living, you saw him everywhere.

You had always thought his eyes were the colour of the sky; yet these days, the skies were the colour of his eyes. The golden threads Natasha laced Princess Maria’s wedding gown with were the colour of his hair when the sun shone bright and painted a halo around his handsome face.

The apples you brought to the princess for breakfast were the colour of Steven’s kiss-swollen lips. You took a bite of the ones you carried back, untouched, but it did not taste nearly as sweet, prompting you to burst into inconsolable sobs, infecting the cooks who had lost their loved ones as well with your tears. You longed for Steven’s lips to kiss your tears away, for his tickly beard to sooth their burn on your skin.

Your only fortune, should you choose to find joy in the smallest of things, was sudden haste to marry king Howard’s children for the kingdom needed swiftly strengthen its alliances; prince Anthony was to marry princess Virginia of Pottenberg, whereas princess Maria was to be wed to prince Steven of Strangerlands.

The preparations for a royal wedding which was to take place in the castle, along with packing and readying the princess for her journey, left only little space for your grief to overwhelm you.

And since you were one of the princess’ maids, you were to prepare yourself for a journey as well.

While you might have not possessed much, there were items you laid into your pitiful excuse of a luggage with great care; you set the hand-made embroidery for a wedding dress you shall never wear, for you no longer had your groom, on the very top of your bag. You ran your fingers lovingly over the pattern of meadow flowers you had chosen to for it reminded you of your first interaction with your beloved and swallowed your tears.

Foreign lands with foreign customs would have scared you only a few days ago, yet now they were a promise of easing your pain. In the walls of the new castle, you would see the ghost of your Steven less frequently for he had never walked its halls.

Leaving, as intimidating as it might seem, would bring you relief.

The loud crash of the chamber’s door against a wall startled you, having you swiftly cover your embroidery with the nearest cloth, your head snapping to the source of the noise.

Met with the flushed face of your closest friend, you blinked in surprise at her wide-eyed gaze, swiftly drying your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“Why would you make such noise, Wanda? What is the matter?” you asked silently, clearing your throat when the swallowed tears made your voice hoarse.

“The--- the- I,” she panted, clutching at her chest as she tried to catch her breath, shaking her head wildly, causing you to feel worry instead of sorrow for the first time in days. “You are needed outside right away!”

To say such order struck you as odd would be a gross understatement.

As it was, you could not imagine a single thing you could do for the princess outside for you were certain she was having tea with her father and her brother before they would be forced to part. And if any help was needed at a request of anyone else, then surely your presence specifically was not a necessity? Wanda herself had just run up all the flights of stairs – she could have done the work in your place, could she not?

Why would she come for you instead? You possessed no special skills to make you any more desirable than Wanda – on anyone, truly.

“Me? Now? What for?”

In lieu of an answer, your friend simply gestured with her hands vaguely, the movement incomprehensible for you.

“Just take haste, for Gods’ sake!” she cried out exasperatedly, the smallest of smiles passing her lips at your gaze widening as well.

Wanda even more than yourself, was raised within the old religion – to call upon the gods felt not in character for her for she knew better.

You willed your feet to move despite how heavy they seemed for the past few days; haste would then be too strong of a word and yet, you tried.

The corridors were lined with royal colours of red and gold, the servants tasked with decoration for the royal visit and upcoming wedding dutiful as always. The preparations and anticipation had made the castle buzzing at last despite the tragedy striking barely a week ago – yet, now it seemed fresh excitement hovered in the air.

Had the party on the behalf of Pottenberg arrived without your notice? You had been so lost in your own thoughts lately it would not be too surprising should you be honest with yourself.

If that was true, you certainly did have to take haste.

Running your hands through your hair, quickly pulling it into an improvised half-braid, you hoped to look presentable enough not to be ejected by the royals. You attempted to straightened your skirt a bit as you descended the stairs, quickening your steps.

Taking a deep breath to stand tall despite feeling yourself anything but small, you stepped outside with your head held high so you could lower it in a curtsy when the situation asked for such display of submission and servitude.

Confusion had your head spin slightly instead as no horses, no carriages and no gleam of luxury which came with royalty appeared in sight.

Instead, you were met with a crowd of servants and townsmen, surrounding a group of people who looked as if they crawled out of hell itself. Dirty, bruised and bloodied, too pale to appear anything but sick and yet, tired smiles seemed to adorn---

Your heart gave out, a painful skip of a beat that made you truly dizzy.

You recognized them.

Your eyes searched every face frantically, some of them swelled with brutal bruises beyond recognition, yet you were certain these were Sir Lang and Sir Quill, then Ethan from the stables-

Oh gods.

Your palm was over your mouth, muffling the sob before you realized it erupted from your throat.

He was a horrifying sight; smudges of dirt he had clearly attempted to clean, hair on his left side stuck in a dark lump due to dried blood, as was part of his entirely unkept beard, the thick crimson seeping into once white under armour shirt where the blood trickled down his neck and shoulder.

Exhausted red-rimmed eyes, limp posture with his arm hazardously fastened to his chest by torn fabric, several shallow cuts peppering his arms, dirt cloaking the remnants of his trousers and shirt where the terrifying amount of blood – his or his enemies’ – hadn’t already stained it. Normally standing tall, his figure sagged at the moment, shoulders slumped as he barely remained on his feet.

And yet, by lord, by gods, he was the most beautiful you had ever seen him, his injured arm clinging to his chest which was rising and falling with only slight irregularity of his breaths.

He was still breathing, his heart was still beating – and yours thundered in your ribcage painfully as you choked on air and sobs.

Steven looked marvellous in his misery, because despite the weariness in features, his eyes lit up upon seeing you, his lips curling up regardless of the split--- he lived, he lived, he lived.

Your feet, having taken roots in the ground, moved of their own accord at last, carrying you to him swiftly as the soldiers hopped away, clearing your path with weary attempt at a smile. Your hands tore away from your chest and your face as you came to a halt in front of your beloved, eager to touch, aimlessly searching for a place to feel him without causing him pain.

Solving your dilemma for you, Steve was kind enough to reach out with his uninjured hand, cradling your wet cheek gently. You minded not the tremble in his fingers, covering his hand with yours, eyes fluttering shut to fully revel in the sensation you had believed you would never experience again; a sensation you had only had the fortune to savour in your dreams.

The sudden surge of panic had your eyes snap open, afraid you were still in the dreamland.

But you did not have to fear; Steve’s warm eyes observed you with endless affection still, melting into your touch as your hand found its way to his own cheek. His lips brushed your palm lovingly before he gently pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours with a breathy hiss of pain.

It was the display of agony he must have been in with every breath and the smallest of movements which finally untied your tongue, a waterfall of words falling from your lips.

“Steve---Steven, Steve, my love, what—how-“

Your fingers slipped to his nape, his pulse racing under your palm, the most precious thing you ever felt, only causing him to lean closer, nose brushing yours in a tender act of affection bringing fresh tears to your eyes.

Thump-thump-thump went his heart, a chant of love and life.

He was alive. Your beloved was alive.

“Druids. Luck. Divine intervention. I do not know, but it matters not. I am here,” he whispered, voice no less firm than within a battle cry.

I am here.

A promise. A declaration of love.

You found yourself yet again at loss for words, another sob escaping you instead. There were no words you were familiar with to do justice to your joy at this reunion. After countless of days, endless days of grief, he was standing there, holding your face in his hand and your whole heart as well.

Steve was alive.

“I made you a promise,” he continued in husky voice, “I told you I’d call upon your hand. It was all I could think of in the face of… of what I thought was the end.”

You squeezed his hand as to stop him, for it mattered not, not at this very moment, not ever, you would give him anything, everything, regardless of whether you were courting, married, or sneaking around and being the subjects of slander at the lower castle and the court alike.

As long as you should keep him, as long as he kept breathing, it mattered not if you could chant his name as you were now; falling from your lips like a prayer to whatever ancient force that brought him back to you.

And yet, you should have known better. Your Steven was a force of nature himself, stubborn and determined and proper. Time waited for no man and Steve could no longer wait for when fate would try to separate you again. He had to act in this very moment.

“Will you marry me, my sweet?”

You laughed, the joyful sound absurd in the circumstance; but your heart could burst as the reality of Steve holding you and asking you to marry him sank in at last, feeling as if the sun itself settled in your chest.

What choice did you have? What else could you possibly say when the gods were so merciful to give you a chance at bliss of spending your life side by side with a man you loved?

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

Cheers erupted around you, words of how sappy your future husband was, yet you could not care less, whatever the meaning the word possessed.

You had your Steven back; you had your heart sown together at once, waterfalls of grief turning into tears of undiluted happiness. Long path lied in front of you and it was not to be an easy one; Steven proposed, yes – in shaggy clothes, bloodied and dirty and with no ring to give you.

His proposal was far from flawless indeed; however, it was a promise. Not a promise of perfection, but a promise nevertheless. A promise of a beautiful life, for it would be with him.

And as you had learned upon daring to doubt him… your knight would always keep his promises to you. For that, he was a man far more noble than those who were born with nobility in their blood.

And he was yours. Always and to the end of the days – yours.

As much as you always would be his.

Do not weep for me, my beautiful Marian, when the tower bell rings to honour soldiers, proud, My heart is silent, but in you there shall remain all the words that flare up like fire.

S.R. masterlist

Sequel - In the Name of All That’s Holy

Thank you for reading 💗 Feedback to this 13k beast is appreciated!

As you can see/hear, the song does NOT have a happy ending, but I just couldn’t… 😭 I couldn’t break her heart like that (AND MINE). Also, I was sent a cute knife along with a message as not to hurt knight Steve (yes, my beloved, I’m looking at YOU) 🤭

If you felt a bit of himbo energy from the knights in the beginning, know that Merlin is to blame. As he is for “dollop heads”.

(I never found whether the choice of a name ‘Marion’ has any particular meaning. I’ve always imagined her as a loyal woman in love, waiting for her kingdom’s hero to come home – I translated as Marian, for the resemblance with Lady/Maid Marian tied to Robin Hood legends. Up to interpretation.)

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #steve rogers #captain america #knight steve rogers #captan america x you #medieval au #fantasy au #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #in the name of the king #anika ann

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sanguineterrain · 2 years

Text

On Wings of Fate (2) - s.r. | b.b.

Series summary: You meet a kind stranger one day in the marketplace. He's a pirate, but a good man, he swears. Your knight isn't so sure, but oh, what does he know? You like the pirate; his eyes are like the sea and his smile... oh, his smile is trouble. Yet from the moment he docked at your kingdom's port, you just may have bargained for more than the three of you could ever imagined.

Pairing: knight!Steve Rogers x princess!fem!Reader x pirate!Bucky Barnes

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: war, violence, reader is grabbed briefly, Alexander Pierce.

I do not do taglists anymore! You can follow @sanguine-marvel for new updates on all my Marvel fics.

divider by firefly-graphics

“Sigh.”

You shifted, crossing your elbows on the table. Petunia didn't so much as glance at you.

“Siiiiiigh!”

You swung your legs. Petunia continued embroidering her stack of napkins. You’d long since put down your own stitchwork, choosing instead to stare longingly out the window. It was sunny once again, a gorgeous day. Far too gorgeous to spend cooped up inside, stitching napkins.

You took a deep inhale. Petunia raised a brow.

“Ssssiiiiii—”

“My lady, is something the matter?”

“No, no, nothing’s the matter. I’m just sighing, Petunia. As one does.”

“So I hear.”

You leaned forward, frowning at the sun and sword emblem on the single napkin you’d almost managed to finish.

“How many more of these do we have to do?”

“Three dozen. Though you don’t have to work on these, my lady.”

“It’s not like there’s anything else to do,” you grumbled, slouching in your chair. “Father’s basically put me on palace arrest.”

“My lady, any of the knights would be happy to…”

“They’re training.”

“Only a few are. Sir Steven, Sir—”

“Yes. As I said, they’re training.”

Petunia smiled. Your pout deepened.

“I see. Well, until he’s finished, you can always help in the gardens, or the kitchens. Don’t you want to see what they’re making for the festival, my lady?”

“Yes, I do. In the city. In the stalls. Where the festival food is. Not whatever nonsense Father forces to impress the delegates and officials.”

You picked up the needle, poking it through the napkin once again, filling in the yellow sun. You sighed.

“I’m sorry, Petunia. I sound wretched, whining about a feast. I’m simply restless.”

After what had happened with the so-called spy, your father had decided that it was too risky for you to be on your own. So now the guards watched you like a hawk. You hadn't wreaked your usual havoc in nearly a week. It was hell.

"I understand, my lady, but the king only wants to keep you safe."

"At the expense of my sanity."

Petunia hummed. She, like Steve, knew your dramatics enough to skirt around them.

"I hear they're making apple cake for the feast."

You straightened. "Are they?"

"That's what I was told."

You leapt from the chair, pushing it in. Stalls or not, apple cake was always a yes. Petunia chortled.

"Enjoy, my lady."

"I'll save you some," you promised, dashing to the kitchens.

It was busy. You stayed close to the wall, not wanting to get in anyone's way. The chefs worked hard year-round and you respected their craft. They didn't need you skulking about. But, well… apple cake.

"I made you your own, Your Highness," said the head chef, pointing to a parcel.

You darted forward, taking the cake. It smelled divine, rich with spices and sweet summer apples.

"Thank you, thank you. For my maid, could I…"

"Petunia gets hers too," he promised with a chuckle. "I will send it to her. Your knight ought to stop by too. This is Sarah Rogers' recipe after all."

"I—but he's not my knight. He's for the kingdom."

"Of course," he amended. "My mistake, my lady."

Steve did like apple cake, though. Even more than you, with all the memories attached to it.

"I'll be in the gardens," you decided, collecting your treat.

"Please don't try to hop the gate again, Your Highness. They just trimmed the topiary."

"That was one time!"

Damn your father. And whatever gardener had ratted you out.

The gardens were mildly busy, what with the festival preparations. But you were able to walk and eat by yourself, thinking. You longed to go back to the docks and taste the salty air, feel the spray from the waves. Your father had warned you not to go to the docks anymore, lest there be spies. Steve might take you… he was more lenient when he could be by your side. Still, fraternizing with a pirate was pushing it. Even for you.

"Lovely day, eh?"

You looked up to see one of the gardeners standing before you. He wore all the proper attire, and nothing would've been out of the ordinary… only he had two gold hoops in his right ear. You stiffened, one hand clutching your skirt in case you needed to run.

"Now it's alright," he said, holding up a hand. His dialect was unfamiliar to your kingdom. "Ain't 'ere to 'arm ya, Princess Y/N."

"You're not one of the gardeners."

"Not exactly. Dunno shit 'bout flowers, really. The name's Albatross Goodwin. Alby, if y'please. Not me given name, 'course, but it's what I pr'fer to be called."

"You're a pirate."

He grinned, showing off two gold-capped front teeth.

"Hear you're fond'a pirates, Highness. And that they seem to be fond back."

"You mean Bucky?"

Alby laughed heartily.

"First name acquaintance, are ya? Barnesy doesn't let just anyone call 'im that."

He took off his hat, bowing slightly.

"Y'saved one of our own. A decent man, and I'm sure we both know how hard those are to come by."

"Yes," you said, glancing at the rows of fresh poppies. "We do."

"That's why 'm here. Usually I spit on royals, the lot of 'em. No offense, Highness. Lost me pops to a dirty king."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Alby."

Another flash of gold teeth. "Yeah, God rest his soul, whatever corner of Hell he crawled into. Anyway, I got a letter. Barnesy paid me a lot to deliver. Sure must think you're worth it."

A thrill shot through you. Bucky had gone all this way to write you?

"I didn't know he'd keep in touch."

"Mm, well, he also said to show your knight and no one else. You know what he means?"

"Yeah," you smiled. "I do."

Alby pulled out an envelope, speckled with seawater and sealed with a messy press of wax. You took it eagerly, gears turning.

"How will I send him a letter back?"

"I'll come back to your garden tomorrow, Highness. This whole venture is on Barnes' dime."

"Thank you, Alby. Are you hungry? Would you like some apple cake?"

You took your second cake from your pocket, handing it to him. Alby bowed low, returning his hat.

"A real palace delicacy, eh? Maybe not all you royals are so bad, Highness. Guess Barnesy knew what he was talkin' about."

"Did he mention anything about what's in the letter?"

"Nothing. Just that it's important and for me to deliver it immediately. Got some sort of festival going on?"

"Yes," you said, tracing the wax seal. "The Solstice Celebration."

"Must have a lot of imports, then. No one batted an eye when I came here. Busy boys."

"That's odd," you mused. "Plenty of them were assigned to the docks. The king made a big deal about it after Bucky escaped."

"Small mercies," Alby shrugged. "I won't complain."

"Your Highness!"

You froze. Fifty yards away was Captain Jones and two other guards. Alby grimaced.

"You ought to return to work. Go, I'll cover," you pushed, stepping around him.

Alby slipped by, pushing his wheelbarrow. You took your time crossing the veranda. Jones stopped in front of you, fully-armored.

"Your Highness, was that one of the gardeners?"

"Judging by his wheelbarrow and royal gardener patch, yes, I would say so, Captain Jones."

He frowned at you, then squinted at your hand. You put the envelope behind your back but it was too late.

"What is that?"

"What is what?"

"The letter. All mail must be checked, Your Highness."

"It was checked," you huffed, like he was the idiot. "It came from another kingdom."

"Pardon my boldness, milady, but who might be writing you from outside the kingdom?"

"A prince," you answered quickly. "We met at the banquet last month."

"Is that so."

"Yes. Prince… Johnathan."

"Prince Johnathan," echoed Jones. "From the Storm house?"

"That's the one. Would you like to read his letter, perhaps? Decide if his poetry suits your expectations?"

"I didn't think Prince Johnathan was much of a poet," mumbled one of the guards.

"Well, he is. He's full of surprises. We are in love. If you'll excuse me, I must return his message. I was in the garden searching for the perfect flower to send him."

For extra measure, you giggled, tossing your head. Jones gave you a strange look, but he didn't seem suspicious, which was enough for you.

"Of course, milady. Carry on."

You nodded, perusing the rose bushes as if you had all the time in the world. The letter burned a hole in your pocket. You had to find Steve. He and the knights were likely still training. If so, you had to cut across the castle to the training grounds.

You decided to stop by the kitchens first for more apple cake. Petunia was inside, delivering the napkins.

"Did you enjoy the gardens, my lady?"

"Oh, yes. The gardeners are very friendly. Did you try the apple cake?"

"I did. I considered bringing some home for Delilah, though she just had her birthday last week."

"A little apple cake never hurt anyone," you decided. Delilah was Petunia's three year old daughter, with big brown eyes like her mother and a penchant for getting exactly what she wanted. You could relate.

"That's exactly what she might say if she could speak," Petunia sighed. "I wonder some days if I've reared two princesses."

"Well, you did a lovely job with the first, if I do say so," you grinned, swiping two cakes from the counter.

"For your knight?" asked the chef.

"But of course," Petunia answered for you.

You rolled your eyes.

"Don't be cheeky. He'll be hungry after training. Any of them would."

"And yet, you only seem to be bringing enough for one, my lady."

"I will not dignify that with a response," you replied primly. "...Do you have any milk?"

They both laughed heartily.

"That all you got, Rogers?" crowed one of the knights. "A fish flops better than that!"

Metal clanged, ringing in the air. You opened the gate, going to wait by the fence. Steve had removed his helmet, sweat on his fringe. He moved swiftly, powerful with his sword. You liked watching, had done so since you were young and Steve was first training to be a knight. He fought like he was on a battlefield, yet remained in control and merciful. Your father regularly claimed him as his best soldier.

The knight who teased Steve went on the offense, too cocky. Steve dodged him, sword whistling. In an instant, said knight was on his back, sword knocked to the side.

"Do you yield, Sir Valan?" Steve asked calmly.

Sir Valan grumbled, crawling out from under Steve's hold with a sulk. Steve pulled him up, then sheathed his sword.

You clapped, drawing the attention of everyone, including the other palace spectators. Some of the Ladies liked to watch the knights fight too, waving their handkerchiefs and dainty parasols. You waved, not paying them any mind. You were the princess, after all. If you wanted to cheer for Steve, you could. It didn't mean anything.

"That's enough for today," decided another knight. "Good work, men."

"Well done, knights!" you called.

A few nodded in your direction. You hiked up your skirt, standing on the lower rung of the fence.

"Steve!" you called when he began to walk away with the others. That was odd. Hadn't he seen you?

Steve paused, seemingly working something out. Finally, he walked over to you, posture straight. You grinned, leaning over the fence.

"Hi."

"Princess."

The smile slipped from your face.

"Princess? Since when do you address me by my title?"

"Sir Steven! Oh, Sir Steven?"

One of the Ladies waved her flowery handkerchief as she approached. Her maid held Steve's helmet.

"You left this. Would you like my handkerchief to clean it?"

You stiffened. It was no secret that Steve was well-liked. Not only by your father, as well as the other knights, but by women too. Anyone could plainly see that Steve was a handsome man, strong and smart, a fine match for any lucky lady.

You'd asked Steve once if he ever accepted any favor from the Ladies in court. It had been a casual question. Steve was a knight—it would make sense. But he'd met your gaze, serious as stone.

"My duty is not to them. I serve you."

You'd never asked again.

"No, thank you. That is very kind, my lady."

She looked disappointed, but when she saw you, she remembered herself, bowing quickly and leaving. Steve tucked the helmet under his arm.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm not causing trouble. Aren't you proud of me?"

"Miracles happen everyday."

"I got a letter, Steve."

"So I heard."

His tone was startling. The fence caught on your knees. You squealed, flapping your arms. Steve stepped forward, catching your waist. He still looked stern, but was softer when he spoke.

"I've told you not to lean on this," he sighed.

"And I never listen," you retorted, arms around his neck. "Ask who wrote me, Steve."

"I know who wrote you, Y/N. The whole kingdom knows, for gods’ sake."

"They do? But how? I was so careful!"

"You call telling Jones careful? You practically made a royal decree."

"What? What are you… oh. Oh, no, Steve!"

You burst into giggles, clapping a hand over your face. Steve's expression switched into bewilderment, which was better, at least. You shook your head.

"Is that what all this Princess business is about? Do you really think I've given my heart to Prince Johnathan of all people?"

"That's what…"

"I only said that so Jones wouldn't snoop through my letter. Oh, Steve. Johnny? Really?"

"Well… it did cross my mind that you could do better."

You smiled, nudging his cheek with yours.

"I certainly could. His own sister would tell me so!"

"Then who sent the letter?"

Your lips went to his ear, pulling him close. Steve braced one hand on the gate, cheeks going pink.

"Bucky."

"Bucky!"

"Shh! He wrote both of us, technically. It’s what Alby said."

"Alby?"

"Albatross Goodwin. Not his birth name, of course."

"Albatross?"

"Yes. Apparently they all get nicknames. What do you suppose they'd call me, Steve?"

"Them? Are you—did you meet with pirates?"

"There was only one pirate."

"You snuck to the docks? Y/N, you've really—"

"I didn't sneak out! He pretended to be a gardener. Goodness, Steve, you act like it's all my doing. I can't control what pirates disguise themselves as palace workers."

Steve clutched his forehead, closing his eyes. Oh, gods. That was his lecture face. You began to untie the cheesecloth the chef had given you, settling on the fence.

"Gods, of all the stunts you've pulled, Y/N, this is the worst. If I'd known what helping him would've done, I'd have never—mmph!"

You retracted your hand, dusting the crumbs from your fingers. Steve chewed confusedly. You smiled.

"Apple cake?" he asked through a mouthful.

"Good, right? I brought some for you. And milk."

He swallowed, glancing down at your hand. You immediately fed him another bite. Steve's cheeks grew redder.

"Y/N, you shouldn't—this isn't right."

"No, don't worry. The chefs made extra."

"I meant—” he swallowed, “a princess shouldn't be bringing a knight cakes. And… feeding him."

"But your hands are all dirty from the training. Besides, how else would I have impeded your incoming lecture. I really ought to set a limit on those. How about one per week?"

"How about you stop doing things that prompt my lectures?" he retorted dryly.

"How about no?"

You hopped off the fence, waving the letter in one hand, cake in the other.

"Come on, aren't you the slightest bit curious?"

"No."

"But it must be important if he told Alby to hurry. Anyway, you have to follow me if you want more cake."

"I don't want more cake," he lied.

"No? Well, alright. I thought this was your favorite, but if you really don't want it, I guess I'll go see if the other knights would…"

Quick as anything, the cheesecloth was out of your hands. Steve was a blur as he shot past you.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”

You heaved up your skirts, giving chase. Steve turned with a giant grin, jogging backwards.

“Come back here! Those are my cakes!”

“Oh, really? Not saving them for your secret admirer?”

You panted, slowing down. Your attire wasn’t exactly built for running long distance. Taking out Bucky’s letter, you flopped down on the grass. Steve stopped, walking back to you. He took another bite, using the cloth as a utensil.

“Gave up already?”

“I am a princess, and princesses do not run without good reason, Steven.”

You tore the seal, sliding out the letter. Steve settled next to you. Immediately, you leaned into his shoulder. He braced himself on the ground so you could comfortably slouch against him.

Dear Princess, began the letter. Are you well? No more close encounters with carts, I hope. Hello, Sir Steve. Practicing hard? I’d hate to best you yet again—gets boring after a while, winning all the time.

“This is ridiculous. I’m going inside.”

“No, Steve, wait! There’s more. I promise that’s the end of the teasing.”

Steve grumped, finishing his cake. You continued reading.

I am writing you from a port off the coast of Oplor, not far from your kingdom. I am fine, not to worry. I must warn you, however. Last night in the tavern, I overheard some whispers about an armada. These men were burly, scarred, and not ones you’d want to be enemies of. One of them had a patch that looked like this:

Below, Bucky had drawn a crude drawing of a lion’s head. Steve stiffened.

“That’s King Faleron’s flag.”

“Why would Faleron’s men be there?” you asked.

“I don’t know. Has your father officially declared war?”

You shook your head. “He wanted to wait until after the festival, when the city is more alert.”

I don’t know if that means anything to you. I don’t dock often, and am unfamiliar with this cluster of kingdoms. I heard the name of your king. They left shortly after. I’ve instructed Alby to return immediately after with confirmation of your safety.

Be careful. Tell your knight the same, eh?

Bucky.

You stared at the letter, tracing the ink. Steve ran a hand through his hair.

“It might not mean anything,” he mused. “There have likely been rising tensions in Faleron’s court too.”

“But why would an armada be traveling the coast?”

“I don’t—”

Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!

Steve snapped into action, carefully moving out from under you and putting on his helmet. Those were the sound of warning bells. The two of you raced to the castle. You quickly stuffed the letter into the lace of your skirt.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked one of the knights.

“Intruder in the castle,” replied the knight. “But he’s been found.”

“Stay here,” Steve ordered, nudging you behind him.

“They already caught him, Steve,” you huffed. “I think I’ll be fine.”

"Make way, prisoner coming through!" bellowed Jones.

You pushed closer, trying to get a better look at the prisoner. Gold earrings, a gardener's uniform… no.

"That's him!" you whispered to Steve.

"The pirate?"

Alby met your eye as he walked past. His face revealed nothing. Your stomach dropped to your toes.

“Y/N, no—”

Your feet were already moving, coming to stop in front of Jones and his men. They stopped, more out of surprise than anything.

"Who ordered his arrest?" you demanded. "No one has the authority to imprison anyone besides my father."

"Lord Pierce did, milady. He is the acting crown while the king is away."

"Since when?"

"For several days now, Your Highness. It is under his order."

"I want to speak to him at once. Where is he?"

"He is in the throne room, milady, but Lord has requested not to be disturbed. He's working hard on his duties."

"I don't care,” you said, already on your way. “He will answer to me."

The doors to the throne room were shut. What’s more, they were guarded by four men. As if Pierce had anticipated this exact reaction. Steve had insisted on accompanying you. You didn’t resist. With your father away and Pierce helping himself to powers beyond his title, it was best not to take any chances.

“I want to speak to him,” you said, planting yourself right in front of the guards.

“Apologies, milady, but Lord Pierce is not permitting visitors.”

“Visitors? I am the princess.”

“As I said, he is not—”

The doors boomed as you pushed them open, racing in. Several pairs of boots chased after you.

“Princess Y/N!”

You stopped halfway through your storming. Pierce was seated on your father’s throne, as if it belonged to him. The guards paused at your side, not touching you, because they knew what was best for them, disruption or not.

“My Lord, we apologize. She came in and—”

Pierce held up a hand, smiling.

“That is fine. Leave us.”

