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oksana-moods · 1 year

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Queens of Promise - Smut Part

Summary: Following the trails of her sun kissed skin led you directly to a heaven that you soon learned you had been locked out of.

A/N: Okay, if you don’t read smut, this chapter is not for you, but worry not. Part 9 will be posted around the weekend of shortly after. Now if you do read smut, here’s a treat. Some sort of 8.5 part for the ones who enjoy this kind of reading and yeah I wrote roughly 4.5k words of smut. It was just so easy, it flowed haha. Please, tell me your thoughts.

Warnings: Smut. MINORS DNI! +18 ONLY! Explicit content, bad language.

Previous Parts here

“Between Heaven”

“I- I don’t know how to love.” You reply. You had had many experiences with women in bed or in any place actually, but you had never loved. And Wanda Maximoff, somehow, was so much more and again, you didn’t want to treat her any less than she deserved. “And you deserve more.”

Her brows furrowed at your hesitance, but one look in your eyes and she knew how scared you were. Maybe for completely different reasons but still, just a scared woman in front of another.

“You speak about what I deserve, but what about what I want?” Her words set your whole body on fire and you’re all but aware of how close she was. “And I want you to show me how it is.” Her confidence hit you full force and you couldn’t deny how bad you desired the woman standing in front of you.

You felt her hand caress your cheek then your hair, then back to your cheek. “Wanda, I don’t wanna do anything that you might regret.” You held onto your last shred of consciousness as if your life depended on it. Maybe not your life, but your sanity.

Wanda was about to link her lips with yours again, but refrained herself at your words, then looked at you and asked you to open your hooded eyes. “I want you to be the first to touch me. I won’t regret this.” Her voice was hotter than lava and melted every nerve in your brain.

Her body burned with the same desire yours did. Then, you let go of that fragment of consciousness and let your own instincts take over your entire being. “Your wish is my command, Your Highness.”

You pulled Wanda into your body and as soon as her body was fully flushed against yours, you pulled her in for a searing kiss, setting your heart ablaze. Your hands roamed her body as if desperate to feel her.

You kissed her cheek, then her earlobe before your lips found her neck. While you let your own desire dictate the rhythm, Wanda’s mind became a puddle of nothingness. She had never been touched like this before and only the gods knew how much she yearned for your touch.

While kissing, biting and sucking on her pulse point, your hand hovered over her breast and gave light squeezes, the best you could with so many clothes standing between your skins.

Realizing she needed more, much more than she was having, Wanda helped you ease the buttons of your tunic. Since you were disguised as a trader, your clothes weren’t so difficult to shed, but hers, it was quite the opposite.

As you walked to her back in order to take off the many laces of her dress, Wanda’s mind started to wander and wonder. You definitely moved expertly, so far, you knew where to kiss or touch as if her body was your own.

“I’ve heard stories about your…” She bit her tongue, trying to find the right words. She was taught that a princess shouldn’t use bad words or talk about profanities. “Sexual adventures.” She decided to find a common ground. Not too much polite nor too much whorish.

She closed her eyes and this time she bit back a low moan that tried to escape her lips when you bit the exposed skin of her back.

“Hm.” You hummed before biting her once again, this time slightly harder and, this time, Wanda couldn’t suppress the sound escaping from her mouth. “People like to talk. Why don’t you tell me what stories and I’ll tell you whether they are true or not?”

Wanda nodded, not fully certain that you’d see, but she couldn’t trust her voice. Your hands touching her over the fabric was maddening enough. She couldn’t even think about when you touched her bare.

Upon feeling that you were working on the laces, she tried to concentrate on said stories. They were vulgar but she’d be lying if she said she never felt a fever on her midsection once or twice.

“C’mon, Princess. I wanna hear it.” Your voice so low on her ear wrecked her nerves, little by little. In addition to that, the way you always pronounced the word princess made her blood boil, for you always spoke as if it weren’t her tittle, but a condescending call. And fuck, her body betrayed her resolves once more when another moan escaped her lips.

A low chuckle was the only thing she heard, but she knew you had seen what you were doing to her. You were experienced and she was just a woman about to be deflowered and, for the first time in her life, she didn’t want you to be respectful about it.

“You made love with a woman before her husband could. Called for prima nocte.” Wanda spoke one of the first stories she had heard about your libertine actions across the world.

“False.” One lace off and you kissed Wanda’s bare skin. The feel of her body against yours and the power you had over her was intoxicating, your heartbeat increased with every sound coming from her mouth.

“You took a whore as company when you went to a war against a rebel Lord.” Wanda found her voice but with all your ministrations was getting hard to focus on her memory.

“False.” You kissed her again. “She was a castle maid from Triskelion, not a whore.” You clarified and Wanda gasped both at your words and at your tongue touching her back.

“And you threatened to make love with said Lord’s wife if he didn’t stop with the rebellion.” Wanda’s voice failed her for the first time as your fingers touched the growing amount of bare skin of her back.

“True, though I remember using the word fuck.” Your voice was back on her ear, your hot breath was electrifying. “I’d fuck his wife and daughter if he didn’t stop the rebellion.”

Wanda gasped both at your words and at your mouth leaving a kiss on her earlobe before returning to your activity. There was something about the way promiscuous words rolled out of your tongue, her body was on fire and, though completely inexperienced, she knew you didn’t even start.

“And I didn’t have to enforce for his daughter came willing for me to fuck her.” You completed though Wanda’s mind was far gone, for she felt that you had reached and opened the last lace. She could feel her gown loose on her frame, yet you haven’t undressed her.

Shivers shot throughout her body as you left a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses over her back, the trail followed the perfect path of her back bones from the nape of her neck until her lower back. She felt your hands roaming her skin as if to touch-imprint the feel on your memory.

It was so chaste and so sensual at the same time, which sent her nerves into tatters and the redhead could feel the heat pooling on her midsection. If she were to be honest, it was embarrassing the effect you had over her body.

With your nose, you trailed her back up until your mouth was once again close to her ear and asked. “Can I?” Your hand gave a light pull on her dress so she could understand what you were asking.

She remained silent and you feared that your confession had scared her away, but it was short lived for her voice broke the silence.

“Please.” Right then and there, you realized, that there was nothing that you wouldn’t do if Wanda asked you with that voice. It was half whispered half raspy and full of crave.

With a light pull of your hand, the gown pooled on the ground at Wanda’s feet and although you were behind her, you saw her trying to raise her arms to cover her body. Only you stopped her by gently grabbing her arms.

“I won’t hurt you.” You whispered into her ear and punctuated with a chaste kiss on her shoulder. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can stop.” You were so turned on that your whole body shook, but you wouldn’t be a jerk and disregard Wanda’s feelings.

“I know. It’s not you.” You opened your eyes as you felt her moving and now her front was completely flushed against your body. “This- I’m feeling a little self-conscious. That’s all.”

Her insecurity hit you in the chest for you did not expect that. If anything, Wanda’s body was just as perfect as a sculpture could be. In fact, Wanda’s body was a shrine begging to be worshiped.

“You are perfect, Wanda.” You kissed her lips once, then trailed until her shoulders and back. “Let me show you just how much.”

This time, she didn’t give you an answer. Not with words, for that matter. She pulled you in for a kiss that could scorch your soul but only made your body crave hers more and more.

Almost impatiently, Wanda pulled your lower tunic and you got rid of your pants and soon you were skin to skin.

After guiding her to the bed, your mouth left hers and trailed down the sweet valley of her breasts. You tasted one, then teased the other before lavishing her nipples with the attention they desperately needed.

Wanda’s back arched once, then twice with every movement of your tongue around her hardened peaks, and it was perceptible that it was becoming hard for her to control the sounds coming out of her mouth.

You travelled southern on her body, never forgetting to kiss or touch every single inch of her silky skin and with every touch another jolt of pleasure coursed through her. And every moan made you wetter.

When you were a little bit lower than the line of her navel, and about to reach her intimacy, you looked up silently asking for permission. Wanda nodded at you through demi-hooded eyelashes, and you swore that you were yet to see sexiest sight.

You continued down and found her midsection already soaked. You had felt it while grinding your leg on it, but this sight, well, now this was the sexiest.

You had to physically refrain yourself from attacking her lips and clit directly, but you remembered that this was her first time. You couldn’t act like a deranged dog. So, out of respect, you planted small kisses on her groin, up and down on both sides until she was used to your actions.

Her breathing, though, became heavier with every touch of lips and tongue.

Then, you gave a feather-like kiss on her sex and chuckled when Wanda’s body jolted out of the bad.

“Sorry.” She apologized, but you assured her with another kiss, not so light this time.

Soon, you stopped with the kisses and started to lick and suck her clit in the rhythm of her moans and sharply intakes of air. As you started to properly eat her out, Wanda’s knuckles were white, grabbing the sheets for dear life and that sight drove your head into nuts.

Incoherent words started to fall from her mouth, but you couldn’t understand, and you knew the reason why she spoke so low. “You can speak out loud. No one’s going to hear you, except for me.” You reassured her with your signature smile.

“But I-.” She tried to form coherent thoughts as she popped on her elbows, but it proved harder than she had imagined. “These words are so unladylike.”

You chuckled and kissed her inner thighs just for good measure, but you liked the effect it had on her, nonetheless. “You can speak whatever you want, Princess. I’m sure I’m going to like.”

Not even sparing her a glance, you dived between her legs again and her moan was loud and clear this time. “Don’t hold back your pleasure.” Your ministrations pulling sweet sounds from her, and it was driving you insane.

After a hard suck on her clit, Wanda jolted again half shouting an ‘oh’. You could feel the pleasure building in her and she wouldn’t take long.

“OH.” She exclaimed and the flow of juices coating your chin and tongue told you that she had come. You locked eyes with her long enough to see her shy smile, making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

When she rested her head again, you lunged on to her intimacy for another round. The moans and jolts were accompanied by grunts and another set of incoherent words, though this time you could almost discern one or another.

Deciding to increase her pleasure, you used one finger to tease her entrance and her perinium “Oh my-.” She cut herself by biting her lips and you smirked, she was closer than you thought and soon, your mouth was rewarded with her juices again.

“Such a good girl.” You murmured as you climbed the bed so you could lay by her side. Wanda only smiles and has her eyes hooded, definitely enjoying the bliss of her orgasm.

“What you were doing down there,” Wanda’s raspy voice broke the silence. “It was so good.” and it was your turn to smile softly. Her body glistened with a thin coat of sweat and by the gods she got more beautiful with every passing second.

She opened her eyes and let her head fall to the side to properly look at you, there was this new emotion dancing in her eyes, and you wished you could categorize every single one of them for later contemplation.

Wanda lifted her hand and traced your features with the back of her index finger, it was slow and kind as if she too was trying to engrave your traces into her skull. “You are so pretty.” She said softly, voice much like an angel. “Your eyes, your lips… you’re driving me insane.”

The back of her finger touched your lips, and you pecked it lightly, earning another smile from her. You leaned down and kissed her once more. It was slow, almost lazy until she pulled back and asked.

“Is this taste…?” You chuckled at the poor woman in front of you. Like a full castle lady, she couldn’t let vulgar words pass through her lips, it doesn’t matter that she spoke one or two barely minutes ago.

“You, Wanda.” You kissed her again, languidly, and pulled back looking directly at her eyes. “This sweet taste is your sweet juice.”

You saw her cheeks tinting with a light shade of red and you laughed. The innocence right after what you just did wouldn’t match anyone else but her. You dropped your head and kissed her cheek once, then traced her cheekbone with your nose until your breath found her ears.

The redhead knew that this action was nothing compared to what you just did, the kisses and the things you made her feel, but she could feel her body reacting again. Her arousal flared through her body like a wave and the feeling was exhilarating.

When you kissed the skin right under her ear, the sokovian let out a strangled breath and you felt her hand coursing through your back. Her nails dug onto your skin right after you bit her neck the harsher until now.

Your lips were back on hers in no time and, for the second time that night, your leg was in between hers, this time the wetness pooled from her center but also from yours. The feel of this perfect woman exploring your body was maddening, especially after she learnt that if she squeezed your ass just right, she’d bring your hips onto hers.

Between sloppy kisses and ragged breaths, Wanda would probably make you cum by only grinding her and it wasn’t fair. Her power over you wasn’t fair.

