#king!steven rogers x princess!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

talesofadragon · 1 year

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𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝

Synopsis: The Kingdom of Brooklyn needs a queen, and the Royal Council needs a noble princess. As for newly crowned King Steven Rogers, he needs a love that rebels against conformity, granting him the solace he yearns for. So what happens when all he needs is not what his kingdom wants?

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x Chambermaid!Reader

Warnings: None.

Genre: Angst | Fluff

Word Count: 6.1K

Author’s Notes: Requested by the sweetest @crazyunsexycool. Thank you, Val, for this wholesome idea! To all Marvel fans out there, go check out her incredible work!🩵

All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 and deceiving word in history will evermore be art. At first glance, it’s enticing, delicate, and memorable. A barrage of emotional responses to the tragedies and the grievances of life. Whether in color or in monochrome, in words or emotions, art is a melodrama that lures you in, pulls you toward its undertow. Until there comes a time when you realize that all these stories were never quite this scintillating, they just were.

“Your Majesty.”

Steve shakes his head as the voice registers in his mind. It takes him a fleeting moment, about five seconds, to realize that he stands within the confines of his chambers. The vibrant rays of the morning sun cascade through the windows, casting an ardent glow. Another five minutes elapse as Steve blinks away his confusion, his gaze withdrawing from the withered pages of his sketchbook, evidence of the relentless assault of his charcoals and ink.

“Maiden Katherine,” he acknowledges the chambermaid in his room. Her eyes are downcast, evading his cerulean hues. “Pardon me, what was it that you said?”

The young woman gasps, though covers it quickly with a cough. Her errant gaze lands briefly on Steve before it strays away once more. “Your Majesty, I was merely asking if you needed anything more.”

A fleeting furrow emerges between Steve's eyebrows, and he casts a swift glance around the room. To his surprise, he finds it immaculate, untouched by the tumultuous night he had spent, forming dents in his rugs and battling wars within the confines of his sheets.

As Steve turns his gaze toward Maiden Katherine, a gentle smile graces his lips. Unable to discern the woman's face due to her position, he finds himself succumbing to a glimmer of hope, however fleeting and insubstantial. Within the recesses of his imagination, he relishes the liberty to conjure an image of someone entirely different, a figure who embodies the yearnings of his heart.

“No,” he says, somewhat resentfully. Because his needs are conditional, and what he truly desires cannot be attained beyond the realm of his mind. “That will be all. Thank you.”

Maiden Katherine dutifully bows to her king, leaving him to his own devices. As soon as the door closes, Steve reaches back to trace the somber outlines of his sketchbook. Once more, his mind veers away from the confines of his chambers, transporting him to a realm far brighter.

SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO

King Joseph and Prince Steven are a juxtaposition.

The King is the valiant moon. The Prince is the selfless sun. The former breathes preservation and prowess, while the latter longs for equilibrium and benevolence. And no matter their dualism, King Joseph sees otherwise, constantly building bridges upon bridges to force his son to concede and meet him. Not in the middle, but where he stands—light years away.

Steve, though ten years old, has a keen sense of understanding. His mother, Sarah, never misses a chance to remind him that he’s a whirlwind for this world, and he couldn’t possibly disagree.

When, like today, the pressures of the crown seem too hard to grapple with, Steve decides to step away. Not forever. Just a little while, until he’s able to face them all again.

He’s at the Royal Gardens, a place he hasn’t visited since last spring after his allergies restricted him to his room. Now, almost a year later, he comes back, disappointed to see that his favorite tree has grown faster than he has.

Steve approaches it, hands on hips and lips pursed in thought. How am I supposed to climb it now? he asks himself. He wishes Bucky was here, but he knows his best friend has sparring lessons, so he tries his very best to follow his own lead and climb it.

He tries to climb, and he manages to pull himself up, but three branches and a half are more than enough to steal his breath. He sighs, seeing that he can’t climb higher. His hands ache from the effort.

Just as Steve contemplates his next move, a small voice calls out, “What are you doing up there, silly?” Startled, he turns his gaze downward, meeting a pair of eyes that feel both familiar and unknown.

“Who are you?” he asks the young girl in the blue dress. He knows she’s not a princess from the fabric’s quality, though her charming face suggests otherwise.

“I asked you first.”

Steve laughs at the girl’s spirited nature. “I am sitting.” She narrows her eyes, unsatisfied with his response. “I like sitting up here. The tree overlooks the castle grounds. It’s nice.”

The girl hums, accepting his answer. She looks up and then around before meeting his eyes again. “Do you care for some company?”

Steve would normally say no. Aside from Bucky, he doesn’t like to spend time with anyone. But the little girl seems nice and curious, something he decides that he likes about her. So he nods his head.

He watches the faint smile on her lips as she holds tightly to the nearest branch and places her weight on it. Within a couple of seconds, she perches herself on the branch facing him.

“Hi.”

“Hi!” she giggles, kicking her feet in the air. Now that she’s closer, he can see that she’s much smaller than him. A few years younger too. He watches her lean against the tree’s trunk, gazing around with pure wonder. “You’re right. It is quite nice here.”

Steve shares a laugh with her before speaking again. “Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N,” she announces confidently. He likes it. Both her name and her attitude. “And you?”

He bites the inside of his cheek. Steve has been conditioned to answer this question in one way only: Crown Prince Steven Grant Rogers of Brooklyn. But he’s scared that if Y/N hears this, she might jump down and leave him alone.

He thinks she’s adorable and kind. Definitely someone Bucky is going to like. So, instead, he says something else. Something he’s never said to anyone. “I’m Steve.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve! How old are you?”

“I’m ten,” he replies apprehensively. He knows that he looks much younger because of his height and weight.

Y/N seems to disagree, marveling at his answer. She beams, kicking her legs higher. “I’m six. Is it nice to be ten? My momma says the number ten is a two-digit number, so it’s bigger than six.”

Steve barely blinks before a soft chuckle escapes his lips. He leans forward a little bit, making sure not to fall. Y/N is sitting there with anticipation governing her features, eagerly waiting for an answer.

“It’s nice. I can retire to bed a bit later than usual.” That seems to satisfy Y/N, who claps excitedly in response. “I have never seen you before,” Steve then remarks.

Y/N hums. “My momma is Queen Sarah’s new chambermaid. I came to the castle with her.”

“Oh.”

Y/N nods. “And you? Does your momma work here, too?”

“Somewhat, yes,” Steve replies. A comfortable silence stretches for a while, both kids hidden amongst the tree branches, listening to the humming of the birds and the voices of the wind.

The birds fly around, some even landing atop the tree and catching Y/N’s attention. She marvels at them, then she suddenly stands up, looking at Steve.

“It must be nicer up there for the birds to sit. Shall we go see?”

Steve hesitates. His blue eyes fill with apprehension as they count the number of branches left. There are six in total, two more than there were last spring. The tree is not too far from the ground, yet high enough for Steve to break his bones if he decides to venture up.

“I can’t climb that high,” he sighs dejectedly.

Y/N cranes her head to study Steve’s face. “Do you want to?” she asks to which he nods. “Then of course you can. You simply need a little help.”

She says it so lightheartedly and surely, it makes Steve’s heart soar. Y/N braces herself and climbs one more branch. She extends her hand, palm open for Steve to take. He hesitates, knowing he shouldn’t and that his father will surely scold him for his actions.

Y/N shakes her hand once, silently asking him to take it. Without thinking much, Steve does. Two minutes later, he finds himself atop the tree with two birds and a new friend.

PRESENT DAY

Steve exhales loudly, his gaze fixed upon the tree etched within the pages of his sketchbook. He traces the delicate curves with his eyes, although he knows them by heart. Every intricate detail is etched into his memory from the countless days spent perched upon the tree’s branches alongside Y/N.

With a wistful glance, he closes the sketchbook and casts it aside, a reminder that before this artful piece and the memories it holds existed, there only ever was an unadorned tree.

“Your Majesty, I can say with absolute certainty that if you continue to wear that expression, it won't be long before the entire court assumes the Robe Bearers have skillfully concealed a stick within your regal attire.”

“Bucky,” Steve grumbles. Though when he catches his reflection in the mirror, he relents, knowing his best friend, and Lord High Constable, isn’t all too wrong. He raises his hand to dismiss his attendants. They bow and exit, leaving the two men alone. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be anywhere else?”

Dramatically as always, Bucky covers his heart with his palm. He looks down, seemingly wounded, before his cobalt blue eyes lift. “I am deeply wounded by your implicit dismissal and your forthright irritation, My King.”

Steve rubs a hand down his face. He has endured twenty-seven years with this man, and sometimes, he wonders if befriending Lord James Buchanan Barnes was a good idea. He knows him all too well now. And if those remarks are any indication, Bucky is, without a doubt, mere seconds away from asking him what’s wrong.

So Steve speaks his mind before the questions begin. “Must I attend this ball?”

“You are the King,” Bucky replies. “And tonight you shall not only be celebrated but you shall also—”

“Subdue to the Royal Council’s wishes and secure the future of the throne.”

Steve’s words have a bite to them. They’re sharp and terse, accentuating the resentment he feels toward this ordeal. He walks away from Bucky, attempting to gather his wits before saying anything else. He sits down on his large bed, one hand on his knee and the other holding his chin.

“Do not think of it this way.”

“How else must I think of this when I have no say?”

“Perhaps you don’t have the freedom of choice when it comes to the matter, but you still have a choice, Steve,” Bucky reminds him. He joins his side, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. He taps him on the shoulder, letting his hand linger there. “The Council has dictated that you shall marry, but only you shall choose who.”

You couldn’t be more wrong, Steve says to himself. He looks away, the words a sharp slap to his face. He’s never been one for conformity, and Bucky knows this. He’s aware of Steve’s rebellious tendencies and audacious disregard for the Crown's decisions.

Steve knows what this kingdom needs—what queen it longs to have. So why should it be one of noble descent when it could be one of noble spirit? What significance holds the nature of her blood, when in truth, we are all blood in nature?

“If the choice was truly mine, I would choose no one but her.”

His eyes are still errant, following a pathway of their own. Though he can’t see it, he feels Bucky’s heavy gaze on him.

“I should have known you were thinking of Y/N back then,” Bucky comments. He nudges Steve’s shoulder with his until the King concedes and gives the Lord his full attention. He remains quiet, though his eyes say it all. “When are you never thinking about her?”

“How is she faring?” Steve asks. Each letter is spelled with a plethora of emotions. Carved with longing and desire. It has been a considerable length of time since Steve last laid eyes upon Y/N. Ever since his father banished her to a distant corner of the castle, accompanied by strict instructions to avoid any form of interaction with Steve.

“Well. Though it is beyond evident that she misses you terribly. The mention of you is the only thing that seems to brighten her day.”

The answer draws a small smile on Steve’s face. He nods, his mind already taking a trek on its own accord, reminiscing the days Steve had spent with Y/N growing up, picturing her dulcet smile and the light that inhabited her eyes.

Steve has forever been a captive of duty. The blood coursing through his veins tethers him to the crown while unwavering loyalty anchors him to his kingdom. His spirit, alas, was never truly his own, and his heart had long been barricaded by the Council. However, within his mind, a sanctuary exists where his thoughts could roam, untamed and unrestrained, as they collide and soar amidst the vivid memories of Y/N and the alluring freedom she perpetually bestows.

He is on the cusp of replying. With what, he isn't quite sure yet. The mere thought of Y/N has left him momentarily speechless, his mind struggling to find the right words. But the insistent knock on his door reverberates louder than any words he could muster.

“Enter,” Steve says as Bucky straightens and stands up.

The door opens and in walks Peter, one of the new guards in Brooklyn. “Your Majesty.” Peter bows. “Lord Barnes.”

“What is it, Peter?” Steve asks.

“His Majesty, King Father Joseph, is requesting your presence.”

Something within Steve throbs, an ache that resonates through his being. His father possesses an innate knack for impeccable timing, a seemingly supernatural ability to intrude upon Steve's most cherished moments.

Reluctantly, Steve pushes himself up and follows Peter to his father's quarters. He treads the well-worn path, the bitterness seeping through every step. The portraits lining the walls and the chandeliers adorning the taupe ceilings are all too familiar, etched into his memory from countless prior journeys.

His footsteps weigh heavily upon the carpet, each one echoing his disdain for the impending encounter. He takes in a deep breath, steeling himself before the guards deliver a resounding knock, heralding his arrival. With a measured breath, he crosses the threshold and enters the room.

Upon doing so, the pain within him heightens, intensifying to a raw and poignant state. It feels as if every fiber of his being wants to claw its way out from within. His gaze fixates on his father, who lies weak and feeble on the bed, attended to by hovering nurses. Yet, within Steve's mind, contrasting images begin to form.

He envisions himself from years past, confined to his own bed, accompanied by illness and fragility as constant companions. But gradually, the image takes on a bitter-sweet memory.

SEVEN YEARS AGO

Steve shakes, uncertain whether it's the cold air or his nightmares that make him tremble. His room feels empty and lonely since his mother's departure, and his father is too busy to give him a second thought. Bucky is off with the troops, stuck in endless meetings. The looming war hangs heavy in the air, and Steve's father has made his choice of soldier, and it's not him.

Steve hates it. Hates being so useless. He cannot even fight for his kingdom, so how is he supposed to rule it one day? He huffs an exasperated sigh, turning around in his sheets. He shuts his eyes, partially because he wants to sleep and purely because he’s trying to force himself not to cry.

It’s not working, though, as he feels the world closing in. The ceiling’s shadows are suddenly creeping closer, and the walls are wailing as they speed ahead. The door to his chambers squeaks, and he thinks it’s flying off its hinges. But in an unexpected shift, the world around him takes on a different hue, one that brings a soothing and calming sensation he didn't anticipate.

“Stevie.” His eyes snap open, and in that instant, he becomes aware of the rapid pounding of his heart.

“Y/N?”

“I heard you weren’t feeling your best.” Y/N smiles sheepishly. She moves a strand of her long wavy hair away, taking a tentative step closer. “I thought, perhaps, you needed some company.”

Steve wants to say a lot of things. But seeing her in her long blue-green dress made him fall quiet. He’s always loved that color on her. It’s his favorite.

You look beautiful, he tries to say. I have missed you. How are you faring? But nothing of the sort comes out.

“You will be in trouble if you get caught,” he hears himself say. Instantly he regrets it. But Y/N doesn’t seem to mind.

She shakes her head and moves closer. “Being with you is no trouble at all, my prince," she murmurs, settling down beside him and clasping his hand in her own. Steve occasionally wishes his hands were larger, more powerful. He feels a pang of shame for the thoughts that have crossed his mind, imagining the different ways his hands would hold her and explore every inch of her being.

His temperature rises at the thought, and even Y/N feels it. She hovers over him, pressing her lips sweetly to his forehead. His eyes close involuntarily. One of his hands weekly clutch Y/N’s own while the other fists her dress. Steve moans under his breath. “You are burning up,” she says with concern lacing her tone. She moves away, and Steve instinctively reaches for her. She sees the worry in his eyes, deciding to brush it away by running her fingers through his hair. “I will not leave, Your Highness.”

“Y/N,” he grumbles weakly.

Y/N smiles, reaching for the bowl of water and the wet rag left behind. “I will not leave you, Steve. I promise.”

PRESENT DAY

“Steve,” King Joseph calls.

Steve is engulfed in a whirlwind of internal battles, ignited by his father's actions that have shattered everything. Promises that were never his to break have been torn apart, and as a result, Steve decides that he's unable to forgive him. He feels no trace of mercy toward him. No trace of love.

The coronation ball is a spectacle of extravagance, opulence, and sheer absurdity. The entire Brooklyn Court has gathered along with monarchs from neighboring kingdoms.

King Stark graces the event with his Queen and their young Princess, joined by King Thor, Queen Sif, and Prince Loki. Steve's gaze catches sight of his trusted Lord Chancellor, Samuel “Sam” Wilson, engaged in conversation with his father and the King of Wakanda.

And though he cannot see him, he knows Bucky must be lurking in the shadows, sharing a hidden moment with Princess Romanoff.

Steve lingers for a few moments before revealing his presence. He stands atop the banister, peering down at the chaos he is about to face. His gaze sweeps across the room, longing for a glimpse of someone familiar, although deep down he knows it's merely a futile hope.

With a heavy sigh, he descends the stairs, fully aware that his destiny lies in wait.

"Announcing His Royal Majesty, King Steven Grant Rogers."

The music begins, and the doors swing open. Steve steps forward, discomforted by the weight of all the attention upon him. He offers nods as others bow and curtsy, attempting to keep a smile on his face. Reaching the throne, he settles into it with more haste than necessary. As soon as he is seated, his subjects rise from their positions.

"Thank you all for joining us tonight," he declares, projecting his voice with a hint of implicit hesitation. “We’re honored to welcome you to Brooklyn Palace. Please, do enjoy yourself. May this merry occasion pave the way ahead for our kingdom.”

The crowd cheers enthusiastically, chanting Steve’s name and singing his praises. They raise their hands in the air and clap without restraint, though Steve doesn’t hear them. He’s out of tune with his senses, his consciousness hauntingly distant. Suddenly and prematurely, he’s thrust back into the moment. He doesn’t know how to react when Princess Sharon enters his line of sight.

“Your Majesty,” she curtseys. Steve has always noticed that she overdoes it, lowering herself far more than necessary. Sam once remarked she did it to appear meek and subdued—traits many men apparently seek in a woman—Bucky, on the other hand, remarked that she was desperate for attention.

“Princess Carter.”

“Sharon, Your Majesty,” she rectifies while meeting his eyes. “You may call me Sharon. If you please, Your Majesty.”

To his ears, it’s more of a plea than anything else. Which is why he doesn’t recede. Engaging in idle conversation with her isn't what he desires, for he can already discern the thoughts swirling within her mind, mirroring the thoughts of many other women in the palace. His father had made it unequivocally clear that Steve cannot rule without a queen by his side.

“Your Majesty,” Sharon’s voice beckons. Steve gazes at her, failing to mimic her enthusiasm. “Are you not going to ask me to dance?”

No, he feels the need to say. I do not wish to dance with anyone. But the musicians are getting ready and his father is pinning him down with a glare.

Reluctantly, he extends his hand and picks Sharon’s. “Of course.” Steve kisses the back of her hand. Carefully, he leads her to the dance floor, front and center, waiting for everyone to join.

Bucky stands to his right and Sam to his left. Facing them are Princess Natasha and Duchess Wanda, respectively. Kings Tony, Thor, and T'Challa join next, accompanied by their Queens.

Gradually, the room transforms into a parade of eager guests, lining up in anticipation of the forthcoming dance. A cacophony of music erupts, and the rhythm permeates the air, setting the stage for a whirlwind of movement.

The men bow with a flourish, while the ladies curtsy in graceful synchronization. In the timeless tradition of the dance, they take a bold step forward, closing the distance between them. Steve's hands, steady yet tinged with anticipation, find their place upon the small of Sharon’s back, guiding her with gentle precision.