They did so. Steve remained where he was. Pierce raised a brow.

“Sir Steven, you’re not needed here.”

“He’s with me,” you said. “He stays.”

“Very well,” he grit. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Highness?”

“What of the gardener you arrested? You do not have the authority.”

“On the contrary, Your Highness, while the king is away, I oversee this kingdom’s safety. This so-called gardener has been charged with treason.”

“On what grounds?” you cried.

“On the grounds that he is a pirate,” Pierce replied calmly. “And a pirate pretending to work in the castle is treasonous.”

“What proof do you have that he is a pirate?”

“He was reported to be traveling a route that is favored by pirates.”

“That isn’t proof,” you scoffed. “You cannot hold him on that.”

Pierce stood, stepping down the dais. He tilted his head, squinting.

“A pirate sympathizer is not a good look on anyone, Your Highness.”

“I am not a pirate sympathizer,” you snapped.

“No? And I suppose it was a coincidence you were so near last week’s events at the docks.”

“What are you implying?”

“Just as it is a coincidence you were speaking so intently with the prisoner earlier this morning.”

“He was telling me about roses,” you replied. “And warning me about their thorns.”

Pierce chuckled, eyes glittering.

“I see. Well, regardless, I cannot have a pirate running amok.”

“You speak like this is your kingdom, Lord Pierce. It is very dangerous to indulge such fantasies,” you said. “And besides, even my father would give the gardener a fair trial.”

“Your father would not fraternize with pirates,” he sneered.

“Better a pirate than a crook.”

Pierce grabbed your wrist, forcing you forward. You struggled but he held fast.

“I wouldn’t be so bold, Your Highness,” he warned darkly. “We never know where our allies lie.”

“Let go of her.”

Steve’s sword was already drawn. Pierce studied him through slitted eyes.

“You dare draw your sword on me?”

“If you’re wondering where my allegiance lies, Lord Pierce,” Steve began, blade pressed to Pierce’s neck. “Here’s a closer look. Let. Go.”

You let Steve guide you away, still in shock. Pierce had never been so openly insolent before. Why he felt so confident now, you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“Apologies, Your Highness. I meant no harm. I simply forgot myself.” He smiled. “You are right. It would not be in good habit to be so quick to punish, pirate or not. I shall await the king’s judgment, as soon as he returns.”

“He will hear of this,” you said.

“Of course.” Pierce bowed deeply, bent at the waist. “I understand, Your Highness. My sincerest apologies.”

Your hand searched for Steve’s. He looped your fingers, taking them firmly as you left the throne room. Pierce’s smile was the last thing you saw as the doors shut.

“Are you alright?” Steve's voice was hushed as you stopped at an alcove in the hallway. He took your wrist, inspecting gently. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Yes, I’m alright. Steve, he’s never… he was so bold. Like he was king.”

“I know,” he replied grimly. “I don’t like this. But if you give Pierce the opportunity, he’ll monopolize on everyone’s fear. You can’t fight for the pirate.”

“What difference does it make? He already suspects me. Oh, I’m sorry, Steve. You’re probably distrusted too, because of me.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“But nothing. As long as you’re safe, I don’t care what they think of me.”

“And I’m the reckless one.”

Steve smiled. It quickly faded.

“Y/N, listen. If anything happens, you need to run. There is a war brewing, and if what Bucky said is true, we may find actual spies in the castle.”

“I won’t leave you, Steve.”

Steve sighed.

“If it’s between me and you, you must choose yourself.”

“Says who? Last time I checked, I’m the princess here.”

“Y/N, please. Promise me.”

Your grin dimmed. Steve’s eyes were wide, pleading.

“Alright, Steve.” You took his hands, squeezing. “I promise.”

“Do I really have to wear all of this?”

Your neck ached, heavily adorned with gems and the crown on your head putting pressure. Petunia had woken you up two hours earlier to prepare you for the solstice ceremony. Because your father was away, it was your job to light the torch and draw the flag. It was a tradition that went back centuries, and though it was unusual for the princess to carry out the duty, it had been agreed it would be wrong for anyone else to do so.

“He said he would be back,” you said, wincing as another maid accidentally pinched your wrist. It was still sore from yesterday.

“Apologies, milady,” she whispered, quickly moving on.

“It doesn’t look like the king will return in time,” Petunia replied, taking pity. “You’ll do a wonderful job, my lady. The king said you are ready.”

“What does he know?” He couldn’t even choose a trustworthy advisor.

You let her fuss for a moment more, then stood, sighing.

“Please, no more, Petunia.”

“Okay, okay, my lady. It’s… well, you look just like your mother.” She smiled like she was stuck in a memory. “Your father insisted she be the first to light the torch when they were married. She was radiant. Just like you.”

“I hope I will make her proud,” you murmured.

“You will, my lady.”

She handed you the golden scepter, then helped you walk across your room.

“Would you like me to help you down the stairs?” she asked, opening the door. “Oh. I see you already have your escort.”

Steve stood outside, his back to you. He’d stayed in front of your room for nearly the whole night after what had happened with Pierce, until you forced him to go to sleep. Petunia picked up your robe train. Steve turned, blinking for several moments.

“I know,” you sighed. “I look ridiculous.”

“No,” he breathed. “Not at all.”

You stood there, Steve watching you and you watching Steve, until Petunia cleared her throat.

“The princess will need aid going down the stairs, Sir Steven. If you would be so kind…”

“Uh, right. Of-of course.” He gave you his arm, walking slowly. You practically waddled away, waving at Petunia.

“I’ll see you downstairs!” you called, then turned, focusing on not tripping down three flights of stairs.

“You look great. Beautiful. I mean, um, you always look beautiful. ‘Cause you’re a princess—n-not that you’re beautiful because you’re the princess! But—”

“Steve,” you laughed. “What’s the matter with you? I’m only lighting the ceremonial torch. It’s not like I’m getting married.”

He coughed. “No, of course not. I just meant… you look like a queen.”

You stumbled. Steve was quick to pull you upright.

“You really think I could be queen?”

“I do. A spectacular one.”

“I might be terribly bossy. Wouldn’t be much fun to be around, running a kingdom and all. Would you love me anyway?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “I would.”

Your arm tightened around his as you stepped into the sunshine. Steve’s grip was solid and warm, despite your stupidly puffy sleeves and all the layers you were wearing. His hand lingered on your back as you let go.

“I’m nervous,” you whispered.

“I’ll be right here,” he assured. “You’ll be great. You always are.”

“Even when I’m chasing pirates?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Even then.”

He slipped away as you walked up the steps to the stage. Hundreds of people had gathered in the citadel to see you.

“My citizens,” you greeted. “As is tradition, I will light the solstice torch. With this comes another year of good bearings and joyful times. May this kingdom live in peace and promise.”

The crowd cheered. You lowered the long match to the golden torch. It burst into a large flame, and you stepped back, cowering at the heat.

“Let the festivities begin!”

Music rang throughout town. A guard extinguished the match for you and Steve helped you down the stairs once more.

“Nothing to it, right?” he said, nudging you.

“Nothing to it,” you agreed, smiling.

As the crowd dispersed, you followed Steve towards the booths. Everyone was joyous. You couldn’t help but feel guilty knowing it wouldn’t last for much longer once your father returned.

“Princess!”

A young girl, no more than six or seven, handed you a small flag. You accepted it, smiling. She beamed back, then handed Steve a flag too, a little more shyly. He took it and bowed. She giggled happily, skipping back to her family.

“Perfect,” you laughed, bumping his hip. “Just like a prince.”

“I’m no prince,” Steve admitted.

“No,” you agreed. “You’re better.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Oh!”

You hurried forward, spotting a booth with peach dumplings. The seller happily gave you a cup and you left more coins than necessary, moving away before he could try to give you your change. They were warm, not too hot, sweet and crisp. The peach filling oozed out, a ripe orange color.

“Want me to feed you some of these too?” you teased, holding a dumpling in front of Steve. He huffed at your jest.

“No thank you.”

“You ought to try something before it’s all gone. How about just one—”

Steve accepted the dumpling with a sigh, popping it into his mouth. He nodded, chewing.

“It is very good. Happy?”

“Yes,” you smiled. “Very.”

“Sir knight?”

A man approached, clutching his hat.

“Sir knight, I apologize for my interruption, but we’re having trouble with our horses and we don’t have enough hands to help…”

“I am sorry, but I’m accompanying the princess. I cannot—”

“Oh, Steve, you can afford to go for five minutes,” you urged.

Steve glanced at you. You nodded, smiling at the man.

“He’d be happy to help. Go on, Steve. There should be more guards helping the citizens, but…”

You looked around. Where were all the guards?

“I really shouldn’t…”

“Pierce isn’t here,” you reminded in a whisper. “I’ll be fine, Steve. Honest.”

He looked between you and the man, then sighed.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes! I have my dumplings to occupy me.”

“Don’t go anywhere, Y/N. I mean it.”

The man coughed at the use of your first name. You grinned.

“Where would I go, Stevie, besides the castle?”

He frowned at you for another moment before reluctantly following the villager. You drifted slightly, walking to the next booth that was filled with jewelry. One stone caught your eye—blue, just like the one on Bucky’s ring. You touched it gently, caught in a memory. Hopefully Bucky was okay, wherever he was. Maybe you could send a letter when everything died down…

“Fire!”

Immediately, your eyes went to the torch, worried you’d somehow lit it wrong. But it flickered on, flame blowing in the direction of the sea.

“Please, please! Help us!”

A woman with ash on her face trudged up to you, fingers leaving marks on your robe. The dumplings fell, crushed under dirty shoes. She pulled on your skirt, and you stumbled to your knees, horrified.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“There’s a fire!” she sobbed. “It has been burning in the square for ages. None of the guards have helped us in the attack!”

“Attack?”

“Men from ships,” she gasped. “Horrible brutes. Please, my princess, please help us!”

“Why has no one rung the bell?” you wondered.

“They are killing livestock and laying waste to our crops. Please do something, please please—”

“Alright, alright, yes. I will go and alert the knights now,” you promised. “Flee, if you can. I’m sorry, I don’t…”

BOOM!

A house down the road exploded, debris showering its neighbors. Screams and shouts rang in your ears. The soldiers were getting closer.

“Run,” you told her, getting up. “Please, run. Save yourself.”

She began to cry, hysterical, but you couldn’t wait and comfort her. You needed to warn the rest of the city.

“Go!” you shouted, hiking up your skirts and running as fast as you could. “Run, flee! The city is under attack!”

That sent people into a panic, but there was no time for an orderly evacuation. Bucky had been right, but who had let the soldiers dock here?

Sulfur and fire burned your eyes. Something exploded near the stage and the torch tipped over. The wood burst into flames. No one was at the castle gates, which was not good. How would the guards already know to flee?

Inside was quiet, but even the heavy doors could not muffle the chaos outside. You kept going, though your lungs protested. You had to reach the bell tower. That was your only chance of warning the city.

“Princess Y/N!”

You whirled around at the voice, on the defense. Sir Gouven watched you with wide eyes.

“The city is under attack,” you wheezed.

His eyes widened. Not a traitor, then.

“Gods! We must evacuate the city.”

“They came in on boats,” you said. “Get the citizens out someplace else. The woods perhaps, if it’s safe. Use the tunnels if you can.”

You started up the stairs for the tower.

“Milady, what are you doing?” he cried. “If you stay here, you’ll be trapped in the castle!”

“I am doing my duty. Now go!”

Gouven ran. You climbed the stairs. It was only a flight, but in your dress, it felt more like five. The tower, predictably, was also empty. From this height, you could see the ocean, and the madness that swarmed. Half the city was aflame. People’s screams carried up. But still, there was a village at the very back of the city that was still untouched. They wouldn’t know until it was too late.

You grabbed the rope and yanked with all your might.

The bell chime made your teeth rattle. But you kept pulling, hands raw from the rope. On and on it rang until you could no more. You fell to your knees in the corner, panting. Should you even try to go and escape? The soldiers would storm the castle no doubt.

But there were servants and maids in the castle. If you could help them escape, that was all the more reason to go back.

You stood, shedding a layer of your dress to make you lighter on your feet. Then you opened the door—and slammed into a suit of armor.

“Y/N? Oh my gods, Y/N.”

Steve yanked you into a hug. You put your arms around his neck, humming.

“Found me already? You’re getting better at this, Stevie.”

“I told you to run!” he burst, clutching you by your shoulders. “You could’ve died, Y/N! The entire city is in flames!”

“I had to warn them. Most of the guards are working with the enemy, I think. And Pierce…” you frowned. “I think Pierce is the leader. He must’ve tipped Faleron off.”

“We need to go now. Come on.”

You stumbled after him, limbs exhausted. But Steve kept you walking, one strong arm keeping you steady.

“Gouven’s not a traitor,” you said as you went down the stairs. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Probably because he couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it,” Steve grunted.

“I still think he should get a medal,” you decided. “I’d give him one.”

“There they are!”

Seven palace guards all had their eyes on you. You relaxed until they drew their swords.

“Not on our side, then.”

“Take her, kill him!” ordered one.

Finally, you ran. A sword slashed your dress. You screamed. Steve grabbed you and you both took off.

“Where do we go?” you panted.

“I don’t—there! In there, quickly!”

You followed him into one of the many gathering rooms your father used for smaller meetings. Steve tugged you in and you each slammed a door shut. Steve slid his sword through the handles just as the guards began banging on the doors. They stopped, only to reveal their plan.

“You two, get the battering ram! If we have to drag them out, so be it!”

Steve got behind one of the heavy wooden desks and pushed. You caught on, helping him move it against the door. The banging was nonstop. You shedded another layer, tearing off the already tattered underskirt, leaving you in your petticoat. Steve’s brows went to his hairline.

“Uh… Y/N, what—”

“I can’t move in these things,” you sighed, kicking the fabric aside. “Your armor is slowing you down too. You should remove it.”

“No way. When they come in, get behind me.”

BAM! The wood began to splinter. Wildly, you searched for an escape. Nothing. No windows, no closets, nothing. You felt your hope begin to shrivel. This really was the end.

“Steve,” you whispered, wincing at every crunch of wood. “Steve, I’ll run first and distract them. Then you’ll escape, okay?”

“No!” he cried. “No, no way.”

“Yes way! They want me alive, not you. You must take the chance where you can.”

“I am not—”

Flump!

You both froze. Every sound stopped. No splintering or shouting. You could hear the blood pound in your ears. Steve stepped forward, slipping out his sword from the barricade. You grabbed a letter opener from the table, on Steve’s right.

BOOM! The desk flew back, knocking into the table. You went to one side, Steve on the other, crouched behind the doors that were now open. He attacked.

“Oomph!”

Both men landed on the floor. Steve had his sword aimed at the other’s throat.

“Well. I see you’ve been practicing your right parry.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, landing on your knees by him.

“Hey there, princess,” he grinned, hands behind his head. “Miss me?”

“You came back,” you said, face inches from his.

“Wasn’t sure if you got my letter. When Alby didn’t come back last night, I got worried. Hey, Stevie, y’mind climbing offa me? Not that I ain’t pleased to have a lapful of handsome blond, but…”

Steve rolled off immediately, cheeks blooming scarlet. You took Bucky’s hand, helping him up. He sprang to his feet, briefly touching your wrist in thanks.

“Seems I came in the nick of time.”

“You took out all of those guards?” gaped Steve.

“You’re not the only one who looks good with a sword,” Bucky winked. “Got an inkling after I overheard that guard from last week panicking in the market about how he’d get hanged for not savin’ the princess.”

“They didn’t stop you at the docks?” you asked.

“Nah. Splash of gin and I’d look and smell like one of those barbarians. Well, ‘cept for my loveliness.”

He batted his lashes. You giggled, nudging his arm.

“I’m so glad you came back, Bucky. Despite the circumstances.”

“Well, it’d have been a damn shame to lose my favorite princess and her valiant knight. So I’m glad I did. How’s about that rescue part, hm?”

“There’s no way we’ll make it to your ship,” said Steve. “They’d never let her off.”

“Leave that to me, Stevie. I’ll get you both outta here. Put all your armor on. Princess, y’mind putting that dress on again?”

“It’s ruined,” you frowned.

“That’s okay. Better, actually. It’ll make this work.”

“What about Alby?” you asked. “Pierce arrested him.”

“Oh,” Bucky laughed. “Don’t worry ‘bout him. He’s already on his way out, trust me. Sweet of you to worry though, even if he’s a dog.”

“I like pirates,” you said.

Steve not-so-subtly grumbled. Bucky grinned.

“Yeah? I’m pretty fond of princesses m’self. And their stuffy knights.”

You made it out of the castle with minimal injury. It turned out Bucky had had a lot of practice escaping places he shouldn’t have been in.

“Now, I docked at the very edge of the shore,” he said. “Not at port. We should be unbothered ‘long as we stick to the outskirts of the city.”

“Help! My baby, help me, please!”

You stopped. One of the houses down the road was on fire. A woman was screaming, a little boy tugging to her skirt. You ran without another thought.

“Y/N!”

“Princess!”

“My baby, my baby!” the woman wailed, pointing. “She’s too scared to come out, please, help me!”

“Mama, mama!” begged the little girl, crying at the flames.

The foundation began to groan under the heat. Bucky pulled out his sword and handed it to Steve, then took his hat and gave it to you. He took a deep breath, then ran… into the flames.

“Bucky!” shouted Steve. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Another beam broke and fell. Your heart leapt to your throat. The woman began to weep, her son clinging to her shoulder.

“Move, move, it’s going to collapse!”

And there was Bucky, a small bundle under his leather coat. He handed the girl to her mother, then dragged both you and Steve away. The house gave one last groan, then fell.

“How did you do that?” Steve asked breathlessly.

“Not my first time,” was all Bucky said. “We gotta move, c’mon.”

You were slower with the extra layer and your pinching shoes, but soon, you saw the horizon and the familiar white wolf flag.

“Oi!”

And in the second it took you to turn around, Bucky had taken Steve’s sword as well as Steve, pressing the blade to his neck. You landed in his other arm, blade flat against your hip, Bucky’s arm tucked around your waist. He felt warm, unusually so, likely from the fire.

“Bucky,” you whispered urgently, a tiny bit of fear trickling in.

“Shh shh, princess,” he soothed, lips brushing your ear. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”

He grunted as Steve wiggled, clearly not so reassured.

“Relax, Stevie,” Bucky murmured. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“Think I’d be worried more about me hurting you,” Steve snapped.

Bucky laughed. “Sure thing, doll. Boy, you knights crack me up.”

“Tell the Captain we got the princess!” ordered one of the soldiers, big and ugly.

“You don’t have anybody, pal,” said Bucky. “Or have you not noticed whose swords they’re under? That’s alright; you don’t seem much like the observant type.”

“Give ‘em here!” said another. “They’re comin’ with us!”

“No,” growled Bucky, grip tightening. “They’re mine. I found ‘em first. Stole ‘em right from the castle, see? She’s even got her one of a kind dress.”

“What d’you even want ‘em for?!”

“I like pretty things,” Bucky grinned. “Bit of a collector, actually.”

“Oh, for gods—just kill them! Keep her alive!”

“Sword is all yours, Stevie,” Bucky whispered.

He let you go and you ran. This, unfortunately, caused two soldiers to chase you.

“Hold on, princess!”

You grabbed a bucket from a stable and swung it hard, knocking one soldier’s hand. He cursed in pain, and you took that opportunity to fully knock him out. The second lunged at you, then froze, blade piercing his shoulder. He groaned in pain, falling to his knees. Bucky nodded, taking your hand and pulling you in the direction of the boat.

“C’mon, Steve, we don’t have all day!”

“So sorry I’m interrupting your tight schedule!” grunted Steve, knocking out the last soldier with a well-placed elbow.

He sheathed his sword, following you to the ship. Bucky untied the rope, heaving up the anchor with Steve’s help, and you were off. More soldiers gathered at shore, but you’d be long gone by the time they set after you. For now, you were safe.

“Well, that was fun,” said Bucky, smiling brightly.

Three explosions went off at once, this time inland. You all flinched. Flames erupted from the palace. Tears sprung to your eyes. This was the last time you’d ever see your home—in ruins. All the adrenaline from the afternoon was fading, leaving exhaustion and sorrow in its wake. What had truly happened was now setting in.

“Y/N?” Steve asked quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Father,” you choked. “Father, he–he’ll be walking straight into a trap. I have to warn him, I need to—”

“Y/N. Easy, easy.”

Steve caught your hand, speckled with blood and ash. He removed his helmet with his other hand, passing it off to Bucky. Your foreheads touched and your eyes fell shut.

“We’re going to find out what happened to him. As soon as we dock again. Right, Bucky?”

Whatever his face read prompted Bucky to hum, gingerly laying a hand on your shoulder.

“Of course, princess. I’m sure we’ll find someone somewhere who knows something. After this, there’s no doubt others will have overheard whispers.”

Steve’s thumbs brushed your cheeks. You sniffled, opening your eyes.

“Okay?” he murmured. “It’s alright.”

You nodded. “I hope Petunia and Delilah are safe.”

“I’m sure they escaped.”

“I should’ve done more. I could’ve warned her, told her what we found out. I should’ve—”

“Y/N. Come here.”

Steve took your hand and led you to the rail. Bucky got the hint, busying himself on the other side of the ship.

“You did plenty. It’s a miracle we even made it out of there. If it wasn’t for Bucky, I…” he shook his head. “Regardless, we’re out.”

“But what good did it do? Assuming it was Pierce who orchestrated the whole thing, now he has what he wants. I’m the princess of a fallen kingdom.”

“But we’re alive. And that’s enough for now. And…” Steve glanced at the other side of the ship, sighing. “We need to prepare for when Bucky’s grace runs out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N, he’s not going to want us to stay on his ship forever.”

“Oh.” Of course. Steve was right. You just hadn’t thought to face that reality so soon.

Steve cupped your cheek. “It’ll be alright, though. Whatever happens. Perhaps we can visit the other kings and seek asylum there.”

“It’s as good a plan as any,” you agreed.

“I’ll ask Bucky for a map.”

Steve squeezed your wrist, kissing the back of your hand before slipping away. You smiled at him, then gently returned your gaze to the horizon. You couldn’t bear to watch the flames in the distance any longer. All you could do now was look forward.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x yn #stucky x you #stucky x reader #stucky x reader fics #stucky x y/n #royalty au #fantasy au #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction

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solign0501 · 6 years

Text

You Were Maid For This

Part 12

Pairing: AU Bucky (Royal) x Reader (Peasant)

Summary: Prince Bucky has everything life could offer at his command, except somebody to share it with. The Reader’s mother works in the castle and manages to get you a job there, working for the spoilt prince. What happens when he discovers the only thing he ever really wanted is so close, but so out of reach?

A/N - Slight change of plans - it seems I’ve wrapped this up in this instalment so this is the last one of this. I’m hoping to write a Loki x Reader fic in the near future - thank you everybody for your love with this series!

You waited nervously at the gate for your heart to stop pounding. The sounds of music and merriment drifted out on the cool evening air and you smiled. He was in there somewhere. Your grip tightened on the small package that you held and it gave you courage. Lifting your head and setting your gaze resolutely forward, you entered the palace.

Familiar voices reached your ears as you rounded the corner of the corridor leading to the Great Hall and your smile widened as you saw Mack, Daisy and Fitz in all their finery, standing outside the great wooden doors. Fitz stopped mid-sentence as he saw you and his face split into a dazzling grin.

“Y/N,” he said, causing the others to also turn and gape. “You look incredible.”

“You scrub up well yourself,” you said as you embraced him warmly. You hugged the other two as well.

Your family are already inside,” Fitz said. You nodded.

“I told them to go ahead, I had something to pick up.”

“Your mother mentioned,” Mack said, looking curiously at the little package. “We thought we’d wait for you. Well worth it, you look stunning.

“Shall we?” Daisy asked, the skirts of her grey taffeta gown brushing the stone floor as she turned. Looping her arm through Mack’s, they opened the doors and walked in.

A wall of sound hit you as they opened and your nerves came back tenfold. Fitz took your arm and linked it with his as he smiled gently at you.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered, his lilting accent instantly soothing you. “He won’t know what hit him.” You swallowed and nodded as you allowed him to sweep you forward and into the room.

It was a sea of colours and smiling faces, the conversation swelling as much as the music. You glanced around quickly but you couldn’t spot him in the press of people.

Jemma appeared out of a nearby group and waved enthusiastically over to you, beckoning for you to join them.

“You go,” you said to Fitz, unhooking your arm from his. “I’ll be over in a moment. I should probably just find my parents and let them know I’m here.”

“You sure?” Fitz said, looking levelly at you. You smiled broadly to hide your nerves and nodded.

“Positive. Now go, your lady awaits.” Fitz gave you a quick hug and moved away. A nearby group shifted, giving you a better view of the room.

Suddenly your gaze landed on him and a white hot flash shot through you. He was gorgeous. His clothing showed off every line of his muscular frame, his cheekbones sharp and defined underneath carefully groomed stubble. His glossy dark hair had been pulled back, allowing you to clearly appreciate his face and those vivid ice blue eyes that were focused now solely on you. You summoned every bit of courage you could muster and smiled as you dipped a curtsey.

Bucky couldn’t remember moving, but he was suddenly in front of you. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind but he couldn’t speak. Looking at you before him, in that dress it was a wonder he could breathe.

You both stood in silence for a moment, simply looking at each other. It was your mother’s voice that finally broke the tension as she walked over.

“There you are Y/N, that dress looks beautiful on you. Thank you for finding her, sire.” She turned and curtsied to Bucky, who cleared his throat, the spell broken.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he said, his voice steady despite his pounding heart.

“I couldn’t really refuse a royal command…” you said with a smile. Bucky scoffed.

“Apparently I owe him for that. I didn’t really think you’d listen to me.”

Sensing the mood between you, your mother bowed and took her leave, pretending to wave at a non-existent friend across the room. You barely noticed.

“I’m inclined to listen now,” you said softly. Bucky looked around at the smiling, noisy groups surrounding you and shook his head.

“Not here.” He reached out for you but paused before his hand could make contact with your skin. You could feel the fine hairs on your arm prickle with the nearness of him, as though reaching out to close the minute gap between you.

With far more courage that you felt, you stepped forward and looped your arm through him.

“The balcony is probably the best spot,” you said as you forced yourself to start moving, ignoring the enquiring glances shot in your direction from basically everybody.

You didn’t realise how warm you were until the brisk night air hit your skin. The sound died down around you until the loudest things were the birds and the trickling of a nearby fountain.

“It’s a beautiful night,” you breathed, letting go of Bucky’s arm to lean against the stone balustrade as you looked up at the stars twinkling overhead.

“It is now,” Bucky said, his eyes fixed only on you. You turned to face him, holding out the small package, carefully wrapped.

“Happy birthday, Your Highness,” you said. Bucky simply looked from your face to the package and back again. You chuckled nervously. “It’s called a present, people usually get them on their birthdays.”

“You didn’t have to…” Bucky started but you cut him off.

“Yes I did. I want to apologise for how I acted. You were trying to be kind and I threw it back in your face.”

“I didn’t exactly go about it in the best way,” Bucky said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No,” you admitted. “But I didn’t give you a chance to explain. I let my insecurities get the better of me. Yes, you were an idiot, but it took a king to make me see sense.” This earned a laugh from Bucky and you felt your chest tighten at the sound.

“So,” you looked pointedly down at the present. “Are you going to take this or not? My arm is starting to ache.”

Bucky reached for the package and his fingers brushed against yours, sending a shock right to the core of both of you. Almost unconsciously, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you. You swallowed hard as you dropped your hands to your side, looking up at him. His eyes never left your as he opened the plan brown wrapping paper. His gaze broke, however, as his fingers brushed the embossed leather cover.

Looking down, he pulled the paper away, letting it flutter slowly to the ground as he held the book. The painted leather cover was as familiar to him now as the contours of your face and he traced it as lovingly with the tips of his fingers.

“It’s your own copy,” you breathed, throat tight. “It was made by the same man who did mine.” Bucky opened the book, feeling the spine creak as the smell of the leather and parchment drifted up to him. There, on the inside cover was a small note in your handwriting.

As much as I tried, I couldn’t find a Beast. But the Prince was easy to love after all.

His eyes widened and he swallowed heard as he read the words.

“Do you mean it?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” you pointed out.

“I have been a beast,” he said, dropping his gave to the floor. “I’ve done things I regret.”

“Not to me.” You reached out and took his chin in your hands, lifting his head and forcing him to look at you. “Not to me.” Your voice was firm and it hardened your resolve. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stretched up and caught his lips in a soft kiss. Surprise froze him in place for a second before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you apart with a holt and you jumped away from him.