Wanda moaned and all the pleasure she was feeling was everything and nothing at the same time. Somehow, she wanted more. She wanted you more, but she didn’t know how to ask for. Or even what to ask for.

However, she desperately needed to feel more.

The harshness with you groped Wanda’s ass made her hiss and bite your shoulder, earning her a moan from you. It was plain to see that she’d make you go insane by the dawn if you lasted that long.

You found yourself kissing and playing with her nipples again. If more comfortable with you and your ministrations or if because she was finally setting herself free, was unknown to you, but Wanda moaned loudly. It was music to your ears.

As your tongue swirled around her hard, swollen peaks, your hand traveled further down her body. The woman beneath you hissed and let her head fall back on to the mattress as your finger circled her clit.

The wetness coated your digits, making it easy for you to tease her folds, her entrance and go back to her clit. It was almost a pattern, sometimes slow and sometimes pressing her intimacy a little harder, but never really touching where you wanted. Or she needed.

You wanted to make sure Wanda would feel all the pleasure you could give, you wanted to make sure that her first time being touched would be as perfect and delightful as it can be. All you wanted was to love her properly.

It was obvious by her body movements that Wanda wanted more. Her lust was so high that she’d take your fingers and anything you were willing to give her, but you never quavered your ministrations.

With the tip of your middle finger at her entrance, you locked eyes with her and asked. “Can I?” There was no turning back now. After her answer, her life would change forever. Up until now it was all teasing and play, but now you offered her the real game.

“Yes.” She choked between deep breaths, mouth sexily hanging open and eyes wide with anticipation.

You held eye contact as you slowly slid your finger passed her cunt and you felt her tight walls pressing your digit. Her face contorted with pain but also with pleasure and her mouth moved without speaking any word.

This woman would be the death of you.

You let her adjust to your length for a moment and when her chest weaved with calmer breaths, you started to move. Nice and slow. In and out in a lazy pace, you could feel her sex clenching around your finger, sending your nerves out of the window.

This new feeling, the feel of you inside her was effervescent, incandescent even. Her soul, much like her body, was about to burst with this new sensation. Her hips moved on their own accord, as if trying to meet your hand and increase the pleasure.

She tried. She tried moving faster but still felt like something was missing. She wanted more and this time she asked.

“More.” She breathed out and she wanted to slap your face after you shot her one of your daring smile. You were playing with her body, taking your time and finding pleasure in make her squirm under your touch like a needy virgin.

Although you were indeed playing the sculpture laying under you, you conceded her wish. You took your finger from her cunt and after a whine escaping Wanda’s lips, you pushed two fingers inside her. Walls once again clenching around your skin, sending goosebumps through your spine.

You could feel she was full, moving desperately to increase the friction because you still kept a steady pace. You wanted to see how far you could take her, for the sight of her writhing and about to beg was heavenly.

Incoherently words flew from her lips, and you knew what she wanted. You didn’t have to be experienced to know that. But you wanted her to give in to you fully. You needed her to.

“Use your words, princess.” Your hot breath on her ear and that tone again made her walls clench involuntarily. The way you used her title as a praise was infuriatingly hot and she had to admit you had her wrapped around your finger. Literally.

The shyness that refused to leave her the whole night, suddenly was thrown out of the window. Much like a shameless whore, she bellowed. “Gods fuck me. Harder.” The urgency of her command was emphasized by her nails piercing your skin, much like her existence punctured yours.

And who were you to deny any demand of this ruler? Who were you if not another servant willing to do as their mistress ask? Who were you if not the most devoted disciple of this goddess?

She asked and you delivered. You fucked her just as she had asked and if before her moans were loud, right now it was like her lungs couldn’t hold back any longer. Your name floated through her lips, and she enchanted it like a prayer.

The rhythm which you fell in with her body was like magic and you had never experienced it before in your life. Up until now, you hadn’t felt the pleasure coursing through your partner’s body like you did now. As she chased her orgasm it was like your own body could feel it too.

You could feel the pressure building within her stomach, so you cooed. “Cum for me, princess.” Again, the praise sent shockwaves through her skin, and it was all too much. She couldn’t hold this amazing sensation any longer, so she came undone.

Wanda’s screams as she reached her climax were certainly engraved in your memory for life and, much like the sight of her, you’d never forget the things she made you feel.

After you helped her ride her high, you took your fingers from inside her and you could see her eyes darkening with lust once you wrapped your lips around your fingers as to clean the juices coating them.

“Gods, the things you make me feel.” Wanda sighed and you snorted amused, wondering if she could read your mind like an open book. Or maybe she was a witch.

“You’re beautiful, Wanda.” You kissed her lightly before laying down by her side. You could feel your core pulsating with need, but you wouldn’t ask her to touch you. Your adventures were probably too much for her already.

Your thoughts were sliced, though, as she turned her body to face you. Expectancy was evident in her face, but also something else. Again, she was unsure. You just didn’t know of what.

“I- I don’t know what to do.” She stated almost uncertain, and you frowned your brows in confusion and hurt.

One would think that after the night and pleasure you had just shared, Wanda would stop doubting of the undeniable feelings growing between the pair of you. But no.

She’s still feeling the bliss of the sex, yet, here she was, breaking your heart with her fears and will probably go back to her enchants of ‘we’re enemies’ as though you didn’t just pour your heart for her.

“Wanda.” You sighed, your wetness belonged to the past now. “We can figure what to do with this enemies thing in the morning, yeah?” You asked, eyes almost pleading for her to let you in, for once.

“What are you talking about?” Wanda retorted, now her brows were furrowed too.

“Weren’t you just second guessing what we just did?” You asked again, suddenly feeling a bit lost.

And definitely, a lot lost when Wanda laughed. You realized, with a start, that this was the very first time you saw her laughing this freely. Eyes closed, nostrils flaring and mouth wide open. She was like an angel brought to Earth.

Your heart literally fluttered watching her.

After her laugh died down, Wanda looked at your eyes and spoke. “No, you twat. I was saying that I don’t know what to do.” She let her hands roam your body a little as if trying to convey her message, then completed. “To make you feel good too.”

“Oh.” You muttered dumbly and she sneered at you again. You were so used to her withdraws that your brain automatically read her sentence as another one. “Oh.” You muttered again after your mind finally wrapped itself around what she meant.

“You don’t have to.” You assured her, with a small smile gracing your lips. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head lightly and shifted her body so now it was her turn to straddle you. The previous confusion now long forgotten, and your body shivered with anticipation. Your own arousal was back on full force.

“But I want to.” She purred in your ear as she lowered her body. The feeling of her nipples against your own was from another world. This woman had you at her mercy.

“Just do what your body says.” You whispered after you found your voice, for her mouth was already attacking your neck as if there was no tomorrow.

If anyone would’ve told that one single woman, made of flesh, could open the gates of the heavens for you, you’ve laughed. But here you were, knocking the doors of the paradise called Wanda.

Apparently, the redhead was a fast learner for her mouth was sent from heaven while playing with your nipples. But when she reached your sex, it was as if she’d suck the life out of you and by the gods the sight of Wanda eating you out whole mouth was the sexiest sight you had ever had.

Every kiss, every touch was like a thousands of blazing suns scorching your soul until you begged for forgiveness to every and all of your sins. Even the ones you haven’t committed yet. There was something spiritual in the way the auburn woman drove your body to a hidden place of pleasure.

Right then and there, you understood that the feel of Wanda’s love was like waking up into a perfect dream. It is like learning that you’ve been locked out of heaven this whole time and she was the goddess who guarded the key.

Much like the time, inexorably and inevitably, your heart fell for Wanda, for everything you possessed now belonged to her.

Body, mind and soul.

Part 9

taglist: @californianwhiterabbit

#wanda x reader #wanda smut #princess wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #princess reader #medieval au #scarlet witch smut #marvel smut #scarlet witch x reader #queens of promise

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artficlly · 9 months

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lady of the ghosts [chapter 8]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: FLUFF, sexual tension, some angst, mention of sex work, mention of war, mention of funeral, tiny amount of anxiety/doubt, swearing, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 3.5

A/N: i wanted to make this a smaller chapter before shit hits the fan, very dialogue heavy and fluffy. please let me know what you think and reblog/like! sorry for any typos - enjoy!!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

It was said that Neume once dwelled in the waters surrounding Faliene. As a guardian of the city, she waited beneath the waves. If she detected malice on the ships that entered her waters, she would rise from the ocean floor, her body hulking and blue with seaweed and barnacles entangled across her flesh. She would seize the ships with an iron grip, the wood splintering and cracking under the strain. She would drag the sailors to the bottom of the dark, sandy sea, where they would either drown or perish in her crushing grip.

She was a protector in more ways than one; her presence wasn’t only to instill fear in those who ventured into the Falienean waters but also to aid those who worshiped her. They claimed she would herd the fish towards the fishermen who sailed off the coast, easing the giant schools into the hand-woven nets. On quiet, empty nights, some claim you could hear her singing. Her hums were reminiscent of whales, eerie and lonesome as they reached across the vast, vacant waters. Her song would lull the creatures to sleep, and only then could she be at peace.

According to legend, Nemue's deep sleep, brought on by her own song, is what caused Faliene's misfortunes to start. As her children waited for her to return, disease and evil crept into her beloved city and slowly poisoned those who remained. Faliene held her breath, waiting in anticipation for the return of her song. The north had been stuck in a slumber for too long; it was time for her to come alive once more.

The breeze was stronger than usual up on the rocky cliff of The Fishhook. The slowly rising sun partially melted the snow and ice below, where the waves pounded mercilessly along the exposed coast.

James squinted his azure eyes against the whipping wind, his hair tousled, and his cheeks pink. The two of you had decided to hike up the southernmost point of Faliene’s coastline before it turned to mountain and sea. You had taken the daunting and winding path upward to the peak of The Fishook, a large curved outlook that had been creatively named due to its shape. Halfway up the path, Steve and Peggy had left you behind in favor of exploring a tiny, frozen cave. You knew it was so they would have a moment alone to continue their activities from the Pass; it was harder to do so with King Harrison’s ever-watching eye.

“Do you see it?” The winds hurtling along the coast have left your lungs burning, and words are nearly stolen as your breath is ripped from you.

“You might have to point it out to me.” James’ admits sheepishly, eyes darting as he surveys the blue, glacial waters below. You step closer to him, careful and slow on the icy rock below, as the two of you are close to the dangerous edge. If the plummet didn’t kill you, the freezing waves crashing against the rocks certainly would.

With a gloved hand, you point at a darker patch of water, where presumably the ocean floor is deeper than the rest of the bay. James ducks his head, his eyeline following along to where you point. Your gaze is on the side of his face, watching each emotion cross while studying every twitch of his eyebrow or jaw.

“It’s supposed to look like a woman curled up on her side.” You explain, watching as he tilts his head ever-so-slightly, as if trying to see from a different perspective. James had been insistent on his prior promise of falling in love with the ghost city. Unlike the other guests, who mainly remained in the warmth of Fort Faliene, drinking and laughing their days away, James required endless exploration.

Sometimes you wondered if it was somewhat of a ploy to get you alone, as even if Steve and Peggy came along as ‘escorts’, the two of you frequently found yourselves abandoned by the pair. Steve and Peggy had more interest in each other's mouths and bodies than the sights of Faliene, unlike James, who remained enraptured by every story and sight you showed him.

You had toured him through the docks, the city, and the surrounding areas. The people of Faliene watched on with knowing smiles; even Brannigan seemed chuffed by your apparent familiarity with the King of Galanta. From what you gathered, the Falieneans were secretly pleased and were growing to forgive you for your lack of engagement. Why pester you about marrying a lord when you were actively seducing a king?

“I see it.” James speaks up from beside you, his confused expression melting into a grin. “Her head is facing the east.”

Your eyes flickered over the now familiar planes of his face, watching as he rubbed the stumble across his jaw out of habit. A small smile plays across your face, words leaving you despite your attention being nowhere near the shape of Neume in the waters below. “I know it’s silly, that it’s just the shape of the seafloor, but Falienean’s have always said it looks like Neume sleeping on her side.”

“You know, everyone always talks about how superstitious the north is, but I think it’s simply that we Southerners are too boring.” He replies, his eyes abruptly cutting to yours. There is a small smirk across his features as he notices your stare, and you look away, cheeks pink, now not only because of the cold.