He sweeps across the dance floor, leading Sharon in elaborate and pristine circles. Her gaze on him is imperturbable, features soft under the lights of the chandelier. Steve cannot understand how her eyes can be so alight—they’re looking at him as if he was the present and the future when he is, in fact, counting the musical notes, anticipating the next switch in partners.

The dance is Steve’s “seven minutes in heaven,” as Sam so eloquently worded it. Though, in reality, it’s a vicious torment. This dance offers Steve the chance to dance with four women—three for two minutes and one for no more than a fleeting sixty seconds. And luckily for him, Sharon’s two minutes are now up.

He spins her to the right, fueled by a sense of anticipation at the thought of stealing a precious moment of respite. She leaves his arms, and he breathes deeply for a moment before Princess Shuri joins him.

"Your Majesty, do me a favor and grace us with a smile. I would hate for my brother to be proven right. He is constantly rambling about how my mere presence seems to unsettle everyone around."

Steve offers Shuri beyond what she has asked for. A heartfelt laugh tumbles from his lips, and he’s elated to know that the music is far louder than his unrestrained chortle.

“Your presence is welcome and cherished, Princess Shuri.” Steve dips the princess, ensuring she doesn’t fall. He brings her back on her feet and continues with the rest of the choreography. “Tell T’Challa you are the single spark of joy and delight this evening has brought.”

“Oh, I will most certainly tell him that.”

With a final smile, Steve releases his grip on Shuri, allowing her to navigate her way toward Loki's outstretched arms. Though her departure may lack grace, it’s far more captivating to watch than the arrival of yet another noble lady, who is now nestled in his arms.

Princess Carol’s face is stoic, and her movements feel robotic, pre-programmed. The silence between her and Steve is tumultuous as the prince leads her through the dance. He’s grateful for her aloofness, granting him the chance to focus on something else other than an unnecessary conversation, or worse yet, a proposal.

His blue eyes meander, traversing the room with a wandering gaze. In the midst of his observation, he catches sight of Princess Natasha and Marquess Barton engaged in a dance. Their movements may lack the refinement of the other nobles, but they appear unperturbed, swaying to a rhythm that is uniquely theirs. Steve notices Natasha intermittently locking eyes with Bucky, exchanging playful winks and smirks that stir a bitter sensation within him.

He thinks he will never experience this. Never be given the chance to love with all his heart and not his mind. To love for love and not the kingdom. To live for his love to rule and not to rule for his love to die.

Princess Carol slips from his grasp with unexpected swiftness, leaving Steve momentarily stunned. His attention lingers on her abrupt departure, forgetting the need to steady himself.

As Steve's palm rests open, a hand slips into his, catching him off guard. His arm instinctively reaches out, hastening to steady the woman who has joined him. The sudden touch electrifies his senses, igniting a rush of anticipation within him.

Blue orbs lock onto a wistful masterpiece, refusing to blink and allowing the moisture to gather, lending a subtle glassy sheen. Steve's steps falter, his footing shaken. Only now does he realize that he has been granted six minutes to breathe and a single dance partner that has stolen his every breath.

At this moment, Steve grasps the true might of the human mind as the dance fades into the background though his feet glide effortlessly across the floor. His heart races with joyous abandon, his thoughts sprint in a frenzy, and his eyes struggle to keep pace, captivated by the dazzling radiance emanating from the figure in front of him.

Steve's eyes fixate on the familiar turquoise dress adorning the woman’s figure, a sight he has imagined countless times in his most indulgent thoughts. Yet, reality surpasses any fantasy he could conjure. With fervent intensity, he absorbs every detail of the woman before him, noting the familiarities that stir his heart and the subtle differences that ignite a sense of curiosity.

He towers over her now, his height surpassing hers by more than an inch. His presence is imposing, a protective and ardent force. They stand close, near enough for her to catch glimpses of green in his eyes and for him to feel the softness of her bodice against his chest.

Time passes, maybe a minute, or perhaps more. He doesn’t know. Because with her, time is a paradox, too complex to comprehend. Or perhaps, plain unnecessary.

He notes that no one is dancing, noble men and women retreating to the ballroom's margins. They're entranced by Steve and his partner. Their glances multifaceted, both welcoming and unnerving. But he doesn't pay attention to them. Not when the musicians are still playing, granting him an infinity of respite.

He clutches the woman tighter, lifting her up in the air. The light catches the tiara on her head, the one he had specifically requested for her as a gift on her sixteenth birthday. She had once refused to wear it, claiming she wasn't a princess. And she was right. She's not just a princess; she's a queen.

There is so much to say. Too many questions to ask. And yet, Steve can only whisper one thing as he sets her down on her feet, his lips lingering close to her ear.

“You are divinity in human nature, and I have evermore longed to confess to you this.”

Y/N says nothing, but the gasp that tumbles out and the fingers that trace Steve’s elbow speak of it all. “You haven’t changed,” she notes. He shakes his head and gives her a disbelieving look as if to urge her to look at him again. “You are just as warm and just as kind. Just as beautiful,” she enunciates, whispering the last part.

The words reach his ears, carrying with them a genuine sincerity that resonates deep within him. He releases a soft exhale, a breath that caresses her face. Her delicate lashes gracefully meet, pulling his attention away from her magnetic eyes to her angelic smile.

Steve is captivated by every aspect of her presence, his senses entranced by the enchantment that surrounds them both. “I have longed for you,” he admits. Immediately, Y/N's eyes burst open, revealing a clash of waves within her irises—a turbulent ocean of swirling emotions.

“I’ve heard, and I’m here to satiate your longing, My King.”

"Prince," Steve corrects briskly. As he holds her waist, Y/N places both hands on his chest. He tenderly caresses her bottom lip. "Don't cease to see me in a different light now, princess."

“I am not a princess,” Y/N refutes. “As for the last half of your sentence, no matter who you become to the world, you will always be my prince, Stevie.”

In that brief moment, her eyes reveal a vulnerability that tugs at Steve's heartstrings. “Y/N, tell me you are truly here. Tell me this is not yet another deceiving portrait my mind has conjured.”

“I am real.”

“How?”

“Queen Mother Sarah,” she admits. Her voice carries a tinge of sadness at the memory of the late queen. “Before her demise, she called for me. You were away at the time, fighting the war against Hydra’s army. She made me swear to attend your coronation ball. To be by your side once more.”

Oh, mother. Steve stands in disbelief. Though his mother passed seven years ago, her presence lingers within him. A constant source of comfort and guidance. He can't help but compare the stark contrast between his mother's love and his father's hostility, fueling a mix of emotions within him. The dominance and aggression of his father's actions only serve to heighten his appreciation for his mother's enduring tenderness and thoughtfulness, even in the realm of the afterlife.

“I needed to be by your side, even though I know I will be in trouble.” Y/N’s voice shakes him out of his stupor. She’s biting on her lower lip, her long hair hiding half her face. “Your father will surely order me farther away.”

“Let him try,” Steve challenges with determination, causing Y/N to wear a wearied expression of disbelief. With tenderness, he adds, "I'd like to witness anyone daring to separate the future Queen of Brooklyn from my embrace."

King Joseph seethes with a fiery intensity, teetering on the edge of explosion. Anger courses through his veins, overwhelming his senses in the wake of what he has just witnessed. With resolute determination, he guides his son towards the Council chamber, his mind already brimming with scathing words, poised to unleash his fury upon him.

“Of all of the women in this court and beyond, you have decided to entertain a chambermaid for the better half of the evening!”

“She is not a mere chambermaid, father. You know well who Y/N is!”

"A mere distraction," the King counters vehemently, his fist slamming down on the dark oak table with a resounding thud. "A disgrace," he continues, his voice filled with simmering indignation.

“A queen.”

"Never! Over my dead body, you imbecile!" King Joseph retorts, his voice laced with venomous defiance, unwilling to yield to his son's audacious declaration.

"So be it then, father!" Steve roars with fiery determination. "All you have ever cared for is for Brooklyn to be the nexus of the Grand American Dynasty, no matter the cost, no matter the price! Your vision is so narrow that you fail to see the alternative paths, the possibilities beyond the ones you have carved for yourself."

“The avenues you traverse in your thoughts are nothing but insignificant alleyways leading to nowhere, boy!”

"They are mine. All of them belong to me alone," Steve asserts with unwavering conviction. "They are the boulevards of my childhood and the thoroughfares of my future. They are paths carved by a woman who has treated me far better than my own father ever has!"

“She is insignificant!”

"How dare you! You have waged wars and battles, leaving me to mend the relationships you have severed. You have sowed fear and wielded despair in your son and your kingdom, and I will not allow you to condemn me or my future any longer."

“Steven!”

“No! You will listen, and I will lend my ears no longer. I am the only heir to the throne. You and the Council be damned if you do not willingly allow me to marry the woman who will rule Brooklyn with far more grace and vigor than you ever had. Mark my words, I will take matters into my own hands and fight for love and justice, even if it means defying the entire kingdom.”

“You would never," King Joseph says, his voice seething with anger and contempt, his eyes blazing with fiery defiance.

Steve smirk. It’s dark and vindictive, sending shivers down the spine of his father. “Watch me,” he whispers, his voice laced with a chilling determination.

He marches out of the chamber and onto the grand ballroom. His heart thumps in his chest, louder than the mellifluous sounds of the musician's instruments.

He moves through the crowd like a lion king walking through his kingdom. His gaze locks on Y/N, standing beside Bucky and Sam. As their eyes meet, a mixture of surprise and anticipation reflects in the depths of her gaze, mirroring the emotions pulsating within him.

As the world around them fades into a blur, leaving only the two of them standing in the spotlight, Steve's years of etiquette training and courtship knowledge seem insignificant. Despite his mastery of courting rituals and the art of conversation, Y/N possesses the uncanny ability to shatter his carefully crafted facade. With a mere glance, she erases the learned scripts from his mind, leaving it a blank canvas, ready to be painted by her presence alone.

He doesn’t count his steps though he suspects they’re brisk. He reaches out and tugs at her hand, drawing her closer. Steve lets go of his thoughts and his constraints, deciding to focus on her. His lips are fierce as they suddenly clash with hers, and the sound of their lips moving together seems to echo louder than the

The kiss becomes a clarion call, a declaration of war and surrender in a single act. It symbolizes the culmination of suppressed emotions and unspoken promises, a deluge of feelings too long restrained. It ignites a storm of passionate responses, an uproar of joy and relief that reverberates through the room.

In that fleeting moment, it embodies Y/N's tenderness and longing, intertwining with Steve's defiance and resolve. The kiss bridges the fractures of their past and ushers in the promise of a shared future.

Like an art piece, it's crafted with meticulous detail and profound meaning. Its evocative power lingers in the air, leaving a trace of its essence. The kiss is not just a mere gesture. It's an effervescent expression of their love, unique and incomparable.

At this moment, Steve and Y/N claim their own narrative, painting their own masterpiece of connection and desire. It's an art piece that captivates all who witness it, leaving an indelible mark on their hearts and memories.

“I need a queen,” Steve breathes in haste. I need you, he’s trying to say. I breathe you.

And Y/N laughs, delicately and boldly. She presses her palms against his cheeks, the warmth of her touch fanning the flames of Steve’s love.

“Let me be everything you need and more.”

Steve Rogers has my whole heart, and I was unbelievably happy when Val overflooded my inbox with requests!! Still got one Mob!Steve and Professor!Steve one shots to write, which I'm super excited to start with. Btw, how the hell does Val know all my favorite tropes?

Anyhow, I was so excited, so I powered through this one. The others? Might take anywhere between 3 to 5 business months to release them. But Sab will try her best to release them sooner.

Don’t forget to send in your Marvel/Harry Potter requests!

Can’t wait to share more!!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers #king!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers royal au #king!steve rogers

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peachyteabuck · 1 year

Text

cross the line (peggy carter x reader)

summary: after you’re officially coronated, your already-atypical relationship with your personal knight becomes something even more scandalous

commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous

pairing: peggy carter x reader

words: 7649

content warnings: the world’s most historically inaccurate royal au!, knight/personal guard!peggy, queen!reader, murder of a minor character, attempted murder of a main character, violence done onto the main character, virginity taking, strap on use, dubious consent, praise, i made steven grant rogers a misogynist for shits + gigs, protective!peggy, dom!peggy, sub!reader, blowjobs on strapons, manipulation

divider by @firefly-graphics

This is your dream. This has been your dream since you knew what dreams were. Every moment of your life since the minute you unleashed your first scream was dedicated to primping and priming you until you were molded into the perfect queen.

This is your dream. As a baby, you were sequestered from everyone but the doctor, your parents, your nanny, and the wet nurse to ensure your health. You met the first person outside of that tight circle was introduced to you when you could walk. Even then, they were quarantined before and after.

As a child, you spent hours being quizzed on complex philosophy and mathematics by candlelight until your nanny begged for the tutor to stop. Being up until well before sunrise wasn’t enough: any moment you could be awake should be dedicated to meeting the same standards would-by kings were held to.

As a teenager, the focus turned to your appearance. Reading and writing were joined by a hair and make-up session. You recited factoids and roleplayed conversations with other rulers and aristocrats and constituents while you were shoved into corsets and fitted for dresses.

Your entire life has led up to this day, to this moment.

So why are you here, picking at your cuticles, as you hear your family and allies of the crown celebrating joyously? A new queen was not a frequent occurrence, especially one who reigned without a sudden, unexpected death or drought. None of that had occurred—your mother, aging and desperate for a life of her own, had informed you of her plan to abdicate the throne on the eve of your 16th birthday. It would give you two years until they’d announce, and a few more for everyone in every kingdom to adjust to the news.

You can hear your personal guard come in, the formal armor clinking as she steps. She prefers to go without (something about stealth being the best protection), but given the occasion, tradition requires her to be in full regalia.

“Are you all right, your majesty?”

You bite at your nail, pulling at the dead skin as you attempt to ground yourself. Staring off into the distance, you say nothing.

“That’s what I thought.”

Peggy had been your main guard since you were preteens. You, trying to learn politics and languages and negotiation tactics. Her, learning the ins and outs of palace protection from her mother. She was much scrawnier back then, limbs resembling the branches of a freshly planted oak tree. Peggy had bloomed since then, all muscle and confidence. She had also, over the years, become your closest confidant.

“Princess,” she says, her tone knowing. You can’t see her smirk, but it rests atop her words like moss in a pond. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

A crash, quickly followed by bellows from amused, drunken palace goers, stops you from responding immediately.

“Don’t call me that,” you finally say with a sigh. Might as well start getting used to correcting people now, you think. Though, your tone does not have the kind of royal tone you’d often heard from your mother. “I am now your queen and you will address me as such.”

She smiles softly, nodding just a little. “My apologies, your majesty, you were a princess for a very long time, and so it will take effort to get used to.”

You don’t disagree—it’s still hard to remind yourself to respond to the title when it’s called. You start to speak, wringing your hands every so slightly. “Margaret-“

“Please, your majesty,” she interrupts you, raising one hand to her chest. “You mustn’t. Now that you are queen, I think it’s best to refer to me as Peggy. It’s what my mother called me.”

As you roll the name over your tongue, the sounds feel like a tough cut of meat between your teeth. Still, it seems important to her, and given all she’s done for you over the years, you feel as though you owe her. It’s then, as you run through what it would be like to call for her in front of the rest of the court, that you let yourself smile just a little.

“It’s very improper,” you say quietly, as though someone could hear you admit to entertaining such a thought.

Peggy just grins—big and toothy. You ignore the way your heart swells at the sight. “That it is.”

“And what would the queen mother think?”

“What the old crone doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

It’s hard to suppress a laugh in your state, the giggles overwhelming your defenses within seconds. It sometimes feels as though your mother is a lighthouse at the center of the sea, locating ships with horrifying precision. Queen or not, the thought of her knowing you’re deviating from her desires spikes fear in your gut. A terrifying woman, it’s easy to treat her the same way one treats a prison guard.

But then you think of your mother—not the queen, but the little bit of her that exists outside of the demands of royal life. She’d been queen for years when she was your age, your grandmother succumbing during the birth of her youngest brother. Within hours after he entered the world, your uncle became an orphan and your mother became a queen. Their roles overtook them, both of them mourning as they grew into their roles. It was your mother’s job to rule. It was his job to remain as far from the public eye as possible.

“Are you okay, your majesty?”

Peggy places her hand on your shoulder. You can feel her thumb rubbing into the sore muscles there, and you wish she could apply that pressure to every inch of your skin. She allows you to sit with your non-reply, the nice quiet a welcome change from the cacophony of noise. She looks you up and down a few times, noticing the way you wring your hands and how you bite at your bottom lip.

You don’t know it, but she watches you in the same way she did when you were teenagers. She couldn’t stop, watching as you both grew to fit the titles you were expected to live up to as adults.

But she can’t do anything about it—not now. Not until the time is right.

“May I?”

You nod.

She takes the crown from your head, holding it gingerly as she inspects it. You were able to design your own crown given the circumstances. It all had to be kept under a veil of secrecy, of course—the jewelers and blacksmiths were sequestered until everything had finished, and even then were sworn to secrecy for fear of beheading.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You sound more mournful than you intended. It really is beautiful, is the worst part. A half-circle peaking in the middle, pearls topping each peak. At the center, swinging as your knight holds it in her calloused hands, rests a dangling cameo made of ivory and obsidian.

“An orchid?” Peggy asks, that same smirk as before teasing at her lips.

You nod. “It represents love and thoughtfulness. My mother’s favorite.”

Peggy hmms, turning it in her hands again. The gold shimmers in the low candlelight, catching as the fat flames flicker. “It looks like a cunt.”

You just shrug, unable to comment on the likeness. Many of the knights were crude, almost alarmingly so, but the only experience you had with your center had been your monthly bleeding and the occasional anatomy lesson from an exasperated nanny.

“Yours looks prettier, though.”

You blink once, twice; bewildered by her comment. Any witty retort you might have made drowns in the confusion, your brow furrowing and heart racing.

“Wh…what did you just say?”

“I said,” she moves to where you are, her nose brushing against yours from how close you are. “Your pussy is much prettier than any gem you could put in front of me.”

You’re not sure what to say—mouth agape as you attempt to process what she’s said. Though neither of you had addressed whatever it was that crackled between you, neither of you had done much to dampen it, either.

“What would your royal friends think, hm?” Peggy moans, a slight laugh coating her teasing. “I wonder how the rest of the court would react to you defiling the good name of your foremothers.”

She knows what she’s doing—poking and prodding at the sense of duty you’ve shared since you were old enough to understand the importance of longevity to the royal lineage. You’ve spent your entire life dedicated to the well-being of the crown, allowing your family and their most trusted allies to contort you into the perfect royal to lead your kingdom. It’s your purpose, it’s your only skill, it’s your only option.