“Sorry to interrupt such a beautiful moment,” Steve said, looking not even remotely sorry. “It is customary for you to be present at your own birthday party, Buck.”

“Seriously, punk?” Bucky growled. Your eyes widened in shock, sure that he was the only person allowed to speak to the king like that.

“Seriously,” Steve said, his expression stern. “I’m sure Y/N will stick around for the rest of the night?” You nodded your agreement and it reassured Bucky.

“Fine,” he relented with a sigh. Turning to your he smiled ruefully. “Think you can spare me for a little while?” You returned the smile willingly.

“Absolutely. Go and be celebrated. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he whispered as he planted a soft kiss on your lips. Pressing his gift to his chest, he walked past Steve and into the ballroom, casting his friend a half-hearted glare as he went.

Steve strolled over to where you stood, giving you an appraising look.

“Has anybody mentioned that you look stunning?”

“They might have done.” He laughed and leaned casually against the balustrade as you both looked up at the stars in companionable silence.

“Thank you,” he said eventually. You turned to see him looking at you, a tenderness in his eyes. “I haven’t seen him look that happy in a long time.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you said, looking through the glass into the ballroom at Bucky, deep in conversation with Sam and Natasha.

“I’m not sure I’m quite ready for what is going to come next, though. This isn’t exactly the lifestyle I’m used to…” You felt comfortable enough with Steve to admit this, despite his rank. He was easy to talk to.

“He will be a challenge,” he said with a shrug.

“But honestly?” You nodded for him to continue. “You were made for this.”

@soonlazymoon @not-so-bad-ass @snuggleducky @sadanddeadsoul @vivianbabz @sawdustandsugar @wolfgamzee @marvel-fanfiction @iamwarrenspeace @huntermichelle @tremilyteapot @captainthisshipinmyhead @vgurl18 @seems-sosimple @slender–spirit @all-my-favourite-things91 @scarletthornrose @rockerchicktravellinwidthedoctor @thinking-writing-pixelated @bookgirlunicorn @anamcg317 @avigravy12 @how-to-oyster @sebastixnstxn @scarletttvisions @nanna022

#you were maid for this #Marvel AU #marvel royal au #prince bucky #prince bucky x reader #prince bucky x you #king steve rogers #LEOPOLD FITZ #Daisy Johnson #Alphonso Mackenzie

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bccky · 2 years

Text

Made For Each Other

Chapter 1 - The White

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers X Queen!Reader (Royal AU)

Summary: The King of Loh, Steve Rogers and you have been betrothed to each other since you were children. Along the way, you fall in love, leading to many, if not all, to believe that you two are made for each other.

If this was true, then why did Steve lead an attack on your kingdom and force you to marry him the very next day?

Words: 770

Warnings: angst, hatred, forced marriage, forced kiss, enemies to lovers, bad Stevie (warnings will change with each chapter)

A/N: I had written this way back when I had been experimenting with dark fiction, but I couldn't make myself write Steve without a redemption arc lol. Not beta'd.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Ps. I imagine Steve in this series to have a body like Chris does in the Red Sea Diving Resort... Like ya know, big :) with a beard like Andy Barber and usually slicked back blond hair but like feel free to imagine him as you want ;D also, find the picture of the dress at the bottom Xx

"With the power vested in me by His Majesty, I now pronounce you man and wife." The priest exclaims joyously, though it all feels like a farce to you.

Marriage is supposed to be between lovers, and if required, a mutually beneficial arrangement between the two at the very least. In this case, it seems like only one benefits everything, while the other loses all.

And why wouldn't it? This is no happy occasion, but an overzealous attempt to display the King's power, Steve's power.

He does not deserve the title, you decide mentally.

He's not your king. He'll never be your king.

The priest continues after stopping for a dramatic pause, "Your Majesty may now kiss your bride."

There's a collective sound of 'aww's as Steve takes a step towards you.

To an outside eye, it must be easy to be deceived by his conniving smirk, since it may look like a shy grin. But as you stand across him at the altar, you can't be tricked.

Steve's baby blue eyes darken as he leans forward to capture your lips, not deterred when you don't make an effort to kiss him back or even close your eyes, but cups your cheek in his palm to make your unwillingness discreet.

You wish you could just run away and start anew with a quiet life where no one knows who you are, but you can't. Your hands are cuffed together and strategically posed so that your long veil makes it invisible to the prying eyes.

Steve's Royal Advisor and your maid of honor, Lady Romanoff, has held the edge of a blade against your lower back, which you guess is also concealed by some part of your white wedding gown and the angle you both are standing in.

You can tell Steve is getting frustrated, his grasp on your face more rough, and he glances behind your shoulder, a supposed instruction to Lady Romanoff because she increases the pressure on the blade.

It almost cuts through the skin of your exposed back, the threat making you comply and let Steve's tongue roam your mouth for however long he wishes.

If it wasn't for Romanoff, you would've bit his tongue off.

Now, you stand helplessly still as Steve's cold blue eyes glimmer in satisfaction at the defiance in yours as he pulls away.

His dark gaze reminds you of the previous day when he was dragging you out of your castle by your hair, showing how you were nothing more than a game to him.

And as much as you want to slap the smug smirk off his face, you don't, knowing that acting out will only further the bratty image of yours that Steve presented you as to his people.

You are only a trophy from his latest conquest, the infamous headstrong princess that he claimed for himself upon taking over your kingdom, your home forcefully, even though you were going to be his soon.

Steve went as far as to want you to think that you were getting a privilege since he had ordered the rest of your family to be imprisoned after a five days long war.

"Let's see how long you last before I break you." The way he utters the words as he pulls away would make you or any other woman recoil away, but you're determined to not show him even an ounce of fear.

You're not going to let him win.

There are thousands of eyes that watch your union with their beloved King, and you know that if you want even an ounce of their favour and support should you ever require it, being calm and composed is the only way.

You need to be seen as a collected and resilient Queen, even a quiver in your actions can be held against you.

So you stand straight and square your shoulders, conveying through your body language that you're not giving up. You're not going to be the one that loses.

A new crown is set upon your head that matches the colour and the precious metals of the one that Steve wears.

It's nothing like your old tiara, though lighter in weight, it feels burdening and as if it is made up of thorns, bringing a sense of discomfort and alienation.

"I now present to you, the King and Queen of Loh." The Herald announces and Steve is quick to change his demeanor into the poor substitute of the kind-hearted king the world thinks him to be.

He puts an arm around your waist, forcing you to face the crowd. "Smile and wave, my darling." And you do as he says, reminding yourself that you're only biding your time.

I’d love to hear what you think! Please like, reblog and comment to let me know :) Comments and reblogs make my day Xx

If you'd like to read more of my works, click on the masterlist linked on the top of this post!

If you wanna be tagged for the next part, please reblog this and mention it there 😊

Lastly, may I present to you, the wedding dress:

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celestialdolll · 3 years

Text

The King’s Lover (Part Two)

Note; Just want to credit @donutloverxo and @lizzygal as The series ‘A Royal Scandal’ really inspired me to write this and if you haven’t already, you should check it out. This is my first story so please go easy on me 😅

Part one

A/N; I’m so so sorry for how long this took. Life has been very busy and in all honesty I kept loosing motivation in writing this 😭. Also this part is more of a filler, the next part will have some more drama

Pairings; King!Steve Rogers X Black Female Reader

Summary; Veronica convinces Steve that Y/n is bad news but then realises the lies Regina spread and attempts to get y/n on board with speaking to Steve.

Warning; angst, mention of cheating, very very brief mention of sex, fainting, brief mention of anxiety,

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Veronica sat in her royal suit as she nervously waited for words that Steve had returned. Her mind had been a mess since the incident took place and despite her mothers assurance she still felt a pit in her stomach. She loved Steve and only wanted the best for him like he did her. He always had her back and looked out for her. She was just doing the same. Right?

“Mother.. are you sure this is a good idea? Wouldn't it be better to just tell Steve the truth?” Veronica questioned, still hesitant about the plan the queen mother came up with.

“Veronica, what is it that you cannot grasp? Like I have said countless times, Steve is too stubborn to listen to reason and you haven’t seen the way he looks at her. He’s too infatuated to see sense. We must intervene!”

“Okay okay, I’m just worried about him, that’s all.” She sighed exasperated. Regina was being relentless about this and as cold as she could be, Veronica felt that deep down she truly did care for Steve.

With a heavy heart she gingerly took off the diamond tennis bracelet of her delicate wrist. “You should use this bracelet. Steve gave this to me on my 16th birthday. He knows how much I treasure it.”

Regina eagerly took the bracelet out of her dainty hands. It was perfect.

“Now, I will have someone plant it whilst you go and speak to Steve. And remember, we are doing this to protect him, okay?”

“Whatever you say mother”

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Steve could swear he had never felt so giddy. You had left a few minutes ago and after seeing you off he had to go back to his office to do some work. Except he couldn’t. Here he was, a 36 year old man acting like a love struck 16 year old but that was how you made him feel. He was so lost in his thoughts about you he didn't hear the gentle knocking on his doors.

“Steve?”

Slightly startled he quickly turned his attention to the grand oak doors that were slightly ajared as his sister poked her head through. “Veronica? What are you doing?” He chuckled, “Is everything alright?”

As she slowly let herself in, Steve could feel the joyous atmosphere die down from the forlorn look on her face.

“I have come to learn that you have taken up a new lover.”

“Oh, yes. Look I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before but we wanted to keep things to ourselves for now” he said as he slowly stood up from his seat, walking over to his young sister.

“Let me guess, it her idea to keep the relationship secret? She didn’t want others to know about you two, did she? Is that not suspicious to you?”

The only emotions Steve felt in this moment was a mixture of confusion and surprise. He had a feeling that once he spoke to Veronica about the relationship she would be a little upset but he never expected her to be like this.

“Suspicious?”

“Yes, suspicious!” She responded curtly, she needed him to really listen. All veronica could really hear was her mother in her ear demanding her to get this part done. Regina would be the one to handle the rest. “She stole my bracelet! The maids told me they saw her do it. Ask them yourself!”

“Y/n? Stealing? Are you sure about this because she would never do that? That’s not who she is!”

“Do you really think I’m lying? And do you really know who she is?” She questioned incredulously.

Steve faltered at the last question. You had spent countless nights together just talking, getting to know each other. There were times where he’d stay over at your apartment, fucking, then cuddling and eventually falling asleep in each other's arms. He cherished nights like these.

“I think she’s using you Steve”, she spoke solemnly, “If you don’t believe what I’m saying then go to her place, check her bag. If it’s not there then maybe the maids lied and I got it wrong. If it’s not, well, I think you know what that would mean.”

Sighing, Steve sat back down in his seat at his desk. His eyes were closed shut as his hands massaged the sides of his head. A part of him wanted to completely ignore his sister’s accusations, after all it was him that spent months upon months being with you. Not her. He knew you inside out and was convinced you were it for him. He wanted no other, only you.

Yet there was another part of him, the rational side, that knew it was better to attempt to find out if the accusations against you had any merit. The thought of you betraying him like that, or playing him gave him major anxiety and hugely angered him. The more he thought about it the more agitated it made him. Your relationship being a lie was heartbreaking yet not completely impossible despite how much it hurt to think about.

“Steve?”

“Fine”, He spoke, his tone hard and cold, “I will go find out for myself.”

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

“Ma’m, the King has arrived just now.”

“Oh why thank you Katie, I will go see him now!”, Veronica cried.

As she reached the grand oak doors she couldn't help but overhear some faint sniffles making her heart drop and her anxiety rise. Hesitantly, she knocked on the hardwood, sighing when she heard no response.

“Steve, I-I’m going to come in now.”, she softly spoke before pushing open one of the doors, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of her brother.

His eyes were bloodshot and still shone as tears pooled in his eyes. His cheeks were covered with red blotches. His hair was untainted with stray strands pointing out in different directions, it was obvious he had been anxiously running his hands through it. His large hands shook uncontrollably as he held them together, attempting to console himself. He looked so broken.

“How could she do this to me? I gave her all my love, attention, my everything. Just for her to use me for some money? The worst part about it is that if she had asked for money I would've happily handed it to her.”, He chuckled humorlessly.

“Steve listen to me, I know it hurts like crazy right now but you will recover. You're so strong! You have done the hard part now.”

She slowly stepped towards him before taking his hands into hers, gripping them tightly as they trembled.

“Oh Stevie!”, Regina cried out as she entered the suit, oak doors swinging open as she strided in.

“Veronica told me all about the situation! How are you doing my love?”

Steve couldn't help but mentally facepalm as his mother walked in. She was the last person he wanted to see.

“Regina do me a favor, stop acting like you give a shit and get out of my sight. I’m really not in the mood.”

The tension in the room was immense which made Veronica feel extremely uncomfortable. Steve and Regina never really got along but their relationship completely broke down around the time when he was 10, when he found out that she had been having a 15 year affair. The whole situation was extremely stressful for the young child and left him feeling heartbroken and frankly traumatised. His entire view of his family was completely warped afterwards and almost had him convinced that the King was not his true father. The only father he ever knew.

Luckily he and his father did a DNA test which proved that they were in fact father and son. However Regina certainly didn't help the ordeal as she showed no remorse or care for the damage she caused both with her husband and her son.

“How dare you! I am still your mother, you will show me the respect I deserve!”

“The fact that I haven't thrown off to the curb so far is something you should be extremely thankful for. I see the snake you are and I want you out of here! Now! Leave before I say or do something we'll both regret Regina.”

With a frustrated scoff the Queen Mother stormed out the room, not before giving her son an angry scowl. How could he be so ungrateful? After all the things she had done to protect him all his life. Just to treat her this way.

This whole situation with y/n had been an annoyance to her but after that performance from her son, she could help but feel that maybe he deserved the pain he felt. He should've been smarter anyways. It was his job to put the crown first so the fact that he ever thought that y/n would be an appropriate fit for the family was appalling to her. He needed to grow up.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Three weeks later

BEEP BEEP BEEP

You tiredly groaned as you turned to your side, clambering to reach for your phone, subsequently knocking it off your bedside table. Forcing your eyes to open, you sluggishly stretched your arm to pick it up before turning the alarm off with a sigh.

It was 7:40 am which meant you had about 20 minutes get your ass out of bed and go to work.

Great.

As you slowly got ready you couldn't help but notice the way your heart dropped when you remembered what happened. This would occur literally every morning. You would wake up and go about your day before you thought of Steve. It was like his presence was tattooed in your life and you could not remove him. No matter how hard you tried.

You sighed with a heavy heart before making your way out of your apartment building and made your way to the cafe. It was a small, cute building on the corner of a street and since its opening 4 years ago, it had proven to be a popular place for people to come to.

Walking in you saw the building was not very busy which was lucky for you as you couldn't deal with too many customers at this time in the morning. There was a very calm atmosphere which you were thankful for, yet, you still couldn't shake the feeling of sadness as Steve came into your brain. Again.

Internally groaning, you put on your apron before standing at the till leaning on the counter with a scowl on your face.

“Hey Hon, what has you so down? Is it that ex of yours?”, your best friend and coworker Amala asked. She knew you were in a relationship but you never explicitly told her that it was Steve despite how much you wanted to. It was just that you and Steve had agreed to keep your relationship secret and you would never betray him or break a promise like that.

‘Despite what he so clearly thinks.’, you thought bitterly.

After Steve stormed out your apartment you immediately phoned her and she came round to console you, even staying the night to make sure you were alright. She was very concerned especially with seeing how distraught you were and she didn't even know the whole story. She still didn’t. For some reason you just could not bring yourself to tell her everything.

“It's been three weeks but I can't seem to get over it, what's wrong with me?” You chuckled bitterly.

“Hey, I saw how upset you were that night. Anyone can see how much you cared about him. You’ll recover eventually and it's his loss.”

“Yea yea I know, it’s just-”

“Amala! I need you in the back!” The manager called.

“I’m coming! I’ll speak to you later okay?” You swiftly nodded in return before watching her rush into the back.

“Hello, are you y/n?” A soft voice spoke out, grabbing your attention. It was a lady who appeared to be in her mid twenties. She wore large dark sunglasses and had a scarf over her head which partly covered the top of her long blonde hair. She was also covered in a large, beige trench coat that reached her ankles letting her black kitten heels be seen.

“Umm yea that's me. Can I help you?”

“Yes! Oh do you think I could speak to you privately? It's very important!”

Frankly bewildered you wanted to turn her down knowing full well that if the manager came out and saw you off the counter you would get an ear full. However there was something about her eagerness and the mystic about her that had you intrigued about what she wanted to say.

With a deep sigh, you ultimately agreed.

You both walked out to the back as she continued to emphasise the importance of keeping the conversation private.

“I came to speak to you about Steve.” She said before removing her sunglasses. Stunned by her admission you quickly began to recognise who she really was.

“Princess Veronica!” You exclaimed incredulously.

“I Am not exactly sure what Steve said to you that night but it is truly all my fault! Me and mother were the ones that tried to break you two apart. She told me yo were using Steve and just hurting him and me being the idiot that I am, I blindly believed her. I am so sorry y/n! I should have known better.”

“You broke us apart? What does that even mean? The last time I spoke to Steve he was angry with me for no reason, I don’t even know what really happened!”

“Mother planted my bracelet in your apartment and then I told Steve that you stole it. Again I am so sorry y/n.” She said whilst she shook her head in shame.

You closed your eyes as everything started to make sense. For weeks you had been so confused by the entire situation. For weeks you had felt lost. For weeks you questioned your worth and your actions trying to figure out what was wrong with you that made him so pissed.

“Steve really misses you.” Veronica softly spoke when you didn’t reply. “I have never seen him this upset and hurt. He is so different now, you made him so happy and without you I don’t think he knows what to do. He needs you y/n. I know he feels so guilty and whilst I don’t exactly know what was said I can tell it was bad.”

“That’s not my problem.” You whispered, your voice emotionless.

“Y/n please. I have tried to speak to him, tell him the truth but he won't speak to anyone. He's locked himself away and all he does is work. It is not healthy. He is not doing well at all. I know you still love him, I am just asking that you two talk. You are good for each other. Please don’t give each other up just because of my mistake!”

You shook your head before walking away, fully done with the conversation. Tears began to well up in your eyes as you felt a wave of anxiety hit you. This was the last thing you needed. Of course you still loved Steve but could you two really move on? Yes he didn't know the truth but that doesn't make the things he said less hurtful at all.

Veronica came back in and attempted to speak to you before you waved her away and began wiping some of the tables. You couldn't deal with her at that moment and she stayed for a good 40 minutes before walking away. She could tell you were too upset and figured giving you some space for the time being was a good idea.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

It turned out to be a long day as you had two shifts at work and did some babysitting for one of your friends as her and her partner decided to go out for a few hours. And now it was 7:30 pm and you were walking home with multiple shopping bags in your hands.

You were absolutely knackered and you couldn't wait to go home and finally go to sleep. You also just wanted to forget your situation with Steve which somehow became more complicated which frustrated you to no end. Weirdly things felt easier when you were grieving over the relationship but after hearing what Veronica said you felt a little nagging feeling of hope and that was the last thing you needed from all this. Regardless of the details Steve still said what he said. And he meant it. That’s what hurt you the most.

Does she really expect you to be the one that goes over and tries to sort things out? At the end of the day he is the one that broke your heart. If he really loved you then he would be the one to fix things, but from the way Veronica spoke about how he was acting it seemed very unlikely.

As you continued to walk a feeling of extreme uneasiness took over you.Your balance staggered and your ears started to ring before you slowly collapsed onto the hard concrete, completely blacking out.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

The first thing you noticed as you arose from your slumber was the brightness that burned your eyes. Your eyes could barely focus on your surroundings, the sound of repeated beeping filled your ears and you honestly felt like complete and utter shit.

“y/n? Are you awake?” A deep voice gently asked before you felt a warm hand cup the side of your face, stroking your cheek with their thumb.

Your eyes continued to flutter before you were able to register the person holding onto you.

“Steve?”

tag list; @akkinda10 @marvelfansworld @certifiedlesbiangirl @emmywinningengineer @starry-night-20 @zaraomarrogers

#angst #steve x reader #steve x y/n #steve x you #steve x black!reader #Modern Royalty AU #Steve Rogers #black reader #king #betrayal #steve rogers fic #Chris Evans #chris evens x black reader #chris evans angst #andy barber #ransom drysdale #chris evans fic

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princessmisery666 · 2 years

Text

PM666READS - October - Fic Recs

Please heed all the warnings on the individual fics. I am not responsible for what you choose read.

I challenge everyone who sees this to read and Reblog one fic from the list 🤩🥳 tag me if you do.

Life got busy so I didn't read as much as I would have liked. Sorry.

📚 Jamie Lannister

The King Slayer and the Milk Maid - @wonder-cole - Forced marriage. dark fic.

📚 Sam Wilson

Diamonds & Granola Bars - @suitofvibraniumarmor - After Sam has his wisdom teeth taken out, Y/N is there to enjoy the humor of his post-surgery high.

📚Eddie Brock/Venom

Threesome - @charnelhouse - This is so wrong. It’s essentially a threesome. A threesome with an alien symbiote thingy with a really really long tongue. Fuck it.

More - @charnelhouse - Venom/Eddie Brock x F!Reader. Smut. Rough(ish). Overstimulation. Triple Penetration. Two D’s in da V if you know you know. HELP.

Creature from the Black Lagoon - @there-must-be-a-lock - Warnings for, um, tentacles? It’s goddamn Venom smut, you probably know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.

📚Ari Levinson

Cherry Blossom - @cockslut-padalecki - A freak accident involving a thunderstorm, a cherry blossom tree and Y/N’s car, sees a strong, handsome mountain of a man strolling into her life when she least expects it.

📚 Bucky Barnes

Shower Me In Praise - @angrythingstarlight - Bucky knows what you need after a long week without him.

Beefy Alpha Bucky - @angrythingstarlight - a smutty drabble.

📚@cockslut-padalecki - 11 Sentence Challenge

a collection of smutty drabbles with delicious prompts that everyone crushed = fics for Bucky Barnes, Rick Flag, Ari Levison, Ransom Drysdale, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Lee Bodecker, Steve Rogers and Andy Barber by @sofreddie , @syntheticavenger , @there-must-be-a-lock , @lokislastlove, @deanwanddamons, @hoboal87, @sweetlyscared, @letsby, @darkficsyouneveraskedfor, @waywardbaby, @watermelonlipstick, @navybrat817, @thinkinghardhardlythinking and more that I’ve probably forgot, sorry <3

📚 Steve Rogers

My Trouvaille - @amanda-teaches - When you and Steve get stranded in a tiny French town, you take the opportunity to play tourists for the day. Can the fairy tale of Vouvant work its very own magic on the two of you?

Naked - @cockslut-padalecki - Y/N pays Steve a visit to the office.

Hearbeats & Flatlines - @cockslut-padalecki - A special formula created to stop Omegas being claimed creates a world where they have no choice but to obey the limitless and debaucherous whims of any Alpha. The shady corners of the entertainment industry take full advantage and you, an unfortunate victim of this future, work for pittance just to get by. Rival gangs. Omegas without rights. Alphas without morals. No consequences. The only way out is death. That is until the fantasy of true mates becomes apparent that it’s not as much of a myth as you once thought, and maybe there is an alternative way out after all.

📚Dean Winchester

Into The Unknown - @deanwanddamons - Dean is desperate to get laid. Will his hunters instincts betray him?

Sweet Cheeks - @avanatural - Y/N occasionally hunts with the Winchesters. Dean has been wanting to make a move on her for a while now, and he could have sworn that she’s into him as well. But what happens when Dean finds out that his brother has a crush on her, too?

Innuendo - @alleiradayne - If you asked Castiel, something was definitely wrong with Dean. Of that, he had no doubt. Whatever bothered him, Castiel also knew that if he were to get to the bottom of it, he must tread lightly. Press too hard on Dean Winchester and he’d bottle up tighter than the lid on a pickle jar. But when the possibility of a hunt distracts them, Castiel is forced to put his concerns aside and focus on the task at hand. Unfortunately for them both, the case reveals far more about themselves than they ever anticipated.

Green Is My Favorite Color - @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior - Dean has been her hero from childhood, can she ever get him to be more?

Her Protector - @deanwanddamons - Y/N and Dean decide to have an evening watching horror films.

Mirror, Mirror - @thinkinghardhardlythinking - Choose your own Winchester and have sex with them whilst looking a mirror

Demon Blade - @there-must-be-a-lock - “Using the demon knife to subdue demon!Dean + pegging.”

Again & Again - @wonder-cole - She went on a hunt to bring him back. It went wrong - very wrong.

Still Magic - @padalelli - Dean Winchester, warm laundry, cheesy pick-up line, and dinner, but not necessarily in that order.

Always You & Me - @deanwinchesterswitch - Dean needs a little assist when things take a turn with you/Y/N/the reader.

📚Sam Winchester

Just My Imagination - @wonder-cole - Sam wakes up in a strange place.

#PM666READS #recs #fic recs #pm666reads #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Eddie Brock #Venom #Jamie Lannister #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson #Ari Levinson

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speechlessxx · 3 years

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows & now i’m covered in you.

{King!Steve Rogers x noblewoman!Reader}

with a side of Prince/King!Peter Parker x Reader

ROYALTY/MEDIEVAL AU

summary -> engaged to the Prince of Arachnia, the young maiden finds her heart calling out the name of another.

warnings-> infidelity. age gap! (reader’s age isn’t explicitly said but she’s younger than Steve). poorly & awkwardly written SMUT. (includes: unprotected sex, brief fingering, slight breeding kink). rambles. angst. fluff. lots of tension. bittersweet ending :)

A/N -> for smut part, please scroll if you are not 18+. MINORS DNI

word count -> 12k+ !!! this one’s a lengthy one & i had no intentions of turning it into a series. it just got long.

Buy Me A Kofi

At the ripe age of five-years-old, you were plucked from your childhood, abandoning all the childish whims and adventures to be groomed to be the perfect wife. No more rolling in the dirt with your older brothers or mucking about the stables with the horses or fencing with sticks that substituted the steel bladed swords.

It all quickly became sewing needles and recipes, cleaning and books balanced on your crown.

You were taught it all.

How to behave. How to stand or sit. How to greet and host. How to exist in silence because “a lady is to be seen and never heard,” as your teacher, Madam Morris, would say. The many lessons were engraved into your mind while the meaningless tasks and skills became muscle memory.

Be pious. Be kind. Smile. Be what your husband wants. Laugh. (no, not like that). Do as your husband says. Be interesting but not too much. Never overshadow your husband. Don’t disappoint or you will bring shame upon your family.

What a burden to place on the shoulders of a young teen though it was expected of you. Coming from an aristocratic family, it was all you ever knew: “get a husband and make us proud”.

As the years droned on and you approached adulthood, the pressure to marry became more and more prominent. And when you shed past your teen years as an unmarried young adult, the disappointment and shame began to show. Your family throwing distaste your way with snide remarks and mocking smirks.

The embarrassment felt as if it had been painted across your cheeks and you grew restless, convincing yourself to accept any opportunities of marriage just to be rid of their cruelty.

So, when the Prince of Arachnia arrived at your father’s estate and asked for permission to court you, you had no choice but to accept.

Prince Peter Benjamin Parker was nothing short of the perfect gentleman. As you walked, he’d ensure that you were safely tucked into his side opposite of the streets. He’d hold your hand steady as you exited carriages. He’d leave chaste kisses on your forehead or knuckles – almost always on your left ring finger – even though your chaperone would throw a disapproving glance his way.

You thought of him as charming with his tousled, dark brown curls with matching eyes that squinted as he smiled or laughed harder than he intended.

“He would make a great king someday,” your father would sing his praises. “And you, my dove, will be his fine queen.”

You were never fond of these comments, never finding any appreciation or gratitude when they were uttered to you. Though the thought of being queen would make any young girl giddy with excitement, you found an odd sensation of dread within you.

You weren’t sure where the feelings had originated from. Were you nervous about being a queen? About the responsibility of running not only an estate but an entire country as well? Or was it the fact you would forever be labeled as his queen rather than the queen? Did you detest the idea of belonging to another person for the rest of your life?

“Are you alright?” His voice brought you back into the present. You swallowed as you turned away from the window facing the garden of roses that your mother was so proud of to face the prince. You curtseyed although he’s told you many times it was unnecessary.

“I’m grand,” you lied with a weary smile though he bought it all the same.