“I don’t think you’re boring.” You hum quietly, your words nearly stolen by the next gust of wind as you look to your feet.

“We definitely are.”

You sucked on your teeth for a moment, tilting your head so you could see him through your peripherals. A smile crosses your face as you realize he’s been watching you the entire time, gloved fingers reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. You finally pluck up the courage to look back at him. “Tell me a story about Galanta, then. I will be the judge of whether it is boring or not.”

James lets out a long sigh, looking upwards at the horizon in thought. “They are all stories of war and death, I’m surprised I didn’t die of boredom as a child having to listen to all those tales–”

“You know that I like history.” You cut him off, playfully pushing at his chest. Your cheeks warm up more, realizing that the hard muscle beneath doesn't give under your touch. James chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at you. “Tell me a story about when you were at war then. Maybe that will be more exciting because you were actually fighting–”

“People who tell their own tales are always bragging.” James grumbles with a hard look, which quickly softens as he catches your pleading look. He shakes his head with a sigh, humming as if in thought. His hands mindlessly come to your cloak, gloved fingers twisting through the fur trimming.

“During the war,” He begins. “Steve and I stumbled upon Prince Micheal in a whorehouse. He was so drunk on ale that he could barely see, let alone walk. The girls were sick of him, so we offered to take him back to camp. The trip was short-lived, though… We grew tired of dealing with him, so we left him passed out in a pig pen. He didn’t return to camp until the next day, it was lunch when he stormed in. He was all covered in filth. He didn’t remember a thing, but he knew Steve and I had something to do with it, we could hardly keep a straight face due to the stench.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest, and you shake your head at the brunet. Steve had often mentioned how he and James tormented the Prince when they could. Those were tales that Steve would whisper to you over dinner, while Michael bragged and boasted about exaggerated stories further down the table. Though this was not a story you had heard before, you quickly learned that Steve was not as open with you about his secrets as you first assumed – his and Peggy’s affair being just one example. You wondered how many tales from the war were lost to you due to Steve's reluctance to share. This story seemed to have a glaringly obvious reason why.

“You and Steve frequented whorehouses?” You ask innocently, and you hear James suck in a sharp breath, his head tilting to look away guiltily. A teasing smile plays across your lips as you lean closer to him. “The good King James and his knight Sir. Rogers getting their cocks wet? How scandalous.”

You could imagine the girls in the whorehouses would have loved to be visited by James and Steve – rich, handsome war heroes? They would’ve been snatched away before they even put their foot in the door. You didn’t have envy or malice for the whores, unlike some ladies of court who bickered about the ‘filthy harlots roaming the war fronts’. You imagined James and Steve would’ve been a welcome break from the usual soldiers who would’ve wondered their way.

Beside you, James swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, and he looks back at you with surprise in his guarded eyes. You wondered if he had ever heard you speak in such a vulgar way before — Steve definitely had, especially when he schemed and got you a few drinks in. His hands reach out, gripping your waist to tug you even closer to his body, and you oblige with a satisfied sigh.

“It’s just the way of things during war.” He says, his voice husky and low as he looks down at you. His words hesitate, his tongue wetting his lower lip as he scans your face. “You’re telling me you didn’t bed a knight or two during the war? While you were all alone in Haiford Castle?”

Your smirk spreads. “You think King Harrison would’ve let me stay if he had any inkling that I wasn’t a virgin?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You allow your eyes to roam over his face as you take your time answering his question. You note the way his pupils have dilated and the subtle strain in his jaw, as if silent worry was clawing behind his cool demeanor.

“No. I didn’t.” You reply honestly. “You really think I would invite one of your knights into my bed, or even worse, a Haifordian knight?”

James grins at that, as if secretly pleased by your answer. You could imagine he made assumptions about you, considering your affinity for finding trouble and irritating authority. Even if you often made it your mission to irritate Prince Michael or King Harrison, you had never fallen to the depths of sleeping around with men you despised.

“I must be good then if you’re willing to have me.” He replies, his voice still low and rumbling in his chest.

“And who said you were invited into my bed?” Your eyes flutter upwards as you look at him through your lashes, a coy smile forming in response to his smirk.

James hums, his hands squeezing tighter as he presses a soft, gentle kiss to one of your exposed collarbones. His grin is cheeky as he raises his head once more, his expression near ravenous as he watches your breath hitch slightly, goosebumps raising across your skin. Everything about his touch and scent is intoxicating, and you nearly forget you are standing on an exposed cliff as you lean heavily into his touch.

“I am going to speak with King Harrison tonight.”

“About what?” You manage to stutter out. Your mind is hazy and confused as you try to focus on something other than the pattern he is tracing across your ribcage with his thumb.

“Us. Peggy.” James begins, and you stiffen under his touch. “I am going to gift Steve land and make him a lord – maybe a duke or a count. Something high-ranking enough for him to marry Peggy.”

“I haven’t even agreed to marry you.” You say through narrowed eyes. “Don’t you think this is too early?”

James looks down at you with a frown. “Where else will you go now that the funeral is complete? You can’t return to Haiford… If we settle this issue with King Harrison, you could return to Galanta with me–”

“What if I want to stay here?” You interrupt, and James snaps his mouth shut.

There is a long pause between the two of you, with James sighing slowly through his nose as his grip around your waist eases, his fingers no longer tracing delicate circles.

“Well…” James begins hesitantly. “Once we are married, you will have to balance your time between Faliene and Galanta, as will I. If you cannot lead Faliene until our marriage, it would be wise that you return to Galanta until the ceremonies–”

“I want to be married in Faliene.” You interrupt once more.

“I thought you said you hadn’t agreed–” He starts with a grin, only for you to cut over him again with a huff.

“Hypothetically. If there were a hypothetical marriage between us, I would want it to be here–”

He is still grinning as he speaks, as if amused. His eyebrows arch as he speaks. “You do realize the Galantaians would riot, right? Robbing them of a wedding celebration–”

“I am only just winning back the trust of my people, they would be insulted if I snubbed them–”

“Well, it is tradition for the wife to be married in the husband's–”

The playful tone that had built through your exchange quickly snaps, and a scowl crosses your face as you take a step back from him. “Please don’t tell me you’re under the assumption that a husband should be the only one in charge simply because he is male–”

“No – Y/N. No.” James gasps, exasperated. His gloved hand raises up, cupping your cheeks as he looks down at you with a frown. “If we are married, Faliene would be run by you and only you. I will sign whatever papers you ask me to, and I will not interfere unless you ask my opinion.”

You blink at him slowly, exhaling sharply out of your nose as you lean into his touch despite the stubborn look across your face. A small part of you is anxious; you have been hesitant and cautious to trust all of your life. What if, like Rumlow, James was trying to fool you into marriage so he could control the seafaring of the continent?

“Are you telling the truth?” Your voice is quiet, nearly lost to the winds. Thankfully, James doesn’t seem insulted by your wariness.

“Of course I am. I know that if Faliene is to flourish, it can only be under your rule, not mine.” James hums, his thumb gently swiping over the skin of your cheek before he pulls away. “Maybe it is best we leave the talk of weddings until after I deal with King Harrison. Deal?”

He offers his hand in the small distance between the two of you. You chew on your lip for a moment, nodding your head as the apprehension in your gut eases. You reach out, grasping his forearm near his elbow. The muscle is bulging and swollen in comparison to your small hands. His fingers wrap around your own forearm, engulfing the clothed skin entirely as you both shake hands on this new agreement.

“Deal.” You mutter back, though you can’t fight back the smile that has formed.

There is a new feeling growing in your gut.

Hope.

—

“Does King James always fuck you with his eyes?” Wanda asked from behind you, her nimble hands expertly washing the soap from your hair. Your strands were lazily dangling over the side of the tub, the water trickling off into the bucket below. Your eyes rolled back into your head, a small huff leaving your lips as you leaned harder against the warm metal.

Once returning from The Fishhook with Steve and Peggy in tow, Wanda managed to sneak you back into your rooms before your presence was requested elsewhere. Tonight there would be one final feast before most of the guests returned home, and it seemed everyone wanted your attention or opinion on the most mundane of subjects. You had been practically assaulted with questions about dining displays and menus, while the Asgardian Princes, Thor and Loki, somehow managed to trick you into showing them the wine cellar.

As if sensing your rising stress levels, Wanda had pulled you away, declaring she needed to help you bathe and dress for the dinner to follow.

“You can act all coy, but we’ve all noticed it. Brannigan is biting at the bit to start organizing a wedding.” Wanda continues, and you groan loudly, slipping deeper into the warm water.

“Do not let him organize anything.” You grumble, and the woman chuckles behind you.

“When you said you knew the Galantian’s well, I didn’t realize it was because you had invited them into your bed–”

“He has not been in my bed.” You protest, sinking even further into the water until it reaches your chin.

“Ah. Matter of time. You can see it on his face that his cock gets hard everytime he looks at you–”

“Wanda.” You cut over her sternly, wrapping your arms across your chest as you turned in the tub to face her with a scowl. The water sloshes around you at your sudden movements, Wanda withdrawing as a small wave departs the tub. “I have already upset King Harrison enough, I can’t upset him more by having rumors spread around.”

“I am sorry.” Wanda sighs, elbows braced against her thighs, as she leans over to look at you. “I am just excited for you.”

You can’t help but let a small smile grace your lips at her words. As much as you wanted to be annoyed, there was always a sincerity and sweetness to Wanda that made you cave. You move forward through the water, your breasts pressed against the metal as you cross your arms over the lip of the tub.

“I am sorry for keeping secrets… It is just that to keep the peace between Haiford and Galanta, we have to be careful.” You mutter softly. Wanda gives you a sympathetic look, ringing out the damp cloth in her hands.

“King Harrison is still expecting Princess Peggy to marry King James?” She asks quietly, abandoning the cloth over the lip of the tub. You press your lips together tightly, watching as Wanda fetches you a dry towel.

“Unfortunately.” You grumble in return, standing. You allow most of the water to cascade off your skin and hair before wrapping yourself in the towel and carefully stepping out of the tub as Wanda readies your dress.

You quickly dry yourself before the cold sets in, scoffing as Wanda speaks up once more from across the room. “He must be blind if he has not seen the way Princess Peggy and Sir Rogers dance around each other.”

“I think I may have accidentally helped Peggy by distracting King Harrison.” You admit sheepishly.

Wanda snorts. “He seems to be looking everywhere but at Princess Peggy. Gods, he spends more time enamored with Lord Rumlow than–”

“What do you mean?” You cut over her abruptly.

Wanda arches a brow at you. “King Harrison and Lord Rumlow, they’re always constantly muttering away in the corner, haven’t you noticed?”

“I have.” You say it with a frown. At least you had noticed it more back in Galanta, but these past two weeks between the funeral, James, and organizing, you had barely had time to play spy. It was harder to notice the small things of court when you were now the center of attention rather than a ghost slinking around on the outside of conversation.

“Maybe King Harrison has grown bored of wives – Maeve says that the two of them remain locked up in King Harrison’s rooms most days and nights. She scarcely has time to clean!” Wanda says as she helps you pull on your dress, a thick, dark material with fur trimmings and silver beading around the waist.

“Does she know what they are doing in there?” You pry cautiously, tugging the sleeves in place and shooing Wanda away as you begin to lace the front.

“No. They always grow quiet when she knocks, and they send her away. The staff are making bets over what date they’ll announce their affair.”

You don’t reply, instead pondering over this newfound information. Wanda begins muttering about the hairstyle she will craft for you tonight. You are barely listening as you sink into the seat in front of your mother's old vanity. With any hope James’ and King Harrison’s chat goes well tonight, you felt a pit of dread growing in your stomach at the thought of what Rumlow might be scheming.

taglist | @liter4ti @just-someone11 @champagnejoker @scooobies @queerqueenlynn @fanfictionjunkie1112 @themotherof10 @diaries-of-a-hopelessromantic @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @riffstorm

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes series #james bucky barnes #marvel au #marvel fic #marvel #royalty au #medieval au #fantasy au #lady of the ghosts

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chantsdemarins · 1 month

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🏰The Breath of the Æsir Master List {Loki x Fem.Reader} A Medieval AU Loki Fic

(I have been very behind but it's not because I am not working hard on this fic! It's a challenging one to write. Maybe my most challenging to date! I hope I still have folks interested in reading!)