If your mother had remained queen, she would have picked out some nice man for you to marry. A younger brother perhaps, whose power wouldn’t rival your own but still allowed your kingdom to gain some sort of leverage or asset. Normally these are done in childhood, sometimes they’re signed as soon as the sex is confirmed in the birthing room. You had escaped such a fate, in contrast to your sisters. Escaped only to find yourself in another possible trap.

“Retiring for the night?” Your head shoots up to see your mother’s lady-in-waiting, a much older woman who’d been in the castle since your mother’s teenage years, standing in the doorway. It’s then that you realize that you are tired, and move to rub at the dark circles under your eyes, not unlike the children of various royals whose bedtimes were hours ago. The rush of emotions, the pounding heartbeat, the awareness of your entire body…it feels as though you had been running through a field with reckless abandon and very suddenly met the kingdom’s sturdiest oak tree.

“Yes, I believe so.”

Her face softens, memories of your mother’s coronation rising. The woman has always said you look just like your mother did at your age, something you’ve never been able to fully process. “I understand. The queen requests-“she pauses for just a second before correcting herself. “The queen mother requests to see you before you disappear.”

You smile, nodding in affirmation. Before you can dust off your dress and stand, Peggy offers you her hand for stability. Your refusal dies into a hesitation when you realize a witness remains.

As you stand, she pulls you to her quick enough to make it look as if you had fallen. “I’ll meet you in your room, your majesty,” she whispers lowly into your ear. Before you can react, she straightens you into a standing position. Louder, she speaks again. “Now come along so we can find your darling mother.”

Lucky for you, no one has become caught in one of her famous conversations that can last for an hour or more.

“He and his guard will be staying for the next week or so,” she grins. It’s that real kind of smile, one that hasn’t graced your mother’s face in a long, long time. It stings, just a little.

You attempt to mirror her face, but you can feel how vacant your eyes look. “That’s wonderful, Mother. I’m glad such a close ally of the family will be our first guests after our coronation.”

The older woman pointedly ignores the flatness of your tone. “He’s wished to speak with you before he leaves.”

Great, you think. Lord Rogers is…an interesting man, certainly. Famously easy to anger and hard-headed, he only seems to care about women and ale. More accurately, he cares about women who are willing to put up with him while he drinks ale. Neither are hobbies of yours and so he has decided you are not worth respecting.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Your hands shake ever slightly as you find your way back to your quarters, the ringing in your ears drowning out the harshness of your steps. You nod to the two guards—Natasha and Valkyrie—who open the hefty door for you. There, sitting in your vanity chair, lies your loyal knight.

You’re unsure of what you should say, and so you say nothing.

“I’ve wanted you for as long as I’ve known what it is to want,” Peggy says, still seated.

“My reputation would never recover if anyone found out,” is all you can reply. Maybe the thought of your legacy crumbling would knock some sense into her.

The woman across from you just smiles. “That was when you were simply a princess. But you are queen now, so we’re free to do as we wish.”

You step back, watching with wide eyes as she moves to undo her ceremonial armor. Each time the metal pieces hit each other, you flinch at the small clang. The sound of metal reminds you far too much of violence, and you’ve never been one for that.

“Queens still have reputations, Peggy,” your protest is weak…but is a protest, nonetheless. Affairs like this could ruin a royal, send them tumbling into a well of scandal that would threaten the power your family had held for generations. If anyone learned of what was happening, you could be dethroned, excommunicated, possibly even executed. “Big, consequential ones.”

You can feel your mouth dry when she removes her undershirt, revealing her bare chest. Bruises, scars, and scrapes litter the skin, but it only adds to her natural allure.

When all you do is stare, she smiles ever-so-slightly. “Has no one educated you on matters of the flesh, your majesty?”

Part of you wants to deny you understand what she asks—but the rest of you is just confused. Most of the eligible bachelors in your court steered clear of your bath, too terrified of your mother to make any sort of romantic gesture. The allure of bedding a royal was far outweighed by your mother’s ruthless reputation. When a man was found kissing up the neck of your younger sister, one of his hands at the small of her back, he was sent to work at a proxy farm hundreds of miles away, rumored to be herding sheep with just one hand.

No one ever seemed worth the risk of losing them.

She speaks as she removes the cloth pants, your eyes drawn to the slight bulge at the apex of her thighs that the harder armor covered. “It’s an honor to be your first, your majesty.”

As her pants hit the floor, you can feel the air being knocked from your lungs. There, between her legs, rests a sort of…toy. Long, thick, tapering a little before flaring out again. It looks like what the other ladies of the court had described after their nights of passion with visitors from other kingdoms.

“You’ll take me in your mouth soon, my queen,” she reaches into the bag at her side, producing a small, unlabeled jar that reminds you of the potions witches sometimes sell at the markets held near the castle. She pops the cork, spreading the thick, clear substance over the bulbous head between her legs. You’re not sure what she means, but the heat in your belly spreads along your spine, nonetheless. When her length is fully covered in it, she takes your hand, the scented oils from the morning having soaked beneath the surface, leaving only supple, perfumed skin in its wake.

“Here,” she practically whispers, her voice quiet but filled with what sounds like excitement. “Wrap your hands like this…”

Your knight guides you, her hand over yours as you wrap your fingers around it. It’s a strange feeling, but certainly not unwelcome. You follow her motions, moving up and down and twisting your wrist right before you reach the top. Peggy watches enraptured, her eyes locked on where your hands meet. It’s easy for you to presume she can’t feel what you’re doing, certainly not even witches could combine this material with the flesh of a human. But, with the way your knight’s lips part, the way her breathy moans fill the room…you’re not sure.

Her other hand, once curled into a fist at her side, now cups the back of your head firmly. “Lick the tip, your majesty,” she instructs. At any other time, you’d hesitate, but the lightheadedness that’s come over you silences your protests. Ever so lightly, you lick over where your hand had avoided. Your open mouth gives Peggy the opportunity to buck her hips, pushing the object past your lips. She takes care not to push it too far, merely pressing it onto your tongue so you would become used to the weight.

She’s been waiting for this day since she first saw you, since her mother told her of the duties that were passed down their family line for generations; since she had seen you studying French in the garden in your pink spring dress. She’d loved you for years—decades, even. Though she’d never wish it, if the Goddess took her tomorrow, she’d die a woman fulfilled.

Peggy grabs at your hair, pulling you until you stand. She takes the position you just had, falling to her knees before burrowing herself under the hem of your skirt. Before you can ask what she’s doing, she unbuckles your shoes and pulls down your chemise. Too stunned to do anything else, you step out of them on instinct.

“Good girl,” Peggy purrs, leaving kisses along your thighs before standing back up. “My perfect girl.”

You lock eyes for a moment, expecting the other to say something, anything. When nothing comes, Peggy locks her lips with yours, leading you backwards until you’re pushed onto the bed. She’s practiced this many times, an old pillow covered in one of your nightgowns folded in half so she could smell your signature perfume as words of praise and promise tumbled from behind her lips. Just as she imagined, she parts your legs to find the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

I was right, she thinks. Much prettier than any crown.

“Oh Godess,” Peggy groans as she finally pushes inside of you. “You cannot imagine how long I’ve waited to do this-“

You moan as she enters you slowly, purposefully. Blood drains from your fingers as you grip the sheets with all you have, Peggy holding your legs open as you adjust to the feeling of her inside of you. She gives you a moment, tracing the calloused pads of her around your nipples, down your quivering stomach, and back up again.

“I-“ you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say, or if you’re supposed to say anything at all. “I-“

“Shhh, your majesty, Shh,” she reaches around to cup one hand over your mouth, the rough palm pressed against your lips. “Not all the servants are asleep. I don’t want anyone else to hear you sing for me. Not just yet.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s saying. Each frenzied thought is broken as she pulls back before entering once more. Every time she retreats and leaves you empty and wanting, her pace quickening steadily.

“Wh-what do you-“

Peggy just smiles, watching as your eyes roll to the back of your head. It’s as though she’s watching your thoughts leak from your ears, your head falling onto the covers as pleasure overtakes you. She thought about flipping you over, about grabbing you by your hair and fucking you until you couldn’t walk. But she knew she had to start you off slowly, carefully as to not scare you off. Soon enough, though, she’d be able to fuck you in all the ways she’d fantasized; with her fingers inside you right next to her cock, with her hand around your neck, with her telling you the ways she’d fill you and how beautiful you’d look round with her kin. You were both young, and with your newfound power, had plenty of time to learn what you both liked best.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful queen,” she murmured into your neck. She had also imagined fucking you front of all the other knights in her tight circle of guards, showing the rest of them what they could have if they continued to pledge their loyalty. They’re all just as protective of you as she is already, but with queenhood comes increased threats that require increased vigilance. “I’ll explain in due time.”

It's then that she reaches down, moving to rub small, staccato circles at the most sensitive part of you. It’s a part you’ve explored before, under the thick covers and once everyone had presumed you asleep. That, though, was nothing like this—none of the fireworks, none of the way she grips your thighs to pull you back after each thrust.

This is what you imagine being struck by lightning feels like, the way your skin crackles every time she touches you. The difference, though, is that you’ve never heard of survivors wanting more. You’d never imagined anything feeling as good as this, as though those late-night explorations and giggles shared between princesses could feel so magnificent. Had everyone else felt like this, when they had indulged in matters of the flesh? Why had everyone kept such a thing from you?

“I’m, I’m-“ You’re not sure what’s happening, coil inside of you tightening with every passing second. Every muscle in your body tenses as you silently plea for Peggy for…well, truthfully, you don’t know what you’re pegging for. All you know is that you want it.

“Oh, your majesty,” Peggy smirks as she continues to pound into you, continuing to rub at the apex of your pussy. “Do it, baby, let go for me. Allow me the gratification of seeing you let go.”

You’re not sure what’s supposed to happen until it does, and a white-hot pleasure explodes inside of you. It reminds you of rolling down a hill, or being on horseback while it gallops. This is different, though, a nearly indescribable feeling lighting your skin ablaze. The feeling inches away little by little, your legs beginning to twitch. Peggy slows before pulling away completely, collapsing next to you as the toy prods at your leg.

“I’ll always watch over my queen,” she says as you pant, looking up at the ceiling of your room you had looked as a thousand times before. The mural your mother had painted for you hadn’t changed at all, but you…you were transformed. “No matter what.”

A week or so passes without incident. A week of your entire body on edge, of watching your personal knight as she stood in corners and examines perimeters. It’s a small part of you, but nevertheless, a quiet voice in the back of your brain shamed you in the way you’d imagine your mother would if she found out.

How did it end up like this? You, the most powerful person in your kingdom, bending at the will of your closest guard as though she had the magic to move mountains. A shudder ripples its way through your muscles as you imagine a world where she was blessed with the connection to the Mother Goddess. She was the only one who could grant the special few the ability to harness the magic found in the soil of your land, and it was a gift to you that she hadn’t given Peggy that power.

“Your majesty,” Peggy says from across the room, her affect flat in the proper way staff are meant to address members of your family. “Lord Steven Rogers is here to see you.”

She steps into the room and to the side, making room for the man and his personal guard. James, if your memory is correct, watches over the interaction with the same stoic silence as Peggy. He’s large, much different than the leaner bodies of the women who make up the castle’s defenses. James fills the doorway, nearly having to duck just a tad. What really scares you is the way he stares, his jaw set and his eyes bearing into you. You make every effort to avoid his gaze as Steve sits down.

“I have something to share with you,” he says with a boyish smile. He slides a small, wooden box across the desk that you make no move to open. “But I’d like for us to be alone. No guards.”

As if he can sense your trepidation, he adds, “Just to put us on even footing.”

“If my security cannot be in the room while this information is shared,” you tremble, ever so slightly, as you push the box back towards him. You hope he doesn’t notice, but something in his keen eyes says there’s very little he doesn’t see. “Then I don’t want to hear it at all. And I certainly wouldn’t want your security here as well.”

“Oh, princess,” his words are tinged with a low, condescending chuckle. It reminds you of your father when he knows he’s bested you at chess—the same stupid, smug look painted across his face; the same infuriating smile playing at the very corners of his lips. As a child, you thought he was at least trying to hide the fact he had such a large competitive advantage, saving your young ego from being crushed too early.

As you stand here, though, a single eyebrow raised and the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep you from lashing out…you understand it is merely a poor attempt to hide the glee of besting a person one views as deeply and utterly inferior.

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as your side as you resist the urge to slap him with the back of your hand. As a royal, your mother had never expressed herself in such a rash manner. You hadn’t even held the crown for a week and were on the brink of putting the entire royal reputation in jeopardy.

What a failure.

“I am queen now and you know it,” you eventually bite out, face red hot with the knowledge you’d taken much too long to respond.

Lord Rogers smiles in the same way you imagine snakes or wolves do when they’ve spotted injured prey. “Let’s have this conversation again when you’ve calmed down. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

You paint a tense smile over your face, attempting to hide your distaste. “Tomorrow it is. I look forward to seeing you then.”

Peggy watches as your lady-in-waiting undoes your corset, her nimble fingers freeing you from its confines. Normally you liked your corsets—they improve your posture so much even your mother doesn’t comment on it—but that and the coronation dress weighed on you in an unfortunately literal way.

“My queen,” she nearly whispers. You expect her tone to be light and airy, and are startled by the more somber tone. “I need to speak with you.”

You blink once, twice. Why not here? Your face says, gesturing towards the lady-in-waiting as subtly as you can. Peggy’s stoicism remains unchanged.

“Give us a moment, Katherine, please,” you tell her, keeping your eye contact.

The dark-haired girl nods once, bidding you goodnight and curtsying before dashing away. She’s odd, that one, but so charming you choose not to comment when she’s around.

When the door shuts behind her, you turn to your knight, nodding just a little to prompt her.

Instead of speaking, though, she remains quiet, an obvious discontent washing over her face. A nagging feeling at the back of your heart wants to go to her, comfort her, bring out all the bad feelings so you can tame them. But you’re a queen, and she’s not a child, so you stay where you are—silent, stoic, painfully waiting for her to open her mouth and tell you what’s wrong.

When she does, though, you wish she hadn’t.

“I don’t like Lord Rogers very much,” is all Peggy says. She looks you dead in the eyes, jaw set. You wait for her to continue—to rant and scream and scowl.

You allow yourself a moment to sigh, the exhale ending in a dry laugh. Peggy narrows her eyes as you do so, tilting her head ever so slightly. “I’m not joking.”

It certainly sounds like it, though. She knows just as well as you how court politics works, how every single person in this castle has every single one of their decisions shrouded in a cloak of constrictive diplomacy. In a country situated at the center of the continent, a smile and a few lines of small talk are sometimes all there is between economic prosperity and absolute devastation.

Speaking ill of Lord Rogers would effectively be the same as threatening to banish Lord Rogers from your castle. And banishing Lord Rogers would be the same as slitting the throat of his wife in their marriage bed. War? Guaranteed. Your chances of winning? Slim.

“Well, you certainly can’t be serious.” You’re outwardly scoffing now, rolling your eyes, and turning away from her without so much as a half-hearted excuse. There’s nothing in you that wants to fight; who wants to risk it all, fight the status quo, and make a new world from the ashes of the old one. You have never been very rebellious, and that instinct for conflict avoidance will serve you well if you want yourself, and your kingdom, to survive.

You expect your beloved knight to deflect. You expect her to do as you would’ve done: assume someone with loose lips was listening and you’d need to immediately play it off as some kind of nightmare and distance yourself from any ounce of culpability.

She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m serious, your majesty.” Peggy continues to meet your tense gaze, her own eyes free from any regret, or fear, or anything. Strong as a stone, and just as agreeable. Her face remains stoic, her sharp jaw set. “I would never lie to you.”

Red bleeds into the edges of your vision, the vision of your delicate legacy crashing to the floor like an antique teapot, crashing into a million, unfixable pieces and cutting into the bottoms of your soft feet. “Absolutely not,” you growl, your fists clenching in the light fabric of your underdress. “You know why that’s impossible, so certainly you wouldn’t be foolish enough to entertain the idea of saying it out loud.”

She still doesn’t budge. “I can’t lie to you, your majesty.” She repeats. “I have a duty to protect you-“

Now you bark out a laugh, the sharp descending into something darker quickly as you continue. “Protect!?” You reach across your abdomen to hold your sore stomach, glad you were able to get out of your corset before she opened her mouth. It feels like ages later when you’re able to catch your breath, the words still breathy as tears fall down your cheeks. “If anyone heard you, they’d have my head under a blade fast than you can cut the limbs off of any one person. You believing this is some roundabout way to fulfill the oath you took when you were given your sword is such horseshit you should be back shoveling it in stalls.”

You’re ready to continue—to bare your teeth and tear at her skin until she heeds your warning. Fangs—you wish you had fangs—so she’d know how ready you are to tear flesh from bone just to keep her from continuing. So that she’d know you’re also dangerous, and willing to fight if it meant you remained in power.

“Get out of here,” you snarl. “Tell Katherine to come back in. I don’t want to see you until I need escorting to the chancery tomorrow. Do you understand?”

Peggy’s face doesn’t change as she responds before turning and leaving. “Yes, your majesty. I will see you in the morning.”

Neither of you speak, you following just behind her in silence. The blanket of quiet remains as you enter, a servant having already lit the candles that illuminate the room. As you requested, Peggy remains just outside the thick door, only entering when Lord Rogers does.

He seems pleased you’d followed his directions, and it makes your skin crawl. If you had your way, you’d never deal with him at all—outsourcing all communication through a third party. Unfortunately, the Rogers name is powerful in this region, and a queen is nothing without her allies.

“So,” he sits across from you, separated only by your desk. You move to stand near him, eyeing the same box he had yesterday. “I’ve come to talk about the land deeds your mother signed over to me at the very end of her reign.”

Your brow furrows as you reach forward to grab at what he brought with him. Inside are…bones? They’re small but thick, with etchings in an alphabet you do not understand. “What are these?”

He scoffs, as though you should understand what riddle he’s piecing together. You resist the urge to remind him you can speak five languages, and read even more. If there was a language you didn’t recognize, you’d be going to the royal translators…not a man who’s been trying to de-throne your family since the day he could ride a horse. “They’re proof my family has had ownership over the lands I’m asking about since before your family name ever existed. You simply raise both your brows, still looking through the box.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

But you don’t, you really don’t. There’s nothing anyone’s ever told you about Lord Roger’s land deeds besides the fact he has a lot of them. His family’s been around for as long as yours has and has amassed a similar amount of wealth and power. He controls several important ports, his castle is nearly as large as yours.

It hits you then, what he’s doing.

Originally both lineages were at war for the last few thousand years, moving borders and people and livestock as their whims changed. They’d both fought to control the kingdom that’s encompassed the land it had for centuries, the deciding factor being one last territory that a woman four or so generations ago had seized during a tense buyout the Rogers lineage had always claimed was faked. That’s the only territory his family had ever asked for, something your mother had spent many nights telling you about. They’d tried everything to get it back, from raids to paying witnesses to give false accounts of the treaty signing. This was another, even cheaper shot at their goal—to overtake what your family had held so dear.