Peter grinned a toothy smile as he took your hand in his. It was then you felt the weight of the engagement ring on your finger. The sapphire blue was an oval shape, large enough to cover the skin of your knuckle. The center jewel adorned a halo of smaller diamonds. All this sitting on the delicate white gold band that wrapped around your finger like a shackle.

He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss upon the sapphire. “I shall be counting down the days,” he whispered in the quiet room. You forced another smile and nodded.

“As will I.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

Arachnia wasn’t a large country nor was it tiny either. It had eight main roads that extended into the towns with the capital and its palace in the center. It had been said that the main roads were all equal in length so that everyone was at an equal distance from the palace though you weren’t so sure that there was truth to this. Your father’s estate sat near the south of Arachnia, in one of the nicer towns. The ride to Peter’s real home felt like an eternity.

It had been his idea, of course, that you be brought to the palace months ahead of the wedding. “Life in the castle is different to life in the towns,” he told you before, weeks into your courtship, “Everyone’s always watching.” He reasoned that the prying eyes needed to get used to the presence of his future queen, but you understood it all the same – that although it was crucial that you adjust to court, it was equally, if not more so, important that the court adjust to you.

“I will give you the grand tour,” he said as you put your head on his shoulder. The journey, although short, had picked at your energy. All you wanted was to close your eyes and sleep, but his excited chatter kept pulling you back into consciousness. As much as you wanted to tell him to pipe down, you knew you couldn’t. Not only was he your husband to be, but he was also your soon to be king. “There’s fountains and gardens – I had them plant roses like the ones in your mother’s – “

The words became muddled nonsense as you slowly dozed off. The journey and your sleepless night, picking at the skin on your fingers, had finally caught up to you, making your eyelids heavy with sleep.

You jolted awake as the carriage hit a bump. You and Peter’s head slammed into each other, waking you both. You groaned, rubbing the spot as he mirrored you.

“You alright?” Peter asked you. You nodded, still rubbing the spot. Peter leaned over and kissed it and you gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You’ve been rather quiet. Is there something on your mind?”

You shook your head. “No, your highness,” you said. “I am just a bit nervous, is all.”

“Don’t be.” Peter chuckled. “The kingdom will fall in love with you just as I have.”

“And if they do not? Shall you find another bride?”

Peter’s smile faltered before shaking his head. “Those who do not immediately fall for my queen are mad and I shall find them the greatest court physician to treat their delusions.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You placed your head against his and took in a shaky breath.

There it was again. My queen. Another reminder that you no longer belonged to yourself. That as soon as vows are exchanged and he places another band on top of the enormous ring you already wore, you were completely his to own.

And suddenly that sweet moment, wrapped in your fiancé’s arms, was cut short as that familiar feeling of dread washed over you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

After weeks following your arrival in the center of Arachnia, it still didn’t feel like your home, rather it was Peter’s. The maids didn’t follow your orders nor did the kitchen staff. Heavens knows that the knights and the other noblemen wouldn’t acknowledge you. It felt as if no one knew your name, save for Prince Peter and his aunt, Lady May Parker.

You were merely a stranger in their court, the soon to be king’s guest.

Although the preparations for Peter’s coronation should’ve been your duty, Lady Parker seized the job, citing that you weren’t the queen just yet. “Let me alleviate you of this, Lady (Y/N).” She told you with a smile. “After your marriage, I shall step aside and allow you all the duties as the lady of the castle.” And in many ways, you were grateful that this was not your responsibility for the coronation of Prince Peter Parker had been long awaited for.

After Peter’s uncle, King Benjamin, passed and with Peter’s father long gone before then, the young prince was suddenly eyed to be the king. However, the councilmen thought that the boy was too young – too green to be king. They waited years until Peter came of age and once he finally did, they refused a peaceful transition of power. Instead, there were harsh rumors that the kingdom would be handed to Brooklyn’s King.

This debacle led to rumors of unrest and threats of civil war. It felt as if the entire continent held its breath as it stared at Arachnia, waiting for the violence to begin.

If King Anthony of Starken and Lady Parker did not intervene, then there would’ve been lives lost and a country torn. An agreement was made between House Parker and their council: that before Peter may take the throne, he must either be married or engaged, so that the line of succession may be secured.

And with your presence and Peter’s sapphire ring, the crown became his in an instant.

Nearly three weeks before his coronation, lords and ladies along with royals from other countries flocked to Arachnia to celebrate its king.

Lady Parker and Prince Peter introduced you to so many people in the coming days that none of their names truly stuck. All except one.

King Steven Rogers of Brooklyn.

The tall, broad man strode through the castle halls. His royal blue clothes made his eyes pop in the daylight. You thought he was beautiful. His presence demanded attention and he walked with a knowing smirk. Cocky. Arrogant. You profiled as he stood in front of Peter, towering over him.

Peter, still a prince, bowed to him as you did. “You’re younger than I expected.” The King’s voice was contradicting to his loud presence. His tone was even and steady like soft currents of a river or the expert strokes of a painter upon a canvas. You didn’t realize he was speaking to you until Peter called your name.

“King Steven, allow me to introduce my bride to be, Lady (Y/N).” Peter’s brow glistened with sweat though he stood tall. He was nervous. You could tell by the way his pitch was higher than it usually was. Under the king’s eye, he felt inferior. Insecure, even. Because although Peter was charming and slender, King Steven was intimidatingly handsome and built. Peter looked like a prince whereas Steven exuded the confidence of the king and looked like it, too.

You knew of the history between Brooklyn and Arachnia. There had been rumors that if Prince Peter could not get the crown, that the entire country would become part of Brooklyn’s, part of this other king’s domain.

“It’s a pleasure, my lady,” the king smiled at you and your eyes rounded as butterflies erupted from your stomach. He took your hand in his and you felt goosebumps rise all over your skin. A nervous, ragged breath escaped you as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss upon your knuckles like Peter’s done a million times.

But your reaction was different. Your face went hot, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You could feel it between your legs, a feeling you had never felt before. Pulsing. Throbbing.

King Steven’s hand lingered over yours for a few seconds more, thumb grazing your skin and over the sapphire. You suddenly felt embarrassed – as beautiful as the ring was, it was so large that it looked odd on your dainty hand.

“Beautiful ring,” he complimented with a nod to Peter. “Excellent taste.” It wasn’t clear if the king was complimenting the ring or the young woman who wore it and no one dared question such a distinguished man.

You pulled your hand away from his with a bow of your head. You couldn’t look him in the eye for a second more. “Thank you for joining us, your majesty.”

The king smiled at your fiancé before nodding. “I look forward to your coronation, Peter. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasant event.”

You forced a smile as you and your fiancé greeted the next guest. The pleasantries and introductions fell upon deaf ears because as you looked up, searching through the crowd, your eyes immediately found his already staring back at you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

It felt as if there was a party every single day. A festival in the courtyard. A feast every night. You began to wonder where was all this money coming from – were the people being taxed heavily for the enjoyment of the upper class? Lady Parker assured you that Arachnia was well funded and that where the expenses exceeded their budget, they were handled by King Anthony, who considered it an early marriage present.

You sat like a decorated ornament next to Peter, surrounded by the other royals at a round table. You felt out of place in a gown made from your town’s finest tailor whereas the queens and princesses around you wore one-of-a-kind pieces. You were reminded, again, that you were just an aristocrat’s daughter, the fiancé of a king sitting among the men and women that bards wrote songs about.

You felt as if you were set to be the butt of the joke in another round of ridicule as King Anthony drew his attention from teasing Peter to you.

“You,” he began, words a bit slurred due to the ale in his overflowing cup, “are very gorgeous. My love,” he directed to his wife, Queen Virginia, “don’t you agree?”

“Yes, you are a delight, Lady (Y/N).” The strawberry blonde smiled at you. You returned the smile, timidly.

“Likewise, your majesty,” you returned before nodding your head to the rest of the table. “All of you are wonderful.” Truthfully, many of their names went over your head and to save yourself the embarrassment, you refrained from calling any of them by name, only saying simple titles like your majesty and my lord or lady.

“Lady (Y/N),” the princess from the foreign land, Sokovia you think, called your attention. You believe her name was Wanda, or at least that was what the King of Hawksview called her. “Are you excited for whatever adventures marriage will bring you?” Her tone was drunk and teasing. It was clear what she was alluding to though you weren’t quite sure if you caught on.

“Oh, dear,” Peter chuckled, awkwardly, obviously understanding. His face a beet red as he patted your hand that sat on your lap. “Dove, you do not need to answer.”

“Dove?” King Steven, the one man you knew by name, questioned from across the round table. He sat directly in front of you and you swore he sat there deliberately.

“It’s what my father calls me,” you explained though your voice was a bit scratchy, your throat dry. You coughed before taking a sip from your barely touched ale, finding the taste quite revolting. You shifted uncomfortably in the seat as you felt the prying eyes of the Brooklyn King stare through you as if you were glass.

“Dove.” He repeated, trying the petname out. “Sweet. Innocent.”

“Oh, you stop teasing, Steve,” the woman with dark red hair rolled her eyes. You remembered her being called Nat though you did remember her from your history lessons. Queen Natalia Romanova of Widow’s Peak, the queen who paved the way for women on the battlefield. She was revered and you were in awe when you met her.

“If we’re teasing, shall we jest about how Steven has yet to marry?” The prince from Asgard laughed. He pushed his long black hair over his shoulder as his older brother, the blonde – the King – swatted at his forearm with the back of his hand as if to say be quiet.

Steven smirked, eyes shifting to his lap, before chuckling. “Laugh and tease all you want,” he said, grabbing his cup and bringing it to his lips.

“Why is it you haven’t married?” Queen Natasha’s husband, Bruce – you think – asked.

Attention shifted back to Brooklyn’s king as he shrugged, taking another swig from his cup. His eyes darted around the table as if gaging – studying – the group.

You found it odd. Many of the royals around you considered the others their closest friends, yet here he was, a mystery to them still. It was as if he was content with going unseen and unheard. You could understand.

“C’mon, Stevie,” King Anthony taunted with a pet name. The blonde’s jaw tensed for a moment but quickly released. You frowned at that – was there tension between the two kings? “Handsome, wealthy king with vast holdings and a powerful kingdom, yet no marriage? It’s like you’re not trying, Steven.”

The Brooklyn king chuckled again, brows lifting with an amused look. His eyes met yours and you felt your face go hot again. Your gown shifted underneath the table as your knee bumped Peter’s when you crossed your legs. He looked away.

“I would not get married simply because I need a crown,” his eyes shifted to Peter before shifting back to his cup, “or I need an alliance, or my country requires finances or resources. Brooklyn’s striving under my rule.” He said it so calmly and smugly as if he weren’t throwing condescending comments about his friends’ marriages right in front of them.

“If I were to get married,” Steven’s ocean eyes met yours again like the waves crashing into a shore, “it would be because I’m in love.”

You shifted in your seat, that pulsing, throbbing ache returning as you held his stare. You bit your lip before nervously breaking the eye contact to pick at the bread roll on your plate.

You suddenly jumped when Peter draped his arm around your shoulder, completely unaware that he was about to do so, too preoccupied to appear occupied. He shot you a worried glance, but you gave him a tight smile and a nod.

“Well, I, for one,” he smiled, “am marrying for love.” Peter pressed a kiss to your temple, and you felt your smile drop for a second. Just a mere second – maybe even less.

No one noticed, you assured yourself with a relieved exhale. You scanned the round table to find that everyone smiled at you and your fiancé with dopey grins, staring at the two children in love. However, Steven’s was different.

No… The king had a knowing smirk on his face as if to say, I saw.

»————-　⚜　————-«

With the coronation in a fortnight, you and Peter found yourselves on edge. Your shoulders always felt tense which left an ache in your neck, leaving you to rub out the knots but to no avail.

Peter’s nerves made him jittery. During meals, his leg bounced up and down with nerves. The sudden movement often shaking the table, leaving you in an annoyed silence. To cope with his pending coronation nerves, the young prince whisked himself into meaningless tasks and hobbies in hopes to distract himself.

Unfortunately, this meant that he often left you to yourself, leaving you to dwell in your unease on your own.

You confided in Lady Parker about your nerves though she returned your concern with a small frown. “You aren’t getting coronated, why are you nervous?” She chuckled dismissively. You nearly snapped then but was able to stop yourself before saying anything offensive to Lady Parker.

Deciding that your thoughts were better left unsaid, you isolated yourself in the stairwell on the south wing of the castle. In your time here at Arachnia, this quickly became your favorite spot. The south wing was nowhere near the bustling crowds of guests and their parties, making it the quietest place in the castle at times. There was a wide window that stood above the stairs; it brought in gorgeous sunlight and you often found yourself basking in its warmth.

However, with your troubled thoughts, the south wing stairwell’s window brought you no comfort at all as you gnawed on the bump on the inside of your cheek. It was a habit you picked up when you were being taught to be a lady – a lady is to be seen and never heard – so you opted to biting back your opinions and retorts, whether it be physical or metaphorical.

Though Lady Parker was right, the coronation was Peter’s worry alone, it would not only be Peter that would be judged and watched by the entire continent the moment that crown is on his head. Even now as a mere lady, the fiancé of their soon to be king, you were burdened with such scrutiny and you were sure that this would only increase three-fold once Peter was crowned king.

The pressures would only worsen once you were dubbed Peter’s queen.

So, you sat pensively in your thoughts near the top of the stairs as you enjoyed the last few months of peace you had left.

“For an engaged woman, I do find you alone too many times,” a voice took you from your thoughts as it carried through the empty stairwell. You looked up and met the amused smirk of King Steven Rogers.

You stood up from your spot and found your footing at the top of the staircase before you curtseyed. “Your majesty,” you greeted.

“Most brides tend to cling to their fiancé, fighting to be by their side every waking moment,” the king mused, quirking an eyebrow up, “but not you.”

“I suppose.”

“May I?” He gestured to the unoccupied seat next to you. You bit your lip before nodding, sitting down again, but this time with the king’s warmth next to you. “Is something on your mind, Lady (Y/N)?”

“No, your majesty,” you said a bit too quickly and he saw through you.

He tutted, knowingly. “I know a troubled lady when I see one,” he pressed. “Please, my lady, speak freely as if I am just a friend.”

“I hadn’t realized I was friends with a king,” you muttered. You felt his eyes on you as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and stared at your lap.

The conversation stilled as the silence built, but you found comfort in the king’s presence. Although his eyes made you uneasy and nervous, he brought you a strange sense of peace.

His soft chuckle pulled you from your thoughts again. “Lady (Y/N).” He said your name and you glanced over at him with a brow cocked up. “I noticed that you don’t speak, not often, at least.”

“I was taught to never speak unless spoken to.”

He scoffed. “That’s a habit that you’ll grow out of.” He saw confusion flash through your expression and smiled, gently. “A strong, respected queen demands attention as she enters a room. Every step she takes must be a stride of confidence so that no one ever questions her status.”

“A status that my husband, the king, gives me. I cannot over-step. I would undermine him.”

“Peter’s a king,” Steven corrected. “I never said you would over-step, but a true king would ensure that he and his queen are in equal footing.” He cocked his head to the side as he noticed your grimace. “You don’t like that.”

“I beg your pardon?” You asked before quickly added, “your majesty.”

“Being called his queen,” he clarified with a smile.

Panicked, you began, “I am humbled to wear his ring on my finger – that he considered me for marriage and that – “

“You are not on trial,” he interrupted, quickly with a laugh. “It’s merely an observation.” You nodded, awkwardly. “In my opinion, I feel as if a marriage – any marriage, whether royal or otherwise – is a partnership, but unfortunately, many see it as an ownership.”

“That’s just not how our society sees it.” You muttered with a shake of your head.

“Where is your fiancé? It’s too often that I find you alone. I shall share a word with him about his manners.” He joked and you laughed lightly at his attempt to lighten the mood.

You sighed, fidgeting with the sapphire on your finger. “He’s … preoccupied.”

Steve frowned at that but abruptly stood, stretching his hand out to you. “Then, come, my lady, I shall escort you to the festival to enjoy this beautiful day.”

Your hands flew to your face as you shook your head, defiantly. “Oh, god no!” You groaned. He amusedly raised his eyebrows at you. “I hate leaving the castle to join the others… Everyone just stares at me. It’s unsettling!”

Steve laughed and leaned down to pull you to your feet. Although you stood at the top of the staircase and he a few steps beneath you, he was still taller than you.

“They’re admiring their future queen,” he tried. He took your hands in his and you felt a shiver run down your spine as the goosebumps rose. “And from where I stand, I must say, she is truly a vision… Even if she’s moping.”

The butterflies didn’t cease to exist as they fluttered excitedly under his stare. You bit your lip and avoided eye contact, staring at your hands clasped in his. His words lifted your confidence, but his presence made you nervous and you didn’t quite understand why.

He whispered your name; fingers reaching out beneath your chin and lifted your chin. Blue eyes staring deep into your wide ones and for a split second he glanced down at your lips.

“You can tell me to stop.”

He was so close to you. Your noses were nearly touching.

“What if I don’t want you to?” You whispered. You held your breath, but he gladly stole it as he pressed his soft, plump lips onto yours.

You swore it was almost instinct… It had to be. You moved in sync. With your lips pressed against his, you felt this feeling of belonging – something you hadn’t felt in all your time in the palace of Arachnia, in all your life. In all your time spent with Peter, it never felt like this.

Your hands fisted his dirty blonde hair as his hands cupped your face, holding you there… keeping you in the moment and you swore time stopped.

You were breathless when you finally pulled away. Eyes wide in realization.

You had just given your first kiss away to a man that wasn’t your fiancé and there was no ounce of regret in either of you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

Time passed so slowly when all you’d wish for was that it’d up – skipping to a time where you and Peter were already married and the royals have all vacated Arachnia and back to their own lands, where the king that occupied your mind was long gone.

In the days that followed, you avoided each like the plague. You’d turn the corner and see Peter then immediately turn the other way or you’d bow your head down so low so that you could avoid Steven’s fixated stare as you passed him in the corridors.

The only time you couldn’t escape the two was during meals. Although during breakfast and lunch you usually spent alone, it was during the feasts of dinner that you could not escape the lingering stare of King Steven nor the possessive arm of Prince Peter.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Peter whispered in your ear. You were guilt-ridden as you stared at the concern that filled his deep brown eyes. You muttered that you were alright just a bit tired although under the king’s eyes you have never felt more alive. But he accepted your answer nonetheless.

“Are we interrupting,” teased King Anthony with a playful grin. “Shall we order the absence of everyone in the room so that you two may have all the privacy in the world?” His wife slapped his shoulder with a chuckle as you and Peter bashfully apologized – Peter because he was truly embarrassed for being caught whispering in your ear and you because you felt Steven’s eyes staring through your soul. “Tell us, Lady (Y/N), how did such a lovely lady such as yourself end up with a brute of a prince like Peter?”

You swallowed as all their attention turned to you. You stared across the table at King Steven who eyed you with a smirk. His elbows rested on the table with his hands clasped together, head resting on top of his knuckles, as if taunting you, egging you on. You tore your eyes away as you focused on your lap.

“Well… uh – “

“We met at her brother’s party,” Peter announced, proudly. You took your cue and nodded with a small grin and kept silent. “My father and hers were friends before he passed, and so they invited my aunt and I. We had no choice but to accept, and thankfully, we did. She was truly a sight, this one.” You forced a laugh as the other chuckled. “I knew then she had to be mine, this little dove.”

You grimaced but quickly covered it up by grabbing your cup of untouched ale. Your eyes flicked over to Steven who was already staring at you. He cocked an eyebrow up at you as your eyes met. You brought the ale to your lips and he stared as your lips pressed against the rip of the chalice but never drank anything.

The conversation drifted to another topic, but you excused yourself, telling Peter you were exhausted. He nodded with a smile and leaned in to kiss you and your eyes widened, turning your head – had he wanted your first kiss to be in front of all these people? Marking you as his? His lips pressed against your cheek and you muttered goodbye to him and bid a goodnight to the others.

You wondered aimlessly throughout the corridors, lost in your thoughts. With everyone in the grand hall for dinner, the castle was felt empty, and your shoes clicked against the tiles and echoed through the halls. After minutes of silent walking, you felt the hairs at the back of your neck prick up and goosebumps run down your arms.

You turned to find the dark hallway staring back at you. You frowned before you turned and ran into a sturdy build of a man.

“I thought you retired for the night?” and you recognized the voice immediately.

“Your majesty,” you whispered, bowing awkwardly to King Steven.

He chuckled as you apologized frantically. He shushed you, seizing your hands but you snatched them away. Steven frowned. “You’re avoiding me.”

“What happened shouldn’t have happened,” you hissed.

A playful smirk replaced his scowl as he tilted his head, tauntingly. “But you could’ve stopped me. You could’ve said no.”

“Of course,” you chuckled dryly. “It’s always the woman’s fault. Men can never take responsibility for their misdoings and kings,” you spat out as if it were poison on your tongue. “are no better.”

“Was it your first kiss?”

Your tongue darted out and wet your bottom lip and you didn’t miss the way his eyes glanced down. Embarrassment washed over you like a wave as your shoulders slumped. Were you that bad?

“It was, wasn’t it?” He smiled. “I wouldn’t have known… but you were a natural – “

“Don’t flatter me.” You snapped and he laughed.

“So, I had the honor of being your first kiss…” He muttered. Steven’s hand grabbed your bicep, which was significantly smaller than his, and pulled you closer to him.

“Your majesty – “He shushed you as he kissed you again in that corridor, but you pulled away abruptly, not allowing yourself to melt into him. “We can’t. I am engaged to the prince.”

Steven rolled his eyes. “But you don’t want to be. Others may dismiss it as nerves, cold feet, even, but,” he tsked, “I know better.”

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.” He whispered. “Enough to know that I want you.”

“I have to be married to the prince. I wear his ring. I live in his castle.”

“And enjoy a loveless marriage? He can dote on you and you can learn to love him, yes… I’ve seen it in my parents’ union and in my friends’, but you’ll never truly be happy, no…” He told you, brows furrowed and shook his head.

“And I’d be happy as your mistress?” You scoffed, shaking your head, but you made no motions to step away. “A noblewoman reduced to nothing but a king’s play-thing? The dishonor, the shame – “

“I never said you’d be my mistress.” Steven shook his head as he cupped your jaw.

“And you intend to marry me?” You laughed as if he had said the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. And it was. It was hilarious to think that he was being anything but truthful. You were sure he was jesting with you. Empty words. Empty promises. But his stare was serious.

“I want you.”

“You want the idea of me,” you corrected. “The idea that you can take another king’s wife. Kings throughout history are all the same. Covet another man’s wife, his property, or his land. Just to prove you are better.” You shook your head. “It’s a pissing contest for you. It’s treason for me.”

“I am a king.” He told you and you rolled your eyes.

“Not mine.” You whispered. “Your teasing, your jokes. Your eyes… they linger in a way only Peter’s should, and it has to stop.”

“I want you.” He repeated. “And I know you want me, too.”

“I don’t – “

“Or else you would’ve walked away. You could’ve pulled your arm from me – I’m not holding onto you tightly. You could’ve run off to your little prince, but you’re avoiding him, too. Is it guilt, my lady?” He asked you, leaning down and whispering into your ear. Your breath hitched as his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, kissing the skin beneath it. “Because you know you don’t want the boy… but you’re too kind to hurt him.”

“You’re trying to get me killed.” You stifled a moan as his lips left a trail of wet kisses down your neck. “Shunned and humiliated – “

“I want to be yours,” he confessed.

A sudden burst of laughter had you jump from each other. Your back pressed against the wall as he took a step back with a smirk. In the distance, you could hear drunken men and their courtesans stumble about the castle, doors slamming shut. The feast must’ve been over, and the halls were soon to be crowded again.

You two held each other’s stares as you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The moonlight that slipped through the curtains of the windows had his deep blue eyes gleaming and he was marvelous view.

»————-　⚜　————-«

The room was stuffy and the jewelry that adorned your neck and wrists were heavy. They weighed you down as if to remind you of the pressures that your new life held – what lay ahead of you. The dress you wore was a combination of white and gold. You looked regal like the betrothed of a king should look like. You stood in the crowd next to King Anthony and his wife, behind you was King Steven and his piercing stare.

The feelings that you held for Steven were wrong and you knew that. You often wished that Peter had been flawed – an unfaithful man or a cruel one but he was the opposite. He was kind and gentle albeit a bit dismissive or not present at times. The guilt gnawed at you each time you and the Brooklyn king met behind closed doors, or in the secluded library, or in the depths of the rose garden, planted especially for you by Peter’s order, but you didn’t care.

It was innocent, really – at least that’s what you told yourself. The meetings always started the same. Bickering and joking. He had even taken an interest in tutoring you about chess – “a game for kings,” he would say. Although he had beat you every game, you never minded because all the meetings ended the same – with your lips pressed against his and you melting into his touch.

The crowds all stood as Peter entered the throne room. He was dressed as a king in his house colors – red, blue, gold. He was sweaty and his hands were clasped together nervously. He shot a glance your way as he walked by and you gave him a soft, encouraging nod. He returned it with a smile as he kneeled before the throne.

The priest slipped a ring on his finger and he was later handed the scepter and the orb. You caught the way the scepter slipped due to his clammy hands – not too much but just enough to have him fumble. Behind you, you heard Steven chuckle and you shot him a look as if to tell him to behave and he shook his head at you with a grin.

The crown was placed onto Peter’s head and he hesitantly stood. He was unbalanced, weighed down, but he took each step towards the throne with stride and a proud smile.

“Long live the king!” You and the entire crowd chanted in unison though you were almost certain that Steven didn’t say a word.

The party held afterwards was filled with dancing and music, but you were tied to Peter’s side the entire evening as he thanked his guests and accepted their congratulations, all eager to get in favor with their new king.

Instead of the usual round table, Peter and his family – Lady Parker and you – were seated in a long table at the front of the grand hall. The rest of the royals scattered in other tables near yours. You picked at your food, boredom sinking in as another nobleman approached.

You glanced up and met Steven’s eyes. He brought his chalice up as if to salute you and you softly laughed before turning your attention to the duke. The conversation was dull with fake pleasantries and complaints of lost land – Peter promised the duke that he would look into it. You remembered Steven tell you that kings should make no promises that he could not uphold. and you wondered if Peter had any intentions of honoring it.

“Do you want to dance?” Peter asked you after the man left, offering you his hand. You smiled and nodded, taking it.

He pulled you onto the dancefloor, joining the other couples. Peter’s hold on you was tight as if you would run away or disappear. The crown on his head was just a little big and would slip over his forehead. You’d giggle and push it back up.

He pulled you close to him and swayed to the music. “This is grand,” he told you. “The crown, a beautiful bride.” You hummed in agreement though you didn’t entirely adore the idea – not as much as you used to. You hated being compared to that awful crown as if you were just an accessory to him. “And … In a few days’ time, my dove, we are to be wed.”

“What?” You shook your head with a dry laugh, taking it as a joke. “Your high – majesty,” you corrected, and he beamed at the title, “we are set to be married in the late spring. Not in a few days.”

Peter frowned. “Had no told you?” You shook your head, no. He sighed. “I suppose I should’ve… The council believes that it’s best we get married immediately. Now, that I’ve got the crown, they say I need heirs,” you blanched at the idea, “and besides, the other royal families of Marvel are already here.” Your breath hitched as the realization set it. “Well, aside from King Steven, he’s one to never attend weddings.”

“Peter – “you shook your head. The panic beginning to rise. Despite being trained for this very day since you were young, you were convinced you weren’t ready. You told yourself the anxiety was from the idea of being queen, but the truth was – the anxiety was from the idea of being wed… to Peter.

“May I cut in?” You didn’t hear Peter’s response just that a pair of familiar hands seized yours and your waist, pulling you flush against his body. “Are you okay?”

You stared up at Steven’s worried eyes, brows lifted and lines of concern all over his forehead. You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. You hated the idea that you would be Peter’s completely, and that Steven would never be yours.

“Peter said we are to be wed in a few days,” you uttered. The words didn’t feel right. Your voice was shaking as you held back your tears. Steven’s jaw dropped before he nodded. “Steve,” his eyes stared into yours, “I don’t want this.”

“And what is it do you want?” Steven asked you. He was hopeful although naively so. And in many ways, you were as well to believe that your affections for Steven could extend to something more. But reality set in, you were engaged to a king – just not the king you wanted.

“I want to marry you,” you confessed though voice hushed, afraid that any ears would hear your treasonous words. You let out a shaky breath as you stared at him before shaking your head. The idea that you fell in love with a man after knowing him for only three weeks was preposterous. “Or at least… that I want to be with you.”