Chapter 1 The Embroidery of Destiny

Chapter 2 The Stranger

Chapter 3 Stories Cannot Burn or Disappear

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Summary: Disenchanted with the Danes' misuse of Norse gods to sanction their brutality, Loki finds himself ostracized. Stripped of his divine powers and bearing a severe injury, he wanders into the realm of the conquered. By a twist of fate, he arrives at your manor, where you await your husband's return. However, destiny has other plans.

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hansdampfinallengassen · 1 year

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Stephen Rogers, Cleric of Protection.

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demobatfluffyart · 10 days

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#ai art #medieval au #bucky barnes #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #marvel comics #winter soldier

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leehanji · 1 year

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Bucky’s face turned towards him and when he opened his eyes Steve swore he saw starlight glittering in their blue depths. He smiled back, lost in the way the moonlight made Bucky’s skin glow. Bucky’s hand found his on the cool stone railing and his warmth sent shivers down Steve’s spine. “Steve,” he breathed, sliding his thumb across the back of Steve’s hand. “I—“

...Coming soon to an AO3 near you.

Patreon || NSFW

#stucky #steve x bucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #medieval AU #captain america #winter soldier #my art #marvel #mcu #leehanji

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goldencherriess · 1 year

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The Revaria Chronicles || Series.

Pairing: Healer! Stephen Strange x Fem! Reader

Summary: In a desperate attempt to save her dying sister, Y/N hires Stephen Strange, a well known sorcerer and healer, to cure her. But Stephen is a man of mystery and Y/N quickly learns that healing is a two way process.

Set in a fantasy, medieval world and telling the story of a trip and several quests, "The Revaria Chronicles" is a story of how healing implies courage and how much a person can feel like home.

"You're stronger than you think."

"I'm no healer."

"You healed me."

Fantasy! AU. Strangers to lovers! Slow burn!

Series status: Ongoing

Chapters:

Chapter one

Summary: A rather famous name appears in Y/N's village. Desperate to keep her sister alive, she turns to the only man who can save her.

More to be added!

Warnings: angst, fluff, strangers to lovers, bickering couple, the one bed trope, lots of pirates, mentions of injuries, mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, love confessions

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x female reader #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #fantasy au #medieval au #medieval #fluff #angst #pirates #mutual pining #slow burn #fanfic writing #masterlist #my writing #laura writes

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darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

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Crown of Thorns Masterlist

Summary: Your reclusive existence is interrupted by an unexpected company of men. (Medieval AU)

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

#bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #series #medieval au #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

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I'm in the mood for Steve to manhandled me 😞 please give me some nice input. Do I want medivial Steve, mob Steve, cop Steve, lumberjack Steve? What Steve? Help me 😭

I'm giving you medieval Steve

Merciless

Summary: You're caught in the spoils of war.

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence/hitting, blood, death. You know what it is, mind the warnings.

Notes: this turned out much longer than intended. As usual, I would appreciate feedback, reblogs and likes. Love yall 💓.

You clamp your hand over Agnes' mouth as you lay hidden from the furor. The screams of horror and agony, pleas for death and life, and the slash of steel and flesh. She quivers, her salty tears flowing between your fingers. Your own trickle down your cheeks and patter into her orange hair.

The loft is poor protection, you know it, and to stay would be as dire as to yield yourself to the soldiers and their bloodlust. It is undoubted that they will strike flame to the barn as they have the rest of the settlement.

Tales of brutality and blood precede them but the common farmers and serfs never imagined it would strike the insignificant hamlet. The huts and the fields are too sparse to offer bounty to pillagers but it seems their desires are not uniquely material.

You shudder as Agnes gulps, the hooves growing closer and closer. You can't stay. You hear the men calling for torches.

You squeeze your hand around Agnes' lips and lean in to whisper, "be very quiet."

She nods and you cautiously peel your palms away and slowly push yourself up from beneath the straw. You mop your cheeks as fear blooms anew in your stomach, causing you to quake as you crawl towards the edge of the platform, peering down the ladder.

The orange light of flames flickers faintly around the barred doors, the night drifting in between the cracks in bitter gales. You wave Agnes closer and point her down first. She descends as you watch the door, the crack of fire eating at wood noisily without. Closer and closer.

You follow her down, the girl you've known since you were barely able to walk. She's pallid with terror, her eyes dilated in the shadows of the barn. You grab her wrist and pull her around the bales.

"Here," you point to the loose slat hidden along the rear of the structure.

"We can't go out," she hisses, "they will see us."

"It's our only chance," you whisper, "otherwise, we'll burn as easy as the hay."

"Please," she clings to you, "I'm scared, I can't."

"I am too but we must," you insist, voice quavering as you recall the desperate whimpers of your mother, "to stay is a certain death, Ag, so we go."

She sniffles as a new wave of tears overflows and she wipes them away with her wool sleeves. You carefully inch the slat aside, angling it on the loose nail so you can peek out.

The forest isn't too far, not if you run. Your heart swells as you ponder the expanse.

"Don't look back, right? I'll watch from behind and you run."

"What– aren't you coming–"

"I will be only steps behind, I will only keep an eye for any soldiers," you assure her, "you go out first and I will follow." You reach for her hand and squeeze, "don't look back."

She shudders and you can't help but do the same. You angle the board enough for her to step through and she kneels in the tall grass. You come out in quick succession and ease the plank back into place.

"Buncha old man and their forks," a soldier growls from somewhere on the other side.

"Likely sent the young ones to the church for refuge," another scoffs, "women too."

"Not all, Wilson found a pretty little thing up a tree," a third snickers.

"Oh, she got good hips?" The second japes.

"Didn't notice, cunt is a cunt," the other slithers.

You wince in disgust as Agnes looks at you in horror. You shake your head as if to say, don't listen. You press a finger to your lips then point across the field. Your gazes meet in wordless consent.

You make a fist, a signal, then open your hand. In a moment, she's sprinting through the grass with her skirts raised to her knees, the rustle and snapping of twigs marking her flight. The men's voices carry on in their nasty repartee then pause as the noise draws their ears.

You hold your breath as she bounds without a glance over her shoulder. You hear metal clinks, the friction of leather and mail as a man comes around the corner. He doesn't see you as he sights Agnes flees and he gives a smirk before leaping into pursuit. Your chest knots as you quickly follow suit.

You chase after him as you hear Agnes give a pitiful cry at the realisation of her pursuer. You can barely keep stride with the man and jump forward to grasp at him desperately before he's completely beyond your grasp.

Your fingers cling to the pommel of his sword and the back of his thick leather belt. He staggers and shouts in surprise as you throw your weight into him. He topples as you land atop him.

He's face down in the grass as you scramble to climb off him. You get one foot down, then the other, fighting for balance as you heave and look ahead as Agnes nears the treeline.

You take a step, then another, your third is caught by the man's thick gauntlet and you hit your elbows as you fall forward. You kick blindly and call to Agnes to keep running. Several other man clatter by in mail as she delves into the forest. You can only pray she loses them.

"You're a tricky one," the man grabs your other ankle and crawls up your body.

His hand snakes to the back of your neck and pinches, crushing your face into the bent grass. He's large, made heavier by his armor, as he curls his arm around your throat and forces your head up. You writh and claw at the ground as you try to squirm out from beneath him.

"Ah, you're going to be good fun, aren't you?" He snickers as he keeps his thick arm around you, hauling you up with him as he stands, bending your back painfully with the awkward rise, "let me get a good look, hm?"

He spins you, grabbing your chin as the scales of his gauntlet dig into your skin. A streak of blood crusts his hairline and continues down to his jaw, defined and trimmed on dark blond hair. He smirks as his other hand gropes through the layers of your apron and dress, "full-bodied in the least."

You try to shove his touch away and he squeezes your chin until you whimper, bracing his wrist in a silent plea for mercy. He chuckles as your eyes prick and the pain furrows in your brow.

"Please, sir," you murmur, "I am only the daughter of a reaper–"

"No doubt he's somewhere among the traitorous corpses," he snarls and yanks you closer, his hand slipping around to knead your bottom, "but he does breed good stock."

You flinch at the depths of his blue eyes, striking but sinister. His blond hair is pushed back, shiny with sweat and blood, as a single shank hangs down his forehead. He smells of battle, a gut churning stench.

His chestplate is marked with a large five-pointed star with thorny vines wrapped around its arms. It is armor due to more than the common soldier. He must be a knight.

"Oi, Rogers, caught yourself a fawn, eh?" Another man chuckles as he appears just behind your accoster.

The loud lick of flames rises behind them, rising up the boards of the barn. The orange hues tinge your eyes as your forebodding burns in the evening dim.

"She would go well with the cask we found in the farmer's cellar," the dark-haired man reaches to touch you but is stopped as the knight, Rogers they called him, releases your skirts to fend him off with a swat.

"Not for you," he growls.

"Eh, you lords, always so selfish," the other retracts his hand and scowls, "I suppose you won't need the wine anyhow."

You try to pull away, drawing his attention back to you as he jars your neck painfully. You grunt as the other man stumbles of, muttering discontently. Rogers turns his wrath on your, his hand quickly spreading across your skull, threatening to crush it.

"Let me tell you, bunny," he sneers, "you'll pray you'd burned up in that wreck," he turns you, forcing you to look at the smoke billowing from the sparking wood, "or at least hopped a little quicker."

"Why--" your hand slips down his bracer, "why are you doing this?"

"We take no mercy on treasonous rats," he snarls as he leans in, his nose pressing to your temple, "especially not their whorish daughters."

"We... we are no traitors, sir, we are commonfolk--"

"Raise not your axes and scythes for the king, but wallow in your fields," he shakes you, keeping hold of your scruff, yanking you along with his sudden march, "indifference is as good as an assault upon the crown."

You reach back as he twists the fabric of your dress tight, choking you as he drags you around the rabid heat of the burning barn. You stumble on your toes, held up by his unyielding grip

"My horse, where is my horse?" He barks out.

You hear a shrill cry and turn to see. He pulls you back meanly and throws you onto the hard ground, your knees scraping even through the wool and linen.

"Mind yourself, wench," he growls as you look up from the dirt.

"Please, don't--"

You glance over as you press your scratched palms against your skirts. Agnes struggles between two captors as they tug at her dress, the laces already loosened as her bodice droops down. You go to stand as you call out to her.

Once more, you're hauled back as Rogers catches your arm and spins you around.

"Lost cause, now," he girds, "less you want to join her."

You quiver and sniffle as you watch Agnes weep, barely able to fend off the men grabbing at her. Her helplessness compounds your own, suffocating you as tears gleams along your eyelids and spill over.

"Tears won't help you," he sneers callously as he accepts the leather reins from another man, a great white warhorse snorting at the looming fire, "up." You hesitate and he shoves you, nearly under the feed of the steed, "suppose you've no need of manners tilling the soil but you'll learn, bunny. Go on."

He doesn't wait for you to grab onto the horse, instead he takes you by the hips and lifts you, so swiftly you feel as if you'll fall over the other side. You latch onto the saddle and bring your leg around, clinging unsteadily on the sturdy beast, never sitting more than the old mule in Theo's stables.

He's swiftly up behind you, body flush to yours as he crushes you against the curve of the saddle. You can hear Agnes still as she whimpers and whines, wailing as the tear of fabric cuts through the air. You glance around frantically, trying to find her.

"Stubborn thing," he raps along the crown of your head with his knuckles, "be grateful you only have one master, she'll see a dozen by dawn."

"Please--"

"Please?" he challenges as he snaps the reigns, the sweat dripping down your chest as the heat of the burning barn permeates the night. "Please, what? Shall I take you down and pull your skirts up for those heathens? By all means, make your choice, bunny. Me or them?"

You shiver, despite the boiling gusts of the flames. You hear Agnes and other women, shrieking, crying, groaning. There are shadows limned in shades of orange and yellow, violent jerking, flailing limbs. You're dizzy with the repugnant visions all around me.

"What shall it be, bunny?"

You shake your head. You can't speak. Your mouth is dry, your throat lumped in dread. Your slump your shoulders and hang your head, sobbing in shame. You cannot protect Agnes, you're too weak, too cowardly.

Rogers snaps the reins, the horse breaking into a cantor. You sway with its motion, the world blurring behind the wall of your futile tears.