It’s easy to see now that the markings on the bones show tallies of cattle losses in a shorthand developed by farmers, indicating his family would’ve been working the land after the year the agreement had gone into place. This, of course, means absolutely nothing.

You chew your lip as you examine them, building up the courage to speak. “Lord Rogers, I am not sure this indicates anything meaningful. Many families work on land they do not own. This isn’t proof at all your family has any right over the land, or over the kingdom”

As you look closely at the engravings once more, “You stupid little bitch!”

You don’t have time to turn around; to slap him across the face, or find a letter opener to remind him of your years of self-defense training. All you have time to do is cry out as his palm meets your cheek, your screams becoming muffled as he grabs the back of your neck and turns you around so he can pin you against the desk.

“Peggy!” you try to yell, but all that comes out is a choked sound.

“You will give my family what we are owed. I will kill you if I have to.” His words are practically growls, holding you with one hand as he reaches into his coat. As you struggle, he flashes a thin, sharp knife in front of your eyes.

“Please-“ you kick at him, figurines your mother had collected (and you hadn’t yet had the heart to have a servant collect and placed in her quarters) fall to the hard ground. Some shatter immediately, others skidding across the floor. “Please don’t kill me I-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He flips the weapon in his hands, as if he was showing it off. “Now hold still, this doesn’t need to hurt. There are a few spots I can hit that’ll have you bleeding out in seconds. But if you want it to hurt, I can-“

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s thrown off of you, slammed into the nearest wall. You’re partially thrown with him, but Peggy’s arms keep you from traveling the same distance. One of the other guards, Valkyrie, holds him against the wall as Peggy drops to the floor to hold you. Other guards you can’t remember the names for flood in behind her, holding his arms behind his back and dragging him away.

“You’re okay, my queen,” Peggy whispers. “You’re going to be okay.”

She scans you for harm, eyes wide as she checks for broken bones or open wounds. A few spots are tender. One, most notably, at the place the table made contact with your abdomen. Still, nothing that can’t be healed with a few days of rest and (most important) nothing that will leave horrific and long-lasting scars. Katherine comes in soon after, taking you from Peggy and ushering you across the castle and to your bed. She fetches you something to drink and a cool cloth, fluffing your pillows once your heart has slowed enough that exhaustion replaces adrenaline.

It all happens so fast, you don’t have time to question why all of those women were close enough to help in the first place.

Peggy stands behind Katherine, watching as she comforts you.

As your eyelids grow heavy, she moves to pet your hair, leaning down to murmur into your temple. “I’ll be back, my queen.” You don’t hear it, sleep long since having pulled you into its arms. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

She slips out of the room, silently exiting out of your area of the castle before finding a door hidden behind a tapestry depicting a field of poppies, your grandmother’s favorite flowers. The secret paths had been built the same time the castle was, meant to be a way for those that served in the castle to enter the servant’s quarters without disturbing the royals. Fifty or so years ago, though, too many servants were living there, and in an effort to stave rebellion, an addendum to the castle was built. Now, where some had lived, slept, and ate, lay abandoned rooms far from the eyes of royalty.

The staircase is narrow, so narrow she has to hold her sword in front of her. She’s silent as she navigates the maze-like corridor, the path to her destination an easy show of muscle memory. The door, unassuming and identical to the rest of them, opens to a scene she’s been wishing for since she first saw Lord Rogers look you up and down all those years ago.

Five women, two on each side and one immediately behind, flank the man that sits tied to an old chair from the servants’ quarters. It’s been used for these sorts of nights before, as evidenced by the scuffed wood that marks where pieces of leather kept one’s limbs in place. They fight, they always do. For Peggy, it’s part of the fun. No sense in killing something without a desire to live.

She stands as the man sits, his face already bruised and bloody. Split lip, a cut through his right brow. Every time he spits it’s tinged pink. Even though she wishes they had held off until she arrived, Peggy wishes it was redder. Nothing matters more to her than the fact he remains in pain.

“Do you know what the punishment is for laying a hand on Her Majesty?” she asks.

He looks pathetic in the low candlelight, she thinks. He’s over six feet, covered in lean muscle and scars. She can see every pitiful inch of him—she instructed the other royal guards to strip him down when they grabbed him from his plush bed once all the royals had retired for the night. He was surprisingly easy to overpower, according to the message she received from the guards, delivered via a squire who had an affinity for staying up much too late. He was fast and, more importantly, quiet on his feet. Both necessary to avoid being caught. While many of the knights in this kingdom were women, it’s easy to see how his skills would do him well in the profession.

“You’ll never get away with this,” he spits out.

Peggy smirks, small laughs escaping from behind the others’ hands. She takes a moment to allow the others to collect themselves (and to give herself some time to savor the rage that washes over his face as he realizes they’re all laughing at him.

“Well,” she says eventually. “One of us tied to a chair right now, and it isn’t any of us, so…”

He snarls, reminding Peggy of one of the guard dogs that roam the farms around the castle. They look very similar, in a way—strong jaw, barred teeth, a little grimy from their misadventures. Lord Rogers lacks something that would shrink the gap between them. Those dogs, as innocent as they sometimes look, would defend their flock with their lives; she’s seen them ward off mountain lions to protect the sheep they’d grown up with.

Peggy doesn’t think he’d defend anyone other than himself.

Lord Rogers doesn’t know it (and, given his condition, he may never found out), but his personal knight was given an option: either leave, change his name, and abandon the Rogers lineage…or die trying to defend the bloodline he swore to secure.

Needless to say, he chose the latter, and his various body parts are being fed to pigs at the far end of the castle’s main farm. Kamala offered to do that, the young girl eager to be involved but not old enough to secure herself to the heart of the action. Truthfully, Peggy found the entire endeavor useless given they sent his head to Lord Rogers’ wife in an unlabeled box. It should arrive by the end of the month, giving them enough time to do what needs to be done.

“Do you confess?” Natasha asks, her sword secured in her belt. Peggy only enlisted the guards she believed were level-headed enough to follow her lead. Normally, she’s all right with those she relies on going rogue—she trusts them for a reason—but tonight requires a very specific form of precision.

Steven just scoffs. “Confess to what, exactly?”

“We know what happened with the Queen,” Jane says, her tone flat. “We know what you did to her.”

The man laughs the kind of fake, sarcastic laugh Peggy had come to loathe from him. “That bitch had it coming. She’s hiding something from me, just like her cunt m-”

He is interrupted quickly by the back of Peggy’s hand. It throws him off, stunning him

“Confess.” One of them say, calmly.

“Fuck you!” Lord Rogers will scream back. Unfortunately, it seems to have only quieted him for just a moment.

Each denial is met with a similar reaction.

This time, it’s Carol punching him so hard that he starts to spit out blood afterward. The time after that, it’s Monica carving out leg muscles with a farrier’s knife. After that, it’s Wanda flattening his fingers with a hammer. His body, morphing into some monstrous, destroyed thing, is tormented with every broken breath he takes. A slight wheeze tinges each exhale.

Peggy watches him, watches as the women she trusts with your life take him apart piece by piece. At the end of the night, long before the morning rises, he will be mangled to the point of no return before one of them gives him the undue mercy of ending his life. This was the plan, even if she had no desire to watch him receive such an undeserved gift. Originally, she’d wanted to keep him alive for days and show you her handiwork…but a stern conversation with Gamora had ended that conversation. Her magic gave her the kind of sense a brutish knight lacked, Peggy thought.

She steps back, tossing the hefty stick to Carol, who catches it. “Do what you need to do,” she says to no one in particular. “I’ve got what I need.”

Steven tugs at his restraints, the panic in his eyes palpable despite being nearly swollen shut. “You bitch! Let me out of here!”

Peggy just laughs, not bothering to face him as she walks away. The Lord’s pleas silence as she shuts the door behind her, deep screams becoming fainter and fainter as she sneaks down the corridor once more. She retraces her path, fire in her veins making the trip much shorter this time around. Before she knows it, she’s back in bed with you, tracing the indents your pillow’s creases have made on your cheeks.

“Peggy?” you murmur, your tired brow furrowing. Sleep rests heavy on your slurred speech, exhaustion still wracking your bones.

She shushes you, tucking herself under the covers. When you move over to give her unnecessary room, she merely grabs your hips to pull you back. When you return to your original spot still deep in the throws of sleep, Peggy lets a small smile escape from behind her teeth.

“Got a surprise for you when you wake up, baby,” she whispers. “Just go to sleep for now. Everything will be okay when you wake up.”

#peggy carter x reader #peggy carter fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel ladies fanfic #peggy carter smut #lukis writes stuff #lukis does commissions

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usetheeauthor · 2 years

Text

Updated Masterlist (+18)

A/N: Hey, readers! You can call me Use or Honey! As a novice fanfiction writer, I ask that you please have patience with me. I’m not a fast writer and I have lots of responsibilities that will delay my writing but I’m still dedicated to giving you all the best of content. I’m growing everyday with my writing so I’m always looking for room for improvement. Either way, I appreciate the love and support I’ve received. Thank you so very much! ❤️

Started: 06/07/2022

Last Updated: 07/26/2023

Latest Work(s): Made With Love (Eddie x Plus!Reader)

Total Works: 55

⚡= Angst

☁️= Fluff

🌩️= Angst/Fluff

🌧️= Fluff/Smut

⛈️= Angst/Fluff/Smut

💦= Smut

💧= Implied Smut

⚠️= DARK

📥 = Requests

🚫= On Hold

🛑= Permanent Hiatus

✅ = Completed Series

🔥= Popular (1k & up notes)

➽───────────────❥

Stranger Things

Henry Creel/Peter Ballard/001

IMAGINE

Peter being vocal during sexy times 💦

ANGST

Where Do We Go From Here 📥 ⚡️

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

Love, Papa ⚠️⛈️

***Vecna

The Nightmare on Hawkins Street 📥⚠️💦🔥

The Nightmare on Hawkins Street 2 📥⚠️💦

Eddie Munson

IMAGINE

Innocent!Newkid!Eddie inviting you over 💧

Eddie helping with skin care routine ☁️

ANGST

FLUFF

I loved You First 1 🌩️

Made With Love ☁️

SMUT

The Elf Princess & Her Beloved 🌧📥

“Come Again?” 💦📥🔥

Eddie Had A Little Lamb 💦📥

Wrap It Up! 💦📥🔥

You’re Not The Boss Of Me 💦

SERIES

The Satanic Panic ⛈🚫

Cruel Little Vixen ⛈ 🔥

Steve Harrington

IMAGINE

Scoops Ahoy Steve doll comes to life ☁️💧

ANGST

Play Side A ⚡️💦

FLUFF

Too Quiet ☁️

SMUT

I Thought I’d Lose You 🌧

Play Side B ⚡️💦

SERIES

Montagues and Capulets ⛈🛑

Steddie x Reader

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

The Final Girl 💦⚡️⚠️ 🔥

SERIES

Jim Hopper

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

Murray Bauman

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

Just Share The Damn Bed 💦⚠️

Let Me Show You 🌧

Daisy Dukes 💦

SERIES

Jonathan Byers

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes Pt. 1 ⚠️💦⚡️

We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes Pt. 2 ⚠️💦⚡️

SERIES

Argyle

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

Billy Hargrove

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

This Isn’t You ⚠️⚡️💦🔥

SERIES

➽───────────────❥

Moon Knight

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

Adeline’s Hex 💦

SERIES

➽───────────────❥

OTHER MARVEL FANDOMS

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

Steven Grant “Steve” Rogers

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

Stucky x Reader

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

Breakfast In Bed ☁️💧

SMUT

SERIES

➽───────────────❥

OUTER BANKS

Topper Thornton

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

The Jezebel ⚠️💦

Everything Has Changed⚡️💦

SERIES

Rafe Cameron

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

JJ Mayback

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

➽───────────────❥

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

➽───────────────❥

Alice In Borderland

Arisu Ryohei

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

I’d Stop The World ⛈️🔥

Video Games 💦🔥

I Still Get Jealous ⛈️📥

SERIES

Chishiya Shuntaro

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

➽───────────────❥

TOM FELTON CHARACTERS

Draco Malfoy

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

SERIES

Dr. Julian Albert

IMAGINE

ANGST

FLUFF

SMUT

I’ll Make You Pay ⚠️💦⚡️

SERIES

➽───────────────❥

OTHER FANDOMS

I Know What You Did Last Weekend (Battinson x Kravitz!Selina Kyle x Plus!Reader) ⚠️💦

How To Be King (Viserys Targaryen III x Plus!Reader) ⛈️

Run With Me (Ser Criston Cole x Virgin!Targaryen!Reader) ⛈️

When A Stranger Knocks At Your Door…(“Doctor”Enmu x NurseNun!Reader ⚠️💦

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sunshinebuckybarnes · 2 years

Text

We made it to September ✨ another month, another rec list. Please make sure you give these gorgeous stories and writers the love they deserve. As always, you are responsible for your own media consumption. This blog along with the majority tagged are 18+ only and contain adult themes.

*marks a series of multi part fic

Lloyd Hansen ✨

69'ing and pussy slapping by @ozarkthedog

Lloyd Hansen x reader

Boys in bed with books by @jobean12-blog

Lloyd Hansen x reader

Bucky Barnes ✨

Stay by @maladaptivexxdaydreaming

ex-fiance bucky barnes x fem!reader

Dancing with the devil by @bonky-n-steeb

dark! mafia! bucky barnes x undercover! reader

Everything by @jadedvibes

Bucky x reader

*CEO/DBF Bucky by @bucky-barnes-diaries

CEO+Dad’s Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Bad date by @firefly-in-darkness

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Bite your tongue by @musingsinmoonlight

Mob boss!Bucky Barnes x female reader

The boy is mine by @jobean12-blog

Bucky x reader

*A hundred years from today by @jettia

Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Cosmic love by @barnesafterglow

noble!bucky x princess!reader

Got your chemicals all in my veins by @bonky-n-steeb

husband! bucky barnes x wife! reader

*Sweetest nectar by @navybrat817

Florist!Bucky Barnes x female reader

*This must be my dream by @lunarbuck

bestfriend'sbrother!Bucky x f!reader (any race)

Twisty by @musingsinmoonlight

Bucky Barnes x female reader

*Pretty little thing, pretty little peach by @angrythingstarlight

Chubby!Baker Bucky x Reader

The perfect place to sit by @angrythingstarlight

Beefy!Trainer Bucky x Plus size reader

Ari Levinson ✨

Knead to relax by @mjolnir-steve

Ari Levinson x fem!reader

Firefighter!Ari by @angrythingstarlight

Firefighter!Ari x Reader

It's about time by @xxindiglow

Ari Levinson x Female Reader

Afternoon delight by @sagechanoafterdark

Ari Levinson x Reader

Under the blue by @maladaptivexxdaydreaming

Park Ranger!Ari Levinson x Female Reader

Steven Grant ✨

To the rescue by @ofstarsandvibranium

Steven Grant x F!Reader

What you've been waiting for by @full-time-make-believer

Steven Grant x female reader

Nick Fowler ✨

Falling apart for you by @navybrat817

Nick Fowler x female reader

Steve Rogers ✨

Liar liar by @geminixevans-stan

Mafia!Steve x Black Reader

Wife worship by @labella420

mob!steve rogers x fem!reader

*His inheritance by @jtargaryen18

Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

*Herbal illusion by @sweetflowerdreams

King!Alpha! Steve Rogers x Servant!Omega! Reader (Female!Reader)

Andy Barber ✨

A butterfly will fly by @maladaptivexxdaydreaming

Andy Barber x ballet dancer!Reader

Ari Levinson x Steve Rogers ✨

I'll be seeing you by @navybrat817

Spy!Ari Levinson x Female Reader, hint of dark!Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Lee Bodecker x Steve Rogers ✨

Tempting fate by @dreamlessinparis

Semi!Dark!Mob!Lee Bodecker x F!Reader, Mob!Steve x F!Reader

Sam Wilson ✨

Only an echo by @the-witty-pen-name

Rockstar!Sam Wilson x f!reader

Andy Barber & Mike Weiss ✨

*Barber & Weiss by @jtargaryen18

Dark Andy Barber x Dark Mike Weiss x Reader

Steve Harrington ✨

Next time by @pillow-titties

Steve Harrington x Reader

#fic rec #august fic recs #lloyd hansen #bucky barnes #ari levinson #steven grant #nick fowler #steve rogers #andy barber #lee bodecker #sam wilson #mike weiss #steve harrington

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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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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 5 years

Text

Coronation - Heart of Steel One-Shot

One-Shot from the Heart of Steel universe. Do not read unless you’ve read the series, or it will be very confusing.

Heart of Steel - Masterlist

Words Count: 1,500

(I got inspired after I recently watch The King.)

Y/N slowly stepped down the aisle, her cloak trailing almost a yard behind her. It was lined with the finest of furs. It was so heavy that three maidens were required to carry its trail. Her dress was a cerulean blue, simple but refined. The Midgard kingdom was always more conservative and simple in comparison to the extravagant Zamora.

The hymns being sung by the choir drowned out any and all thoughts Y/N could have. She knew there were hundreds of people in the pews and balconies above, but she knew better than to even glance up at them.

Her gaze only looked forward. Head held high. Back straight.

This was not just another wedding, this was a royal coronation. By the end of this ceremony, Y/N wouldn’t just be the wife of King Steven, she would be the Queen of Midgard.

Her emotions were everywhere. Just a week ago, she had packed up all of her belongings and traveled away from Zamora, officially calling Midgard her new home.

All while this happened, she was repairing a broken heart. Bucky’s ring hung around Y/N’s neck on a chain for her entire journey to Midgard. She only took it off as she prepared for her wedding. Wanda gave her an apologetic and understanding look as she slipped it from the princess’ neck and put it safely away in a box.

There was a part of Y/N that wished Bucky were here, somewhere in the crowds. She didn’t think she could do this without him. Her heart raced with anxiety, an anxiety that could be calmed by a mere look from Bucky.

But Y/N knew she was foolish to wish for such things.

Steve waited for her at the end of the aisle. The Knights of Howl stood off to the right, ready to protect their King and new Queen should there be any attack against them during such an intimate gathering.

On the other side of Steve were his closest advisors, including Dame Natasha.

Steve wore his crown. It was the first time Y/N saw it upon his head. He prided himself on being a man of the people, and wearing such a reminder of his true rank only diminished that.

When Y/N was finally close enough to meet his gaze, she found him giving her a look of encouragement. He must’ve known how nervous she had become, for he broke formalities and quickly stepped down the stairs to meet Y/N.

Her body immediately relaxed as he took her arm in his and guided her back up the stairs to the landing where all could view them.

The archbishop began the ceremony, but Y/N could only feel Steve’s eyes on her.

She glanced up at him.

“You look…” he muttered, not disturbing the beginning of the ceremony. But he couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“Beautiful?” Y/N offered in a whisper.

“Aye. But that’s not it.” Then Steve smirked. “You look like... a Queen.”