Steven smiled softly at your confession – words he had been hoping to hear ever since he cornered you in the empty hallway. He leaned in and your eyes widened, but he brought his lips to your ear and whispered, “keep your chamber doors unlocked tonight.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

One of the peculiar things about your move to Arachnia’s palace was your bedroom. It was rather enormous for the fiancé of the now king. When you first arrived, you expected a room modest in size though not as big as this – especially since you’d move into Peter’s chambers once you were married. The mattress was pressed against the back wall between two large windows that never opened. Bookshelves filled with novels though no work area – no desk or study. Instead, you were given a vanity. Besides those pieces, the room was pure empty space.

You used to joke to yourself that you were just a prisoner who adorned the prince’s, now king’s, jewels and a fine title.

You stood by the window, watching the fireworks that celebrated the coronation. You swore you could see the towns in the distance, all lit up with anticipation. Peter would soon be making his rounds throughout the country as its official king. Would it happen before you were married or after? Would you be asked to join him as his queen?

You stared down at your ring finger. The sapphire staring tauntingly back at you. It shackled you to a man you didn’t want. It reminded you of your family’s side eyes and low whispers when you didn’t immediately get married once you were of age, or the hushed voices and stares of the other nobles as they judged your every move calling you unworthy to marry a prince, let alone a king.

And all you could think was – to hell with it all.

A soft knock was heard from the wooden door of the chamber and you walked towards it. The stone tiles were cold against your bare feet and the doorknob even colder against your already freezing hand. With a twist of the doorknob, a smile formed on your lips as Steven came to view.

You hurriedly pulled him inside, eyes scanning the now empty hallway, before closing it.

He eyed you up and down and smiled, admiring you – hair undone and natural, face free of any makeup or colors staining your cheeks or lips, no gown with a corset that clung onto your body that left you with no room to breathe.

You were beautiful and oh, how he’d kill to see you like this every day.

“Did anyone see you?” You asked him, softly, though within the thick walls of the castles and in the privacy of your chambers no one would hear you.

Steven shook his head, one hand finding your waist and the other cupping the side of your face. “They never do, do they?” He whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

You pulled away, leaning into his chest, settling into his warmth. You loved being in his embrace – it was safe and warm like a small cottage in the countryside with no judgmental stares or rumors whispered about.

You realize you could live like this until your last day – and with your intentions, that final day might be quickly approaching. “Why is it you asked to meet me here?”

Steven’s jaw ticked. Truthfully, he had no real answer. He could’ve asked to meet anywhere, and the risks were just the same. The mere act of meeting you in private was damning, no matter what he intended.

He thought that admiring you from across a crowded room, under the cover of hundreds all staring at you, too, would be enough. He thought his eyes would go unnoticed. He told himself that his attraction would be fleeting, but it wasn’t – and it became clear the moment he pressed his lips against yours at the top of the south stairwell.

“Steve?”

He sighed. “I… I’m not quite sure if I’m honest with you, Lady (Y/N).”

You smiled to yourself. In the time you’ve known King Steven, he had always been so smug, so confident. Every step had a direction and every word so sure, but you’ve reduced him to a man begging for the affection of a woman.

You pulled yourself from his chest and stared up at him before you stood on the tips of your toes to press a kiss onto his lips.

It was as if you two were molded together or made from the same cloth. Lips pressed together as if they had always belonged there.

His large hands found the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up, wrapping your legs around his tapered waist. You felt the heat rise to your face when that familiar throbbing feeling between your legs came back – and with your cunt pressed against the middle of his body, you were sure he could feel it, too.

Your back pressed against the soft, silk sheets of your bed. Steven draped over you like ivy covering the castle’s stone walls.

The framework creaked beneath your combined weight as he began to grind aimlessly against your center, eliciting a gasp from you as it helped the ache from deep within you.

He smirked into the kiss, but you caught him off guard yet again when you whispered, “I – I want you.” He pulled away, taken back. “I want all of you, Steve, please – “

“(Y/N) – “

He began to climb off you, but you sat up, hands cupping his face and staring deep into his eyes. You shook your head as you gave him a quick kiss.

Foreheads touching, you told him, “if I am to go marry and live in this hell, I might as well be granted a taste of heaven.”

“You will be ruined – “he whispered though the idea made his cock twitch in his trousers. You jumped as you felt it too.

You shook your head again, “how can you ruin anything, Steve?”

Steve licked his lips as he tried to fight off his morals. The devil and the angel on his shoulders disappeared and became one – the beautiful maiden beneath him, begging for him to take her.

“If we do this,” he whispered as he nudged your cheek, lips kissing your jaw, “there will be no going back, (Y/N).”

“I want to be yours, Steve,” you told him, honestly. “I – I love you.”

And that’s all it took to have his lips ravish yours, hands roaming, desperately grabbing on to what he could. He pulled away and grabbed your hand. He slid the ring off your finger, tossing it onto the table next to your bed before he pressed his lips to yours once again.

You heard a rip and you gasped as the cold air hit your bare skin. Steven’s hands pushed the torn fabric off away from your body, throwing the ruined white silk behind his shoulder.

He pulled away from you, admiring the view beneath him – the woman spread out before him like an offering, nipples perked in the cold winter air, mouth ajar as she panted, and the perfect, untouched pussy.

“I love you, too.”

He began to undress, and you couldn’t take your eyes off this Herculean being in front of you. He was thick and broad, the muscles that were arranged all over his body were hypnotizing as were the scars undoubtfully from all his training and his time spent in wars.

He was a god in the body of the king, and you wondered how you got so lucky.

Steven began to undo the strings that held his pants up and you watched with you lip between your teeth. The anticipation, alone, killed you. He pushed down his pants and your eyes widened at his massive cock – tanner than the rest of his skin, with a red angry tip, thick veins, and clear liquid coming from it.

He saw your uncertain expression and he raised his brows at you. “I – I –“you began to stammer.

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out now, little one,” Steven whispered. His hands reached out and cupped your cheek, hungry eyes scanned your body and your mouth went dry. The throbbing within you was relentless and made you clench your thighs together. “You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes looked away, bashfully, as his hands explored you – cupping your breasts and tracing the curves of your body. All Steven wanted was for all of you to be his.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and you hesitantly looked back at him. He had a soft smile and adoring eyes as his fingers slipped through your folds. You let out a soft gasp and your eyes fluttered closed as the ache was relieved by his touch. “Look at me,” Steven repeated, and you forced your eyes open to stare at him. Your lover smirked as he found your small bundle of nerves and rubbed tight circles around it.

It felt as if something within you had blossomed and you couldn’t help but grind into his touch, but he tutted at you, using his free hand to hold your hips down. “You’re soaked, my love,” Steven whispered, leaning down, and nipping at the base of your neck. Hard enough for you to gasp but not enough to leave marks. “Already so wet and I’ve yet to do anything.”

“It’s just my reaction to you,” you confessed, heat rising to your face.

You tried to avert your eyes away from his piercing stare, but he tsked and pinched your inner thigh. You hissed in return and brought your stare back to him. “Don’t make me tell you again, (Y/N),” Steven warned.

You nodded, speechless as his fingers wandered further down, ghosting over your untouched opening. You let out a shaky breath.

“Steven – “you moaned as he sunk one long, thick, skilled finger inside of you.

“You’re so tight,” the king noted with a smirk. He relished in the idea that he would be the first to have you and he wished that he’d be the only one to have you forever.

“Steven, I want you… Please – “

He tsked at you with a quick shake of his head. His lips pressed against yours again, silencing your soft whines and protests. “I need to open you up, my love,” he told you, lips still against yours, “or else you might get hurt.” He pressed another finger into you, and you pulled away from his lips.

The back of your head pressed against the mattress as another moan escaped you. The king began to scissor your opening. The stretch was tolerable though still uncomfortable and had your breath shuddering.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised you, nose tracing your jaw. His lips kissed the column of your throat.

You groaned when his fingers began to thrust, opening you up to him. You heard the faint sound of your arousal on his fingers, the wetness spilling onto your thighs, too. Your hands tangled up into the king’s long, dark blonde hair, pulling him into you as he added a third finger, effectively stretching you out.

“Are you alright?” He asked you, fingers thrusting into you in a rhythm of their own. You nodded, eyes staring at the top of the canopy over your bed and hands pushing the king flush against you’re the joint between your neck and shoulder. He kissed the skin there, trying not to suck on it to leave you with his marks – marks that young Peter would undoubtfully see on your wedding night.

You gasped as you felt this tightening knot in the depths of your stomach. “You almost there, my love?” Steven asked and you nodded though you weren’t sure where there was. Your thighs tightened around him. You whined when his fingers left your heated core right on the precipice of pleasure, leaving you with an emptiness. Steven chuckled.

“I was – “

“First time you get to cum will be around my cock,” he told you brazenly and it felt as if your entire body flushed at his words. He brought his fingers to his lips and your eyes widened when he began to suck on them, and he groaned. “You taste so sweet, my lady.” The king quirked up an eyebrow at your curious expression as he swiped his fingers against your lips. “Have a taste, my love.”

Your tongue reluctantly darted out over your lips, gathering the sweet yet musky taste of your essence. Your hand reached out, wrapping around his wrist and bringing his fingers to your mouth. Your lips wrapped around his index and middle finger and sucked carefully as he did, and you felt his cock twitch against your thigh at the sight.

He watched you intently as you cleaned off his fingers, his free hand stroking his throbbing dick. He swiped the tip against your slit, causing your body to shudder when he bumped your clit.

He took his fingers from your mouth and both hands held your waist. Instinctively, your pushed your knees further apart, opening up to him. Steven’s blue eyes flicked up to you as he pressed his tip against your heat.

“Are you sure?” He asked you.

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”

You threw your head back as he began to press into you, the pressure unbearable and made your entire body tense. The king began to hush you, holding still. One of his hands caressed the side of your face, combing through your hair. “You need to relax, my love,” he cooed.

You muttered an incoherent agreement as you tried to will your muscles to loosen. You heard the squelching sound of your cunt engulfing the man, slowly. Your hand flew to his wrist and grabbed onto it, unsure of what to do.

He praised you as the tip slipped in along with an inch or two, but he was nowhere close to bottoming out. The king began to pull back, only leaving the tip in before pushing in more of him. You hissed again as he pressed past the thin veil of your innocence, being the first and only man to tear through it.

His cock was no match for his fingers, being much thicker and so much longer. You tried to even your breathing and he chuckled. “You’re doing so well, my love,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Taking me so well… Look…”

His nose nudged the side of your cheek and you slowly craned your neck to look down as he bottomed out completely – his public bone flush against your clit. Your mouth watered at the sight as he slowly pulled out an inch or two. You took a sharp breath when you saw the faint strips of red on his length.

The king began to rock into you slowly and you couldn’t take your eyes away from where you were connected. The pain, although still there from the burning stretch, was incomparable to the pleasure when his tip brushed against a certain part of your canal.

You moaned, loudly, head thrown back, exposing your throat to him. Steven kissed the hollowness before capturing your lips in his. “I love you,” he murmured into the kiss as his hips began to speed up. Your own matching his thrusts.

The sound of skin clapping against each other echoed throughout the enormous room and you felt yourself clench against him.

He groaned in return. In one quick motion, the king hoisted your knees over his shoulder, giving him a much deeper angle to take you from. He thrusted so hard and so deeply that you swore you felt him in your chest.

You moaned his name as your hands grabbed your breasts. He watched with a smirk as you fondled yourself and one of his hands began to rub tight circles around your swollen clit again. Your back arched at the sensation.

“I’m gonna fill you up, my love,” he told you. “Have you fall pregnant with my child. Watch you swell…” It was a fantasy, on Steven’s behalf. He’d always wanted a wife and children but never found the right partner until you. “Do you want that, little one? Do you want my children?”

“I want you, Steven,” you moaned. No coherent thoughts were forming as the familiar tight knot in your stomach suddenly snapped. Your hips ground up against his as your walls tightened around the king, milking him, and pushing him over the edge.

Steven thrusts faltered, leaving his rhythm, and pushed deeply into you one last time. You felt his cock twitch inside of you and you felt each spurt, covering your walls in his white.

You two laid on top each other, legs entangled, and bodies intertwined like lovers. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you said, “I love you, Steven.”

And in that moment, all was right.

»————-　⚜　————-«

“What?”

The disbelief in each of their tones hung in the air. The councilmen shook their heads in shock as Peter stared at you from the throne with his brows furrowed, deep in thought.

“I beg your pardon, Lady (Y/N).” One of the men said.

“My lords, my king,” you addressed with a bow of your head. “I asked for this meeting to tell you that I am incredibly humbled to have been homed here in the palace of Arachnia and to be the betrothed of the prince – king – to have witnessed you be crowned, your majesty… But I,” you swallowed and took a deep breath. “I do not want to marry you.”

“What brought this on?” Peter asked you as he leaned into his throne. He eyed you, suspiciously, eyes glancing over your figure. Although the new king had been wrapped up in several meetings ever since his coronation, he noticed the change in you – the way your body filled out, hips wider and the glow in your complexion. You looked more radiant than you usually were and much happier. Though he wasn’t sure what was the cause, he was certain it had not been him but he refused to believe it was another.

“I cannot believe this!”

“We’ve wasted all this time preparing a marriage!”

“How dare she – “

“He needs a bride to keep his crown.”

“Silence,” Peter ordered the men and their murmurs quickly disappeared. Words and unfinished sentences hung in the air. “What brought this on, my lady?”

You cleared your throat as you took a step forward. “Your majesty, I … I am not meant to be your queen.”

Peter nodded in contemplation and you were hopeful. He had always been understanding. He would’ve surely granted you a swift exit from this engagement without another – “No.” And just like that your hopes were dashed. “You are to remain my betrothed as you have been for months.”

“But Pete – “

“Our wedding is in days!” Peter snapped and your eyes flicked to the floor. “And you want to end our engagement now? You had months to concede – “

“I was afraid!” You objected. The lords stared on as your voice rose higher than the king’s. The tone, the higher octave, may have been from a moment of frustration, but the men in the throne room saw it as one thing only: a lady undermining her king.

“Afraid?” He scoffed. “Of what? Of me? My lady, I am not a cruel man – “

“Then grant me my wish. Release me from this engagement.” You begged.

“No.” Peter shook his head. “We are to be married in a few days’ time.” You saw how his kind eyes darkened as he frowned at you. “You do your best to rid of your cold feet now, my lady.”

Defeated, you rushed out of the throne room. Several servants and other nobles stared with confused expressions as you ran past with tears in your eyes – running to the only man that understood you, the only man that could help.

You banged against his chamber doors, desperate for him to whisk you away.

“Steven!” You called when the door suddenly opened to reveal a maid. Her arms were full of linens and you stared at her in confusion.

She quickly curtseyed to you and cocked her head to the side. “My lady, have you been crying?”

“No,” you shook your head, jaw clenched, though your sniffle gave you away. “Where’s King Steven?”

“He left this afternoon, my lady.” She told you.

“What?” You felt the color drain from your face. You shook your head at her as if she were wrong. He wouldn’t have left you – not like this. “No… There must be a mistake. Steven – King Steven – “

She frowned before shaking her head. “No, my lady… The Brooklyn King left hours ago. If you had wanted to know, I would’ve told you. I had no idea you two were so close.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Though the maid had been kind in her intention, you heard the accusation loud and clear.

A shaky breath left you as you forced a smile. “No,” you said shaking your head again, “no… The king, our king, Peter and I were hoping he’d attend our… our marriage.” The word felt heavy on your tongue as the world around you began to crash down. “I suppose, we were too naïve to believe he’d stay.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

The barren winter trees passed by in blurs as Steven stared out the carriage window. The bickering of his two friends and advisors, Lord Samuel Wilson and James Barnes, became background noise to his pensive thoughts.

He wondered how you were – were you as devasted as he was? Would you understand if he told you the truth – that he, though desperately and completely in love with you, could not have you? That his overstep, his coveting of Peter Parker’s fiancé, may reignite a feud long buried between Arachnia and Brooklyn.

That as a king, it was his duty to put a stop to a potential war.

Though as a man, he knew his duty was to you and may always be.

“The girl,” Barnes’s mention of your name had him turning from the window and towards the two men, “she seems well. A great match for the young king.”

Steve scoffed. Although he knew his opinion was heavily biased, he knew that you were most certainly not a good match for the Parker boy. Peter would have you as a decorated figurehead – a pretty woman on his arm for the world to see – while Steven wanted so much more in your forbidden union.

“I see you disagree,” Samuel nodded to his king. Steven sat in silence and the two lords shot a knowing glance at the other. “They are to be wed in a few days.” Steven hummed though the two didn’t miss the way his hand formed a fist over his knee.

“The sooner the better, I suppose,” James nodded, eyeing Steven wearily. “Peter, being so young and the last of his line, he needs an heir quickly.” The king shifted in the carriage and they felt the entire cart jolt with his fury. “Steven, I address this as your friend, nothing more, but what is your issue?”

“Nothing.” Steven said quickly and he scolded himself. He felt like a young boy throwing a tantrum with his mother.

James raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his king and childhood friend. “The girl has piqued your interest, hasn’t she?” His friend’s silence was all the confirmation he needed. “Steve – “

“I know,” Steven snapped. “I know it is wrong to want another man – “he scoffed, “child’s bride…”

“And yet you still do?” Samuel asked. “Steve, the consequences of your feelings,” he shook his head, “it will incite an unnecessary war… and over what? A girl?”

“If she’s a war, then I will fight.”

“A love blind man’s word… Not a king’s.” Samuel rebutted.

“Why did you leave her, then? You could’ve stowed her away in this carriage with us. You could’ve stolen her from under Peter’s nose. Why didn’t you?” James quizzed.

With a defeated sigh, Steven said, “it’s for her own good. My affections for her, whatever my heart says or hers, it will get her killed. Arachnia will not take lightly to her betrayal of their king.”

James nodded in agreement. “You’re saving her. This is for the best, my friend. For if you listened to your heart instead of your head, she will be a casualty in a pointless war.”

“It’s difficult,” Steven confessed, “to have let her go. And it’s something I will regret for the rest of my life.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

ONE YEAR LATER…

Your entire family cooed at the fussing three-month-old in the king’s arms. The child continue to wail and thrash, finding discomfort in your husband. “Argh!” He glanced over to you as if asking for your help. You stifled a laugh as you walked over, seizing your baby from him. “She prefers her mother over me.” He joked as the babe almost instantly calmed in your arms.

“Have you chosen a godparent, yet, your majesty?” Your father asked you, subtly pushing your older brother forward as a silent suggestion. You rolled your eyes.

The king ran a hand over his brown curls and shook his head at your father. “No, my lord, we have yet to choose.” Peter nodded in your direction. “I thought since most of baby Fallon’s life will be decided by me, his mother should have a say in that.”

Your father chuckled with a shake of his head. He clasped a hand on your shoulder, and you fought the urge to shrug it off. “Indecisive, this one, isn’t she?”

Peter glanced your way, “you have no idea.” The two men laughed, and you gnawed at the knob in the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood. Fallon yawned and you gave Peter a look. “I suppose, we should all greet our guests.”

“Oh, yes,” you nodded, “the christening. You go ahead, Peter. Someone should stay with Fallon.”

“Oh, nonsense, girl,” your father told you. “The nanny will – “

“She is my child and I will care for her. I do not need a nanny.” You snapped, your bottled up frustrations slowly bursting.

Peter laughed awkwardly, hands finding your waist though you pulled away from him. He coughed. “It’s the separation anxiety,” he joked with your father.

“Well, I never had that,” your mother piped up.

Of course, you didn’t. You sent me away as soon as Peter asked. You bit back the response.

Your family began to vacate the nursery and you felt a bit of relief. You felt Peter’s hands on your hips. You tensed when you felt his lips ghost over your ear. “Why don’t you join me in greeting our guests?” He asked you.

You shrugged him off. “I want to be alone.”

The young king sighed before releasing his hold on you. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned to you again. “You do realize your duty is not only to Fallon? It is to me and my kingdom as well.”

“I understand that my duty was to give you an heir,” you deadpanned. “I have done just that.”

“You have given me a daughter. Not an heir.” You glared at him and he immediately silenced.

“A daughter is an heir. Do not dare discredit her birthright because of her sex!” The babe began to stir in your arms and let out a small cry. You immediately shushed her, coddling her in your arms and she began to quiet.

You heard him sigh, defeatedly, before the door slammed shut again.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you as you stared at the child in your arms. Many times, you found peace in Fallon’s presence, but as time went on and as the child began to resemble her father, you began to worry. Though Fallon had adorable dark curls, she had striking blue eyes – ones that undoubtfully belonged to her father.

On the day you were to wed Peter, he had gotten caught up in the affairs of the state. The wedding was quickly rescheduled for two weeks after despite the protests of the nobles and royals who had all stayed extra days to witness your union. As you were doing the final adjustments to your gown, you realized you were due for a bleed that had yet to come and a sickening feeling of realization ran erupted through you. You did not consummate that night – your nerves and guilt making you sick to your stomach.

But you decided that you would survive – if not for yourself, then the life within you, the life in your arms now.

Moments later, the door creaked open and you let out a frustrated sigh. “Peter, I said I wanted to be alone – “in the silence, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand and a shiver run down your spine. A familiar feeling you wanted to forget. You turned around and your eyes widened. All the fury you felt, the regrets, the pain – all of it – melted in an instant.

“Steve.”

He stared at you with adoring eyes. You had grown more beautiful if that were even possible. Your glowed, motherhood becoming you. “(Y/N).”

“You shouldn’t be here.” You shook your head.

“You weren’t with Peter,” the Brooklyn king told you. “I thought you may have been with your child…” He chuckled. “Near the south wing, next to the staircase.”

“I love the sunlight it brings in.” You muttered. “Peter never lets Fallon out of the castle, so I suppose, it’s a substitute.” Steven nodded.

After beats of silence and longing stares, Steve finally said, “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” You nodded. “At first I was angry. I cursed your name in the dead of night. I wished you were dead and I often pretended so.”

“I deserve worse.”

You laughed. “You do.”

“I did it because I was afraid if I took you from him, in a furious rage, he’d strike you down. You are not of Brooklyn. I could not protect you against your own king.” Steven explained.

You nodded. “I told you. I would marry into hell.”

“Has he been cruel?” Steven frowned, his fury slowly rising and hands forming fists.

You shook your head. “No, far from it, actually.” You chuckled humorlessly. “In fact, perhaps, I’ve been the cruel one. I push him away because I don’t want Falon to believe that he is her father – “

“What?”

You glanced down at the child in your arms and beckoned Steven with a cock of your head. The king slowly walked over to you and the babe. Steven’s eyes watered slightly as he stared at the small creation. “She’s … she’s mine?”

You nodded. “They pushed the wedding back two weeks and I didn’t… uh… I didn’t bleed… and I knew then. We didn’t consummate,” you saw how he frowned at that, “until a week or so after. I was with child not long after.”

“How do you know?” He asked you. “Not to be accusatory, but – “

“She has your eyes.” You smiled. “Every time she stares at me, it’s as if you are.”

“She looks like me,” Steven smiled, a gentle finger caressing the child’s plump cheeks. You nodded in agreement.

“Would you like to hold her?” You asked and he eagerly nodded. He took the child from you and you felt your heart swell when Fallon didn’t immediately begin to fuss like she would with Peter. “She likes you.”

“I hope so. I’m her father, after all.”

You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder, both admiring the life that you both created. You imagined that this was your life… just for a moment. That you weren’t in Arachnia but in Brooklyn, bearing Steven’s name rather than Peter’s… Married to the one who truly held your heart.

You sighed, finding the calm in your daughter and your lover.

And in that moment… all was right.

let me know what y’all think

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holylulusworld · 1 year

Text

Before you (6)

Summary: King Steven Grant Rogers once was a good king and a gentle alpha. Now he’s a cruel shadow of his former self. Can he find the light again?

Pairing: King(Alpha)!Steve Rogers x Maid(Omega)!Reader

Characters: Knight Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes

Warnings: angst, language, grumpy and loud Steve, Bucky is the best (soft Bucky is a warning, okay), mentions of loss of loved ones, undefined age gap, a hint of fluff, true mates, a/b/o, scenting, Steve is a little possessive in this…

Before you masterlist

<< Part 5

“Steve! BROTHER! Open the door,” you flinch as it seems that Bucky wants to tear the door down with his bare hands. “If you hurt her, you’ll regret it. She’s your true mate.”

“Bucky, stop this immediately or you’ll end up in the dungeon. I swear if you threaten my claim, you are no longer my brother,” Steve warns.

There is a commotion behind the door, and then silence.

“He-he means well, my king,” whimpering in fear you look up at Steve. “Please don’t punish him. He pities me. Please.”

“You’ve got a soft spot for my brother,” he grits his teeth. “How far did he go? Did he touch you?”

“What? He wouldn’t…no. Your brother is a good man. All this time he tried to help me, my king. I swear on my father’s grave,” you sniffle. “Please…”

“A good man,” he huffs. “Unlike me?” The king questions. He waits for you to protest but you press your lips into a thin line. “I wasn’t always like this. Hard. Cold. Careless.”

“I don’t know you, my king,” you drop your gaze. “You’re a king. You have all the right to treat me like…this.”

“Look at me,” it’s an alpha command and your head immediately snaps upward. “I promised to keep you safe, and I will. No one will ever hurt you again or break your heart.”

“It’s too late for that.”

Steve swallows thickly as you start trembling. “Why’s that?”

“My family is gone,” you whimper. “And the only boy I ever loved forgot about me.” You give him a sad smile. “Promises are meant to be broken, my king. I don’t know if yours are meant to be kept.”

“My love,” your eyes round as he steps closer to cup your cheek with his right hand. “I never forgot about you. And I never wanted to break my promises. My father has forbidden me to come back to you. One day, he said you died in the fire with your family.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you press your hands weakly against his chest. “What is the meaning of your words, your highness.”

“Do you remember the horseshoe? I gave it to you,” he speaks as softly as he can. It’s hard to control his emotions after he got to know about Peggy’s betrayal.

“Horseshoe.”

Your heart wildly beats in your chest. This can’t be. No.

“You still have it.”

“A boy named Grant gave it to me, my king. I would remember being friends with a king.”

“A crown prince, my love,” he whispers lowly. Steve leans closer to sniff at your neck. “My name is Steven Grant Rogers. King of Brooklyn. My father wanted me to hide that I am the crown prince back then. So, I used my middle name.”

“No—no,” you cry. “My friend was a good person. He would’ve never treated people like you do. Grant was kind and so nice. He gave me my first kiss…my only kiss.”

“I never forgot about our kiss,” Steve tries to bring you into his arms but you fight him. A king can take whatever he wants, but you won’t give in without a fight. Your innocence is all you’ve got left.

“You’re not him,” he wins. You end up in his arms, your face pressed into his chest. You are forced to scent the king and feel his warmth. “You can’t be him. He would’ve saved me. Grant will come for me one day. I know it.”

“Y/N, I’m here. I would’ve come for you. I didn’t know you are still alive. I swear,” he sniffs as you wiggle in his grip. “Please, Y/N. I still go the flower you gave me.”

You stop wiggling and lift your head. “What kind of flower?”

He smiles now as you place your hands flat against his chest. “I’ll tell you if you stop fighting me.”

“I-“ you nod, but cautiously watch Steve. He lets go of you to walk toward his bed. He kneels to look under the bed and gets a small golden chest out. “What’s this?”

“My treasure,” he places the chest onto the bed and opens it. “Look,” Steve gets a small book out. He opens the book to show you a pressed flower, hidden in the middle of the book. “It’s a daisy.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. This can’t be. No. The king cannot be the boy you loved for so long.

“No. What happened to you? How can you be like this?”

“I lost everything when my father told me you died in that fire,” he carefully closes the book again. “Peggy became my queen, even though, I only ever wanted you to become mine.”

“She died,” you softly say. “I heard it from Bucky. He said something along the lines when I took care of her horse.”

“It’s not her horse,” he grits out. “She said it’s hers, but it wasn’t,” Steve says. “I asked my father to get it from your father before all of this happened. I wanted to gift it to you. She took it away from you. Peggy stole your place by my side with lies and her treacherous words.”

“It never was my place,” you step toward the door. “Even if you are Grant, you are not the man I had hoped you’ll become.” You sniff. “My king, you know that a maid cannot take a queen’s place. You and that woman were meant to be. Not us.”

“Please don’t say this,” he begs. His eyes fill with tears as you reach for the doorknob. “We were always meant to be, omega. No one can stop an alpha from claiming his true mate. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

“Not hours ago, you wanted me gone.”

He flinches as something hits the door from the other side. You shriek and fall to your knees to crawl away. “Y/N.”