⚔️

The tall walls of the tent billow with the night winds. You stand in a haze, the soreness of the horse's gait lingers in your thighs and back. You weren't abreast long but the frantic energy of your fear recedes and leaves you wilted.

It is indeed a rich man's tent, not like the short poles of the common soldiers you passed along the outskirts of camp. There is a four-postered bed with a feather mattress and canopy, a war not waged without luxury. The oaken furniture and brocade cushions or finer than any piece found in your village, even before it was raized to cinder.

You press your hands together as his movement distracts you from grief. Several pieces of armor lay on the round trestle table, lain over a map drawn on hide. His sword leans against the side, still attached to the slack belt hanging from it.

He lifts his mail over his head, further messing his blood-streaked hair. He glances at you but says nothing. Only the glean of impatience in his eyes speaks his irritation.

You stare, witless, then look over your shoulder at the canvas flaps.

You wince as his shadow nears and you turn back to him as he snakes his arms around you, yanking loose the not of your apron. He whips it away from you and traces his fingers up your bodice, bracing the round neckline and renting the wool down the middle to reveal your linen shift.

His gruffness jerks you as he strips, ripping your dress to the hem and making short order of your shift. You hug yourself, trying to hold the fabric around you and he shoves your arms down, tugging the sleeves past your hands.

"Bed," he jabs his thumb behind him.

You swallow and shiver, rubbing your upper arm as you cover your chest and hover your other hand before your vee. You step back fearfully as you eye the mattress. He growls and grabs your elbow, dragging you away from the ruin of your clothes.

"Must I say everything twice?" He snaps and tosses you ahead of him.

You hit the bed and fall onto your stomach. You roll over, bringing your legs up to your chest and hugging them. He sighs as he pulls his tunic off and crumples it before throwing it away.

He stretches his fingers then furls them as his eyes graze over you hotly.

"You act like a virgin," he scoffs, "I've never known your ilk to be chaste."

You push yourself away from him as he nears the edge of the bed. He picks at the laces along the top of his breeches as he approaches. You dig in your heels as you awkwardly evade him.

"Not that the modesty of a peasant is worth anything," he sneers as he shoves down his breeches, revealing the thick muscle of his thighs.

You blink at the golden hair across his legs, that thickens around his turgid length, and thins against along his stomach, trailing up to and across his chest. You've seen men before as they bathe in the river, but never more than flaccid.

"Come," he reaches for you and you roll away.

You get your hands and knees beneath you, crawling towards the other edge with a squeak. His grip closes around your ankle and pulls your leg out from under you. He flips you over as he climbs onto the mattress and snarls, a low guttural noise.

"I should've known," he pulls your legs apart and moves to kneel between them. You slap at him and catches your wrists, pulling you up as your back curls tenuously, "you stop or I'll make you stop."

He threatens to crush your bones with his strength, only easing up as you still and whimper. He scoffs and pushes your hand down, sliding his fingers along yours and guiding them around his cock. You gasp as he holds you there, letting your other hand fall to the bed.

"You should be so honoured that you can get me hard, wench," he bristles as he moves your hand up and down his length, "perhaps it is that the road has made me too eager."

He pushes your shoulder down so your hand slips from him and he pins you flat to the bed. He sidles closer to you on his knees, shifting his hand to your chest and resting his weight there.

You turn your face away from him as the air rushes from your lungs. He rubs his tip along your pelvis, trailing along the creases of your thighs, as if teasing you, taunting you with what he's about to do.

You bite down as tears rise again, the thick cloud once more clogging your nose. He presses against your entrance and grabs your chin.

He forces your head up and you close your eyes. He taps along your folds and tuts as a pang radiates through your jaw. You look at him through glossy eyes, tears trickling down your temples.

"That's it, bunny," he growls, "it is improper to disregard a lord... or his will."

He pushes on you, slowly, the resistance of your body keeping him out. Still, a twinge of pain flickers in your pelvis and he pokes harder at you, stretching you around him as he grunts. He exhales and shifts his posture, dipping his hips lower.

You whine as he inches into you. The pain is immeasurable, a deep ache in the bones, the strain of flesh around his intrusion like a blade tearing through you. You grasp his forearm, reaching to touch his thigh with your fingertips.

"Ow," you whine, "please, it hurts, sir. Stop--"

You're struck suddenly, the world spinning as your head snaps to the side with the sheer fury of his slap. You hold your head as you babble cluelessly.

"You do not issue me orders, bunny," he sinks in further and your back arches as you cry out, curling your fingers in agony, wanting to claw at your own face. "That's it," he rocks back then in again, still barely inside you, "you cannot keep me out, bunny, I have never left any unconquered."

You murmur and slap your hands down on the woven blanket, fisting the fold of it as he tilts into you, each time deeper than the last. Your toes clench as he moves your thighs over his, pulling you closer as he topples the last of your resistance.

You gurgle at the stunning pain, the dizzying rattle in your head as your cheek sears from his assault. He bends over you, his rough hand covering your breast as he gropes you, rolling his thumb over your tender bud. He rocks steadily, long strokes in and out, stretching you over and over.

You grit your teeth as the tears wet spill out freely and gather in your throat. His body moves against yours, the hair along his torso tickling you as the heat and friction entwines you. His blue eyes drink in your tortured sobs, watching you as he thrusts deliberately, your squeaks and squeals goading him on.

He slides an arm beneath you as your hand spreads over the corded muscle of his chest. He impales you to his limit and you shriek. It's as if you will split in half.

He turn you over as he rolls with you, bringing you up over him as he lays on his back. You sink deeper onto him and brace his stomach as the pressure tingles down your thighs.

He chuckles at your struggle to take him from below, your body shaking violently as you mewl. He slaps your ass and squeezes the hot flesh, his other hand on your hips as he guides your motion.

You hang your head, breathless as he works you atop him, wiggling his hips and adding to the torment within. Your nails dig into the lines of his stomach as you tremble over him, tensing each time he tilts you against him. He groans and purrs as he moves you faster and faster.

"Oh, bunny," he slaps your rear again, then pinches you until you squeal, "you are such a weak thing."

You shakily cover your face in humiliation, unable to stem the flood of tears as they well over. His hand slips up your back and he pulls you down against him. He grips the back of your neck as he holds your body flush to his, stilling you as he bucks from below.

You wail as he hammers into you. All restraint is lost to his lust as his growls underline your pathetic babbling. You cling to him with nothing else to ease your pain.

He guides your hips, slamming you down onto him as he thrusts up into you. You huff and puff as your eyes roll back and the shadows swirl in your head. You can't take much more.

"Shall I gift you with a bastard, bunny?" he growls as he slows, "hm? Something to recall me by."

"Sir..." is all you can get out as his motion turns erratic.

He groans and grunts as his fists your hair and a warmth erupts inside of you. His voice falters with his pace and he quakes as he spills his seed across your walls. He shudders as he falls limp, keeping you pinned against him as he pants.

You're stuck there, not only by his will but your weakness. Defeated, defiled, you lay over him, desecrated.

"If the lord wills it, you will have it," he rasps and wiggles his hips, "but it is said that it often takes much sowing to plant a seed."

#fic #dark!fic #dark fic #marvel #mcu #au #captain america #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #medieval au

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oksana-moods · 1 year

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Queens of Promise - Part 8

Summary: The search for the unknown has proven to be harder than one previously thought, however you had gone too far to back down now. From your search or from Wanda. A/N: Hey guys, sorry to leave you hanging for this part. There were some changes that I wanted to do, and I was also trying to decide on some details. Hope you like it! Thank you for all your love, it means a lot.

Warning: Violence, gore, mentions of blood, mentions of death – you know the drill by now.

Previous parts here

"Have only just begun"

Wolfgang City – Sokovia

The air reeked to smoke and spice as it would in every single closed place in this city. Their wine was one of the finest, even the cheapest ones, but people still prefer to keep their warmth by inhaling the smoke of their thick cigars.

And the spice? Well, everything had spice. Cigars, wine, food, clothes, women. Spice, after all, saved Sokovians banks through their darkest times and they were the paramount seller of the world. If the gold mines ran out of its material, the red and green powder would make the gold come to their hands.

The man you were after stood several feet from you, enjoying the pleasures of life. You and Barton had been doing this dance for weeks now, and you’ve been trying to take him down for a chat for days, but you’re yet to be lucky.

Every day a different commotion gets in the way of your plans, however, tonight, he’d be the commotion.

Soon, the man started to cough and looked at his cigar as if it were the cause of it. He gasped for air and his companions started to run erratically around the brothel while the woman keeping him company dragged him into a room with clear, open windows so he could breathe properly.

The room you were at.

An hour later, the man woke up and, much to his consternation, he was strapped into a chair. He swallowed hard and looked around the room as if trying to remember where he was and how he ended up in this situation. Then, he saw you.

Comfortably seated across the room, there was you, patiently waiting for your time to shine. You saw his eyes assess you and by the wicked smile on his face, he didn’t see the threat on your pose, on your expressions or in your eyes.

‘Men, why do they always underestimate a woman?’ You mused to yourself while closing the distance between you and your prisoner.

His smile never waved, if anything, it grew wider as you approached him. “Never seen you ‘round ‘re, doll.”

You punctuated his sentence by punching him hard in the face. His chair almost toppled over to the side such was the force of your jab. “Don’t be a freak kinky.” You spat at him as he tried to gather his bearings.

“I thought we agreed I’d play the bad guard this time.” Barton’s voice filled the room as he walked out of the shadows, and you looked at him.

“He pushed his luck too early for my taste.” You growled and Clint chuckled at your short fuse.

“Who ‘re ya?” The man asked, eyes darting from the man to the woman standing in front of him. Now visibly concerned about the situation he found himself in.

“I am your friend.” Barton pointed to himself and grabbed a chair so he could take a seat, then pointed at you. “She? Not so much.”

Though, Clint barely gave the man time to sink in what he had just said, for he continued. “You see, we were told that you’d know where Harv Krickitt is.” The man looked at him as if terrified by the name, so he asked. “And would be wise of you to tell us where he is.”

The man grunted and howled in his chains as if he could summon the strength of a god to set himself free, but nothing happened. The gods wouldn’t hear him now.

“I will tell you nothing.” He bravely snarled at Barton, and you rolled your eyes. Soon, his face turned sharply to the side after another punch found his jaw.

“You know, she can do this all day.” Clint said, patronizingly, pretending to be bored already.

However, before he could do or say anything else. The man started to contort again, but this time, only his head. A second too late, Clint realized what he was about to do, but when he reached the prisoner, it was too late.

“Hail Hydra.” Were the man’s last words.

Out of anger, you kicked the chair closest to you and it hit the wall nearby with impressive force, as it shattered on the ground, you shouted. “Again! We’ve been chasing him for days and now he’s dead. Just like the others.”

Lord Barton was more than used to your short temper that seemed to fade shorter with every passing day without answers. After the first lead they received from Romanoff, they started to trail their own way of investigation, but every time they reached another dead end. Literally.

Harv Krickitt was the artist who produced the lion pendant that was used both as target setting and payment for your head three moons ago. Therefore, he was the one who could point them in the direction of who asked for his services about the necklace.

Once they knew who had asked for the jewelry, they’d find the trail of the conspirator and the conspiracy itself. The only problem was the artist had gone missing and his family didn’t see him for a while now, hence the interrogations. Though they always ended with a dramatic hail to hydra.

The only positive prospect of this mess was that someone from the Noble House of Hydra was meddling and working from the shadows to keep things out of the spotlight. The question was why someone from Hydrarr Realm, let alone from such important family, would go so many lengths to interfere with Sokovian politics?

As the night advanced, they got rid of the body and returned to their “house” for this mission. However, as soon as they entered the brothel, something seemed off.

The ladies seemed tense, the men and women attending the house were forcibly enjoying their evening in a way that verged the suspicious. Then, you saw a blade and another. Before you could warn your friend, he was already drawing his sword and attacking the closest person his metal could find.

“Get him, I’m sure he’ll make a nice slave. As for the girl, you may have your way with her, then kill her.” A man with broad shoulders and thick beard spat orders to his goons as he strolled towards Barton, drawing his sword.

‘The nerve of him’ You mused angrily. ‘Do all men in this city underestimate women?’ You attacked the person closest to you, which happened to be a woman, but she never stood the chance. Nor your next opponent who tried to use a double hand sword in a place full of furniture.