The ceremony continued for quite some time. Steve’s hand never left Y/N’s. Every so often he would trace his thumb against the back of her hand or give it a light squeeze to reassure her.

Y/N thought she would be doing this alone. How foolish of her. For Steve would always be at her side.

When the time came for Y/N’s crown, it was Steve who placed it upon her head.

“Y/N,” he began with the crown hovering above her. “Do you solemnly promise to govern the people of Midgard, to protect and serve them as if they were your own children?”

“I do.”

“Do you abandon all past allegiance to any and all other kingdoms, declaring Midgard your true and rightful home?”

Y/N swallowed. “I do.”

“Do you promise to love and accept me, King Steven of Midgard, as your husband and sole companion?”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the twinkle in his eyes as he asked. “I do.”

The archbishop cleared his throat. “I present to you, people of Midgard, Her Royal Majesty, Queen Y/N of Midgard.”

Y/N bowed her head as Steve put the crown upon her. He then helped her stand up straight, lacing his fingers with hers and they turned to face their audience. There was applause and cheers from the hundreds of people in attendance.

Flowers fell from the balconies above as the crowd chanted, “All hail Queen Y/N.”

Steve looked so proud and filled with love as she met his gaze. He leaned down and kissed her softly. It was not part of the royal ceremony, but the king simply could not help himself.

When they pulled away, The Knights of Howl had lined up before them.

One by one, they bowed before their new Queen and swore their allegiance. “I swear to love and serve Y/N, the true and rightful queen, and to protect her honor as my own.”

Just when Y/N thought their time to leave had come and the ceremony was drawing to a close, the archbishop regained the attention of everyone.

“King Steven wishes declare his own allegiance…”

Y/N’s brow furrowed in confusion. She had witnessed no such decorum at any coronation or royal wedding before. She looked up at Steve in a mild panic, unsure of what was happening.

But Steve returned it with assurance and comfort.

Ever so slowly, Steve unsheathed his sword, but handed it to Y/N to hold handle first.

Her hand shook she she grabbed it and got used to the weight in her grasp. She gasped when Steve kneeled before her, his head bowed in submission.

Y/N understood enough that she was meant to place the blade on his shoulder, and did so shakily and with uncertainty.

“From now on, you bow to no one, Queen Y/N of Midgard. Not even I. Though I am King of Midgard, I bow to you. I kneel to you. I serve you – above all else.”

He slowly raised his head to look into her gaze. Tears glazed over Y/N’s eyes. She now understood what he was doing.

“I vow to protect you with my life and our kingdom. I vow to listen and respect you as my equal, if not superior. I will not rule this kingdom with you at my side… we will rule Midgard together, as one.” He took in a deep breath. “I vow to love you as you deserve, with my whole heart, with all of my spirit and soul.”

“And if you should find that I break any of these vows, you are granted to deliver any punishment you see fit.”

A single tear slid down Y/N’s cheek as she tried to control her breathing and emotions.

“Do you accept His Majesty’s vows, Queen Y/N of Midgard?” The archbishop finally spoke.

“I-I do.”

Cheers erupted once again.

Steve slowly stood up and carefully took the sword from Y/N’s grasp. He sheathed it once again and his eyes asked Y/N a million question: Am I worthy of you now? Will you give yourself to me truly and fully? What more can I do to make you happy here?

But Y/N’s answer was to pull him to her and crash her lips against his.

Damn the propriety, she wished to kiss her husband how she saw fit.

--------------------------

I don’t know why, but I was inspired after watching The King, even though there is no such scene in the movie. I would love to know what everyone thought. But please don’t flood my asks with more one-shot requests for the Heart of Steel universe. This came out of nowhere, truly. I am in no place to continue writing for it.

#heart of steel #heart of steel one shot #heart of steel universe #heart of steel drabble #king!steve rogers #king!steven rogers x princess!reader #king steve rogers #king steven rogers of midgard #medieval!avengers #medieval steve rogers #medieval!steve rogers #medieval marvel au #medieval steve rogers au #king!steve rogers x queen!reader

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anika-ann · 2 years

Text

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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pricklepearbloom · 2 years

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Fic Recs

Hello hello!! Welcome to my fic rec blog post :) You can call me P or Pear. I’m 24 and currently obsessed with A Court of Thorns and Roses and forever obsessed with Marvel. If you think there’s a fic that I NEED to read please drop a comment or a message to me and I will absolutely read it

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Undisclosed by @pellucid-constellations

Beefy Lumberjack!Bucky with lots of good good angst and wholesome found family ish.

A World of Our Own by @shreddedparchment

Castaway AU. When I tell you I LOVE this fic. I’ve reread it probably over a dozen times. Reader and Bucky stranded on a deserted island just trying to survive.

Delicate Edges by @wkemeup

Biker!Bucky AU pretty short and it’s very cute. A bit angsty but not enough to make me want to punch my pillow. I love a florist x biker moment so this is good for that.

Love, Theoretically by @mypoisonedvine

Actually a Sebastian Stan AU which I don’t normally go for but I love this fic. A woman gets cheated on and moved to the Hungarian countryside and meets Sebastian the handyman (?Sort of?) who doesn’t speak any English. You’ll need a translator handy for this fic but it’s SO worth it.

Guiding Light by @wkemeup

Not an AU (honestly shocking for me) about the Avenger!reader getting kidnapped on a mission. Simple idea with soooo much angst and hurt/comfort to last you a lifetime. Really well written.

Sunrise by @wkemeup

Modern AU. WarVet!Bucky and Librarian!Reader. I love this story it makes my heart hurt in the best kind of way. Hermit Bucky meets his sunshine awwww.

Looped by @softlybarnes

Established relationship with Bucky. One shot (long one shot though). WONDERFULLY written. It’s about the reader getting stuck in a time loop and forgetting that she was ever in a relationship with Bucky. Angsty and fluffy.

Treacherous by @scrumptious-delusion

Outlaw!Bucky AU. I read this one over and over again. It’s soooo good. The perfect balance of spice and plot/fluff. Bucky is a famous outlaw and he shows up on reader’s farm looking for help. Amazing.

Heart and Soul by @all1e23

An ABO and AU fic. Bucky is a detective and meets his true mate (reader) who is going through with pressing charges against her past Alpha Brock who was abusive. Wonderful little story. Lots of detailed physical abuse situations so be wary if that is something that is triggering!

For the Love of the Game by @pellucid-constellations

CollegeAthlete!Bucky AU. Bucky is a baseball star and tbh I’ve been avoiding reading this one because it’s a college AU and normally I try to avoid those but I’m so glad I caved because this was SOOOOOOOO GOOOOOD. It’s everything you want in a short 7 (I think) part series. Angst, hurt, comfort, fluff, pining all that jazz. Love love love.

Steve Rogers

What a World by @onsunnyside

Tarzan!Steve mini series with some big beefy protective cutie energy. A fav.

Pseudo Princess by @shreddedparchment

I-. This is a LONG monster of a series and I LOVED IT. It’s a Royal AU which I also love. The reader is a peasant that is tasked with marrying King Steven of Broklin. Honestly incredible writing and the plot had me shocked in a couple of places. Some smut and dubcon so be aware of that before reading if that triggers you! LOVELY story. I can’t wait to reread it.

Top Gun Maverick

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

I and Love and You by @halfway-happyyy

So ok. This is a one shot and it fucking wrecked me emotionally. I cried three times during it and took multiple breaks. It’s angst pure and simple. Hangman breaks his girlfriend’s heart. I hate it I love it. I’m punching a pillow that’s all bye.

They All Know, He’s in Love with You by @rolycolysficrecs

One shot soo good. Some fluff some angst because of miscommunication (my favorite). He thinks they have been dating for months and she thinks they’re just fuck buddies. Wonderful!

Bad Habits by @seasonsbloom

Holy shit this mini series was so good. It’s three long long chapters and just wonderfully written. One of the best sex scenes I’ve read yet. It’s about Amelia’s tutor who’s pretty shy? Maybe not like shy shy but she just has a lot of anxiety about things which the author did a great job at depicting. Awesome ending. Angsty, miscommunications, fluff, soft hangman, happy ending I love it.

Outer Range

Rhett Abbott

Branded by @3tabbiesandalab

Sooo cute! A bit of smut which is always a good time. Anti-Maria fic. Reader is Maria’s sister that’s always been pushed aside. It’s written very well and has a second part (love)

Published Book Recs

A Court of Thorns and Roses Series by Sarah J. Maas

Honestly I don’t think this one needs and explanation or a summary. Masterpiece. (Also got me back into reading published books!)

Throne of Glass Series by Sarah J. Maas (our lord and savior)

Again, no words need to be spoken. If you’re unfamiliar with these two series just know that TOG is more action focused and ACOTAR is more romance focused, but both are Fantasy Romance Novels!

Icebreaker by Hannah Grace

Hockey Romance book that has some WONDERFULLY explicit smut. It feels pretty long but you really do get invested in the characters. It deals with some mature themes like eating disorders so readers beware.

A Touch of Darkness by Scarlett St. Clair

It’s a Hades x Persephone book but like an AU not really a retelling. Persephone is a student studying journalism and wants to do an article on the elusive and mysterious club owner, Hades. Has on page smut (helll yeahhh) and honestly surprised me with how much I enjoyed it!

Book Lovers by Emily Henry

Forced proximity who. Not really smutty at all but what was there was pretty well written. An editor and I think a publisher (I honestly don’t remember) end up in the same small town. And they’re rivals! Gotta love a good ole enemies to lovers.

Currently Reading

fics that I love that are in progress

Bucky Barnes

Awake My Soul by @foreverindreamlandd

Zombie apocalypse AU. Only three chapters in so far but honestly sooooo good. I’m really excited to see where this fic goes.

Steve Rogers

Fools Rush In by @ronearoundblindly

It’s a huge series and right now I’m on The Dignity of His Choice which is where Steve fakes his death and doesn’t tell his wife (yikes.) Mega angst and I eat it up.

Bad Habits by @all1e23

A Biker!Steve AU motorcycle club fic that only has a few chapters but I am loving. We all know I’m a slut for a biker moment.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Sugar and Spice by @wombtotombx

Oooooooh it’s so good guys. The enemies to lovers slow burn is killing me. Only three chapters in so far but they are long and I am already just so invested. This is post Maverick mission which is cool, first time I’ve read a fic like that so far. Definitely recommend.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Grounded “Thunk” by @cherryblossom-enthusiast

Y’all. It’s so gooood. Only three chapters so far and the sexual tension is starting to fry my brain I think. It’s really well written. It’s between Penny’s niece (reader) and Rooster who hits her in the head with a football.

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holylulusworld · 7 months

Text

Dishonored

Title: Dishonored

Summary: You fell. For his lies. For him. From grace.

Pairing: Prince!Steven Grant Rogers x Princess!Reader; Lord Barnes x Princess!Reader (no polyamory)

Warnings: heavy angst (I’m not joking), lies, manipulation, hurting people for revenge, implied loss of innocence, unwanted/unplanned pregnancy, Steve being the worst, sadness, hopelessness, desperation, suicidal tendency/suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, fluff, we stan Bucky in this story

Rating: Mature

Words: 2,7 k

Square filled for @anyfandomfluffbingo: Square 9: “I never loved you.”

Square filled for Lulu’s Winter Bingo 2022: Square 4: Winter

Square filled for @steverogersbingo: C3: Free space – Royal AU

Square filled for @buckybarnesbingo: C2: Sharing body heat

Please heed the warnings for this story. It contains triggering content such as attempted suicide.

You fell. For his lies. For him. From grace.

How do you move on when your honor and grace get ripped away by the man who promised you love and devotion?

He lured you in – sweet-talked you into giving him the one thing you cherished the most. Your honor and innocence. Reserved for your future husband, and the man loving you unconditionally.

Lies. All lies.

It was a moment of weakness making you stumble and fall. Into his bed. Into his arms.

He took you apart, gentle, and slow. A miracle to you when you think about the aftermath.

A few months earlier, your father’s castle

“I can't believe Prince Steven came to woo me,” you mumbled to yourself. The prince arrived earlier this morning and you hoped your dreams would come true. You always felt a deep connection to the prince, and now, he’s here to talk to your father.

“Princess!” Your chambermaid scolded. “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold! Your father called for you. He wants you to meet Prince Steven. He will stay at the castle for a few weeks until he travels to his uncle’s castle.”

Your face fell. He came here to sit out the approaching snowstorm, nothing else.

How could you have been foolish enough to believe he came to ask for your hand?

“I’m…coming,” you tried to not cry. All your hopes and dreams ended up on the ground - shattered and torn. “We cannot let our guest wait.”

“Father,” you stepped confidently toward your father to peck his cheek. He was always soft on you, and let you break a few rules. Especially when it came to etiquette. You’re his little thunderstorm, a wild child with a bright mind and softness that’s hard to find among royals. “I heard we have a guest.”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” the king softly said. He ran his hand over your hair and patted your head. “I need you on your best behavior. I angered the prince, and we don’t want him to tell his father the king about it.”

You wrinkled your forehead. “What? I don’t understand,” you whispered so no one could hear. Your father is one of the kindest people you know. How could he possibly anger the prince?

“Your Highness,” Steven walked inside the throne room, accompanied by his best friend, and confident Lord Barnes. The brunette watched you with interest while the prince’s eyes drifted toward your brother and his fiancé, Lady Margaret Carter. “I see the princess will join us for supper.”

“Your Highness,” you turned your attention toward the prince. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again. It’s been too long.”

Steven eagerly took your offered hand to press a chaste kiss to the back of it. “The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for having me.”

“Lord Barnes,” you smiled at the brunette. Last time you saw him he was reading a book in the garden, chuckling at something he read. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay. The library is always open for you.”

“Princess,” Lord Barnes smiled wildly. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Oh…my…you are too kind, Lord Barnes,” you replied gracefully and batted your eyelashes. “It’s always a pleasure having you around.”

Supper was more than pleasant. Lord Barnes kept the conversation flowing while the prince watched you the whole time. He complimented you and raised his glass on your beauty and grace.

You were surprised. His eyes seemed to be glued to your brother and his fiancé. Out of a sudden Prince Steven turned his attention toward you. He even stopped his friend from talking to you.

Your cheeks heated up, and you felt warm when he placed his hand next to yours, subtly brushing your pinkie with his finger.

It was the first time he was so close, and you allowed yourself to bask in his attention for as long as it lasted.

The next days felt like a dream come true. Steven asked you to spend time with him and go for a walk in the gardens. For propriety's sake, a chaperon accompanied you and Steven. But you didn’t care at all.

The moments spent with the prince were the best of your life. He made you smile, and laugh and your heart flutter.

All that mattered to you was his smile, his soft blue eyes, and the way he looked at you. It was the same way your father looked at your father and your brother at his chosen bride.

“I wish these days will never end,” you dared to hope Steven would say the same.

He took you by surprise when he replied. “Even if they end,” he looked you deep in the eyes, leaning a little closer to whisper, “I’ll always come back to you."

The prince was about to press a soft kiss on your forehead when your chaperone stepped in.

“Your Highness, please do not forget you are wooing for a princess, not a wench. Remember your manners,” she tutted. “We should head back inside. It’s getting colder, and I can smell the snow.”

Marjorie, your chaperone was right. Winter came faster than expected, accompanied by a snowstorm that wouldn’t let up.

The whole country was suffering from the cold weather and the snow masses.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The snowstorm and unforgiving winter kept Steven and Lord Barnes from leaving your castle.

You didn’t mind. Most of the time you spend with Steven, chatting about his kingdom, childhood, and love.

Yes. Love.

You held hands, and when your chaperone wasn’t looking, he even stole kisses. Steven promised you that love is the most precious thing to protect in this world.

He played you well, you give him that.

Your heart couldn’t take being apart from Steven for a single moment. So, you gave him everything you had to offer, and what he was craving.

On one of these cold winter nights, you let him sneak into your bedroom, and take you to bed. He kissed you, and when he settled between your thighs you believed he would make you his wife and love you forever.

When it was over, he smirked, and his eyes grew cold. Your heart dropped as he hastily redressed. “Steven, what are you doing?”

“My plan went well, didn’t it?” He looked at you, making you feel ashamed of yourself. You grabbed the blanket to cover your body. The one he ruined with his touch.

“I don’t understand, Steven. My love. What has gotten into you? You said you love me.” You cried as he looked at you, wrinkling his nose at your disheveled state.

“I never loved you,” he coldly replied. “Your father forced the woman I love to marry your brother,” he sneered and curled his lips. “I stole his beloved daughter’s innocence. What will he do if he finds out you are carrying my bastard under your heart?”

“Steven, I don’t…” Your voice trembled. “Why? I…”

“I came here to ask your father to stop this insanity and let me marry Margaret. I love her dearly. He refused and wanted to send me away.”

You remember now. Your father told you that he upset Steven.

“But…she came here, begging my father to help her. She wanted to marry my brother. Margaret wasn’t my father’s first choice. Some princesses and ladies were more beautiful and with a better reputation. He agreed because she was in love with my brother and threatened to kill herself if he didn’t allow her to marry my brother.”

“What?” He looked a little shell-shocked at your words but shook his head. “Lies!” Steven yelled, making you flinch. “Shut your mouth, wench. Never talk about Margaret like that again.”

He left without looking back and slammed the door shut. Leaving you devasted, heartbroken, and ruined.

After that night, he never looked at you. He declared that he was going to stay at the guest wing until it was time to leave.

One month later, …

Hopelessness is the only thing left in your life. You can feel a new life growing in your womb. Every passing day brings you closer to doomsday.

Soon you won’t be able to hide the secret. Soon everyone will know you got dishonored.

Foolish girl letting a man take what should have never been his.

You run your hand over your belly, choking out another sob. If you want to save what’s left of your honor, you must take matters into your own hands.

Shakily you glance at the balcony parapet again. If you do it now, you can save your honor, and your father’s.

Stepping toward the parapet you release a shuddery breath.

What if it’s not high enough? What if you survive? What if they ask questions?

“No,” you step away from the parapet. This is the wrong way to go. You must let it look like an accident. Or maybe, if you can find someone selling you a potion, you can end your life painlessly and fast.

The river looked inviting to you. You looked at the floating water, fascinated by its power and grace.

Once upon a time, you were gracefully too.

That was until your grace and innocence got ripped away from you like it meant nothing to him. “If I step into the river, it will be over soon. Maybe they will believe it was an accident. I slipped and fell into the river.”

Slowly, you stepped toward the water, closing your eyes for a moment. This was the only way to save your honor. The water would wash away the sin you committed and take your secret with it.

You took another step, and another until you felt the cold water kiss your feet. “Cold.” You whispered but walked farther into the water, feeling it tug at your gown. “It will be over soon, my little stardust.” You rubbed your belly. “I’m so sorry.”

The water surrounded you, almost reaching your waistline as you heard someone call for you. “Princess! NO!”

It was Lord Barnes. His heart stopped beating for a moment when he saw you in the river. He knew something was wrong with the way his friend acted out of a sudden.