Steve runs toward you. He goes down on his knees to wrap his body around your trembling form.

“STEVE!” the door finally bursts open, and a very angry Bucky, followed by Samuel storms into the room. “Where? What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Steve mutters. “You just destroyed my door.”

“I thought…I mean,” Bucky huffs as you cling to his brother’s body. You hide your face in his chest, crying as you are scared to hell and back. “You didn’t hurt her.”

“Of course not,” Steve bites back. “I told you to read Peggy’s diary and leave us alone. I need to talk to Y/N and explain a few more things.”

“Did you already tell her?” the brunette lifts a brow as his brother sighs deeply. “I guess things didn’t go well?”

“She doesn’t believe me, Bucky. I got the flower and all,” the king whispers. “What else can I do to make her believe that I’m Grant, the boy who fell in love with her so many years ago?”

“Steve let’s be honest. You treated her like the worst since you met her for the first time,” Bucky tries to make his brother see that you won’t be able to forgive the king so easily. “I told you that she’s special.”

“I know,” Steve gently rocks you in his arms. “You must read the diary, Bucky. I need to talk about it with someone. Peggy betrayed me, brother.”

“I asked Lord Barton and Samuel to find out more about Rumlow, and the knights attacking Y/N’s family that night.”

“Good. I want him in the dungeon. He’ll pay for what he did,” Steve runs one hand up and down your back. “Can you leave me alone with Y/N for a little longer? Maybe find someone to take care of the door.”

“Steve, I think you should leave Y/N alone for a while. It’s a lot to take in,” you lift your head to look at the kind brunette. “She can sleep in one of the spare chambers next to yours.”

“No,” you whine as Steve wraps his arms tighter around your body. “She must stay here. We don’t know if one of Peggy’s allies will go after her. No one can take her away from me ever again.”

“Brother you need to calm down. You’re scaring her. It’s no good to let your alpha take over at the moment,” Bucky tries again. “I want you to tell me what this is all about. Rumlow. Peggy. The fire.”

“You need to read the diary, Bucky. We will talk after you read it,” Steve nuzzles his nose in your hair to inhale your scent deeply. “She’s still scared.”

“Of you.”

“No! She’s not scared of me,” the king talks back as you start to squirm in his hold again. “She cannot be scared of me. I finally found her again after believing I lost her five years ago.”

Bucky reluctantly leaves the room to find someone to take care of the door and read the diary. “Steve, be gentle. Y/N is a blooming flower, don’t pick her too soon.”

“I’ll wed her first,” Steve mutters under his breath. “She’s going to be a queen and I’ll treat her like one. I won’t steal her innocence without making her, my wife.”

Bucky clears his throat at Steve’s words. “That’s not what I meant, Steve. I wanted you to be careful and not yell at her again.”

“Oh Steven,” Bucky closes the diary. He wipes a single tear off his cheek. “How could she do this to you and Y/N? I knew she was a treacherous snake, but this is unforgivable.”

He sighs deeply. What else can he do? One moment his brother wants to chase you away, and the next he’s talking about marriage and making you his queen.

“I will make sure you’ll not hurt Y/N. If your heart’s not in this, I’ll bring her away from here…”

“I want to go,” you press the bundle with your belongings to your chest. “I don’t belong here, my king. Please let me go.”

“Y/N, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m Grant,” he carefully approaches you. “How can I convince you?”

“You can’t be him,” stubbornly shaking your head you step back as Steve gets closer. “How could you change so much?”

“I lost you and my father forced me to marry Peggy. She died during childbirth,” he shrugs. “Peggy was all I had left after my father passed away. I was suddenly a king, and she was my salvation. Or so I thought.”

You remain silent and look away.

“She died, and my son didn’t live longer than a few days. I felt like the world betrayed me and turned my back on my people, even my brother,” Steve sniffs. “Peggy’s death opened old wounds. Wounds that never healed.”

“You can’t be him,” you repeat.

“Maybe you’re right. I’m not the Grant you used to know,” he takes another step toward you. “But there is still the young man falling in love with you inside of me. Can you help me find him again?”

“I’m only a maid, my king,” you glance at Steve. Your heart aches at the sadness in his eyes. He’s barely a shell of the young man you used to know. “How could I help you?”

Before you (7)

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers #king!steve rogers #Before you (6)#king!steve x peasant!reader #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x maid!reader #a/b/o #medieval au #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes

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oneoftheprettynerds · 3 years

Text

Belle Of The Ball: Dark! King! Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: So this my first ever proper dark fic and I’m so nervous. I finished it but my mind thinks it’s garbage. so I’m gonna post this now when I’m feeling a random spurt of courage and am confident in my work. So here’s my masterpiece, cookies.

This is for Dark!MCU Festive Fic swap hosted by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor and @darkmcuficswap

My giftee is @hermesmaximoff Hope you enjoy it love!

Thanking @firefly-graphics for the dividers: both personalised and general.

There is also an amateur somewhat okay shitty poster I decided to make which is included at the end.

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC CONTAINING DUBIOUS CONSENT BORDERING NON-CON AND EXPLICIT SMUT. YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. LOSS OF VIRGINITY, ABUSE OF AUTHORITY, BREEDING KINK ALSO PRESENT.

Summary: Invited to the Royal ball by the benevolent monarch, you could barely control your excitement to visit the Capital. While you were busy admiring his prosperous reign, King Steve was quite occupied getting enamoured by you. As you try to fulfil the King’s demands, secrets find their way out.

CHARACTERS + GENRE: DARK!STEVE ROGERS X READER, SUPERNATURAL STEVE ROGERS X READER (read to find out what), ROYAL AU, HALLOWEEN THEME (I tried for the request, hope you do like it)

King Steve Rogers invites the princes and the princesses of all Kingdoms, near and afar,

To celebrate his several years of reign.

He requests thy kind and noble presence

At the joyous regale

of his auspicious ball

On the thirty first of October,

after sundown, in His Majesty’s finest castle.

Challenging thy with the unique theme of

A Halloween Masquerade Ball,

The King expects exceptional indulgence from all.

The Most Grandiose Halloween Celebration is being organised with the spookiest of events within.

Come here if you dare.

“We have been invited to a royal party! My day couldn’t have been better!” Your elder sister exclaimed, jumping quite unladylike in your chambers, as you went through the details of the venue. You chuckled at her antics, knowing rather well that she would be scolded if someone else was present.

“Emma, Mother has to approve first. As Lady Ava always says, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“As if mother would really decline an invite from the King, dear sister.” She rolled her eyes at you, not letting her enthusiasm die as you pondered over her words.

Your sister had a point though, the King summoning your presence was not to be taken lightly. The invitation came up handwritten in a scroll with the King’s wax seal atop it. It was placed elegantly beside a golden mask in a rectangular black box, that bore the Majesty’s sigil on the front.

The theme of the ball wasn’t that peculiar if you reflected over it, the renowned monarch was also recognised for his distinct interest in eerie, unearthly beings. He was known for adventuring into haunted lands, mysterious manors and sinister soils, meeting up with people rumoured to be sorcerers and occultists.

Of course, the reason for his encounters was sometimes rumoured to be because of his familial distress, how he couldn’t find a mate to procreate with and conceive his own heir no matter what. Three females, who were pregnant with a progeny of his blood, none his wife though, had died during the first two or tercet months, reason unspecified why.

Coming to You, you and your sister weren’t actual princesses, rather the daughters of one of the esteemed Ministers in the King’s cabinet. The benevolent King, however referred to the daughters of the town, more exactly, the Kingdom, as noblewomen. He held high reverence for the females and was the sole creditor to the improved condition of the women in this era. No matter how troubled his own life was, the King was the most merciful royal to be crowned to date, his people prospering under him.

Your sister nodded eagerly to your mother, drinking in her words like the fine tea you all had in the afternoons, while you just smiled at her advice.

When you both met your mother for dinner, you were surprised to find her already informed about the invitation. Her conformity to the celebration astonished you even more, but Emma’s zeal was starting to rub off on you too by the end of the meal.

Your mother continued, “Your father mentioned The Majesty is looking for a wife, quite possibly. He has been insistent in trying to get a successor the correct way this time, by courting the lady who piques his interest. Even though this might be a rumour, or some gossip spun by the ladies of the Cabinet, you both should try your best to be graceful and presentable. Among the hundreds of guests, he’d be having over, on the off-chance, if Gods allow, that either of you manages to entice him, it will only promise you the most pleasant of all forthcomings. It would also do me and your father some good, if you managed to find some other suitable bachelor, from a nice background to engage with.”

Your sister had always been one with the more overactive imagination out of you two, while you had been the more serene and poised one. When she’d be out playing with the children in your town, you’d be talking to the younger toddlers, drawing with chalks on the side. For every kid she splashed with water in the nearby sapphire river, you made tots flower crowns. These were the values you both grew up with, and these will be the values you’d die with.

After days of shopping velvet fabrics and silk textiles, and bothering your seamster to make sophisticated and stylish dresses, you both neared your day of departure. After some instructions to you both to represent your father and town well, your mother bid you adieu. It was nerve wracking to not have your mother by your side, for an event as big as this was, but since you both had passed more than twenty name days, you were expected to be proper, independent ladies.

With a heavy heart and some self, positive affirmations, you and your sister embarked on the voyage, which was filled with her chitchat.

You only hoped that the gala was as exciting as your family made it out to be. That it was just a King trying to celebrate his sovereign with some western festival integrated together. That the event would not be as unnerving and creepy as the last line of his invitation made it out to be.

For some unknown cause, it did not sit well with you. Your apprehensive intuition made you wary of the invitation for some reason, but you let your sibling’s zest take you over. What benefit would fretting get you?

The ball was far more pompous than anything you’d have imagined in your little head. All the ideas that Emma had come up with during your journey, to anticipate the extent of extravagance for the ball, were all exceeded with tenfold finesse. You had travelled to faraway, distant lands with your parents, but the King’s mansion, with all the festivity happening, was truly a sight to behold.

Entering The Capital had been the highlight of your excursion, you were sure earlier, but well you were proved wrong. Your father greeted you both when you had arrived, eager to see his angels after almost six moons, and had ensured you both got the best of the accommodations in the well-built, enormous fort. He introduced you to several of his comrades as well as their brooding, young lads and then, left you both to rest for the main event next eve. With two maids at your every beck and call, courtesy of your father, your time went smoothly and now you found yourself at the said Halloween themed celebration, staring around in awe of every little detail that had been so meticulously handled to make the event as dazzling as it was.

The servants were dressed rather ridiculously as cats, wearing some bizarre structure resembling cat ears, horribly short black dresses barely past their thighs and some whiskers draw using either coal or makeup, you weren’t sure. It was a poor attempt to make them appear feline. However, the food was as immaculate as everything else, entirely themed like only blood red wine, candied apples, chicken pumpkins, cheesecake brain, mummy muffins, some appetizer with bell peppers as jack-o-lanterns; these were the few that met your sights.

The hall was so grand, almost the size of three jousting arenas and playing fields combined with pillars having detailed architecture supporting the place. The walls were covered in scarlet, golden and black velvet drapes, the royal colours, and beautiful masquerade masks were pinned atop them, along the walls. Almost hundred round, white clothed tables filled the ballroom, with gold plated candlesticks and utensils upon them. The entire place had entertainers progressing around, the essence of it being magicians, clowns, contortionists, palm and tarot card readers.

In the centre of the hall, was an empty space, reserved for the soon to be ensuing dancing. An orchestra on the side had beautiful instruments, playing soft melodies for now, reserving the upscale beats for later.

You had only read a few books on Halloween to be prepared but nothing could have geared you up for this. Your small-town self was gaping at everything with a childlike wonder while somehow your sister was quite composed and calm, somehow your roles had been reversed.

Emma was wearing a blue gown, having several layers of nets and cloth, each a different shade of azure. She tried to dress as the mythical creature called mermaid, with crystal heels and a beaded neckline. Her masquerade mask had scales like fish, made using shining sequins. She looked so gorgeous, truly managing to look captivating.

You on the other hand were dressed like an angel, which you were against, finding it too mainstream and typical and wanted to dress like an enchantress with violet and jade colours, which your mother immediately negated. On demand of your sister, she let you wear a fluffy white ball gown, and had you made wings with dove feathers, an apparatus which was astonishingly light to wear. Using her art and craft skills, Emma made you a headband with two wires attached to a metal ring, shaped like an angel’s halo. The loop at top made of some special metal that glowed golden in the dark, making it look like a real, floating halo. Your mask had a fur lining on it, and silver sparkles were sprinkled all over you, with pretty makeup on your face, courtesy of your sibling.

The change in music brought you out of your reverie, as trumpets and harps began to hum, signifying the arrival of the King on the grand staircase. He had a crimson red velvet cape descending his broad shoulders, his tuxedo underneath could hide neither his long legs nor his bulging, protruding biceps. His black, shining shoes cost more than your entire apparel, you were certain.

As your gaze ascended his masculine form, you were mesmerised furthermore with his high cheekbones, full lips tainted cherry pink, a Grecian slanting nose, sleek eyebrows, luscious blonde hair, a thick beard and the best of all yet, cerulean blue eyes, the prettiest you’d ever seen in the entirety of your small life. The ladies beside you, Emma included, had the same reaction whether they had witnessed his Highness before or not. Every female’s gaze seemed to flicker between his azure eyes and the Golden crown resting atop his blonde locks, flooded with rubies and emeralds and gemstones you weren’t sure your books had.

For a moment you felt his eyes land on you, which surprised you even more so, that you questioned yourself about it, but his cheeky grin and wink confirmed it, make you shiver involuntarily as heat spread through your face while a titillating stir ran through you, a first for you. His impeccably white teeth were clearly visible now, showing two elongated canines, which finally gave you a sense of his attire, paired with his blush lips, A Vampire.

He spoke a few words, eyes unsteadily wavering, observing different members of the gathering. He let the dances commence, partnering with his most suitable match at the festivity, the daughter of the wealthiest lord. After the first song was over, other couples joined alongside him while you stood at the side, observing everything. Only mere moments ago had your sister been courted by a young man, the two of them shooting each other coy glances since they had entered.

A tap on your shoulder had you puzzled, you turned around focus landing on warm, brown eyes. You recalled him to be Lord Stark’s son, Peter, having met him yesterday at dawn. His familiar brown eyes gave you sense of comfort, which you liked, not being alongside Emma now.

“Shall we?” He asked, his cheeks ruby like yours were, as he extended the palm of his hand towards you. You giggled, smiling like a little babe who got extra cookies for dessert, and accepted his hand. Sauntering to the dancing arena, you only prayed to The Heavens above that Lady Ava taught you enough to embarrass neither yourself nor your guild.

Tracing his steps and following his lead, you did manage to dance without falling, which was a surprise seeing how spread out your wings were. You and him made easy conversation, about your hometowns and interests. You saw your Father proudly looking at you and Emma, dancing with lads, you guessed, he approved of.

As the song ended and the orchestra played a transitioning tune between the melodies, a cough sounded beside you as you and Peter stopped. Your eyes widened as you nervously curtsied beside Peter, A ‘Your Majesty” falling from both your lips.

“If it’s not too much trouble, may I share a dance with the most stunning dame here?”

Peter politely stepped back, letting go of your waist, as The King’s wide stature more than filled his place. Your heart was beating rather loudly, blood pumping to your ears as you tried to make sense of what was happening. In your peripheral vision you could see the prying eyes of others looking at you both, ready to criticize you for one wrong move. Your father watched intently, a slight warning in his eyes to not mess this opportunity up while your sister comfortingly smiled at you. You tried to even your breaths and make sense of what he was saying, to not just stand and gape like a fool in court.

As the harmony played out, he swayed you around, lifting you up and twirling you around. Compliments spewed out from his lips, making you crimson like freshly ripened apples. You couldn’t keep up with your expression of gratitude through your words as he admired your eyes, your elegance and your ensemble which just couldn’t make him shift his eyes from you.

After two songs had played out, he left as suddenly as he had come, with a promise to meet you later. You watched him dance with other maidens, who approached him when you were dancing together, entertaining every approaching lady like an excellent host.

You made your way to the side, hoping to get some liquor, or at least some fluid in your veins and not faint right there this moment. Emma came up beside you while you were having wine, and rubbed your back in a parental way. Her eyes communicated her understanding of how overwhelmed you felt at the instant. Her date and Peter soon came and kept you both company for the rest of the night. As duos danced and people got intoxicated, you had to call it a night on behalf of your sister, her incessant giggling make you worried for her inebriated self.

You slipped her out before your father caught her and gave her a stern talking to and tucked her in her bed keeping a glass of water and some fresh fruits for her on the bedside wooden bench. You concluded retiring for the night yourself but only after assuring your father of your whereabouts and well beings. Before returning to the hall, you took off your wings and the halo, also opting to leave the mask behind as the fur tickled your skin. Your makeup hadn’t ruined in the heat of the hall, it was a miracle. You made your way to the Hall, hoping to find your father, assumingly drunk with all his entourage.

Two hallways before the decorated ballroom were you pinned to the wall, one hand of your attacker covering your parted lips while the other held your face delicately, with a lover’s touch. A split second was all it took for you to be immobilised by this man and another by your wavering form to recognise the cobalt blue eyes and blonde curls. When The King was certain you wouldn’t scream, his hand left your mouth slid upwards, mirroring his other hand, with thumbs in front of your ears and palms resting on your cheeks.

“Your Majesty?” You mumbled back, your voice somehow even lower, afraid for yourself and even more so terrified to offend him.

“Say, would you come for a while to my chambers, the view of the creek from my balcony is splendid.”

His choice of words gave you an option, but his eyes, almost hypnotically told you there was only one correct answer.

“You are the one, I can feel it.” He whispered lowly but your heightened senses gladly picked it up.

You meekly nodded, your inner self surprised at your body moving of its accord alongside him, as your mind started voiding of thoughts like reporting to your father, checking up on Emma. You felt like you were trapped in someone else’s form and fought with an invisible force to take over the reins of your own body.

You did not fail to notice the lack of guards outside the King’s chamber and how every entrance managed to open itself. The King wasn’t lying about the picturesque scene though, as you stood in the balcony, hair getting ruffled by the strong breeze that seemingly came from nowhere.

Your body stiffened as King Steve came uncharacteristically close to you and slid his hands around your middle, his nose nestled in your locks, inhaling deeply.

His lips descended your neck, laying feathery kisses on his path as you stood there, unable to even move your hands or turn around. This out of body sensation was broken when you felt intense pain on piercing of your skin where your head met your torso. You suddenly gained all wits and enough strength to flail your limbs around but all your might wasn’t enough to even stir the man from his task. Your throat couldn’t gather enough energy to scream, though you doubted anyone would come. You started getting light headed and only then did he stop, carrying you in his arms to his widespread four poster bed, mattress as soft as sponge and sheets as silky as butter. Too weak to fight him off, you harvested all your energy in staying conscious as your gaze danced around, trying to make sense of every object present but not awake enough to notice too many details. The wine you drank did not make it any better.

As you laid on the stranger’s bed, you felt his body sit beside you, holding your neck; leaning down, his lips meeting yours for the first time. You did not reciprocate, neither did you have the strength nor the will, while his tongue slipped inside your mouth, roaming around like a traveller in foreign land.

As the kiss drew on, you felt some energy sidle inside you, enough for your mind to function again but not ample enough to fight off the brawny thief who robbed you of your first kiss. King Steve broke off the kiss and connected your foreheads together, his indigo eyes turning black in want, leaving you a frightening and gasping mess.

He backed away, sitting more straighter now as his hand drew back from around your neck and slid along your stomach, nearing the most intimate part of your body, even though there were still layers of cloth present. His hands did not stop there, however, and made their way downwards only stopping at the hem of your gown and slipping inside.

You shrieked out suddenly, becoming aware of his intentions quite late and grasped his wrist that rested now on your knee.

“Your Majesty, I……I can’t-”

“Do you wish to refuse your King?”

You looked down, caught in the dilemma of wanting your safety and offending him once again. Your virtue had to be preserved till marriage, your mother had taught you, but on the other hand, the King’s words were the law.

“Answer Me.” The King’s cold voice broke through your thoughts, not a shout but still scarier than a yell.“

Your Majesty, I’ve never engaged in s-” You started tearing up, lower lip wobbling and body shaking at the thought of the future. You did not see this ending beneficial in any scenario. If you lost your virtue, you would never get wed but if you refused the King and he felt insulted, your family and your connections would be in the ruins, he held that much power over you.

Cradling your face with his other hand, he began again, “You think I’m not already aware, pretty one?” The man who was reprimanding you only few moments ago upon not answering him, had a smile on his face this time: not assuring or comforting, but malicious and sinister to its very core. “I could smell your untainted scent from my room, before even descending the stairs.”

“Your e-eyes..” You gaped again as colours morphed in his eyes, red now swirling around in the pools of darkness, his words lost on you as you felt your fear rising due to the inhumane action.

“For an intellectual, bibliophilic girl, you sure are oblivious, sweetheart.” He scoffed, looking unimpressed at you, “Come on, prove to me you aren’t heedless like the rest, draw the conclusion." His eyes held yours, again altering into hues of different colours, seemingly mocking you now.

You don’t know how the thought jumped into your head, maybe because the two holes on your neck stung suddenly or because the automatically opening doors entered your mind, the contemplation that his fangs appeared so realistic and authentic the more you stared at them paired with the blood on his collar, not just the fresh red stain of your plasma but also the burgundy stain present there, giving his lips the cherry red shade you admired hours ago on his arrival at the event.

“This is not a co-costume, no-” You inhaled a quick breath, “you are a vampire.” Your face paled in realisation while he smirked proudly, tapping your knee in a weird, twisted form of appreciation.

“Tremendous, my dear. But only half, you see. My mother was one, yes, but my father, he gave me an even better ability, he was an Incubus.” You shuddered as the words sunk in, your only worry being staying alive now, when your life was in the hands of this sex demon, having the greatest of powers and strength. Your mind did not spend any time mulling over the existence of supernatural beings, only dwelling on possible escapes now.

“That is why even your untouched body couldn’t help but react to my form and it is also the very reason, that I can read what goes on in your mind, all your memories, your hobbies, every book you’ve read, your precious sister, Emma isn’t it? So please, do not even think about fleeing if you don’t want your family to suffer.”

The threat loomed in the air, nasty sobs wracking your body as his thumb came to wipe the tears off. His hands started undoing the lace on the front of your bodice as you sniffled. Managing to quieten down just a bit, you begged, “Please don’t do this, I’ll have nowhere to go if my family found about me partaking in this unholy deed before marriage.” You had little hope about him seeing reason but there was optimism nonetheless.

“Darling, do not fuss that I’ll leave you unhinged and deserted after finding pleasure in your body, you are to be mine now. Essentially, you already are.” His lips claimed yours again as the front of your dress slackened, bundling around your waist.

You pulled back, surprised at his promise, “You mean that?” He nodded, coming to kiss you again. You turned so that his lips met your neck, tongue licking the salt residue of tears there. “In what sense?”

“In every sense you could think of and more. I’ll give you everything, make you my queen, would you like that?” He mumbled in your neck, tongue now soothing the two punctured cavities residing there.

You could feel yourself crossing your legs involuntarily, trying to caress the abrupt yearning in your intimate part, your underclothes dousing with wetness somehow. Steve smirked in your neck, sitting upright and playing his trump card.

“I’ll marry you and we’ll rule together with the plenty of successors you’ll give me. Won’t that make your parents proud? Isn’t that what your parents taught you? Catch the King’s eye?” You meekly nodded, his charisma of an Incubus winning you over. “I’ll make your father The King’s Hand and send your mother the finest of jewels and gems, satins and silks.” He looked over at your submissive form, looking at him with the innocence of a toddler, swayed by his promises.

“I’ll let your sister have a grand wedding with the man she dears. All you have to do is surrender yourself to me and be my Queen, rule alongside me. So I ask, will you?” You cut him off, your lips pressing against his as you tried to mimic his earlier movements. He held your waist, surprised but pleasantly so, crushing the layers of the rolled top half of your dress underneath his hands. You had very little idea about what bedding someone meant but you had this primal urge to not have any skin of yours covered or untouched by him.

Steve shed his cape and threw every cloth on his torso away, almost as eager as you to get skin to skin contact. Your hands tangled in his hair as he lifted you up and sat you in his broad lap, not before sliding your dress all the way down. As he broke the kiss and took in your body, parts of you hidden under the smallclothes, he let out a growl that frightened yet excited you with another shiver down your spine.

He made quick work of his bottoms, his cock standing and reaching his muscled chest almost and you gaped. Your sister, Emma had informed you of men’s parts being far much smaller than what you had just witnessed. His member stood erect and proud, glistening as he pumped it with his fist. His eyes drank in your surprise and trepidation, getting amused and turned on even more.

You still laid stretched across the bed, legs straight ahead of you while your torso rested on your elbows, eyes wary of his every next movement. He eyed your scantily clad body, gaze filled with lust and nothing more and climbed between your legs, one hand coming down on your waist while the other grabbed the back of your head and pulled you into a possessive kiss, robbing you of your breath. Your mind was slowly registering the reality of it all, this was going to happen no matter what. You were going to sin by engaging in fornication. But is it really wrong if your benevolent king demands that of you?

His hand sliding from your face to your bosom distracted you from your chain of thoughts. He slid the cups of your garment revealing your nipples and took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his other pinched the abandoned one. You didn’t know if you should be more surprised at his actions or the rush of the feelings that ran through you.

He slowly released your nipple and trailed soft kisses down your stomach to your most intimate part yet, kissing it through the cloth there. His delicate touch was abruptly contrasted with him grabbing the fabric, tearing it into two and revealing you bare.

You closed your legs out of instinct but his heavily muscled hand took them apart in a single push. He eyed you with a warning, to not obstruct him anyhow anymore.

“Let me taste that sweet nectar of yours, sweetheart. I really want to find out if it is as addictive as my senses picked it up, as sweet as the aura that surrounds you.”

And with that he dove into your pussy, his tongue roaming your wet cavern. Neither did you understand what he spoke of nor had you sister told you about the activity happening right now. But all you could do was focus on the astonishingly pleasant shivers running through you as you had an out of the body, more accurately an out of the world experience. You had no sense of the time that passed and how long you laid there clutching the silk sheets letting out mewls. But out of nowhere, something in you snapped and all your energy left you.

As your blurry vision cleared and your eyes found his face, he licked his still glistening lips, his beard moist and wet but erotically so. He dove right into kiss again and you tasted your own sweet nectar for the first time ever. His hand roamed your body, grabbing your curves and caressing your soft flesh.

One of his hands made its way down furthermore and spread your fluids along your folds, and then lined up himself along your hole. With a sudden push, you felt yourself being full like never before, and a sudden pain hit you as your face visibly flinched. Steve swallowed your grunts of pain with his kisses and started rubbing your bud above your linked bodies.

The shudder that ran through you once again made you incapable of thinking, the ache slowly subsiding behind the pleasure you felt. When your moans filled the air, Steve kissed your collarbones and sucked leaving bruises there, and started thrusting again. As his movements became faster and consistent, and his callused hands rubbed you and pinched your intimate flesh, you ascended to another world. Each action of his introduced you to a new star in the wide galaxy. The same unknown descended upon you again as something snapped in your abdomen and you experienced pure bliss.

“Going to make you the mother of my children, you will carry my seed and bring the Kingdom several heirs. This time I’ll succeed, you will be mine, my Queen in every sense.” His words made you clench around him and that was all it took for him to achieve ecstasy as well.

Your head lolled and your eyes met his sweating frame lying across the silk sheets as a sinister grin adorned his face again, “I need to fuck a successor into you tonight, you ready?”

#dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #darkmcufestiveficswap #darkmcuficswap #marvel imagine #dark mcu #darkmculibrary #dark!steve rogers x reader #chris evans #steve rogers #royal au #halloween au #masquerade ball #darkmcufestiveswap #ray writes

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anika-ann · 2 years

Text

In the Name of All That’s Holy

Type: medieval/fantasy AU, sequel to In the Name of the King

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 5200

Summary:

Finally having married your love, Knight Steven Rogers, you are ought to be happy – for he is the gentlest, kindest and most loving man… who happens to be very handsome as well.

And dutiful. So very dutiful and proud of his place at court that he might be neglecting his other duties, like the ones of a husband.

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, touch-starved horny and innocent-ish reader, breeding kink, slightly dom!Steve being a bit of a jerk, unprotected sex (who would have guessed in this AU), era-typical misogyny if you squint, a tiny bit of angst, religious ambiguity, fluff and himbo knights

Restlessness was a sensation you were no stranger to.