Really? This was combat rules 101. Small blades for small places.

One single movement of your sword and the man was no more. You jumped over a sofa when two men tried to strike at the same time, the first lost his arm and the second his life.

From the corner of your eye, you kept track of Barton’s whereabouts, and saw him struggling with two opponents plus the big, bearded guy. The leader of this attack.

“Greygov!” Someone shouted and the bearded man turned just in time to block your attack. He laughed rather maniacally when he parried your sword one more time.

He invested, and with a start, you knew you couldn’t beat him in this sword game. So, you stepped to the side, grabbed his extended arm and climbed through his body using his leg as step and pressed your own legs around his neck in a chokehold.

Two heartbeats later and the man fell. Quickly, you pulled your sword again and rested your blade on his neck, while your hand kept a firm grip on his collar. He knew you had his life at the palm of your hand.

You had Greygov kneeled in front of you, his back pressed against your front, and you were about to slice the life out of him when he spoke. “You didn’t mention you were a weirded, fighter woman.”

“Conversation was short, if I’m not mistaken.” You supplied and he laughed, more like growled, louder than someone in his position should.

“Do it, girl.” He basically asked you to end his life.

What was wrong with these people?

Regardless of your intentions in conceding his wish, a clap of hands filled the room that death had recently claimed, except for you, Barton and Greygov, who was still kneeled.

The source of the sarcastic applause was the one and only Wanda Maximoff, who waltzed into the destroyed saloon with all her glory in a crimson red gown. Her hair cascaded down past her shoulders and framed her face flawlessly and her lips, they had never looked so red before.

She was a walking masterpiece.

For a second, your hand with a death grip on Greygov’s collar faltered. It’s been almost three moons since you last saw her, yet she was still the epitome of perfection. If anything, she seemed almost ethereal to you.

The intensity portrayed by her eyes were like a punch in your stomach, but you held her gaze, nonetheless. This woman did things to you without even trying and she didn’t even know the power she had over you.

Or maybe she did know and did it on purpose.

You wanted to smile but you bit back and remained stoic. Your face would not betray your heart.

“When I heard about two outsiders leaving a trail of corpses, never in my life I’d guess that it was you.” Wanda spoke solely looking at you as if her eyes could devour your soul right then and there.

“And here I thought we were being subtle about it.” You didn’t know whether her comment was coated with sarcasm or not, but yours surely dripped with it. Every single body was a message to the next victim.

“Why are you here?” She demanded but you wouldn’t back down.

“Could you show some manners, Princess? This is our house and these fine gentlemen decided to pay us a visit, though I must say we partied too hard tonight.”

“Enough.” She yelled and you blinked. She was tense and you could see it.

“Romanoff, take Greygov and whoever was left alive. I want answers this time. Remove his teeth if that means he’ll live long enough to share some of his memories with us.” Wanda’s eyes were dark and the man by your feet whimpered lightly when her gaze fell on him.

You couldn’t blame him, though. Few people wouldn’t cower under such scrutiny, for Wanda’s eyes were filled with pure power.

“I already took a few, but one could never be sure.” Your sly smile came to your lips almost involuntarily. You knew this would rile Wanda and the hell if you loved her hatred directed at you. Somehow, she was even more beautiful mad and angry.

If you couldn’t have her, at least you’d have her attention. Because there was something about her that made you desperate for her attention and you knew how short her patience was when it came to you doing or speaking infuriating things.

“You, outsider. Follow me.” Wanda commanded and, though you were about to throw a remark, you realized that she didn’t use your title. She didn’t reveal your true identity. So, you followed her.

On your way out, you saw Bishop already offering some bandages to Clint so your friend could patch up some of his wounds. When you locked eyes, you nodded at him.

Outside the two-store building that you and Clint were residing in for the past weeks, you saw two horses ready and waiting to be mounted. Two other guards were guarding said horses. The night was pitch black and there wasn’t a single soul walking the streets.

Though, one could never be sure, especially in this neighborhood.

You watched as the redhead mounts her horse, and you pick the other. The woman doesn’t even spare you a glance, so you silently follow her. Several minutes later, you’re walking on a different neighborhood, not that you knew which one, but the houses were bigger, fancier.

Then, Wanda drops to her feet and walk towards a specific house. The exterior was imposing, vibrating colors and the riches promised outside were indeed founded when you followed her inside.

The room you were at was rather small but beautifully decorated with paintings and tapestries. The details of the furniture screamed Essos design and, though you didn’t climb to the second floor, you knew the room above would be just as elegant as the one you were in.

The place was warm and inviting, especially after riding a horse in a cold night. For a stance, there isn’t smoke or spice impregnating the place. It was warm without using the common subterfuges.

“What is this place?” You asked, after taking in every single detail you could from the room you’re standing in. “And please, don’t say it’s a house.” You added mocking an annoyed tone.

“This is the type of answer you should expect from someone like you.” Wanda spoke, closing the door after giving some orders to her men. “I’m educated; therefore, I’ll clarify that this house belongs to the crown. Dignitaries or emissaries from other realms stay in places like this if they wish not to stay in the castle.”

“Fancy house.” You reply, still looking around. But this time you do so to avoid the weight of her eyes. There was an energy emanating from Wanda that you couldn’t put your finger on, but it was starting to feel overwhelming. “Does this mean I’m now your prisoner?”

“What?” Wanda tilted her head to side, brows furrowed.

“You took me from the brothel and brought me here. What do you want?” You asked, now looking directly at her.

“What do I want?” She snorted, exasperated. “Are you mad?” It’s possible to see her face turning red with anger.

You knew there were some flags about her stance, but you stood your ground. Wanda Maximoff could be stubborn all she wanted, for you were just the same. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Princess.”

“What were you thinking?” She shouted, patience waning little by little. Wanda couldn’t, for the life in her, understand how you could be so blind. And stupid. “Coming into Wolfgang! Don’t you see how dangerous this place is for you?”

The northern princess shakes her head, it’s unbelievable how reckless you were. “Want to get yourself killed? To enrage your mother so she can march with the whole south until she’s breaking our necks with her bare hands?”

“Look, you don’t need to get so worked up. Barton and I were keeping a low profile, the corpses were there, but no one really knew that we were the culprits.” You rested your back on a table behind you, but your arms were crossed on your chest as if to protect you from her energy.

“You can’t parade around my city leaving a track of dead people behind. What do you think this is?” Wanda snarls, and it was plain to see that she was annoyed at your actions. But you couldn’t dwell on her wellbeing right now, there was too much at stake.

“We were investigating, Wanda. Don’t know if you forgot, but last time you and I were in the same room a fucking assassin tried to kill us both. To kill me.” You shouted back, patience long gone. “Someone is playing with us, and I want to know who the fuck is.”

“And you think I’m not aware of this? But someone is bound to learn who’s behind this creepy investigation of yours. You won’t do this anymore, I demand you.” Wanda’s tone was enlaced with an emotion that you couldn’t grasp, her eyes burned but it wasn’t hatred anymore.

“Why not?” You ask simply, ignoring her demand. You wanted to get to the bottom of this, but you couldn’t if the princess kept interfering with your business.

“Don’t you see how dangerous this is?” She repeated, louder this time, frustrated with your lack of perspective. “You pulled off with Greygov’s men because they didn’t know who you really are, but they won’t hesitate in kill you.” Her eyes turned soft for the first time that evening. “And by the gods, if they ever learn who you really are, I don’t even wanna know.”

“What’s the matter?” You shot back. Her worries ignited some sort of fire in you, yet you didn’t have a name for it. The air was impregnated with some sort of tension that could be sliced with a sword; it was suffocating.

“What’s the matter?” She repeated your words, exasperatedly. “Are you insane? Or just can’t see past your reckless ass?” Wanda ran her hands through her hair, now beyond angry.

You smirked, internally, at her choice of words, the Wanda you knew from the past would never use such mundane words. Yet here she was, speaking freely like a commoner as she always claimed she’d never.

“If I get killed is just a win-win for you, isn’t it?” Your eyes were harder than obsidian, death never frightened you. Failure does. “One less lioness to kill. Don’t need to act like you care about-”. You could never finish your sentence, for she cut you off before you could continue your little speech.

“Only I care.” Her voice went from full power to small, devoid of strength, yet it lit the flames in your heart. “I wish I didn’t, but I do care about you.” Her green eyes bored into you with the same force as thousands of horses would.

They were limpid, crystal clear. She meant every single word.

Once more, everything was Wanda.

You lunched your body forward and kissed her fiercely. You poured into a searing kiss every emotion you’ve bottled up inside your chest and oh you saw heaven when she laced her hands behind your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“You’re stupid.” She muttered between kisses, and you smiled at her.

“I know.” You replied right before leaning in for another round of pleasure obtained through her lips. Then, both pulled back a little for air and Wanda rested her forehead on yours, eyes closed in a bliss.

“I’ve missed you.” You whispered, as if afraid of speaking any louder could startle her and she’d flee back to the walls she keeps around her heart. As if any louder could break the moment and you’d realize it’s nothing but a dream. Again.

Apparently, you shouldn’t have spoken at all, for a second later, Wanda pulled back as if your skin was setting hers on fire. You watched as she took few steps back, shaking her head lightly the same way one does when they need to focus.

“This is a mistake.” Her words pierced through your skin sharper than any blade.

“Wanda-” You try but she cuts you again.

“No.” This time, her eyes are sad, and she’s long gone back to the walls she built around herself. “You are the Princess of Taharr, and you’re not supposed to be here or doing what we just did.”

It’s plain to see that she speaks as if trying to convince or remember herself of the situation you were in. You wouldn’t forget your duty but couldn’t deny your feelings towards her either. There should be a way of doing both.

“You don’t believe that.” You tentatively try, heart pounding on your ribcage.

“I- I do!” She asserts, but you caught her light stutter. She’s afraid of something. The same thing that’s been holding her back since Fury Valley and your first kiss. “I hate you.” She vowed.

“You just kissed me.” You snorted, slightly confused at her sudden change of heart. It was easier to follow a whiplash than the woman in front of you.

“So what?” Wanda snorts but you see right through her. Trying to hide something, she derisively retorts. “Who said I can’t kiss someone just because I hate them?” The redhead flashes you a smirk but it’s all for a show.

Squinting your eyes, you ignore her snide remark for the moment and try to see past her words to grasp what was behind it. Her eyes, her stance… everything felt like it was backwards. She wasn’t just fooling around when she kissed you. You felt how she meant it, for her passion still burned your very own tongue.

You take one step towards her and try again. “What are you so afraid of?” Your voice was soft, you had never felt so vulnerable before as you do now.

“You.” It was your turn to be startled by her voice, or by what she had just said. “I- Yo-… I don’t understand the things I feel when I’m around you. Or with you.” Wanda voices, for the first time, out loud, part of all the trouble she’d been guarding inside her heart.

“Well, I do.” You take another step and lock eyes with the goddess standing in front of you. “I know that I never felt this way for no one and whenever you’re gone I just can’t-.” You search your poor brain but there aren’t words to express what you feel. You too don’t quite understand, you’re so new to this.

You’re so new to love, because all this time you’ve been doing war. Up and down. Left and right. Even the one thing that could resemble to love in your life was, in the end, part of a ploy. Politics.

“Can’t?” The Scarlet Knight asked, and her voice brought you out of your head, out of your search. Wanda looked at you curiously, and genuinely waiting for you to explain something that you couldn’t.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” You said, finally, and you saw the ghost of a smile gracing her lips, only for it to fade back into a thin line.

“You’re my enemy.” She says one more time and were you counting, you’d have surpassed the number of the stars in the sky with how many times she tried to remember herself or you of that little important fact.

“You sound like a broken tune, Maximoff.” A dashing smile comes to your lips as you remember the last time you spoke that exact same sentence to her. It felt like a lifetime ago, but her scent still invaded your nostrils.

Just like now.

Once more, you were one step away from her and you could see her eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. Searching for something that only the gods could know. Yet, you stood there. Waiting.

“You know what I hate the most about you?” Her eyes narrow, but you catch a hint of humor on her rhetorical, what makes your grin go wider. “I hate your perfect teeth.”

Your laugh filled the room entirely. You loved the passion seeping through every single word coming out of her mouth and you knew she meant it. Wanda never lied; she just didn’t understand that hate didn’t fit in it anymore.