“Nooo!” You heard the water splashing and then, two strong arms wrapped around you like anchors holding you in this world. “What are you doing, princess.”

“I cannot…he dishonored me,” you choked out a heartbreaking sob. “I cannot remain. No man will want me. Not after he took my innocence and…the baby…it will be a bastard.”

Lord Barnes stiffened when the words floated out of your mouth like the water in the river. He couldn’t believe his friend and confidant would do such a thing to you for revenge.

“My love. No,” he dragged you out of the water, and wrapped you in his arms, letting you cry in his chest until there were no tears left in you. Lord Barnes said. “Stay with me, my love. I’ll keep you warm. We need to keep each other warm.”

“But I—” You lifted your head to look at him with tear-clouded eyes. “You should’ve let me die. Father will…”

“He won’t know. Not about what happened with Steven, nor what you did today. What a coincidence I came by when you slipped and fell into the river,” he whispered and kissed your temple. “I came back to ask for your hand, and to wed you in spring.”

Your heart thundered in your chest at his words. “I’m…ruined. You don’t want me, or my bastard child.”

“I will love it like my own, my love,” he kissed your cheek. “You are not ruined, princess. Only a little broken. But we can fix this. I got my heart broken once too. We will heal together.”

“My lord, the babe…it’s not yours…I can’t…you can’t.”

“It’s cold, let’s head back to the castle and get you warm. I’ll call for a healer…”

“Not a word about her condition except for the cold,” Lord Barnes warned the healer. “If you say a word about the other thing,” he patted his sword, “you won’t be able to spend all the gold you’ll get.”

“Not a word,” the healer nodded and walked back inside your room.

“Marry my daughter?” Your father eyed Lord Barnes warily. He came back a few days after Prince Steven and he left the castle. Alone, and with a grim expression. “But…what about the prince?”

“He’s a foolish man, my king,” Lord Barnes growled. “He lost his heart one too many times to a pretty face. I cherish your daughter, her grace, and her kindness. If you allow me to woo her, I’ll be forever grateful. I’m not a prince but love her dearly.”

“She admires you too,” the king replied. “She talked about you, and that you love to read as much as she does. If my daughter agrees, I’ll agree on your bond.”

Lord Barnes didn’t wait until spring to wed you. He insisted on marrying you within another month.

You watched him with sad eyes as he desperately tried to fix his friend’s mistake.

“Lord Barnes, you can still find a better bride,” you took his hand to press a soft kiss on his knuckles. “I’m thankful that you tried to save my honor, but I cannot make you miserable for the rest of your life.”

“My love,” he whispered. “I fell for you the first time we met. If only I knew about Steven’s plans, I wouldn’t have stepped back and let him woo for you.”

“It’s not your fault, only mine,” you sniffled, and wiped your eyes. “I wasn’t raised to become a wench. I decided to let him do this to me…”

“Y/N, you’re not a w-.” He shook his head. “Never use that word again,” he angrily said. “He was the one stealing the light from you. You’re still an innocent angel.”

“I know that I’m not,” you hid your face in his shoulder, allowing yourself to let the mask you wear so well slip. “You’ll get damaged goods, my Lord.”

“Call me James, or Bucky, my love,” he gently rubbed your back. “I promise, you are far from damaged goods for me. You are going to be my wife and I’ll love you. And the babe will get all my love too. They are going to mine.”

“What a beautiful pair, don’t you think?” Your mother asked. “She looks happy, my love.”

Your father smiled wildly as he watched you and your groom share the first dance. You smiled and laughed as Bucky twirled you around.

“I was worried about our daughter for a while. Prince Steven’s departure left her heartbroken,” the king held out his hand for his wife. “Let us join them and celebrate their union.”

The queen smiled and took your father’s offered hand. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

A mother always knows when her child is in need.

She will never break her promise to herself and tell her husband that she saw you at the river when Lord Barnes saved you, or that she heard what you confessed.

“He is a good man, my love,” the queen whispered. “Our beloved daughter couldn't find a better man.”

While everyone celebrated your wedding and danced, Steven stood in a corner, watching you and his best friend happy together.

He squared his jaw and balled his hands into fists. His heart dropped watching Margaret and your brother join you on the dance floor.

Everything he did was in vain…

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers angst #bucky barnes #buckybarnesbingo2023 #steverogersbingo #anyfandomfluffbingo #prince!steve rogers #royal!bucky barnes #royal au #angst #tw: attempted suicide

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misguidedasgardian · 3 years

Text

My love, his duty // Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: You finally arrive to your new home, but the King himself seems further away

Pairing: King!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader (very ambiguously described)

Chapter Warnings: Cursing

+18 please. (but just for future explicit sex scenes)

Word Count (Chapter): 3.6k

Notes: Ooops this is a long one, I wanted to cramble all of her arrival in this one, since they are like small scenes

Couldn´t wait any longer to share this jiji

Steve spurred his horse beneath him, to start his journey back to you.

Was he bothered by this? No, he wasn't

Since the second he saw you, he thought you were the most amazing creature he had laid eyes upon.

But he also sensed your distress, you were growing frustrated, and bored, even if you rejected him and his invitation, you needed this. So did his friend and King, Bucky needed you, the Kingdom needed a Queen

He reached your holdfast at noon after he left the capital at the break of dawn.

He dismounted his steed, leaving at the hands of a young boy that worked the stables, and ran inside the castle, he couldn't wait anymore

Your loyal chambermaid Wanda has almost jumped him

“It's happening” he said, as he knew perfectly you hold her close to your own heart, “The King wants to marry her” he confined in her, the cheery redhead couldn't help but giggle at excitement

“She is in the library at her daily lessons” she said hastily. And that's where Steve went with long strodes

The lonely guard you had at the door knocked on the door as soon as he saw him, and proceeded to open the door and announce him

“His Grace, Steven Rogers” you perked up your head from the big book you were studying to look at him, surprised to see him

“Your Grace” you said, standing from your chair. He vowed to you to show you his respects

“Your Highness” he said, “I came with glorious purpose, and great news” He was so excited you could feel it

“Please Your Grace” you hurried, did he mean…?

“I´m here to escort you to the Capitol at once, were you will marry the King” you certainly wasn't expecting that

“Wanda, it's time you met with your brother again, would you come with me? be my lady in waiting, but most importantly, my confidant and my dearest friend?”

“I will happily do so” you hugged her tightly, and when you released her, she bowed and left you to go and get her things. So you turned to Lord Barton

“I will not ask of you to come with me” you muttered, an apologetic look on your face “You, My lord Barton, in the capital, away from this green fields, clear skies, and endless hunting grounds, seem to me as to put a Lion on a cage”

“Thank you Your Highness” he said with a chuckle “you are, as most times, right”

“However” you said, smiling widely “you have on me a friend, and when your sons and daughter come of age, if you ever want favors to be made on their behalf, you just write to me”

“I could never be able to repay you for your kindness” he said, looking straight at your eyes

“You have done plenty” you muttered “teaching me so many things, and stand me” you both laughed

“Serving you was the honor of my life” you gave him a smile

“I hope this isn´t a permanent Goodbye but just a “see you soon” you giggled

“See you soon your Highness” he said with a wide smile

As you parted from all the people who had cared for you during this 5 years, couldn't help but a few tears scape your eyes, you were going to miss them dearly

“Is this all your Highness?” Steven asked, surprised, as he looked at your small court, Wanda as your only companion of your chambers, a couple of guards, as the cooks, the people that tend to the castle such as gardeners, the people that tends to the stables, and Clint and his own guards and family would remain here

“I do think it is” you said with a small smile

“Are you sure you are not more comfortable in your carriage?” he asked

“I´m certain, if anything changes, I´ll let you know” he smiled kindly at you

“Let 's do this then”

You rode in silence, as you took in the environment around you, the views, and the sweet spring breeze. You felt Steve´s gaze burning you, but you didn't dare to look back at him

Only hours later when you saw the Capitol at a distance, you dared to look at him

“Tell me about the King” you asked Steve, as you ride beside him, he looked at you and smiled

“Well, what would you like to know?”

“How is he?”

“His Majesty is a man fair and just”

“Is he nice?” you asked

“Nice? Well, yes, with those closest to him, you know that as a king he needs to be strong”

“Oh” you said “is he good?”

“His Majesty is the living image of goodness and strength” she nodded

“How old is he?”

“His majesty celebrated his 29 years” he was 10 years your senior, you gripped the reins of your horse tighter

“How old are you, your highness?” of course he sense you were uneasy

“19” you said, and you smiled coyly at him “Is he tall?”

“He is as tall as me”

“Very, then” you said

“Indeed” he said, not letting his eyes trailed from your form, you felt it “he is what the ladies would call, handsome, he has dark hair, and blue eyes” you blushed, not daring to look at him

“Does he enjoy riding?”

“He does your Highness”

“What else does he like to do?”

“He likes hunting”

“I like hunting!” you said cheerfully “maybe we could go hunting together!” you were excited, that he enjoyed two of the things you liked as well

“I bet his Majesty would like that very much” he affirmed

“Does he read?”

“He has a huge library, plagued with the arts of the most venerated authors, some even, in latin”

“That's amazing” you celebrated, and you were relieved to know he did read, hinting he was smart, and he enjoyed riding, just like you, and he was handsome

As you crossed the capitol´s walls your small caravan was slowed down by curious people, all of them coming out of their houses to look at you. Steve had come with royal guards and carriages, sporting the flags of his majesty´s.

It was a Royal affair and everyone knew it

Your guards sported your colours as well, very well known throughout the kingdom, so people started chanting as you were passing

“Long live the King!”

“Welcome home Princess” you heard amongst the crowds, and you couldn't help but smile widely and salute with your hand, hoping your poor horse would not be spooked by the people, the city and the noise

But soon you left the town behind, as you crossed the thick walls of the keep of the greatest castle you had seen. You saw a group of people gathered on the gates that lead to the Castle

You look impatiently, gaze upon everyone that waited for you, even leaning in your horse just so you could watch, but there wasn't anyone with a crown waiting for you

“I'm sorry your highness” said Steve by your side “it seems his majesty isn't here to greet you” you saw what looked like sorrow in his eyes, but couldn´t ve sure

“He is not even here?” you couldn't hide your disappointment. You felt Steve´s gaze upon you but you didn't look back, you rode your horse to the very entrance of the castle, where one of your guards was hasty to help you dismount.

A tall blonde fellow approached you.

“Your Royal Highness” greeted a man with a deep vow “I´m his majesty's chancellor, they call me the Vision, and it has fallen upon me to receive your Royal Highness in this magnificent, and historical day” he vowed again, as you look upon Steven by your side, you showed your respects by vowing all the same

“It's a pleasure to be in the capital of this magnificent Kingdom” you said strongly, to make sure everyone heard “and to finally by acquainted by his majesty the King”

“I´m afraid our Majesty had pressing matters to attend to” he said, not looking you in the face “but he has make sure everything is ready for your arrival”

“His Majesty is of the most gracious nature” you said. As he led you into the castle. You looked back to search for Steve, but as you found him he vowed to you

“I leave your Highness in good hands” you nodded and he retired from your view to one of the corridors

As you follow the chancellor through the corridors, and your small court behind you, you tried to take as much of the castle in as you could, all the walls and floors where of a clear sand color, and every corner was filled with tapestries, carpets, portraits and such

It was magnificent indeed

“This, are the Queen's chambers” he said clearly, presenting you in front of a double door, itself was decorated with wooden leafs and flowers “our Majesty has said it was more pressing that you settle here at once, the wedding itself and the coronation being so close at hand”

“Thank you Chancellor” two guards posted at the doors opened for you leading to your receiving hall.

“This is her highness receiving hall” it was a tremendous space, provided a fireplace, a big table for your meals and entertainment of guests, and a small living room, and space you just figure it could be used for dancing, in the opposite side of the room where another double doors, as you walked towards them, and opened yourself, you found your bedchambers. the predominal colors were purple, dark mahogany, and the sand color of the walls and floors

“This is magnificent” you muttered. Looking at everything as you could, this is where you´ll live, where you’ll sleep, this is where you´ll lay with the King and conceive and have his children, this is where you most likely going to die even

Your where interrumpted in your pondering by a cough made by the chancellor, on purpose, to gain your attention, you turned around and where meet with a group of young women, well, they looked older than yourself, but they were still young

“This would be your ladies in waiting” presented The Vision “Lady Jane” a thin woman with brunette hair vowed to you “Lady Natasha” she vowed, a beautiful woman with crimson hair “Lady Sharon” a blonde woman vowed “and Lady Sarah” that must be Lord Wilson´s sister

“I'm most grateful for you ladies, and your service” you said, you looked at Wanda, who remained by the door, and you made a gesture to go to her, as she met you halfway. you took her hand “this is Lady Wanda, my chambermaid and from now on, leading lady in waiting” they all nodded

“Really?” she asked, as she wasn't able to hide her excitement, you giggle as did she

“Of course” you said

“I'll leave alone to get settled” said The Vision, bowing to her, it was followed by all their men, gentlemen, guards and ladies that were going to serve her in her chambers

“In exchange for your good service and loyalty” you claimed “I offer you my protection, my gratitud, and my word, that I might help you as you did me, and help you find fine gentlemen and ladies for you to wed” you looked at each of their faces, and they seemed happy, relaxed, comfortable

“So, how is she?” Bucky asked Steve as he entered his private chamber

“It was disappointing for her to not see you”

“That isn't an answer”

“She is great, I left her with Vision, he is taking her to her chambers”

“The Queen's chambers”

“Indeed“

“I thought it was best for her to settle there at once, to make herself comfortable, she is to settle there anyways”

“It was a smart choice”

“Steve”

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“How is she, really?”

“She is like a small child, looking everything with wonder in her eyes, everything new to her, she is a little scared, but she is brave enough“ he stopped as his own tale, to look at the floor and smile, “We pass through the city, and the people, they chanted for her”

“Really?”

“They said, “Welcome home princess”

“I like that, the people have to see their Queen, and they shall love her” he paused as well, searching for the adequate words, “Is she… pretty?” he turned around to finally look at his friend, and Steve chuckled, his King, a man that had led armies, killed many men and protect this entire country, his friend, was nervous

“Her Highness is of great beauty, big beautiful eyes that shine when something amuses her or talks about something she likes, her smile is sparkling, wide and makes her cheeks dimpled, her nose is finely shaped, and he manages to wrinkle it when she is uncomfortable, her hair flows behind her as she walks”

“Calm down Steve” he said, already relaxed “she is to be my wife” Steve chuckled, trying to hide how much he let himself ramble and what that meant

“She is 19 years old” said Steve

“I know” he said “that's why I´ve been waiting”

“That she became of age?”

“Of course!” he said, impressed and shocked that his friend would think otherwise “you know her father sent her to me when she was just 14 and I just became King, claiming she had already became a woman”

“That's awful”

“I managed to play dumb, give her more time, she is barely a Lady now, but time is up”

“She is ready” said Steve “She will be a great Queen, but she needs guidance”

“I´ll give her everything she needs, as soon as I put that crown in her head I'll appoint a chancellor to see to her, and I already have the man for the job” Steve nods, his “Lord” face on, serious, calculating, fierce “and you too, there is no one that I trust more in this entire world than you, Steve, I need you to be close to her, you know of the uprisings of some lord's up north, now more than ever, we need to be strong”

“I'll protect and guide her” he said, bowing

“Thank you Steve” his blonde friend smiled widely, and Bucky chuckled, knowing what was coming

“She asked about you as well” Steve said

“What did you tell her?”

“That you were tall, and handsome, she asked if you were good, and nice”

“Did you tell her the truth?” he asked, amused

“Well, yes”

“Does she hate me yet?”

“She wants to meet you, I told her you were nice to those closest to you, that you were just, but kind, and good” he chuckled, mockingly “it´s true Bucky”

“Yeah sure, I want to see her too”

“Good”

“She´ll be brought to me tomorrow, at the throne room, we´ll prepare a feast in her honor”

“With all the courts and such?”

“They need to see their future Queen”

“Do you think that is wise?”

“She is to be Queen, I need to see her strength, above all in a situation as stressful as that”

“Very well then”

“Come with me” you said as you grabbed Wanda´s hand and started walking

“Where are we going?”

“I want to explore the castle” you said turning without stopping to talk to her “It would be great since you too are seeing it for the first time” The young page appointed to look after you also followed, young and nervous

“What was your name?” you asked turning around to see him

“Peter, your Highness”

“Have you been to all parts of the castle Peter?” you asked

“Most of them, my lady”

“Great, so you´ll make sure we don´t get lost” both ladies giggled as they began their journey through the gigantic castle.

Bucky was in his private chambers, reviewing some terms of a treaty of commerce with a neighboring kingdom, he was trying to focus, but couldn´t, his mind trailed to his future bride. He was nervous. He was going to be married for life to her, even if she passed the scrutiny of three of his closests friends with flying colours. This young woman will have his children, he was going to be his Queen, the protector of his country

He sighed while he rubbed his face with his hands

His train of thought was interrupted by giggles and little steps just outside his door, two feminine voices whispering.

He knew the few ladies that remained unmarried in the castle, and also knew no one would dare to do such things in such proximity to his chambers, also the maids and servants. He was curious, and waited till the voices faded. and slowly opened his doors, and followed the sound and voices

When he turned the corner he saw two ladies, and Peter the young page trotting behind their quick steps, one was a redhead, dressed as a lady in waiting, and the other… He stopped in his tracks, a tiara rested in her head, she was the princess!

He drew a sharp breath, knowing they were scouting the castle, he found it adorable. He smiled knowing they were going to the chambers he used to meet lords and other important people, and he also had secret passages that went in that direction and all through the castle

He started following them, through the passages. He needed to see her, how she was when no one was after her.

She managed to get a glimpse of her through a vent, as she was travelling the hall of the King. It was a large hall that connected the left wing of the castle, his chambers, his Queen´s and the most important chambers for reunions were there. The entire hall was decorated with huge portraits of all Kings and Queens that ruled before him.

“This is King´s James Father” said her lady in waiting, she turned and he finally saw her. She was beautiful, it took his breath away

“They said he was a great King” she said softly, his ears filled with her delightful voice “I wish I had met him”

“And this is his Queen”

“She was gorgeous” she said, with a wide smile, and Steve was right, her smile was beautiful and made her eyes sparkle

“They said the King takes after her” said her mischievous companion, making her giggle

“Steve told me he had dark hair and blue eyes, and ladies called him handsome, and he was tall as he is”

“You are lucky then” he had to cover his own mouth for his chuckle not to be heard. Her lady´s and her own arm were intertwined, and they talked freely between them. They were friends. “Where do you think he hung the portrait you sent him?”