You remembered moments where your feet itched with need to tap on the floor incessantly, your hands clenching and unclenching, your heart racing despite sitting entirely still with no physical exertion at all; moments where your mind, on the other hand, seemed to rival the fastest horses of the kingdom.

Yet, this feeling appeared foreign.

You were certain you had a taste of it previously, almost always in relation to Steven – your Steven, long before he was yours.

No amount of fidgeting brought you relief; your body ran hot and yet you felt cold when outside of Steven’s arms, your husband’s arms, deep yearning within you, which made your tongue tied and sharp at once. Irritation spiked easily, blood rushing in your veins and holding you in a state of the strangest haze.

You must have been losing you mind.

You felt so unwell you were relieved of your duties for several days now; Queen Virginia, the amiable and kind sovereign and the noblewoman you now answered to, had been so gracious to note your state, your fever. You had known the goodness of her heart; you had already witnessed it when she had first arrived and allowed you to stay for some of her own maids remained in her old kingdom for their ties to their husbands and their families.

Yet, she turned out to be even kinder in her actions now.

After you assisted to their wedding and celebrated your own, served with honour for over two weeks, fever brought you to your knees, the strangest you had ever experienced. You felt weak and full of energy at once, trembling, thirsting after things intangible, after life itself it seemed.

After three days, you still remained feeble, worrying your husband who did not have nearly enough time to take care of you despite the concern creasing his brows intensely whenever he had a chance to see you.

Such was the case tonight; earlier today, you had a chance to witness the coronation of Prince Anthony, yet you had no energy to serve at the feast to celebrate this grand event.

Steven could not be by your side as you rested; he had not even been allowed to stand by you during the important royal event.

You had stood on the opposite ends of the room and despite the gravity of the ceremony unfolding your gaze travelled to your husband often, your heart flying.

He was a handsome man; standing tall, dressed in traditional colours of Starkerbürg and lighter armour; every single person, should they bother to look at him, would be able to tell he was proud to carry his title of a knight. Hair combed as carefully as his beard, a neck protector made of chain mail laid over the crimson shirt with a golden royal insignia, double-belted with leader –one for appearance, other to hold a sword he himself forged. A cloak in royal colours, clipped together with a golden clasp.

Your husband was nothing short of magnificent.

Gods, Lord, who could blame you for stealing glances at him, even as you could have been watching the priest, a divine messenger, place the crown on Prince Anthony’s head and entrust him with the power over the kingdom to his hands, from the will of the Lord himself? A different sort of a divine power was pulling your gaze towards your husband, no doubt just as sacred – it must have been.

With the end of the coronation approaching, you already felt your fever overtaking you again; so you retreated to your chambers, Steven’s worried gaze following you, his stance unmoving otherwise.

He had a duty he was most proud of – a duty he would never break, perhaps not even for you. Instead of the fever, a few tears burned in your eyes at the thought, and yet… you could not but love him with all your heart, for he was the gentlest, kindest, loving and most giving man, human, you had ever encountered. Memories of your wedding night and the night after flooded your mind and reminded you of another undeniable feature of his. Passionate.

Steve was a tender, but strong and incredibly passionate man. You felt the ghost of his lips on your own still, the scratch of his beard as his lips wandered your body, showing you pleasure you could have never imagined in your wildest dreams.

The sensations set your body on fire again as you downed a tall glass of water, changing into your nightgown and retreating to bed, the heat seemingly only growing even as you simply laid on the covers instead of under them. Steve’s scent, so greatly missed these days for his duties kept him occupied and away, twirled in the air around you, somehow irritating instead of soothing as usual.

You tossed and turned, uncomfortable in your own skin, a feeling you could not hope to understand crawling up your back, inside your belly and your chest. An itch whose source you were failing to find, no matter how frantically you were searching.

The itch, the burn… it was simply not leaving, rendering you half-mad and fatigued.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

It must have been hours when you finally calmed, lying on you back in your marital bed, eyes dazed over, mind void of a single coherent thought.

The sounds of the feast, having echoing through the castle even to your chamber, grew louder all of sudden, accompanied by a low squeak of the door.

Despite exhaustion having settled deep in your bones, you willed your head to turn, met with a sight for your sore eyes: your knight in all his glory, wrapped in the crimson cloak still, sword still by his hip, ready to rush to protect those who could not protect themselves. Prepared to lay down his life for others. For you. A true hero.

The room had been wrapped in shadows, illuminated by two candles you could not recall lighting up; the scarce light played on Steven’s troubled face as he blindly closed the door and graced you with a faint smile, the curl of his plush red lips almost hidden by his thick beard.

“Good evening, sweetling,” he whispered, voice husky from laugher the feast no doubt made for.

He took off his cloak, leaving it on the chair by the door.

The sound of his voice caressed you tenderly and yet – it clutched at your abdomen tight, your heart, having calmed down at last, stumbling again and breaking into a run. Your eyes fluttered close at the assault of a feeling, its intensity taking you by surprise.

“Evening,” you croaked out, hearing his suddenly rushed steps, feeling his weight as he sat down by your hips.

His warm hand landed on your forehead gently, pushing your hair away to grant himself a proper look. His fingers brushed your cheek, wincing slightly as a booming laugher reached the chambers once more.

“Are you not feeling better?”

Your gaze sought out his, a breath-taking image of his face in rich detail for he was so close, leaning in to plant a kiss on your forehead – the blue of his irises was nearly swallowed by his pupils, the sight causing your lower belly burn.

It was only when his lips caressed your face, once and twice, when the realization finally dawned to you.

Steve’s touch, his lips, his warmth against yours, his proximity – all of these blessings were both the source of your fever and the only remedy.

Your body burned because of him. Burned for him.

“Sweetling?” he questioned silently as you observed him, rendered speechless by the epiphany.

For all your duties, you had struggled to find moments for each other and now your body called for him; a call you could not hope nor wanted to ignore.

In an instant, your strength had returned. Your hand found Steven’s cheek, stroking his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, bringing a smile to his face even when you added pressure as to pull him in.

He yielded, sweet lips with a faint taste of wine meeting yours, careful, gentle, sending shivers down your spine, exciting and comforting at once.

“Are you cold, my love?” he whispered to your mouth, withdrawing an inch – an inch too far. “Why are you not co-“

Never allowing him to finish his sentence, you kissed him again with urgency for since you found your remedy now, you refused to let it go.

Should you release him, should your lips part from his again, you would certainly gone mad; for at the moment, you felt health rushing through your veins, thirst you had not known you had suffered from sated and growing at once for Steve’s lips on yours were but a promise, but a taste of what he could give, what he had given you pleasure of experiencing.

You opened your mouth to deepen the kiss, to taste him profoundly, to make him understand.

Surely, he would understand? You were not left alone in your craving, or were you? You could not be called sick for your desires, not truly. No? Surely, loving your husband, loving the entirety of him, was only natural? Your core throbbed with need as you felt him give in, tongue joining the dance of your lips, your breaths coming out short as the air seemed to crackle, adding to the fire inside you.

You reached out to his shoulder, forcing him to lean in, your body rising to meet his, to have his warmth seep into yours, your pulse thundering as your fingers ran down his chest to his belt.

He withdrew with a gasp, earning a whine from you for you felt as if you were on fire; all-consuming fire only he could put out. Would he deny this relief to you?

He watched you with eyes blown wide, lips kiss-swollen, hand on your face tender still even as you stole another kiss from him, nothing but a short peck he was swift to end, turning your advances down with a gentle caress on your cheek.

“Love, love, sweetling… I must go back to the feast.”

“Do not dare,” you whispered firmly, a fraction desperate at the mere prospect.

You understood your condition at last, you were aware of what was it you needed and what you wanted. Could he not want the same?

“It is not that I wish to-“

“Do not, then,” you begged, following him as he sat up, emptiness filling you at the possibility of the distance between your lips growing. You kissed his cheek, the corner of his mouth, then his lips again – he did not retreat, did not protest, but his hand on you grew heavy, falling to your shoulder, his eyes tainted by regret. “My fever. Its origin is withing me. You have not bedded me since the night after our wedding night.”

His gaze softened, apologetic with a spark of something you could not hope to decipher.

“Oh my sweeting… I shall make up for my shortcomings, soon. But for the moment, I must-“

You scooted closer, following his every move without conscious effort, your bodies gravitating one to the other. You ran your fingers through his beard, thumb brushing over his lips as you leaned in for another kiss, holding onto his shoulder for both the proximity and the fear he would leave you cold and alone despite clearly regretting his choice.

You kneeled by him now, a moment from finding strength and courage to stand and straddle him; yet, you feared he would reject you still; and such action would break your heart.

“You have not made love to me since then and my body, my heart-“ you whispered, voice cracking with the severity of your admission, “it is burning for you.”

“Oh, my love… but I---- I apologize, but I must-- such is the King’s will,” he explained, eyes fluttering shut when you kissed him, a small sound escaping him when your fingers dove into his hair; a little noise spurring you on, feeding your hope. “The God’s will, I-”

Nimble fingers of your free hand undid the belt holding the sheath without a single protest on his part, the thud on his sword on the floor a testimony to your victory.

“Is it not God’s will to love and to create life?” you spoke to his mouth, a blissed sigh falling from your lips when his hand tentatively found your waist. “My lips burn for your lips, my womb burns for your seed, aches to grow your child. Sooth me. Fill me. Please.”

“For all that’s holy-“ he cursed, taking your mouth, claiming dominance and sealing your fate at once.

His hand cradled your face firmly, angling your head to his liking, holding you in place despite the power behind his lunges, causing you to nearly cry out in relief. Yes, yes, please, do not stop-

“Give my body a child to carry. A child born of our love.”

“I will, wife. I will,” he promised huskily, his touch earning urgency you would never dream of.

Despite losing control over the kiss, your lips curled up in a smile as he advanced on you, barely finding time to have you pull the chainmail over his head for he attached his mouth to yours again, hand squeezing your waist, chest to chest as your nipples hardened.

“I shall not come back there.”

“You shall not,” you confirmed breathlessly, shaking your head at the mere idea until he gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, steading your movements just so he could drink from your mouth as he had drunk from his goblet at the feast.

“I shall have my own feast here… for it is God’s will…” he murmured, rucking up the skirts of your nightgown, palm kneading your thigh as it made its way up. “And I shall find my holy grail without leaving our marriage bed.”

His words were a promise; and you knew that your knight, your husband, your Steve was one to deliver on them, always.

He stripped you of your modest garments entirely, laying you down on your marriage bed and begun his journey in search of the holy grail he had spoken of.

And by gods, he treated your body as his quest, one single destination in his mind.

Yet, he took pleasure in the journey itself; his lips skimmed over your skin, soothing the burn his beard left behind, adoring hungry kisses trailing down your body, walking reverently through the valley of your breasts, licking and sucking at your nipple, nosing the underside of your breasts and heading down down down until his mouth latched onto his prize, hands seizing your hips so you could not escape his worship.

“Steven-“

“Divine,” he only muttered, darting his tongue out circle your pearl, your hands gripping the sheets in a desperate need to hold onto reality as you felt on the verge of entering an entirely different plane of existence.

Your body boiled, singing in pleasure and relief at last and yet he was moving so painstakingly slow.

He kissed your lover lips like he would kiss your mouth – tender and loving until he lost his patience and delved in, tasting and savouring every drop of your essence on his tongue as it was nothing less than the most delicious wine. His large palm was sprawled over your belly, keeping you in place as ifyou ever had the intention to escape his ministrations.

And just when you were on the edge of bliss, almost touching the stars and reaching for the cure your body needed for so long, he withdrew his tongue, licking a broad strip up your glistening petals and placing a gentle kiss on your pearl, lips drawing a tickly line up your abdomen.

The action – or the lack of it – elicited a startled cry from your lips when he strayed further and further from where you quite literally burned for his touch. Tears formed in your eyes at the denial, your hips bucking up in protest against his unrelenting grasp.

“Steve—why?”

“I want to feel you, angel… I love feeling your body begging for my seed. Is that not what you crave? Is that not what you asked from me?” he muttered to the skin of your neck, a broad and evil, evil smile he made sure you could feel.

You cared little for his smugness, feeling you were a second from losing your mind as you babbled in agreement.

“Yes, yes, but I--- yes. Please.”

Boneless yet strung so tight your body threatened to snap, you laid limp bar the frantic rise and fall of your chest and wordlessly watched him discard his remaining clothes, take torturously long to untie his heavy boots, undo his pants and free his manhood.

Yet, once he returned to you, he made up for his absence; he covered you like a blanket, heavy, soft, but unrelenting as his body tangled with yours, capturing you in the most blissful trap, locking his mouth on yours, allowing you to taste your own essence.

“My beautiful, beautiful wife,” he whispered to your lips, “I have been blessed making you my wife, do you know that, my love?”

The sweet words had your head spin, breath catching in your chest as his mouth slanted over yours again, filthy kiss in stark contrast to his declaration and the care he took to slowly enter you, teeth grazing your lower lip for he must have felt your tight heat squeeze him hungrily the moment he was fully seated.

The sensation compared to nothing else; for nothing made for a feeling of being so profoundly loved. Your bodies merged so perfectly as if you were created for each other and in this very moment, no matter how the fire inside you only seemed to intensify, it truly felt like you were.

Your love, your Steven, your husband. Beautiful, lost in the moment of bliss as you were, candlelight casting shadows over his handsome face, over the small scar above his brow – a testament to his bravery and good heart. His heart; yours.

Steve grunted as your core squeezed him in need and he took several breaths, fluttering his eyes open to find you watching him, eyes no doubt glossed over, glassy almost. The pads on his fingers ghosted over your cheekbone, tenderly drying your tears; feelings you could not hope to put into words bubbled in your throat alongside your desire.

“It is me who was blessed,” you whispered, barely audible, your trembling hand cupping his face as you licked your lips. “Please.”

“As you wish.”

The slow drag of his length through your heat had you seeing starts; and this time, he hoisted you high enough for them in a blink of an eye, having you gasping in pleasure, body tensing in almost painful manner – but oh so blissful.

He indulged in the sensation of your heat clamping on him, nearly ceasing his movements, resting deeply within you. His eyes never left your face, committing the precious image to his memory.

How he had managed to keep from you for days were beyond his comprehension now when he was granted a moment to have you; the memories he had relished so far made it no justice.

Despite every prayer to the Lord or to the Gods, this moment and moments alike were when Steven felt the closest to divine power; for this must have been what Heaven felt like. He was in the loving arms of an angel.

You blinked your eyes open, solitary tear running down your cheek, breathless, lips parted. Steve stole the salty droplet and brought it to your lips, kissing you with reverence, tenderly making love to your mouth. He craved nothing but to chase his own release too, yet he was perfectly content stealing your breath and making for your lips to be kiss-swollen, having them chant his name like a prayer and a thank you.

“Steve, Steve, Steve…“

As if he had just executed an act of heroism instead of profound pleasure to himself.

“Is the burn gone, my sweet?” he asked, gently despite the teasing edge to his smile.

But how could he jest, mock your wish to feel him close when he felt the same… how could he when you watched him with his eyes half open and so full of love and serenity?

“Yes, my love. Most of it.”

And was there any sweeter music than this, a hidden plea for him to fill you further, to plant his seed and claim you as his in every way imaginable?

His crotch throbbed at your willingness – at your desperation almost – to have him release deep inside you. Images flickered in his mind, crude images that had much less to do with love-making you deserved, but perhaps fitting enough for what you both craved.

“Oh, only most of it? Let me remedy it then, sweetling.”

He kissed your lips with determination and hunger, eliciting an adorably startled sound from your throat when he pulled away, and stood up by the foot of the bed. A choked yelp followed when his fingers curled about your ankles and he dragged you to him – as gentle as he could in his desire-clouded mind – leaving you with your sweet centre just on the edge.

Lifting your leg, planting a kiss to your calf and resting it against his shoulder, repeating the motion with your other legs, he was not blind to your confusion and your wide-eyed gaze; you watched him breathless with anticipation as you realized what he wanted.

But by gods, knowing his intention prepared you not for the feeling when he entered you again, thrusting so deep you felt him like you had not before, the sensation as blissful as startling, your hand instinctively covering your belly in shameless wonder.

“Oh gods,” you sobbed, little sounds you did not know you were capable of spilling from your lips with every thrust, each coming faster than the one before, leaving you stunned and yet having you crave more of this incredible feeling.

You felt an open-mouthed sucking kiss land on your calf and you could not find yourself to care for it beyond whimpering, a plea for more, senselessly begging to feel Steve spill inside you and to take you touch the stars again.

His burning hand covered yours on your belly, pressing as if he could feel the depths he reached with every buckle of his hips forward.

“I will spill so deep inside you, my love, that the seed will take.”

You sobbed as you felt your peak approaching at his words, dripping with desire and need to claim.

“We will be blessed with a child… you will grow a new life, right here,” he added pressure, the sense of possessiveness delicious, rich and dark. Irresistible. “And then again and again.”

“Yes, please-“

“Oh sweetling, you will not—have to ask again.”

Your lips parted in silent cry as his movements grew erratic and the feeling you craved so much arrived at last, triggering your own release, both Steve’s and your body wrapped in bliss at once.

You felt his eyes on you as you breathed heavily, chest rising and falling at the overwhelming sensation, eyes fluttering open only to see him watch you with fascination; an emotion that only seemed to grow when he slowly pulled out, his release nearly spilling out. His fingers were swift to gather the thickness and push it back where it belonged, causing shivers run up your spine.

He kissed each of your knees as he laid your legs down to the cushions, your limbs appearing and feeling boneless. He stretched over your body, offering his generous warmth, watching with a smile that rivalled your own before he graced you with the sweetest of kisses – unhurried, but an echo of the fire prior to your love-making.

“Are you alright, my love?” he questioned, a soft frown creasing his brows as he observed you. “Did I… did I hurt you? Such was not my intention.”

“I know. You did not, Steven. Never,” you assured him swiftly, leading him to lie by your side.

He obliged, draping the covers over you both as much as he could without moving much, facing you with a smile which earned a teasing edge that had your cheeks burn.

“Cannot believe my lady craves this so much.”

Biting your cheek, you lowered your gaze, feeling shame bloom in your chest. Was it wrong? Surely, it could not be? Not when you finally felt as peace again; no fever, no irritation. Only love and serenity.

“There is no other feeling like it,” you muttered, attempting to explain, to justify yourself. “Being as one… leaving a part of you behind, deep inside me, I--- do you believe me to be silly for feeling such?”

Steven’s hand found yours, bringing it to his lips, tenderly kissing your knuckles before moving onto your fingertips; his eyes were sincere as he met your gaze, urgent almost.

“No. I could never. My beautiful wife, with enticing body and gorgeous soul… I could never. I love you. No matter what your needs should be.”

Your shoulders relaxed, calmness washing over you again; and this time for good, for Steven, your Steve, would not think any less of you. You should have known as much.

“And I love you, husband.”

“And since I know now how much you adore this feeling… and how much wish for a child, just like I do, I shall make sure to keep you full of my seed every day,” he declared, hand sprawling over your abdomen, a shadow of desire in his gaze as he looked up at you. “I must not neglect my marital duty anymore.”

You gulped at his choice of his words, a echo of hurt and sorrow creeping up your back.

“Duty…” you mused. “Will you go back to the feast? To fulfil your duty?”

He simply shook his head, laying your connected palms between your, fingers interlaced.

“No. I shall stay here. I have fulfilled my duty already. Serving my king and my kingdom it is no longer my only obligation.”

“And… what of pleasure?” you questioned hesitantly for you feared his answer.

In the bliss following your act of love, you could not stop wondering whether this was a duty to him also – for while you had convinced him to stay, he had not seemed nearly as eager as you did.

Your soul would be at peace for Steve had not held your needs against you, he did not think you strange; yet, you would hope he would be as keen as you were. He had not appeared that way – and now, he was smiling at you softly, bemused.

“What of it, sweetling?”

“Well,” you said, carefully watching his face as you explained. “You said you must no longer neglect your marital duty. Your obligation. But… what of pleasure?”

Should he tell you that your source of pleasure was a mere duty to him, your heart would break; yet, not knowing was nearly as painful since it gnawed at your mind.

Steve observed you for a moment, curious, clueless, thumb caressing the back of your hand.

At last, his expression softened, strong arms pulling you to his front, tucking your head under his chin, a lingering kiss planted to the crown of your head.

You knew then he must have understood what you were asking; whether he found pleasure in it as well, at least half the bliss you felt when you connected in the most intimate manner, one reserved for a wife and a husband only.

His palm stroked your back as he held you firmly to his chest, his voice soothing in its outrage.

“If you have any doubt, my sweetling, I shall tell you I find myself a lucky man for making love on my wife is both. Tis’ a pleasure I can speak of as duty… a duty I may use as an excuse to lose myself in you, lose myself and never want to find my way back,” he admitted fervently, before his voice softened again. “Do you understand, my love?”

You smiled and nodded as the warmth of his words enveloped you, comfort and a promise.

“I do, Steven.”

His fingers tickled your lower back, causing you to giggle and withdraw on instinct, allowing Steve to slip two fingers under your chin, leading you to tip your head back, rewarding your pliancy with a kiss on your lips.

“Surely you must know, my sweet. You are the closest to heaven I have ever been. You. Always you.”

You blinked heavily, tiredness washing over you in the safety of your loving husband’s arms.

“And you,” you whispered, earning a hushed laugh as you yawned, leading Steve to help you roll over and assume position you would always seek when sleeping.

Your back to his front, not an inch between your bodies and his lips on your shoulder, he wished you a good night and sweet dreams.

Only tonight, his arm did not simply drape over your waist; his palm laid wide over your belly, possessive – and protective.

Far from the pair of lovers having settled to sleep, Sir Barnes held out his palm in the direction of Sir Drax and Sir Lang with a self-satisfied grin. The two men only groaned, much to the amusement of Sir Barton who had gentlemanly refused to participate in the actual bet. He had been too certain of the outcome.

Lang and Drax tossed a few coins to Barnes, who then shared a few with Barton anyway for he had whispered his tip to his ear earlier.

“Told you,” Bucky bragged, putting the coins away into his pouch.

“But he is such a stuck-up ass about his duty!” Lang called out, outraged and confused, which only had Barton erupt in laughter.

“True. That he is. But he’s got a husband’s duty now,” he pointed out, not having to imagine what he would have done had he needed to go and check on his wife Laura. “Trust me, fellas, I know how such things are.”

“Ew!” Bucky cried out, disgusted at the imaginary. “Did not need to know that. The point, however, is that he was too enchanted by his sweetling even before they were married. It would hardly change now. There was no chance ever he would come back in here.”

“But why would he stay with one woman there when there are so many in here?” Drax questioned, frowning, while Lang just shook his head and sighed.

“Should have known. I’m never betting against you again, Barnes.”

“No, please. By all means, give me more money,” the knight grinned, earning a scowl from the two. “If it makes you feel any better… I think Steve would bet the same as you.”

“How do you figure?” Barton wondered, intrigued by the idea.

“He is a stuck-up ass about duty. That’s why his wife is so good for him, maybe more than the dumbass realizes.”

“Hear hear!” Barton laughed, raising his beer to toast to that, coaxing the others to do the same.

Many chambers away from the royal hall, Steven could not but agree with Barnes. His wife was indeed the best; but contrary to his best friend’s claim, he was well-aware.

He was very, very well-aware.

Sequel - In the Name of Blood

S.R. masterlist

*hands over a box of tissues, for whichever use you need and prefer*

Is it purple prose? Probably. Do I care. NOPE.

This post appeared on my dash and I was done for 😭 Blame this on that (and someone telling me that after what they endured, they deserved to get some. A lot of some.)

Thank you for reading 💕 If you enjoyed, consider leaving feedback and reblogging.

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #medieval au #knight steve rogers #lemons #steve rogers #captain america #captain america au #captain america x you #captain america x reader #steve rogers imagine #in the name of all that's holy #anika ann

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angryschnauzer · 4 years

Text

Stuck

Summary: You are August Walkers maid, and when you are changing the sheets on his massive bed your hand gets stuck between the mattress and headboard. Upon finding you in that predicament August takes control of the situation, however it doesn’t mean you get unstuck any time soon. (Based on a pornhub video i saw at 2am a few nights ago)

Pairing: August Walker x Female Maid Reader (no race or size described) Fandom; Henry Cavill, Mission Impossible: Fallout.

Warnings; NSFW, 18+, Dub-con, Fingering, groping, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, size kink, breeding kink, boob play, anal fingering, double penetration, spanking, spying/stalker behaviour, surveilence, voyerism, unauthorized recording of a sex act, not-great aftercare (he tries), slight dom/sub, the start of a ‘sugar daddy’ arrangement, however no reference to Daddy kink.

I do not operate a tag list, however please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications. That way you’ll get an alert every time i post anything. Masterlist can be found on AO3 link HERE

Read the Steve Rogers version of this story HERE

Stuck

Ringing the doorbell, you stood anxiously on the doormat outside the expensive apartment, listening for approaching steps but hearing none. So when the door suddenly opened you let out a tiny yelp of surprise, before taking a deep breath to steady your racing heart;

“Good afternoon Mr Walker”

The giant of a man stood in front of you, recognition quickly passing over his face when he saw your uniform of black dress and simple black ballet flats;

“Oh yes, the maid. C’mon in”

You worked for a high security housekeeping company, strict controls and stringent background checks as you were contracted to the pentagon and the agents and staff that worked there. You always worked on an ad-hoc basis, only visiting homes when clients or agents requested it. This was however the fourth time cleaning Mr Walker’s apartment, always having to work around suitcases littering the halls and various weapons being cleaned and serviced on the kitchen table.

Holding your pail of cleaning supplies you waited as he shut the door, talking at you rather than to you;

“Okay so here’s what you need to do today; clean the bathroom and kitchen, vacuum the rugs throughout, change the bedding and leave in the laundry hamper”

You nodded;

“Sweeping throughout too sir?”

“No need, the Roomba does the smooth floors, it just can’t get onto the deep pile rugs” he hooked an earbud into one ear; “I’m going out for a run, I’ll be two hours”

Swallowing nervously you nodded, watching as he hooked the other earbud in and left without another word, leaving you staring at the white wood of the door after he’d closed it.

Mr Walker both scared and excited you. A beast of a man, he was all muscle, and each time you had visited he had excused himself so not to be there whilst you were. The fact that he was always in a tank top and running shorts that did nothing to hide any part of him had you stretching your concentration to its limits in order to get your job done and not drift off into a fantasy land that you saved for when you were curled up in your own bed.

Getting to work you started on the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher with the various dirty crockery that littered the room, cleaning the surfaces, sink, stove. Next up you hit the rugs, working quickly as you vacuumed, before heading to the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath you opened the door and relaxed. Cleaning bathrooms for single men were what you always dreaded, but at least as you started to cleanse every surface including the toilet, you realised that Mr Walker thankfully had good aim. Finally it was time for the shower, and as you pulled open the glass door and looked down you let out a shriek; the largest spider you’d ever seen sat in the corner. Grabbing the handled loofah you crept a little closer, letting out a laugh when you saw it wasn’t in fact an arachnid; instead it was a clump of dark hair;

“Well, the man does have a lot of hair” you muttered to no-one but yourself, thinking about how his chest was covered in a mat of soft hair, exposed in the low neck of his running tank.

Half an hour later you wiped your brow on the back of your arm. Mr Walkers bathroom had in fact been a nightmare, the man shed more hair than a fucking German Shepherd. Washing your hands and glancing at your watch, you saw that you had fifteen minutes left of the two hours, taking a deep breath before grabbing the clean linens from the closet.

Mr Walkers bedroom was white. There was no personalisation, no trinkets. Slipping your ballet flats off you climbed onto the bed, mentally taking in the sheer size of it; it must be a super king if not larger. Your mind immediately went south, imagining Mr Walker fucking on the bed, sprawled out as you straddle his face - you had always wondered what that moustache felt like against your skin - and you ride his tongue, or him pile driving you into the mattress, his hard body pressing against every inch of you as he fills you.

Moving up the bed you tugged on the sheet, cursing as it wouldn’t pull out from between the mattress and headboard. With a huff you shuffled forward, pushing your hands down between them, tugging on the expensive white cotton. Pushing your arm down a little further you could just about feel that it was caught on something, moving to pull back and then it happened… you were stuck.