“If you really hate me would be so much easier for you, wouldn’t it?” You ask shuffling closer to her, without taking a proper step. Wanda, much like a wild mare, tended to see danger on the slightest of movements. Or words.

“Who said I don’t really hate you?” The redhead dropped her hands to her hips, consternation covering her like a coat. The action made your knees weak, her beauty verges the unholiness.

Boldly, you grabbed her cheeks with your hands as to lock her in place. “If that’s so, look into my eyes and say it.” You defied, there was a confidence present in your words that you didn’t feel it in yourself.

But after so many years practicing to hide your fears and let people see what they expected to see, hide your true feelings was now an easy feature or accessible tool whenever you needed it. Like the exact moment you were in.

Your eyes focused on hers, and this close, they were bigger than the moon. Certainly, they could swallow you inside her pools without sparing you a second to think if you knew how to swim. Right then and there, they invited you to dive in without a promise that you’d ever come back.

As for Wanda, she felt as though her heart was about to jump out of her chest and every inch of her skin burned, a very good and pleasant burn, where your hands touched her. She could feel the softness which you held her despite your calloused hands.

She could see, written in your eyes, just how scary this was for you. It was scary, indeed. All Wanda had come to know was hate, yet she hated how fast her heart beats whenever you flash that smile, whenever your eyes tried to pierce her soul.

She hated how physically gut-wrenching her jealousy was the second she learnt that you were in a brothel, with so many women at your disposal. She hated how, whenever you were around, nothing else mattered to her.

She hated, foremost, how desperately torn she felt when, right after touching your heavenly lips with hers, she thought she’d lose you. Wanda Maximoff was scared that she wasn’t good enough to protect you. From the world. From herself.

“I- I-.” She tried, but again, the words faltered. Wanda closed her eyes, suddenly, too tired to keep trying to fight back the emotions hidden, buried in her chest.

“I hate that I adore you.” The statement seemed to resonate on the walls and lingered.

The redhead felt a pair of oh so soft lips touching her forehead tenderly, then your hands leaving her face. She had to physically stop herself from whining at the loss of contact, but soon your hands were back, this time picking her up bridal style.

She let her head fall on to your shoulder as you climbed the stairs. The bedroom was even more beautiful than you expected, but you didn’t have eyes for anything else other than the beauty resting in your arms.

Carefully, you lowered her and laid Wanda on the bed. You could see how tense and how tired she was. She deserved to rest. You brushed few strands of her silky hair out of her face just so you could engrave her perfection on to your mind, then, kissed her one more time and left.

Though, you couldn’t have gone so far but the door until her voice echoed throughout the room again and stopped you in your tracks.

“Where are you going?” She asked, already climbing off the bed.

“You’re tired.” You reply matter-of-factly as if this could explain your absence when the real reason was that now it was your turn to be scared. The things you felt for Wanda went beyond your imagination, but you knew you didn’t want to mess things up and treat her any less than she should be treated.

“Don’t leave.” Wanda asked, now closer to you. So much so that goosebumps shot up and down your spine. “Please.” A hand – her hand reaches, tentatively, for yours and it’s so tender and so warm that it hurts.

She makes you turn to look at her and, once you do, her eyes sparkled in the poor light coming from the fireplace in a way that was utterly unfair with your heart. She slips one hand over your cheek, and you lean into her touch as if touch-starved for centuries.

The thump of your heart was so loud in your ears that you thought she’d be able to hear it too. However, she rested her other hand over your chest, and she did feel the thundering going on beneath her soft palm. Her eyes trailed from her hand to your eyes in that inquisitorial way without saying any word and by the gods, you were metaphorically on your knees for Princess Wanda Maximoff of Sokovia.

Smut Part Part 9

Taglist: @californianwhiterabbit

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x fem!reader #queens of promise #princess wanda #princess reader #medieval au #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #wanda x female reader #enemies to lovers #angst #marvel series #marvel angst

91 notes · View notes

artficlly · 1 year

Text

lady of the ghosts [chapter one]

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: mention of disease, mention of war, sexism, mention of blood

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: ikik i should just be focusing on doing one series at a time, but god do i love a good medieval style courting au!! i don't know if this will have fantasy elements in it - it def could i am just hesitant! let me know what you think <3 not proof read - srry for typos.

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

Faliene, the city of The Stormfall Mountains, had once been a rich seaport. Before misfortune struck, it had been a great, bustling city, full of life, culture, and riches. The men of Faliene were seafarers, importing and exporting goods throughout the continents. Their families worked the land, raised livestock in the mountains, or sold the goods they produced. The streets had been lined with markets, taverns, and exotic dealers from across the known land. The deeper you moved within its walls, the more the city expanded into a dizzying mass of houses stacked atop each other, banners and flags adorning the alleys. It was said that one could live their entire life and not know every corner of Faliene, never eat at every food stall, or buy from every shop before a new one emerged. At its center stood Fort Faliene, the home of the Lord and Lady of Faliene. The fortress was surrounded by large cobblestone walls and was guarded by two towers that looked out over the port and the surrounding land. It had been the biggest port city on the Northern Continent. The pride and joy of the Kingdom of Haiford.

But time had not been kind to Faliene.

War ravaged the Northern Continent, kingdom against kingdom. New ports were built further south. The mainlanders had grown tired of navigating the icy seas and mountains that surrounded Faliene. Only the men of Faliene truly understood how to navigate its icy conditions, leaving the mainlanders fearful that the burly northern men would threaten their jobs. Slowly, Faliene turned from a haven for traders and seafarers to a ghost town. Some seafarers remained, bracing the freezing seas to fish and cart goods down to the Southern Coast. Others turned to farming, though the frozen Stormfall Mountains were a cruel mistress to their inhabitants. Crops failed to grow as the freezing winters returned stronger and more merciless than the last. The city was full of ghosts, and in that far north, the people were highly superstitious. The Lord and Lady were unprepared for the famine and poverty that followed Faliene’s fall. Some said the city had a curse upon it, doomed to fail since its conception. They whispered that greed had overtaken the once bustling city, finally bringing her to her knees as she rotted from the inside. The people of Failene were proud; they held on for generations, peddling fish and livestock. Faliene was their home; they would not give up on her so easily. Regardless of their noble intentions, even the strongest of Faliene did not anticipate the plague. Nor did they survive it.

Faliene, the City of Ghosts. How you yearned for her cold embrace once more.

The dining hall was stiflingly hot. No matter how long you had lived in the capital, you had never adjusted to the mainland heat. You knew many of the men would protest that, saying that Haiford was one of the colder kingdoms. Haiford was tucked deep into the north; it was the closest neighbor of Faliene. Further north, past Faliene, there was only an ocean of frozen water and death. You were used to the frigid winds that blew from the Northern Ocean and the thick snow that fell from the Stormfall Mountains. You were glad you had opted for a lighter dress, with rich blue silk pooling across your skin. The waist was pulled in by an outer corset made of leather, adorned with silver eyelets and black lacing. The neckline cut deep to reveal some cleavage, and the sleeves long and cuffed at the wrist. Most of the women of the court wore high-neck gowns made from velvet and light, high-quality wool. You didn’t know if you could bear the feeling of lace constricting your throat at that moment.

Regardless of the current courtly fashion, you wore your family colors. Blue, black, and silver. It was the subject of much contempt from your fellow ladies, who opted for the royal family's colors: red, yellow, and gold. You never had much of a love for red; you always dressed like a stormy ocean or a snowy mountain range. The women despised your silver earrings, necklaces, and rings. They said it was a metal for the commoner and that gold was the trend in court. You didn’t care. Your mother had always dressed in blue, even after the wedding. King Harrison had never commented on it, at least not publicly.

Your mother had been Lady of Faliene. You had spent half your childhood alongside her and your father in your beloved homeland. When a plague had swept the city, claiming half the population along with your father? You and your mother had been forced to flee inland to the capital, and Haiford Court promised protection. The King of Haiford had recently lost his wife and agreed to marry your mother. The two of you would not have to return to your ghost town, instead enjoying the privilege of court and the advantages it brought. Your mother had wanted to find you a suitable husband and secure you a position now that your father was dead. You were the sole heir of Faliene, and unfortunately, you were a woman. You had no claim over any money or men without a husband. Any trades you tried to make on behalf of your people would be laughed at; a lone woman was not allowed to hold power. If you had been a man, you would have been able to claim Faliene and try to save her. But as a woman, you had one duty: to produce heirs. One of the condition’s for your Mother’s marriage was that she gave King Harrison another heir. King Harrison had two children: his son Micheal and his daughter Peggy. Princess Peggy would never be allowed to rule, being a woman like yourself. King Harrison wanted another boy to act as a spare and backup heir if Micheal was compromised.

Your mother never delivered on her end of the deal. She grew sick – deathly so – shortly after arriving in Haiford. She had been bedridden for the past few years, in and out of fever and delirium. King Harrison allowed you to stay in the capital as long as your mother stayed alive. It was an agreement that you would find a sensible husband, one with land and a suitable title. Only your husband would be able to access your dowry or any funds left in the Faliene accounts. Only your husband would be able to save Faliene; Haiford law forbade women from being involved in politics beyond being a piece of livestock to trade and breed. You would be married; you would pretend to love your husband, smile along in public, and provide him with children, whom you would also pretend to love. Then you would die. You were the Lady of the Ghosts, a Lady of Nothing. King Harrison did not wish to save your beloved Faliene. If there were no Lords and Ladies suitable to oversee the now-small city, it would slowly die out. That way, he would no longer have to worry about the city, as there would only be ghosts left to rule.

Slowly, you lift your glass of wine to your lips. Taking a sip, you observe the chaos. You are seated at the head of the hall, along with the royal family, the other lords and ladies, and a few of the knights. Below you, several long tables stretch out, seating hundreds of men and women. The men are rowdy, shouting and laughing as they celebrate. You can’t blame them; a war had ended.

For the past three years, war has raged on the Kingdom’s borders. The neighboring Kingdom of Galanta had fallen under attack by their Southern neighbors, the Realm of Hydrina. Haiford had come to Galanta’s aid throughout the three years. The King and Queen of Galanta had died during the war. It left their heir, Prince James, to inherit not only a kingdom but a war. You knew the aide was only there for political reasons. Galanta was a rich Kingdom, with soil rich for farming, mines full of ores, and a traders haven. The word among the women was that King Harrison was aiming to have Princess Peggy married to King James. It made sense to join the two families; King James would need a wife to solidify his rule with heirs, as well as being in debt to Haiford for their help during the war.

You understood the moves and countermoves of court politics. You had to in order to survive. The women of the court didn’t enjoy your presence; you didn’t have the privilege of being an official member of the royal family like your mother. They actively looked for ways to shun you and have you sent away from the castle. You always had to be two steps ahead. You viewed life like a chess board, always anticipating your opponent's next move. You spent hours reading, educating yourself in history, politics, battle, language, and more. The most powerful weapon a woman had was not only her body but also her mind and tongue.

Your attention was briefly pulled to some of the nearby knights drunkenly laughing. Being a lower-ranked lady, you had been placed next to the knights at the dining table. Next to you was Steve Rogers, Knight of Galanta. His father was a high-ranking Lord in Galanta. Steve, being the youngest of seven brothers, had no possibility of inheriting his father’s fortune or land. So, at a young age, he became a squire and eventually trained to become a Knight of Galanta. He had eventually become one of the highest-ranking Knights of Galanta and one of King James’ most trusted advisors. During the war, he had been positioned to help Prince Micheal with the Haiford armies. You had grown to like his presence; it was a shame that he would soon depart for Galanta along with his men.

The first time you spoke to Steve, it was in the royal library. You had a habit of sneaking into the library at night. At home in Faliene, you had run rampant and wild in your father’s study; he had encouraged your curious mind. You would read, play chess, and discuss unladylike topics such as politics and war. You had continued your curiosities in Haiford, just under the cover of darkness. When the war had begun, you had not anticipated Steve and his fellow knights using the library as a space to discuss battle plans.

That night, you had snuck in to collect some volumes on The Crimson Crusade. Steve had spotted you flitting through the shelves, books in hand, and called you over. You were both so much younger then. He had been handsome with a boyish charm back then; the muscled blond heartthrob from Galanta had all the ladies maids swooning.