“Please don´t remember me” they both laughed “I hope he didn't hang it in a very public space”

“I don't think he would, the ladies haven't seen it”

“We´ve been in this castle less than a day. How many people have you met?” she said, amused

“I'm very resourceful” they giggled again

“Oh I love you Wanda, you are my only company”

“You´ll meet more people, you´ll marry, and he will introduced all lords and ladies, and you´ll make friends”

“Let's hope so”

He couldn't listen anymore, he felt he was betraying her, he came back to his chambers through the secret corridors, he was calmed now, pleased even.

His future Queen was a beautiful lady, Sam was right, she eclipsed all the other ladies at court, she was smart, and she was nice, good, her relationship with her lady told him many things about her character, and she was innocent, too innocent and sweet. Dangerous characteristics for a Queen, well, she will learn in time

You felt your hands clammy, as you toyed with your own fingers, intertwined them together

“My Lady don't be frightened” said Lady Natasha by your side, capturing your attention “his majesty has a kind nature, and he is been waiting for you, he desires to meet you” she gave you a reassuring smile and you felt comforted

“Thank you, your words give me comfort” you gave her a sincere smile, for her kind words

The trumpets interrupted your friendly exchange, as they announced you

“Her Royal Highness Princess (Y/N) of the house (Y/L/N)” the double doors opened before you. And just like that, your were shoved into Brook´s court, and at the far end of the great hall, seated in his single throne, there he was, The King

You walked with small steps, focusing on your breathing, or else it was going to get caught in your throat. You must have looked like a scared little deer, you saw all the looks and gazes anchored in your figure, as you moved through the corridor made by the court. You looked fleetingly at all the big hall, it was decorated with banners of your house, and the King´s, behind all the curious lords and ladies, were tables full of food, and wine. It was a Banquet, a feast, in your honor. As you looked towards the Throne you recognize Lord Wilson, and Stark, and Steve, all standing next to the throne, and they all smiled at you

And before you noticed, you were a few feet away from him

You bowed deeply, as you raised your gaze to look at him

He was as handsome as everyone said. His hair was long, drawn back and held by his golden crown, his eyes were icy blue, and looked at you making you want to hide from his gaze.

“Your Majesty” you muttered

“Please raise” Your rose to your feet again, and you finally lifted your head “You are most welcome here, Princess”

“It's an honour to make your acquaintance, My King”

Taglist! <3 @ boofy1998 , @ scxrletrecsmarvel @ itsthemaree @connie326 @enchantedbarnes @scxrletrecsmarvel @ itsthemaree

#medievalau #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #buckybarnes x reader #buckybarnes x you #king!bucky #king!buckybarnes #fluff #smut #steve rogers #duke!steve #bucky fanfic #fanfic #medievalfanfic #misguidedmylove

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donutloverxo · 3 years

Text

A Royal scandal 4

Modern royalty au

Image from Instagram

cowritten with @lizzygal

Note - There will be no taglists for this. You can subscribe to the ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia, talks of virginity.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7.8k

Story masterlist

Valkyrie, or simply Val, watched the entire thing unfold before her eyes and was helpless to stop any of it. All of it. All she could do was watch. Much like one would watch a train accident happen before their very eyes.

She had tried. In truth she had.

However, Sarah was the Queen Mother and Val was a member of the Royal Guard.

There was little she could do.

“Your Majesty,” she purred one last time, in one last attempt to save a situation that she knew deep in her heart was not going to go well at all. “Perhaps you would prefer to go inside and I’ll bring them into the reception area?”

Everything was wrong. So very wrong.

Outside the palace was normally empty.

As it was located in the center of the capital. An old historic building from imperial days that covered numerous city blocks, was where the government was run and where King Steven resided. Press knew better than to hang around outside the imposing palace gates as the king never left out them and was uninterested in opportunities to have his picture taken. As did the Queen Mother.

And yet, that morning, a whole gaggle of photographers were lined up and waiting for the visiting royals. Or so they had shared with Val.

Her Grace, Hope van Dyne, never went anywhere without getting her picture taken. In Val’s opinion, she probably had the phone number to every tabloid office in the world.

Sarah’s voice was kind. Soft. Gentle. It made Val want to wrap her queen up in a blanket and make her go inside so she could deal with their unwelcome guests. She stood beside Val at the top of the steps of the palace, provided with a great view of the black sedan that had pulled in through the gates. The flashiest possible way to enter the palace instead of through the underground garage like everyone else.

“Oh no. That’s hardly necessary. They wanted a scene. Let us give them one.”

Not liking the sounds of that at all, her brown eyes flickered over to look at the slim woman with a head of artfully styled strawberry blonde curls, a button nose and rose petal lips. She was every bit as regal as her title, even if she had not a drop of royal blood in her body.

“You can’t think that they actually called the press to say that the Duchess Hope was the woman with His Majesty on the video from the royal banya?”

Sarah’s cool blue gaze flickered to her royal bodyguard before returning back to the sedan so she could observe her former friend climb out, followed by her raven-haired daughter who waved to the photographers on the other side of the iron gates.

That was exactly what Sarah suspected the second she’d seen it in the morning paper. Though she doubted she would ever find out who had started that rumor.

“Have you found out why they’re here?”

Grimacing, Valkyrie shook her head, unhappy to not have an answer for her queen beneath the cloudy chilly winter day. “Not yet Your Majesty. We have reached out to the Maharaja’s Staff and are waiting to hear back. Soon though we suspect.”

Any second now Val hoped her phone would ring so she could tell the queen.

Which led to Sarah turning her head to look away from her guests as they climbed the stairs. She looked away from the large fountain that the sleek luxury car was parked beside and gave her last true smile for what she suspected would be till lunch. Reaching out, she placed her hand on Valkyrie’s wrist. One of her preferred bodyguards. She’d been loyal and had on two occasions nearly given her life in service of her country. “I trust you will find out and inform me as soon as possible. Do not fret. I doubt they will be leaving anytime in the near future.”

Only a lifetime of service kept Val from cracking a smile.

Instead, her dark eyes watched the silver haired Queen of the Netherlands climb the steps towards them. Smiling. Dressed expensively with a heavy coat made from numerous small furry animals.

Queen Janet van Dyne approached as if it hadn’t been years. She came to stand beside Sarah and greet her in such a way that would make for a perfect picture. Or so Sarah noticed. She greeted her as if they were still friends who spoke frequently on the phone and still sent one another gifts. As if their children had married and everything was fine.

“Sarah! How wonderful to see you, you have not aged a day.”

Janet reached out with gloved hands trimmed in mink, leaned forward to place a polite kiss on Sarah’s cheek in greeting and was more than a little surprised when Sarah stepped away. Her own hands remaining clasped in front of her and out of Janet’s. Greeting or otherwise.

“Janet,” was all that came from Sarah’s mouth. A look went from Janet’s coat down to her dress and then shoes, pausing there before coming back up. “Is that the dress you wore to Lizzie’s grandson’s wedding?”

Surprised by the greeting, or lack thereof, Janet paused and then smiled brightly, knowing that though the cameras could not hear them they could capture this image on film. “Yes. We’re focusing on becoming sustainable out in the west. Going green isn’t merely a project meant as royal busywork.”

Sarah could actually feel Valkyrie stiffen beside her at mention of the Green Initiative that Steve had tasked her with and had been far from busywork. It was something that Sarah could go on and on about, one of her many efforts that she busied herself with and yet, she found she didn’t want to expend that much energy on her once friend.

Hands still in front of her, fingers laced together where she could feel her wedding band. Sarah tilted her head slightly to the side. “I wouldn’t know. We remain a governing monarchy here.”

Janet blanched. Her lips formed a straight line, nearly as straight as the way her spine stiffened.

Though Sarah was unable to enjoy it as she turned her attention to the daughter. Hope van Dyne. Formerly Princess Hope but now Duchess Hope, after having been stripped of her title and recently reinstated to a lesser one, in Sarah’s opinion anyway.

Hope looked lovely as ever.

Tanned. Dressed exceptionally well. Smiling exuberantly.

It almost warmed Sarah’s icy heart.

“Sarah! How are you? You look wonderful!” Exclaimed Hope, sounding genuinely thrilled to see the woman who might have been her mother-in-law had things gone differently. She stepped on up with outstretched arms and was greeted with a serene face that looked at her in confusion.

Sarah said nothing. Not a word. Sarah maintained eye contact and looked at Hope as if waiting for the younger woman to say or do something.

Thus leading to Hope blinking in confusion and lowering her arms, looking to her mother for assistance as this clearly was not the welcome she expected.

“Is something wrong,” Hope asked a bit nervously as a winter breeze ruffled the fur on her mother’s coat. Sneaking under the cashmere of her own, as she hadn’t had time to properly shop for winter here. This was her mother’s idea. It was her last hope. Her father had refused to hear her and not even her mother could plead her case this time. This was it.

“I was about to ask you the same.”

Val watched Hope’s confusion and fought hard to not say anything at all, and it was becoming painful to watch in her opinion. Her gaze veered over to all the photographers that were watching more than taking pictures. Even they seemed to realize this visit was not starting off smoothly.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

Val risked a look over at her queen. Her queen who was peering at the young woman who had referred to Val’s people as ‘war criminals’ or ‘superstitious backwoods fools.’

Unable to take another moment of it, Valkyrie cleared her throat.

Finally making Sarah take mercy on Hope who really should have known better in her opinion. “In civilized societies, a duchess would curtsey to a queen. Perhaps things are different for those who are merely ceremonial in purpose.”

***

Someone called your name and for a second, you were terrified that Wanda had come for your ass.

Not that you could blame the best friend you’d had since high school.

Upon heading into the offices of the royal palace that morning, you had intentionally avoided her , secure in the knowledge that she was pissed at you and you really did not want to have the fight you knew was coming someplace public like the office.

So, you’d been groveling via text and promising to go out with her that night for a girls night, swearing on your honor that you would tell her everything! Because Wanda was no fool.

Wanda saw the new dress you had on. Wanda saw your new shoes. Wanda noticed your perfect makeup and styled hair. Wanda also brought up the facts that you’d not been home that night or early morning, as well as the crucial one regarding your flatiron that was still in the bathroom the two of you shared.

Needless to say, you had a lot of explaining to do.

There was no getting around it. You were going to have to tell her about Steve. Sure, you’d swear her to secrecy until everything came out. The palace had made its announcement this morning about King Steven being in a relationship that he would make public soon. A second public statement had come from the Palace PR Guru, Maria Hill, stating that without a doubt, the king was not involved with Duchess Hope after a few rumors had burnt their way through the palace and news cycles.

Besides, Wanda should know. Wanda deserved to know. You and Wanda had come on this adventure post university together. Wanda had to know before it came out in the form of an official palace announcement, or else Wanda might very well skin you alive.

Hearing your name on a female tongue had you snapping up, your attention diverted away from the emails you were checking.

Wanda?

No.

It was not Wanda.

It was an Indian woman in a well-tailored pantsuit. Her dark hair was swept up in a chignon. Her lips a shade of red that had you lowkey thinking about asking for the name and shade of said lipstick. Her dark eyes bore right through you. As if spearing you from your chair and to the wall of your office.

“You are the King’s Chief of Staff?”

While your natural first instinct was to report that was what it said on your door. Professional-you put the kibosh on that right away. Inner you was somewhat intimidated by this powerful woman who looked as if she knew your every last secret.

Head held high this woman so informed you in a tone that let you know she was here for nothing less. “The Maharaja has sent us. Duchess Hope of the Netherlands has stolen from us and is here with the intention of pleading political asylum. While the Maharaja would like nothing more than to have her brought back for trial of the theft of our priceless treasures. I will settle for what was taken and no less.”

Ok. Well. Maybe you thought too soon.

Maybe Wanda was preferrable over this person.

“Oh…goody…” came from your lips with a frown.

“General Odinson sent me here. He told me that you would be able to help resolve this issue for me post haste.”

Oh of course General Fucking Thor Odinson would send this person your way so he didn’t have to deal with this international nightmare of an incident.

Letting out a deep breath, you held up a finger. “Let me just send this out real quick…what’s your name?” And you typed as quickly as humanly possible on your encrypted laptop.

“Ekta. I am with the Maharaja’s Royal Guard.”

Because of course she was. Why wouldn’t she be? Why wouldn’t Hope have stolen from the Maharaja and bounced? Though you’d never had the pleasure of meeting her face to face, you’d heard more than your share about the infamous Duchess, then Princess, Hope.

Typing. Typing. Typing.

“You’ve got any pictures or detailed descriptions of what the items stolen look like? I’m sure His Majesty will be very curious. And, you know, the more information of what we’re looking for the better.”

And done.

With a tap on your laptop, you’d sent out an email to the Finance Minister. Then up you stood.

“Of course,” Ekta answered coolly.

Not that you blamed her. If you were in her shoes, you would have been super pissed off too. Being robbed was never fun.

“Let’s go see if we can track down His Majesty. If not, we’ll make an appointment with his secretary and then go see who is in the office of our Royal Guard. Someone is always in there and I know that Carol, she’s Captain of the Guard, is working right now.” You explained, as if you felt that telling this unhappy woman all these things could somehow make everything right. Probably not. But you still had to try. It was in your nature to fix problems and you most definitely wanted to fix this problem.

Ekta said nothing.

She merely followed you out of your office and into the hallway which was lined with doors and walls of tasteful and probably expensive original art.

You looked to the left.

Then to the right and nearly died then and there at your luck.

How had you gotten so lucky?

There, mere feet away and closing, was not just Carol but His Majesty, deep in discussion about something that was irritating them both.

You had an inkling that you knew what was at the heart of their discussion.

The sight of you made them stop talking and pause in their tracks, which told you that you had been the one that they were seeking.

Before anything could be done, you bowed. “Your Majesty, just the person I was hoping to find.” Up you flourished your hand to gesture at Ekta, who you could feel was beside you, practically putting off rays of righteousness. “We have a visitor from the Maharaja’s Royal Guard. This is Ekta. She is here because of something that concerns the Duchess Hope.”

The reaction that came was almost immediate from both Steve and Carol.

A look as if Steve had suddenly smelled a dead animal came over his face. Carol however cocked her hip to the side, lifted her chin in a dark blue pantsuit, almost demanding in a knowing sort of way. “What’d she steal from you guys? Art or jewelry?”

For the first time ever, you noted a moment of Ekta’s veneer breaking. Like she was taken off balance. “The duchess stole from you too?” Then, almost as an afterthought came, “Your Majesty?”

And this was news to you too.

You had no idea that Hope had taken souvenirs with her that weren’t free to take when she fled the Royal Palace for India all those years ago.

When Steve spoke, his teeth were clearly clenched together. “Yes. Both. She raided my mother’s room as well as the halls for art and pieces that are priceless. Sacred treasures from my countries history that can never be replaced. She filled her suitcase with on her way out.”

“Every now and then an item will appear on the black market. We can only assume that she is selling them when she is in need of money.” Carol helpfully added.

Beside you, you could practically feel Ekta tremble. Shake out of control one could say.

“Is the Duchess Hope here?”

For that you had no answer.

Carol however had one. “Yes. Her Majesty is taking tea out in the gardens with the Duchess Hope and her own mother.”

After being brought abreast of that development, you had a statement to make. One you thought was obvious. But none-the-less, out it came. Maybe none of them knew? “It’s snowing outside.”

Thus leading Steve to turn his attention on you. Finally. And when he did so, he looked at you as if you were only his Chief of Staff. He looked at you kindly without the heat in his eyes from earlier that morning, when he’d woken you up by pushing himself deep into your body until the both of you reached a climax that made your eyes cross and left an impression of his teeth broken into your shoulder.

“Yes. Mother wanted to be sure that the Duchess Hope did not steal anything else from within the palace walls whilst they are here.”

Well then.

Even you had to admit. The Queen Mother could be downright frosty when the occasion called for it. Pun intended.

“She’s having tea with Queen Janet and Duchess Hope outside? In the frigid temperatures?”

You couldn’t quite make yourself believe it. You blinked. You looked from Steve who appeared casual after his statement, like he just told you the winters here were cold. Over to Carol who was pulling out her phone from her pocket. Acting like you hadn’t said anything out of the normal.

“Your Majesty, I’ll take care of Ekta and deal with this issue. If anything arrives concerning this issue. I will contact you. Nakia will come fill my place today.”

If Steve was greatly upset by any of his, he made no outward indication of it other than a nod of his head that he both heard and understood and accepted what Carol had told him. His attention was instead focused on you.

“I have a meeting concerning the Switzerland trip about the proposed embassy. Go get your notes. You’ll be joining me.”

***

Her Grace, the Duchess Hope van Dyne, had finally made it in the palace after that psycho, the Queen Mother Sarah, had the audacity to serve tea in the garden as flakes of snow drifted down. And if that weren’t barbaric enough, afterwards, she then led them around the winter garden as if Hope gave a damn.

Hope had problems and Queen Sarah was not very receptive to any of her attempts to thaw the ice that had formed around Sarah’s heart. Nor did her mother, Janet, have much luck.

When did Sarah turn into such a bitch?

Sarah should have been ecstatic that Hope would even return to this shithole. Sarah’s son was still single, he needed a queen and his backwoods hovel wanted a queen and Hope had royal blood. What more did Sarah need? Did she need it written down?

When did Sarah turn into such a horrible host?

Hope remembered a distinctively different Sarah. When she had lived in this palace, Steve’s mother had coddled her, practically waited on her hand and foot to be sure that Hope was happy and settling in so far from civilization. Where was that Sarah now?

Somehow, Hope had managed to break away, pleading a need to use the powder room around the time her toes and fingers went numb. As she hadn’t had the time to properly shop for clothes to wear in this frigid shithole. India had been so gloriously warm. She’d loved India. Hope would have loved to stay there but things had gone south.

Eventually, like everything else, it’d blow over.

Until then though, she needed someplace safe to stay. She needed to stay somewhere that the Maharaja couldn’t get her. What she needed was diplomatic immunity. However, that wasn’t going to happen since her father refused to even see her, so she’d just have to settle for sovereign immunity. Granted, Hope hadn’t expected it to be this difficult to see Steven and tell him that she was ready to get married now. For crying out loud, he should have been groveling at her feet for her to come back to him. Especially after that sex tape which had been burning up the internet and royal circles. If there was anything that Hope could do, it was bounce back from a scandal.

This was just ridiculous.

The Queen Mother should have been inviting them to this lunch with her son, instead of practically throwing Hope and Janet out. Which was exactly why Hope was wandering the halls in the search for Steven’s office. Toes tingling in her fashionable pumps. Her fingers burning from the warm air in the administrative offices.

Hope would need a whole new wardrobe once she got Steven onboard with her plan. As his current plan of ignoring the sex tape was absurd. These things needed to be tackled head on. With her as his queen by his side, Hope could handle all of it.

Ah, she found herself pleased at the sight of the royal seal over a doorway marking it as the king’s office.

Valkyrie followed her closely. That bitch.

As soon as Hope was queen, she’d be one of the first on the firing block. Following her around like some manner of commoner who might fill their pockets with royal gold. It was absurd. Hope was born a princess and one day she would become one again.