“What the...?” you muttered, realisation hitting you that your watch had slipped into the gap and was now preventing you from pulling your arm out. You could feel your heart rate increasing as you struggled to set yourself free, pulling against the strain but it did little to help. You pushed and pulled and grunted, hiking your dress up so you could widen your stance on the bed, but nothing worked. You frantically looked around to see the time, yet there wasn’t a clock or display in sight, and you could hardly look at your watch. If you didn’t get out of there soon Mr Walker…

“Well isn’t this a pretty sight…”

No. Please no. Oh god no. You screwed your eyes shut, the heat of embarrassment rising to your skin;

“I’m stuck” you whispered, letting out a yelp when you felt the bed dip behind you, feeling his hands gently resting on your hips;

“Unfortunate for you, maybe not so for me...”

Five minutes ago.

August sat in the small room, staring at the laptop screen in front of him. As ideas went, this was both his best and worst idea yet. Installing hidden security cameras in his apartment had been at first simply for security whilst he was away on missions, but he’d found a secondary use for it once the agency had recommended your employers as a maid service. He hadn’t been expecting someone as pretty as you, you had this look of innocence about you that made him just want to corrupt you and ruin you. He may be a bastard but he wasn’t a heathen, so instead of just turning on the charm offensive he had found an abandoned room in his apartment building and set up a small surveillance center. One with a chair, a laptop, a bottle of lube and a box of tissues.

August Walker had just spent the last two hours edging himself as he watched you bend over in that knee length dress, adjusting camera angles to see up your skirt as you bent over. August Walker was one step away from full on pervert. And he had no regrets at all.

That was until he saw you on his bed, and realised you were trapped. Temptation got the better of him, so stuffing his hard dick back into his running shorts, he quickly left the room and silently made his way back to his apartment.

He entered and could smell the pleasant scent of the cleaning fluids you’d used, the quiet grunts as you tried to free yourself from your predicament. Toeing off his sneakers he silently made his way through the hallways, suppressing a groan as he saw you on his bed; ass up face down, the fabric of your dress stretched over the tops of your thighs, the fabric moving as you moved to expose glimpses of your buttocks. He pressed a hand over the obscene bulge in his shorts before moving to the bed.

“Mr Walker!” you squeaked out in surprise; “You’re back… umm I’m stuck, my watch… I can’t get my wrist back through the gap between the headboard and the mattress”

“Oh… what a shame. Let me help…”

You were expecting him to move around you, but instead he covered your body with his own and grasped your arms. Your mind was lost as you took in how his massive hands could completely circle your wrists, the weight of him above you almost suffocating, and when he started to tug you knew you were done for.

The gentle rocking of your bodies, rubbing against one another was all it took for a moan to leave your mouth involuntarily, the feeling of his hard dick rutting against the crease of your ass making you embarrassingly wet almost instantly. He grunted above you;

“Huh, well that didn’t work…”

Pushing himself up he knelt behind you, still pressing his hard-on against your ass as his hands gripped your hips and he tugged gently, however all he did was pull you back against his crotch;

“This fabric is slippery, hang on a second…”

Pressing your head to the bed you felt him flip your skirt up, hearing a sharp intake of breath behind you as he took in the bright red thong you were wearing beneath your dress. His warm hands smoothed over your buttocks before gripping onto your hips and half-heartedly tugging again.

It was no good, you were too turned on to even object. You’d lusted after your client for weeks, and now you found yourself in this predicament which it was obvious he had no intention of helping you with, but instead had other ideas that you had no desire to object to. You were rocking back against his dick, the quiet moans escaping your throat telling him you were more than into it, so when you felt his fingers curl around the elastic of your underwear and tug them down to your mid-thigh, all you could do was arch your back and present your pussy for his inspection.

Thick fingers parted your folds, teasing your nectar to your aching clit where a thumb rubbed hard circles against the sensitive bud. His other hand was lost from you for a moment and you could feel him moving, before you felt the thwack of his heavy dick against your ass.

With your hand trapped and your body stretched out you could barely look over your shoulder, but when you did you could see the impressive bulk of your clients body towering over you, the sight making your cunt clench with anticipation.

“Excited, are we?”

“Please Mr Walker…”

“Please what?” You moaned and his quiet chuckle filled the room; “You gotta say it”

“Please fuck me”

“Eager little thing, aren’t we?”

“Please…”

“Well, as you asked so nicely…”

He took hold of his dick and dragged the bulbous tip through your folds, dousing himself with your juices before lining himself up with your entrance. When you felt him push just the tip inside you it felt like you were being split open, he must be as thick as your wrist, and as he continued to force his way into your body it felt like he was the length of your forearm.

“Such a good little slut, taking my dick…” his voice filled your senses as your body fought to relax and allow him deeper, your juices running down your legs where he would rock back and forth to lubricate his girth before pushing another punishing inch in to you.

Your velvet walls parted yet gripped him tight, and you could feel every ridge, bump and vein as he started to fuck your tight pussy. With every pull and push your head swam, your body moving back to meet his thrusts as his massive hands gripped onto your hips and he started to slam into you harder and harder. When his hand came down onto your ass the loud smack surprised you just as much as the pain, but you arched your back even more like a bitch in heat.

He reached beneath you, tugging at the neckline of your dress with both hands, before the seam of the collar broke and the soft jersey stretched enough for him to tug the fabric down. His fingers caught in the lace cups of your bra, and whilst still plunging deep into you from behind, he was able to let your titties swing free and he grabbed a handful;

“Such pretty tits. Next time you clean I want you in just your underwear so I can watch them swing. Might get you scrubbing the floors so I can see you bent over and ready for me”

You shuddered at his words, he already paid a premium for your services, and the electronic tip that he’d sent through had been more than generous, the last visit alone you had been surprised by the triple figures, but more than grateful that you were able to pay the bills.

His hands had found their way back to your ass, smoothing over the soft skin as he continued to fuck you, the wide ridge that ran along the underside of his length rubbing so beautifully against your g-spot, you were sure you were going to cum soon.

He pulled your cheeks apart and you felt him spit on your asshole, the warm liquid pooling for a moment before his thumb started to rub insistently over the brown rose. Burying your head in the soft sheets you allowed your body to relax as he breached your back door with his thumb, the wide digit stretching you as he pushed in as far as he could;

“This ass is incredible. I can’t wait to fuck it”

You let out a tiny yelp at the idea of trying to fit his massive cock in your ass;

“Mr Walker!”

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you’re stretched out first. Might want to add a plug to the uniform list for next time, make sure you’re ready lubed and stretched for me. But don’t you worry your pretty little head, this time I’m just going to cum deep in this sweet pussy of yours. Are you on birth control? Are you ripe?”

You hadn’t even considered birth control. Your insurance had stopped covering you a couple of years back, so when you had gone on the occasional date that had ended up between the sheets, you’d simply resorted to condoms;

“No… no…”

“Oh yes. I’m going to cum deep inside you, let my seed rest within your womb. God, I’d love to see your belly round with my child, I bet your tits would be even more impressive. Hmmn yes, that’s fucking perfect…”

You hadn’t thought it possible, but all that he said was turning you on even more, and it wasn’t just you that liked the idea, you could feel him swell within you, his girth growing thicker as his arousal grew. The added stretch was driving you closer and closer to your own orgasm, the dual stimulations of your pussy and ass both being filled had you trembling with need.

“Are you going to cum for me?” his voice was hoarse and dry, an edge of desperation to it too; “I’m close, gonna shoot my load in you soon. You’d better cum before I do ‘cos once I’m done I’m pulling out and will leave you dripping with my seed and on edge…”

The threat of being left on the precipice was enough to push your body over the edge, cumming hard as your body held him so tight he thought he wouldn’t be able to pull out. The vice like grip had him throwing his head back as your body milked him, his own orgasm ripping through his body that he came with a roar and a string of expletives.

August wasn’t sure if he had ever cum that hard before, but the way your body gripped him so tight he was in no doubt that your pussy was the best he’d ever had - and he’d had a lot - and he knew without a doubt that he was not going to let anyone else ever come near it again.

As he slowed his thrusts and let you work through the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, he mentally checked off all the things he’d been checking up on; from the details of your financials, your family and education, your social media. He had seen all of them. He had your phone tapped and knew that he was going to be installing spy cameras in your apartment… that was until you agreed to be his.

Looking down at your ass he pulled his thumb out of your now loosened asshole, making sure to catch the way it winked as he recorded on his phone, having pulled that out of his pocket soon after he’d started and had recorded himself defiling your body. Giving your ass a smack he relished how the camera picked up the jiggle as the force rippled through you, before grasping a large handful of ass as he pulled out and watched his cum pool at your entrance, before pushing it back in with two thick fingers. Tugging your underwear up your legs from where they had settled around your knees, he made sure the flimsy red mesh covered your hole, quickly getting soaked with his seed as he pushed the fabric against the mess to fully coat it.

Finally he shut his phone off and reached towards the headboard, giving it a tug and feeling it lift, watching as you silently pulled your hand free before collapsing on the bed. He carefully unbuckled your wristwatch before rubbing at the sore skin, easing away the chafed skin. He set your hand down carefully and quickly left the room, returning a moment later with a glass of water and holding it to your lips as he helped you sit up.

Setting the empty glass on the side, he rubbed your back before attempting to fix your torn collar, finally giving up. He swiped a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the mascara tear stains;

“Next week you’ll need to be in your underwear and heels. Make sure the plug is well lubricated. I’ll have everything delivered to your address”

You went to object, to question how he would even know, but then realised… CIA… of course he knew. You pushed yourself to the edge of the bed, finding your shoes and slipping your feet in, standing on wobbly legs as he spoke again.

“Do as I ask and I’ll let you stay the night so I can fuck your other two holes as well”

Turning you nodded;

“Yes Mr Walker”

“Oh, you can call me Sir now” he turned to leave the room before waving his finger at the pile of fresh linen still folded at the end of the bed; “Remember to finish up before you leave”

He left the room without another word. You went to object, but just as you did you felt the phone in your pocket vibrate. Quickly checking it your eyebrows practically shot off the top of your head, seeing the tip transfer come through for $2000. Biting your lip, your thumb hovered over the accept/decline buttons, the moral dilemma tearing your mind in two.

In the hallway August watched his phone. He could see that you’d received the notification of the tip. When he saw your action on the app he smiled and slid the phone back into his pocket, already planning your next visit.

Part 2 >>>

#august walker #august walker smut #august walker x reader #henry cavill #august walker x you

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upat4amwiththemoon · 3 years

Text

As Free As An Avis part 2

Summary: A princess and a commoner falling in love was a scandal on itself, but them both being women just adds fuel to the fire.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings: this story will deal with homophobia and sexism, this story is mostly historically inaccurate

Word count: 3951

a/n: Thank you again for 400 followers! Hopefully you enjoy, feedback is always appreciated :)

“Duke Rogers what a pleasure to have you here!” The Queen’s voice exclaims loudly as she goes to greet the guests, adding onto Y/N’s annoyance. “And Lady Sharon Carter, I’m so glad you two could make it.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Duke Steve Rogers takes the Queen’s hand and kisses the back of it as he bows. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Kiss ass.” Y/N mumbles quietly. Not quiet enough though as Wanda elbows her to the ribs, giving the princess a warning look.

“Y/N, come closer, dear.” Y/M/N holds out her hand for Y/N to take, which she takes. She didn’t want to be the target of her mother’s wrath this early in the day. “Why don’t you show Duke Rogers and Lady Sharon around the castle while lunch is getting ready.”

Y/N nods, giving the Rogers-Carter father-daughter duo a friendly smile. She knows her mother wasn’t asking, she was ordering. That’s all she ever did. Do this, do that. “May Miss Wanda come with us? I think she’d benefit from that a lot.”

“Has she not learned the castle yet? It’s been a week.” Her mother whispers, glancing at the maid who is standing by the stairs.

The first week had passed quickly, most of the days going to Y/N showing Wanda around the castle and teaching her everything she needs to know. The tasks, how to address and act in front of people, the castle secrets, et cetera. They have grown quite close during this time, even though Wanda has tries her best to keep a certain distance to the Princess. After Yelena warned her about the Queen, she does more than Y/N would like her to do. Y/N still appreciates the space Wanda gives her, it’s the only time she has for herself.

“The castle is big, mother.” She waves Wanda closer. “Be patient. If you could just follow me into the hallway on your right.” Y/N’s voice is just a little bit too friendly, which the father-daughter duo misses, but her parents and Wanda recognize right away. Wanda hides her smile by looking at the ground, while the King and Queen have clear glares on their faces.

Y/N reluctantly links her arm with Steve’s, who is holding his arm out for her, his other arm filled with Sharon’s. She gives Wanda an annoyed look before showing the way to the grand hall.

“You have a beautiful castle.” Steve comments. His voice is friendly and gentle. Y/N expected nothing more from an old man. She gives him a small smile, but doesn’t answer. “You look very beautiful as well.”

Y/N hums. “Thank you.”

Steve coughs, looking at the details on the walls and the roof. Y/N throws a glance to the Lady and notices a ghost of a smirk on her lips, making her smirk as well. Sharon is a good looking Lady, definitely looks like her father. She’s like a better version of him.

“May I know where the restroom are?” Steve let’s go of Sharon and Y/N’s arms. He sets his hands to the sides and he has a neutral look on his face. He definitely hides his nervousness well. The slight, but constant movement of his legs show it.

“Wanda?” Y/N looks at the servant. Wanda nods and leads Steve out of the hall. She turns to Sharon, who is already staring at her. “Lady Sharon Carter.” She says with a small smiles and nod.

“Princess Y/N Y/L/N.” Sharon isn’t smiling, but she doesn’t look unhappy either. She sees Y/N as her mutual more than someone above her. It makes Y/N feel good. “I don’t want you to marry my father.”

“Oh thank god.” Y/N giggles, throwing her head back in relief. Her mood is instantly lifted. She knows Steve values her daughter’s opinion and wouldn’t want to remarry to someone she didn’t accept. “Then we’re on the same page, I don’t want to marry your father.”

“Good.” Sharon laughs as well, feeling more at ease now. “It’d be weird to have a stepmother the same age as me.”

“Seriously! I hate my parents for suggesting this.” The two laugh again as they fall into steady flow of conversation. They had a lot in common. Both loved nature and loved something different than what is destined to be their future. The only difference being their parents. Y/N’s parents were strict and wanted to hear nothing of her hopes and dreams. Sharon’s father was old fashioned, yes, but he hold his daughter and her well-being higher than any tradition.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along.” Steve walks back into the room with Wanda trailing behind him.

“I don’t want you to marry her.” Sharon’s ability to turn from fun to serious in under a second impresses Y/N. “She isn’t fit for you, she’s immature, a child. Like me.”

Steve cringes at the comparison. He did have worries of her age from the beginning, but he thought it could be overlooked. It couldn’t. “I understand. I’ll go inform your parents, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” He gives his arm to Sharon and the two leave.

Y/N falls down to a couch. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Wanda walks over, sitting down next to her, a little more lady likely. “How are you feeling?”

“Great for now.” She mumbles. “I’m relishing this small feeling of freedom as long as I can.”

“How so?”

The doors bursting open answer Wanda’s question. She stands up quickly and curtsies to the royal parents who are practically running towards them. “What did you do?!”

Y/N takes a one last deep breath, opens her eyes and stands up. She gives her parents a small smile. “Why must you always blame me?”

“Because you’re usually the one to ruin things for us!” Her mother’s voice raises few pitches and her hands fly around. “This marriage would have been perfect for us, for you.”

“For you! For you, for you, for you!” Y/N shouts, her voice cracking. Wanda’s concerned eyes turn to her immediately, not caring about the no looking when not spoken to -rule at the moment. “Everything you do is for you! I don’t benefit from any of this.”

“This all is for you. We’ve built this world for you as my parents built for me.” Her father explains. “Of course, we were hoping to build this for a son, but you’re the second best th-“

“I’m the only thing after a son! It was either a son which would have been the best thing that you never got, or me, the fuck-up.” She stares at her parents, part of her waiting for them to deny what she said. Unfortunately, she’s waiting for nothing. “You know what? I don’t even care anymore. So, why don’t you just...” She picks up a glass ornament and throws it to the ground, instantly breaking out. “...suck it.”

“Okay.” Wanda mumbles, taking Y/N’s hand to her own. “We’ll leave now.” She gives no last glances to the two adults, fearing their reactions too much. Wanda pulls Y/N halfway to her room, until she rips out her hand and starts walking faster. “Y/N.” No answer. “Y/N, please.”

“Take a break, Wanda.”

“No!” The other servants walking around them turn to look at Wanda. “No, Y/N. You need someone right now.” She says in a much lower voice.

“What I need is to be alone.” Y/N opens her door, only to try to slam it closed before Wanda gets inside. Wanda is faster, she slips her foot between the door, shutting her eyes in pain when it slams to her foot. “Why would you do that?”

“Let me inside or I’m getting Yelena.”

Y/N frowns. Yelena has been one of her closest friends in the castle since they were kids, both of them growing up in the castle. Yelena and Natasha’s parents, the two being sisters, were Y/D/N’s servants when he was a child. They fell suddenly ill after having Yelena and died a few years after that. As a condolence gift, Y/D/N’s parents let them live in the castle and get jobs when they grew up. Yelena became a servant, Natasha a knight. Even though Y/N and Yelena were close friends, she is still slightly scared of her. Yelena is one of the only people who dares to argue back and not follow her orders.

Groaning, Y/N opens the door with force. She lays down to her bed as Wanda closes the door gently. “Why don’t you show me your favorite places in town? It’d do you some good to go outside.” Y/N mumbles an argument that Wanda can’t hear through the pillow. “Come on, Y/N.”

“Fine.” Y/N stands up to get her bag. She starts filling the bag with old toys and children’s books from a box under her bed. “You want to see what I do in town? Let’s go then.” After filling the bag to the brim, she marches our the door, Wanda practically running behind her.

Wanda frowns when she sees the door Y/N is knocking on. “Why are we at the orphanage?”

“This is where I spend my time.” Y/N’s whole body language is much more relaxed compared to when they were inside the castle. To Wanda it looks like she’s a completely different person. Someone who actually enjoys her life.

A kind looking woman opens the door. Her smile widens as she sees Y/N. “Come in, come in! The children have waited for you.”

Y/N grabs Wanda’s hand so she wouldn’t get left behind in the winding corridors. Wanda feels herself blushing, luckily it goes unnoticed by the others, or at least no one dares to say anything about it. She laces her hand around Y/N’s better, just to keep up, and Y/N doesn’t let go.

When they reach the correct room, which is a room full of beds, toys and small children, Y/N let’s go of Wanda’s hand to sit down to the ground. “Y/N!” The children who notices them first yells out, making the other kids to notice as well. They all shout things that are hard to decipher from the loudness, but it’s clear they’re excited.

The children hug Y/N in a big pile. Wanda smiles at the sight, they look sweet.

“Y/N! Did you go to the other side of the world yet?”

“Did you go to the moon?”

“Have you done magic?”

“Teacher, can you teach us new languages?”

A new question comes after another one, barely giving Y/N enough time to answer to them all. The questions relate to traveling, nature, animals, magic and teaching. Wanda notices the kids seem to call Y/N different things. Someone calls her by her name and other child uses a job title that Wanda knows for sure Y/N doesn’t have. None of them are using formalities.

Wanda sits down next to Y/N. “Why are they all calling you by different titles?”

“They don’t know that I’m a princess, so they just guess around what I do as my job.” Y/N explains to Wanda quietly, not wanting any of the children to hear.

“Where did the teacher come from?”

“I teach them literacy with some books that I bring around. I’ve also taught some things about nature and basic math, not that I’m good at math.” She laughs. “My parents never wanted me to learn too much.”

Suddenly a little girl jumps into Y/N lap, smiling brightly as she throws her arms around her. Her whole body is shaking with excitement. “I know what your favorite animal is in Latin!”

“Do you now?” Y/N asks, grinning. The little girl’s joy was contagious.

“Avis!”

Y/N claps, making the girl jump up and down in joy. “Good job!” She gives her a big hug before standing up again. “Now, I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I was busy journeying around the world!” The children gasp, their eyes are huge as they stare at her, listening intensely her every word. “To make it up to you, I have come bearing gifts!” The children start cheering, grouping around Y/N to see what she brought for them.

”Children!” One of the orphanage’s workers claps her hands to get their attention. “Settle down and let Y/N show what she has brought to you.” The children calm down enough to sit down to the ground, still buzzing with excitement.

Y/N grins as she dumps the contents to the ground. Multiple books, plushies and wooden toys lay on the ground. “Remember to share!” With that, the children run to the toys and start grabbing them. Some of them going to play to another room, while others stay in the main room to read and play pretend.

“What do we say, children?” A chorus of thank yous comes around the house.

Y/N hugs the woman who opened the door for them. “Thank you.”

“Please, Princess, don’t thank me. Thank you.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N laughs and backs away from the hug. She takes Wanda’s hand to her own once again, surprising her. Wanda grips the hand tighter and let’s herself to be pulled along the hallways. When stepping outside Y/N pulls up the hood of her cape, hiding herself from the prying eyes. It wasn’t unusual to see two girls holding hands as friends, so Wanda knows not to worry when Y/N doesn’t let go. However, she’s still a little startled when she starts leading Wanda to another part of the town, nearing the market.

“Where are we going?” Wanda finally gets out.

“It’s a surprise.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence. Y/N stops in front of a house in the more expensive area. “Who lives here?” Wanda looks at the house curiously. It’s been built not too long ago and it looks beautiful on the outside. It has big fancy looking windows and it’s made out of stone. It looks expensive.

“Knock.”

Wanda furrows her brows as she turns to look at smiling Y/N. She lifts her hand up to the door and knocks, which makes Y/N let go of her hand and step to the side. The door opens. Wanda gasps, her hands flying up to her mouth. “Mom? Dad?”

”Hi, honey.” Wanda’s mother Iryna and father Olek step outside the house.

“What?” Wanda’s eyes move between her parents, ready to cry any minute. “What are you doing here?”

“We moved here, your brother too, but he’s at work right now.” Olek explains. He gives Y/N a warm smile. “Princess Y/N sent us a letter saying she bought us a house from the town and we could move in right away. We don’t even have to worry about working.”

Wanda turns to Y/N, who is smiling sheepishly. “No need for formalities here, please, call me Y/N.” She moves her gaze to Wanda’s parents, starting to feel overwhelmed under her stare.

”Come on in, dears. You have to take a closer look at the house.” Iryna ushers the two inside, excitedly showing around the big house.

Their old house wasn’t small either, being in the farm and having a four person family it had to be spacious, but it wasn’t as luxurious as this house. Iryna and Olek weren’t even most happy about the size or outlook of the house, the easily accessible clean water and a working heater were the winners. It all makes Y/N sad, knowing how many live in horrible conditions and her parents weren’t trying to fix it. She wants to help people, give everyone a change to a happy life. She wants people to actually live, not just survive.

“Y/N.” She turns to look at Wanda. “Could we talk outside?” Y/N nods.

Before the girls can leave, Iryna takes hold of Y/N’s hands. “Thank you, we truly appreciate everything you’ve done for us. This house, Wanda’s job, everything.” She hugs the Princess tightly. “You’re an angel among the devils.” Iryna lets go of her and goes to hug Wanda. Y/N frowns lightly, but nods nevertheless.

“Come on.” Wanda and Y/N leave the house. This time Y/N let’s Wanda lead the way as she clearly wants to talk in a more secluded place. Leading them into a small alley, Wanda stops walking. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get us a house?” Wanda points towards the house as if it was obvious what she is talking about, which it is, Y/N just didn’t want to dive too deep into the matter.

Y/N shrugs. “You said you missed your family and your brother works in the city as well, thought it’d be more convenient for you to live in the city. Besides, my mother would’ve found out eventually that you lied about your residence.”

“You didn’t need to do this.”

“I know.”

Wanda sighs, pulling Y/N into a hug. “Thank you, seriously.” She whispers.

“No need to thank me.” Y/N wraps her arms around Wanda, sinking into her warmth.

“I wanted to sail the seas, maybe be a pirate.” Wanda glances at Y/N with furrowed brows. “My dream as a child. I also wanted to be a medic or a teacher, someone who could save lives.” Y/N holds her book, not reading it, as Wanda and her are sitting in the garden.

“That’s adorable.”

Y/N hums with a small smile, gaze staying on the book. “Those dreams were forced out of me. My only job in life is to be the Queen of the next King.”

“That doesn’t need to be true.” Wanda takes the book out of Y/N’s hands to get her attention. “You are the only one who gets to decide what to do with your life.”

“I wish that were true.” Y/N shakes her head. “But life doesn’t work like that, there’s no creating your destiny, once we’re born our lives are set and we have to follow that path.”

“Do you actually believe that or were you taught to believe that?”

Y/N stays quiet. She believes what her parents taught to her. Didn’t everyone believe their parents’ teachings? That was their job. Sure, she didn’t always agree with her parents. She didn’t want to get married or follow most of the traditions her parents wanted her to. But in the end her parents were the ones to decide her faith. She doesn’t have any other choice.

“You know you’re allowed to have your own opinions, right?”

“Oh, I’m a very opinionated person to my parents dismay if you haven’t noticed.” Y/N grins playfully as she turns to look at Wanda.

Wanda rolls her eyes, laughing. “Yes, I have heard your fights, but that’s not what I mean. You fight every day with your parents how you don’t want to be a queen, but still you do everything they ask you to.”

“Because they’re my parents.”

“For someone so smart, you’re so oblivious to the real world.” Wanda sighs. She takes Y/N’s hand between her own. “You don’t follow anyone blindly, not even your parents. I chose my own path by coming here while my parents wished for me to stay at the farm and marry to a rich family. I didn’t want that, luckily they understood.”

“I think you just have an unrealistically supporting and open minded family.”

“I do.” Wanda smiles fondly. “I think you should do whatever you want, it’s your future after all. Stand up for yourself.”

“That’s easier said than done.” Y/N mumbles, pulling her hand away from Wanda’s when one of the servants walk past them. One of her mother’s servants. A spy. “I do appreciate you for trying, hope you know that.” She gives Wanda a smile.

Wanda bites her lip. “Do you bring toys to the children in secret?” Y/N nods. “What if you did more in secret? Funded stuff with an alias.”

Y/N thinks for a moment, pulling the skin around her nails. “I could do that. I bought your house in Natasha’s name.” The more Y/N goes through the idea the bigger her eyes widen and her face lights up with excitement. “That’s actually a brilliant idea! I’ll create a male alias and start helping people.”

Wanda claps with a big smile. “See! You can follow your dreams.”

”Guess so.” Y/N hums with a small smile. “Thank you, Wanda.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re the one doing the good.” Their eyes stay on each others just a little too long. Too short for anyone else to notice, but long enough for Wanda to feel her stomach flipping around.

The next morning goes smoothly. Wanda and Y/N decide which tasks each of them do in the latter’s room. Y/N takes off the dirty sheets and Wanda puts on the clean ones. Y/N decides what to wear and dresses herself, only letting Wanda help with the laces. That smoothness of course doesn’t stay for long in the castle.

“We’re holding a ball in a month!” Y/M/N claps excitedly. She loves everything that has to do with music, dancing and socializing, especially when she gets to be the host. The Y/L/N balls are known to be the most extravagant and The Queen is adamant on keeping it that way. “We’ll invite many suitable suitors for you.”

And there’s the catch. A possible marriage opportunity for Y/N. She sighs loudly, but her mother ignores this, too lost in her bliss. “Who are you inviting.”

“Everyone!” Her mother turns to Wanda. “You are free to invite your family over.” With that she leaves, no doubt going straight to the steward to discuss how much the ball will cost.

Y/N turns to look at Wanda, who has a small smile on her face. She has never been in any kind of party. Even her and Pietro’s birthdays were just small gatherings with the family. Now she gets an opportunity to dress pretty and drink champagne with hundreds if not thousands of people.

“Daydreaming about meeting your future husband at the ball?” Y/N giggles teasingly, bumping her shoulders to Wanda’s so she would get back to the present.

Wanda sends her a small smile. “I don’t think that’s my priority right now, just excited about the ball, I’ve never been to one.”

Y/N’s face lights up. “Then we better make it the best one!” She takes hold of Wanda’s hand and starts leading her away from the common room. “We need to buy you a pretty dress and shoes. Someone in the castle can do your hair and you can borrow my jewelry.”

“I’m sure I can use some of mine.”

“Nonsense! I’ll buy a pretty girl pretty clothes.” Y/N throws Wanda a grin over her shoulder, making Wanda flush. She quickly shakes her head to stop the feelings growing in her. “Besides, this’ll make my time more fun as well.”

“I’m flattered.”

Y/N laughs. Her laugh is loud, real. It makes Wanda smile. It makes her feel like laughing. So she does. She starts laughing with her, making the two laugh loudly together. The other servants glance at them, but the two don’t care. They’re in their own world.

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