Hope remembered Valkyrie from when she was a young member of the guard and now, she was a Captain and just as irreprehensible as Carol, who Hope also despised. Both of them had to go. Reaching out with a hand that held a ring belonging to the sister of the Maharaja, Hope opened the door and marched right into the office of Steven’s secretary. Who was apparently gone for lunch.

Not that the room was empty.

Nakia, who had been seated on a couch in the office, stood. Dressed in a dark blue suit that all the royal guard wore. Her face stony at the sight of Hope and then darkened further in disgust. She stood tall. Regally. Holding her head high when she spoke down to the former princess. “The king is busy.”

Not that Hope would settle for anything less than seeing Steven in person immediately. She stepped forward. “The king is having lunch with his mother in fifteen minutes. I know for a fact he’s not doing anything of importance. Get out of my way, or I’ll have you selling souvenirs from a cart outside the palace when I am queen.”

At such a statement, Nakia found herself wanting to both laugh and spit in the face of this western woman. One who had referred to her people and country as little more than a backwoods hellhole full of illiterate stone pounders.

How often Nakia had dreamt of being so close to the Duchess Hope, how she thought of ripping out this woman’s forked tongue.

“Let her in,” came Valkyrie’s voice in their native tongue from the eastern regions of the land.

Sending Nakia’s dark eyes past Hope. A knowing expression claimed her features. “His Majesty is in there waiting for our queen.”

A shrug came from the senior guardswoman.

Nakia would be the first to admit, she had not been hopeful when the crown prince had been coronated as a teenager. No one in the country had been particularly hopeful but now, nearly everyone supported their king. His Majesty was a good king who served them all as much as they served him.

Nakia was protective of her king. She wanted her king to marry his Chief of Staff yesterday. Her land was in need of a queen, a woman’s touch one could say.

Knowing what was at stake with the coming lunch that her king would attend with his mother and lover, a visit from the Duchess Hope would not put him in the best of moods. The Queen Mother always grew quiet when King Steven was in such a mood. Why would Nakia allow such a thing to happen?

“Perhaps if he tells her she isn’t wanted here she’ll leave sooner? Let her in. That is an order.”

Pursing her lips unhappily, Nakia stepped back.

She wasn’t about to open the door to His Majesty’s office for this interloper. However, she would no longer stand in the way. Nakia even made sure to send a look that screamed impending homicidal violence. Spurring Hope quickly through the door without another syllable directed at Nakia.

Which was fine with Hope.

Hope couldn’t get away from Nakia quick enough.

Wanting distance sent Hope into the king’s large office without much thought. Looking as if it belonged in an old Victorian estate with dark wood, so many books, old art and thick dark Turkish Rugs.

What Hope did not expect was how much the prince had grown.

No longer a gangly young man whose mother had to have padding sewn into the robes that he was coronated in. This man sitting at his desk was big in every way. Exuding power in a manner that most could only dream and for a second, seeing Steven look at her with shocking blue eyes and stubble darkening his face, she was rendered speechless.

“What do you want Hope,” came Steven’s voice, more than a little annoyed. Far more emotion than she’d ever seen from the young man. Who was now very obviously a man.

This was not the Steven she remembered.

Before her was not the young man she remembered at all. Every last bit of him was very much a king and Hope suddenly, possibly for the first time in her life, found herself regretting many of the past choices she made. It seemed her mother was right. She’d been far too hasty in her youth. Her mother had told her that the prince would mature like a fine wine. Hope had written that off as nonsense meant to trap her into an arranged marriage like so many women before her.

Now?

Now she was looking at a tall powerful man close a very modern looking laptop and turn his attention on her in such a way that made her gut coil. What would it have been like to be the woman in the video? And where the hell did that thought come from? She had been wrong. So so very wrong.

Finally, gathering herself, Hope peered around the office and fussed at the pearl buttons on her coat. “I saw the video…” A noise came from Steven that she’d never heard before, yet, she went on. “…and since we’re still technically engaged, I thought I would return to help you put out the fires of this scandal.”

Another noise came from the king, a derisive snort.

“Wow. That’s cute. Highly amusing coming from you.” Though there was no hint of heat or passion in his words that had been so evident on that video. In her opinion, he didn’t even sound bored. Worse. Steven then leaned back in his seat, peered around her and asked, “Who let you in here?”

Those words, those uncaring words as if she were little more than the two guards outside his office made her burn, bristle.

Which had Hope clearing her throat, bristling one could say. “Actually, it’s more than cute. If you recall, I come from a distinguished royal house. Our engagement is a legally binding agreement.”

For the reaction she got, she might as well have told him it was showing outside.

As she was prone to when there was silence that needed to be filled, Hope pushed the waves of dark hair over her shoulder. She shifted from one foot to the other and watched Steven lean back in his chair.

Finally, as if sensing that she wasn’t going to leave, Steve offered her a shrug. Finding the mere sight of her numbing. He could have cared less what she did one way or the other. So long as she stayed out of his room. He had valuable things in there that he was fond of. “I’m not marrying you. Do with that as you will, you’ll find no sanctuary here.”

This was most certainly not the Steven that she had left all those years ago. It took Hope a second to collect herself, to steel herself. No one had spoken to her in such a way in quite a while. Her brain screamed at her that damage control needed to be done but she was not sure how. In what way? What did she say?

Hope’s brain screamed at her that the plan was failing, everything was going wrong. This was not supposed to happen this way and now she was failing horrendously. What did she do? How could she fix this?

Pricks of pain came from her fists as her nails dug into her palms. Telling Hope that when she unclenched her fists, she would see blood. “You have to marry me!”

Oh this was bad.

This was really really bad.

Across the expanse of his desk, Steve remained calm. Almost to the point of uncaring and such demeanor was reflected in his words. In the way his broad shoulders shrugged and how he rubbed his rough cheek, as if that were more interesting.

“I do not need or want your assistance for anything, forget that video. There is no reason for me to be ashamed of it.”

“Steven! Listen!”

He could see the desperation on her face, hear it in her voice and after so long, he wished he could say that it was rewarding. He wished that he could say it made him feel better after everything that had happened.

It didn’t.

There was just nothing. Little more than cold numbness. Steve felt absolutely nothing.

Nothing was there anymore.

When he looked at Hope there was nothingness.

It reminded him of his father. He hated when he felt that way, when he thought of his father. There was no one on this earth that Steve loathed more. It was his very purpose for being, to not be his father. To end that cycle. To let it die with him.

Most irritably, he shifted in his seat. His eyes found the picture of you both on his desk from a trip to Scotland.

Hints of his father swirled with every syllable only furthering his inner revulsion with himself, his genes and heritage.

“When you left, I did not officially break our engagement as a common courtesy to your father. No more no less. I am a king. You cannot compel me to do anything.”

Pools of blue found Hope again though. A little bit of serene malice hovered between them.

“If you continue to be an annoyance, I will. I am a king now. I have a country to govern. I do not have time for the childish games and pursuits that occupy the western families.”

“Steven this is serious! I could go to prison! In India!”

May his ancestors help him, his first initial response would have been to remind her of her place, remind her of how he should be addressed.

His Majesty.

Exactly as his father would, he swore he heard his father’s voice in his ear.

“You have to help me out! I’m begging you! I don’t care about that other woman. You can have all the mistresses you want!”

A peek down at his watch told Steve that he had minutes to wrap this up and go collect you. Minutes. He had minutes to regain his sanity before he saw his mother.

Minutes.

“Steven!”

Standing from his chair, he shook his head. Doing his best to silence the sound of his father telling him he was not good enough, was not worthy, was not fit to rule. His voice was soft because Steve would not yell like that man. “No Hope. I’m sorry, but no. You remind me of my father. You make me feel like him. You bring him back to life and I cannot live with his ghost. So no. You will have to deal with the consequences of your actions like the rest of us.”

Her eyes went wild.

Steve could see it and was glad he wasn’t within reach of her. He watched her grab a Fabergé Egg from the end of his desk.

Colorful glass accented in gold with rubies around the middle. It fit in her hand but only just, being the size of an ostrich egg and then it went soaring through the air where it smashed loudly into a wall. Denting the dark wood and shattering. Smashing into dozens and dozens of colorful pieces that fell to the floor.

Having felt the very loss of hope itself, she turned to set her storm on him. “You’ll regret this, Your Majesty.” Before turning and leaving, slamming his office door behind her as hard as possible. Leaving Steve with the sound of his father telling him that he wasn’t worthy.

***

Lipstick?

No lipstick?

It was a question for the ages.

A swipe or two of lipstick always gave you the courage you needed in any occasion. But then again, this was not merely any occasion. This was lunch with your boyfriends mother to officially meet her and get to know her, because you were in a serious committed relationship with her son. Because you loved her son.

Oh, and her son was the king, so there were expectations on that already plus with her being the Queen Mother, that was sorta already an expectation of its own.

Lipstick?

No lipstick?

You wanted to look your best because the Queen Mother always looked immaculate. But you also didn’t want to risk getting lipstick on your teeth. Leading you to peer once more into the bathroom mirror.

No. No lipstick. If you put on lipstick you’d be thinking about your lipstick and you needed to focus on making a good impression.

Otherwise, your makeup looked fabulous. Really. Five stars. Two thumbs up.

This had you stuffing your makeup back into your purse and kinda sorta looking up when the bathroom door opened, shut and was locked. Because really. Why would the door be locking?

In the art deco styled bathroom, Steve’s form was very clear and your eyebrows shot up.

Luckily, you were alone, considering how beyond pissed off he looked. One hundred and ten percent not fit to have lunch with his mother. Not with him in this condition.

You had no idea what happened, but something had happened.

He crossed the red and white marble tiled floor. Walked past the gilded edged stalls and stained-glass doors to where you stood at one of four sinks with bronze fixtures and ornately framed mirrors.

To be honest, it was your favorite bathroom of all time. Your Instagram was full of pictures of this bathroom, selfies in this bathroom, up-close pictures of the stained glass.

“Are you ok?”

Beneath his smoothly shaven face, his jaw twitched. “Fine. Are you ready?”

He was tense enough you wouldn’t have been shocked if his joints started to pop, or his teeth cracked from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Seeing him like this was a no go for Queen Sarah. Everyone knew that she hated to see her son like this and at first you never knew why, not until someone had told you that her husband had the same mannerisms. Steve’s father done the same thing when he had been angry.

While it was common knowledge that Steve was not his father, Steve would never hit his mother.

Some memories could just never be wiped clean.

Having Steve like this was not how you wanted this first lunch with his mother to go. Not one bit. Both of them needed to be on cloud fucking nine. Meaning you were going to have to do something.

“Almost,” was what you told him. A plan already set into motion as you grabbed a few paper towels from the bronze dish that held them between sinks.

One last peek at your hair and you were set. Purse in hand. You stepped on over to press your lips to the flat firm line that was Steve’s mouth. “Could you hold this for me?”

Steve never questioned you or thought twice.

Whether it was from love or trust, or he was too angry over whatever? No one would ever know.

But you seized the moment! Pounced on the opportunity.

You acted as if you were going to check your pumps and instead, set down the paper towels so you could kneel at his feet. Before Steve even had a second to think about it, you had his pants unbuttoned, unzipped and down around his knees. Knowing that the king went commando that morning worked seamlessly into your plan.

His dick hung softly between his muscular creamy thighs.

“What are you doing?”

“Hold my purse with both hands, Your Majesty.”

Though soft, his size was still above average. His penis was solid. Thick. A pink tip peeked out beneath foreskin that was stretched over his member. Soft as velvet, you kissed his slit as you pushed his foreskin up to reveal his shaft.

“Remember the first time I ever saw your dick?”

You sank down on his soft flesh after, sucking him in till nearly all of him fit in your mouth. It rarely happened. Only when he wasn’t erect. When Steve was erect, it wasn’t physically possible unless you unhinged your jaw and didn’t have a gag reflex.

“Oh god…” he gasped out at the warm and wet sensation of your mouth closing around him. Cold air on his ass cheeks. Exposed. Vulnerable. His sac hanging heavy and you down on your knees, taking nearly all of him in your mouth.

Steve clung to your purse like a lifeline.

Thinking back, you hummed out thoughtfully, knowing how fantastic the vibrations felt on him. Knowing that the warm softness that was his dick would soon harden. Until then, you enjoyed how you could take him like this. You relished the smell of him, musky and male. Savored how smooth his skin was on your tongue. Reached up and cupped his testicles that hung down for you.

It’d been at a fundraiser.

A black-tie affair for something or another, who could remember?

The two of you had stolen away towards the end, snuck off when everyone was mingling together and socializing. Slightly tipsy or buzzed from the open bar.

Not the two of you.

No.

Both of you had barely drank. Focused instead on getting away so you could steal some moments together. Moments like these. Moments where your hands were all over one another, your mouths hungry for one another. Frantic for that connection between your bodies that nature demanded and you both were trying so hard to make happen.

Tonight was the night though.

You were determined.

Sucking him deep. Swirling your tongue around him. You could feel Steve starting to thicken up which had you popping off his mouth and surveying the sight of his dick taking on a pinkish hue as blood filled it.

“Are you thinking about it, Your Majesty? About how fucking big your cock is? About how it shocked me? Remember?”

Based alone on the sound that came from Steve, you could deduce that he remembered. Possibly even vividly.

“I remember,” you cooed, licking his pink head and suckling on the end of his dick. Flicking against the hole with your tongue. Massaging his balls. Taking his hardening shaft in your other hand. Needing him to feel only you. Needing him to be here with you. “It was the biggest dick I’d ever seen in my life.”

”You don’t have to.” He had whispered to you in a dark corner of the atrium. Hidden by plants and furniture.

Not that you’d cared.

By that point he had gone down on your countless times and you’d never seen it. Only feeling it through his pants when you’d made-out or groped him, when your bodies rubbed against one another in a frantic urge for completion.

“Jesus Christ Steve! You’re the only man I know who doesn’t want his dick sucked.”

“It’s not that…” he came back with, pausing and finally giving in, allowing you to unzip the black pants of his tux and yank them down. Pull them down and out it popped.

Erect.

Hard. So hard.

Foreskin drawn back to reveal an angry red head smeared with pre-cum.

It was massive, a beast, the hugest dick you’d ever laid eyes on and from on your knees, in a ballgown, made up to feel like a princess. You gasped. You straight up gasped like you were a teenage girl seeing your very first penis. Albeit, the one that was so full of blood it bobbed eye level with you, pointing upwards, was considerably more impressive and probably five inches longer than that first ever dick, easy. As you didn’t exactly have a tape measure on you for comparison.

“Oh my god…” you whispered, well aware that your eyes were wide and mouth was very likely a perfect O. “It’s so big! It’s like the biggest I’ve ever seen! Steve your dick is huge! What do you feed it?”

His voice was a bit concerned. Embarrassed even?

Was he embarrassed about this behemoth in his pants?

“I’m sorry, I know. It can be uncomfortable to give me oral sex. You really don’t have to. I don’t expect.”

But you had cut him off with grabby hands wrapping around his erection, pushing up his foreskin and licking the salty jizz that was starting to ooze out. “Shut up, Your Majesty. Tell me how you want it.” In your ministrations you had lifted up his generous manhood and set eyes upon the heavy balls that hung down between his thighs. “Holy Canada! You have a set of balls to match. You have no idea how much fun I’m going to have fitting those in my mouth.”

When you finally ripped your eyes away from his sexual organ, you shook your head and admonished him severely. “I cannot believe you’d keep this from me!”

Exactly how you knew Steve liked, you sucked on his head and played with the tip of your tongue on his hole. You took him as deep as you could as his erection grew harder and harder in your mouth. Tracing your tongue along the sides and pumping him with your hand until his girth grew so wide, you were unable to touch your fingertips around him.

Up and down you sank on his cock. Till he was rigid beneath your lips and you drug your teeth along at times to heighten the sensation.

Slurping. Squeezing his balls. Hollowing out your cheeks and swallowing any salty release that began to dribble out. You savored the sight of his fingers clenching your purse tightly and his eyes screwed shut.

Between languid trips up and down his length, you pulled off to lick his blunt tip with the flat of your tongue.

“What are you thinking about, My King?”

At first, you didn’t think he would or could answer, which was fine. Your attention was on the round edge of his organ. Licking it. Flicking it with your tongue. Playing with it till you sank back down.

After a few seconds.

After a deep breath from Steve.

After that, he managed to get out.

“Thinking about that night. The night I took your maidenhead.”

Your maidenhead?

Well, that was a trip to past. It sent your eyes up and your mouth back off him so you could speak without a mouth full of dick. “Mmm. Thinking about how you went crazy? How you went all feral and popped my cherry?”

In your hand his penis twitched.

It was too perfect an opportunity to not pounce upon it.

If you couldn’t make him come from saying these filthy disgusting true things to him, did you really deserve to marry this man? “Your Majesty? Does it turn you on to think about my having been a virgin? About how you’re the only man to ever be in my body? Do you remember how tight I was? How hard you had to push to break my hymen?”

Little motions came from Steve. Whether he knew it or not. He was making small thrusts into your mouth that you hummed around, sucked on.

Something hit the floor.

Hands were on your head, fingers were in your hair. A wicked smile curled over your lips and Steve was methodically pumping into your mouth.

He sounded strained. He sounded like he was in pain.

“Felt so good. You’re so good to me. My angel. You were so tight.” He declared, announced, would have shouted to the heavens if he was capable. Each word came out in cadence. Almost in a chant. “Felt so good. Feels so good still. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.” On top of feeling you sucking him deep. Paired with your fingers holding his testicles tight. Mixed with your fist wrapped around his base. It was a glorious storm coming together to make him shatter.

Steve was going to come. He was going to come like right now.

It sent his thoughts spiraling along with his words.

“Love you. Love your body. Love being in you. So warm and tight and mine. All mine. All of you is mine. Want you. Want to fill you. Want want want.”

Gasping out. His breath gone. All air left his lungs when Steve climaxed into your mouth. A pitched noise did come that was followed with his fingers pulling your face against him, his pelvis pushing into you. A moan that made him weak in the knees followed that told him you were pleased with him. You were happy.

If he died in the next moment, he would have been a happy man.

All Steve could feel was pleasure. It consumed him body. It whited out his mind. It made his balls empty into the warmth of your mouth, till he was certain that nothing remained.

Even then you weren’t done.

Helpless. Awestruck.

Hopelessly devoted, Steve watched you drag your tongue around him to clean him up. Catching the last few spurts of ejaculate on your tongue before you showed him, then swallowed his seed.

Rendering him panting and sweaty.

He dropped down onto his knees and he kissed you. Mindless. Unable to think about anything else other than your mouth and being lucky enough to have convinced you to be his woman. Steve kissed you deeply, uncaring about the fact he could taste himself, unconcerned when his tongue curled around yours that he might have gotten some of his own ejaculate. His Majesty didn’t care.

Nor was he overly concerned about his knees being on the cold marble tile when he groaned against your mouth. “Love you. Love you so much. Love you to the moon and back.”

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