“Why would a Lady like yourself find interest in The Crimson Crusade?” Steve had asked, noting the books in your grasp. His fellow Knights had snickered under their breath, like they were encouraging Steve to mock you. Back then, you had assumed Steve was just another peacock knight. You had seen the way he showed off in the courtyard, cutting down the men during training while the women watched with squeals of delight. You had watched how he would parade around, smirking at the women and kissing their knuckles with a bow of his head. Due to that, you didn’t flush in embarrassment. Instead, you held his gaze with an impudent smile.

“My grandfather helped lead the Siege of Nelley Stronghold.” You had explained, your voice steady and cool. “It is important to understand history to ensure it doesn't repeat itself.” Your gaze had followed over to the map they had laid out across the table, your eyes flickering between the small figurines representing the different armies.

The men were silent, but when your eyes had returned to Steve, you had found he was grinning at you.

“You find analyzing battle strategy a hobby? Women such as yourself are supposed to find entertainment in menial tasks such as embroidery or gossip.” One of the Knights had spoken up with a mocking laugh, looking between his peers, who also laughed. Steve hadn’t laughed; instead, he was watching to see how you handled the comment.

“How ironic that you mock women for their menial tasks yet deny their interest in a proper education? An uneducated woman is too easy and weak for your respect, but you are obviously intimidated by the prospect of a woman who is more intelligent than you.” You had replied, armed with a sickly sweet smile. Steve had held his breath, watching as you stepped closer to the table. The men had been stunned into silence, watching as you tilted your head at the map to analyze the proposed plan of attack.

Your hands had been unshaking as you reached out, moving a handful of figurines from one location to another. Half of the figurines had been shaped as snakes – the armies of Hydrina. The other half were the armies of Haiford, represented by a wolf.

“It is the wet season.” You had stated as you shifted the figurines. “Even if you have stronger numbers, fighting on the Fell Field would be unwise. It is a marshland, and the armies of Hydrina will have the upper hand as they are used to such conditions. You have to remember that you are fighting with Haiford men, not Galantians. Haiford men are used to snow, not marsh. Hiwold Expanse has solid land, there you would have the upper hand.”

The men looked to Steve as he had nodded with an impressed smile. It seemed they had respect for the man, not questioning his judgment. You had watched as Steve’s calloused fingers danced over the hilt of his sword as if in thought.

“How did you know this? Have you traveled that land before?” Steve had asked you. His question had been genuine, not mocking. He had been interested in discovering how you knew that because he knew you were entirely right.

“The Battle of the Dark Marsh,” You had explained. “Similar circumstances. Haiford had more men, yet they were slaughtered. They were a force through snow and ice, but not marshland.”

“Understand history, so you do not repeat it.” Steve had quoted you with a smile.

That night had entirely changed your perspective on Steve. Unlike some of his men, he was kind and considerate. He enjoyed listening to your opinions and navigating the years of knowledge you had stored away in your mind. Often, he had requested your help with battle strategy, commenting on your adeptness on the subject.

Holding your tongue between your teeth, you suppress a small laugh as you hear Prince Micheal boasting about his efforts in the war. You had heard him spew the same story, adding more extreme and near-impossible details each time he told it. It had developed from him slaying one rogue soldier to slaying half an army with only his sword and wit. The ladies of court lapped it up, giggling and batting their eyelashes. They knew he was lying; they just knew how to play the game.

“Do tell me what you find so amusing, Lady Y/N?” Steve asks from beside you.

“I fear I shouldn’t say, Sir Rogers.” You reply, delicately placing your glass of wine back on the table. Steve’s eyes watch the action, a small smile playing across his lips. The two of you had… become friends. As scandalous as that was.

“Go on,” Steve encourages you. You don’t look him in the eye, instead twisting one of the silver rings around your finger. In your time as friends with Steve, he often encouraged you to be rather loose-lipped. You knew it was a mistake to air out your true opinions when he could betray you at any moment. Some things you kept close to your heart, but still, the two of you spoke ill of many people in the court. You knew Steve realistically wouldn’t turn on you, but you were still wary in public.

“I just find it rather entertaining how Prince Micheal brags about his contributions to the war. We all know that he spent more time bedding every woman in sight than actually going to battle.” You mutter quietly in Steve’s direction. A nearby knight, Sam Wilson, also of Galanta, chokes on his wine as he overhears your snide comment. Steve only belts out a laugh, thumping his hand against his chest as he leans back into his chair. All you can do is smile innocently.

“You know, Bucky – sorry, James – said something similar.” Steve says once he has recovered. Sam is still coughing, gaining some looks from nearby lords and ladies. Bucky. You had heard Steve refer to King James as that before; it was a nickname or pet name of sorts. You had learned the two of them had grown up together in a sense, with Steve’s lord father having been close with the late King and Queen of Galanta. The two of them must have been close friends for him to have such a casual relationship with the new King of Galanta. He always accidentally referred to him as Bucky. Never James, or even Jamie. You wondered where the name came from – why Bucky? Was Bucky different from James? Was James the serious one who played king, while Bucky was the childhood friend who trained in the mud alongside Steve?

“Is that so?” You reply, eyeing Sam with slight concern. “Please do not choke to death, Sir Wilson. You’re already causing quite the scene, I can’t imagine a corpse at the dining table would help the situation.”

Steve grins at that, pouring Sam some more wine to wash down the coughing. Even without turning, you can feel the gazes of others at the table watching. They wouldn't have been able to hear the conversation you were having, but they had certainly observed the aftermath. You could already imagine Prince Micheal’s grating voice commenting on the situation. King Harrison had made it clear that he wasn’t particularly pleased about you keeping company with knights in your spare time.

“Will you be attending The Galanta Season? James wants to host and continue the tradition now that the war is over.” Steve asks. You stab a piece of potato with a long sigh, popping it into your mouth.

The Galanta Season was all the ladies of court spoke about these days. Now that the war was over, there was an expectation that King James would hold a grand season to make up for the years lost. The Galanta Season was a match-making event, pairing lords, ladies, princes, and princesses from across the continent for marriage. If anything, you thought the event was a glorified excuse to party and drink. The festivities ran for a month – sometimes longer – including dances, feasts, promenades, and a variety of other events. Though most marriages were arranged or premeditated, the Season allowed couples to get to know each other before saying their vows.

“I suppose I should, if I am invited.” You reply. You knew you would be. Probably every eligible man on the continent knew you were on the hunt for a husband, which is why most of them steered clear. No one wanted to inherit the disaster that was Faliene. Or if they did show interest, it was only in having you for breeding purposes. They would ignore Faliene and let it die out naturally.

As much as you wished you could enjoy the prospect of drinking and partying in Galanta, you knew that your fate probably lay with an old man who was slowly wasting away. Old men were able to look past the reputation that surrounded you, they had different intentions than the younger, eligible men. The old men wanted you to provide more heirs. Younger men wanted bragging rights. You had heard those younger men gossip once, muttering about how you were ‘such a great beauty; what a shame about her situation’ and ‘how it would feel to bed Lady Y/N’. You didn’t know who was the worst pick: the corpse of an old man or a young, handsome man with the personality of a pig.

“You will be invited. I heard you’re in the market for a husband now that the war has passed and all the men have returned home.” Steve comments, taking a sip of his wine. You hold your tongue at the ‘I heard’. You wondered what other things Steve heard about you or said about you. You could only hope that he wasn't a pig like the other men. You doubted he was, but you had to be wary. Court was a strange place; you never truly knew anyone.

“It appears so.” You hum bitterly, trying to appear indifferent. Your appetite has suddenly disappeared, and the meat and potatoes in front of you appear unappealing.

“You know, James is on the hunt for a wife.” Steve murmurs to you, leaning closer so only you can hear. You whip your head around, giving him a bewildered look. If he had said this to any other lady, you wouldn’t have thought twice. It would’ve been a subtle way to indicate James’ interest in Princess Peggy. The way Steve said it, to you of all people. You know what he is implying.

“Don’t be cruel.” You whisper back to him. Your faces are close, at an unseemly distance. You are glad for the chaos in the hall suddenly and hope that no one is watching too closely. Most of the men are either focused on their food or the dancing that has sprung up between the tables.

“You didn’t hear this from me, but I don’t think Princess Peggy is quite the woman he is looking for.” Steve hums before finally resting back in his seat with a smug look. You don’t dare ask what kind of woman King James is looking for.

It seemed that Steve had quickly taken to the idea that he was an older brother of sorts. You had never commented on it. Steve was aware of your mission to save Faliene, though sometimes you found his interference overbearing. In that moment, you knew he had good intentions – that he wanted you to marry someone who he knew was kind and who he knew you would be happy with. But pushing ridiculous notions about you and James? That is where you drew the line. You had to be realistic about your position.

“You have become far too comfortable around me, Sir Rogers. I should take my leave before you convert me to your wickedness.” You say, hoping to shut down the conversation. Pushing your seat out as you go to stand. Steve follows your actions, hand-resting your arm to guide you down to the lower level. You can see Prince Micheal watching this with a smug smirk on his face. You already know you’re going to get an earful about this later.

“Oh, I think you are already fairly wicked.” Steve chuckles into your ear, pausing on the edge of the dance floor. “Dare to take a dance with me?”

Your eyes flicker over to Prince Micheal, who is muttering away to King Harrison. Any other day, you might have denied Steve on the idea that it could be perceived as improper. Today, you would take the risk. Steve was leaving for Galanta, and he had been a good friend to you these past few years. The least you could do was enjoy a final moment together.

“I suppose.” You reply with a smile, allowing him to take your hand and lead you onto the dance floor.

You note how a few of the other Knights of Galanta smile among themselves, a stark difference from Prince Micheal who is now scowling. Steve’s hand rests gently on your waist, pulling you closer. You keep your gaze and breath steady as you place your hand on his shoulder, the fabric of his tunic rough on your smooth skin. Your other hand is interlinked with his as he guides you into the crowd of dancers, slowly spiraling away to the music.

“If you plan to marry this season, whose attention are you hoping to catch?” Steve asks, his breath tickling your neck. You keep your gaze steady, tilting your head in thought. You knew Steve meant well by continuing to press on the topic. He didn’t know that you were exhausted on the topic and that it was all you thought about these days. These were questions the two of you had avoided for the past few years. All your discussions had been about the war or life before the war. Both of you had never dared to think about the future, let alone discuss your plans to marry. He knew you were smart, but even the smartest of women couldn’t be saved from the evil intentions of men.

“King Harrison hopes to introduce me to Lord Rumlow.” You sigh reluctantly, already anticipating his reaction. If Steve meant to step into the shoes of a brotherly role, you knew he would not find Lord Rumlow acceptable.

“What? That snake? That’s absurd.” Steve growled, his eyebrows pulled into a scowl.

The proposition of you marrying Lord Rumlow was a laughable one. He was above your station, a man of riches and land. If it hadn’t been for the war, he would’ve had his pick of the litter within the court. Rumlow had messed up, meaning his courting opportunities only lay with the lower-ranking women or the disgraced ones like yourself. During the war, he had sided with Hydrina. You didn’t know the full details; there were mutterings of Rumlow having conflict with his blood ties to Hydrina. By the time he had chosen to switch sides to support Galanta, his reputation had been ruined. King James had pardoned him due to his loyalty in the final months of the war, but his name would be forever tarnished. It seemed only natural that society would want to pair the Lady of the Ghosts with the Lord of the Snakes.

“I don’t have much choice in the matter, unfortunately.” You reply with a sigh, offering Steve a bittersweet smile. As the music flared, you slowly spun out along with the other ladies, skirts swirling around you. Steve’s touch was gentle as he guided you back into your steps.

“I’m sure your situation isn’t so dire that you have to lower yourself to the level of Lord Rumlow?” Steve asked, his tone was resentful. As much as you liked Steve, you noticed he could be completely clueless about your situation as a woman. Especially when his emotions about other people got in the way.

“I don’t expect you to understand.” You sigh. “I know it is different in Galanta. It is against the law for me to run Faliene, as I am not married or widowed. Most men won’t touch me due to the situation in Faliene. They fear it will ruin their reputation. I must marry for security, no matter who it is. If such a marriage will bring help to the people of Faliene, then that is all I need.”

“Rumlow offered to secure Faliene?” Steve asked, surprise laced in his voice. You bite the inside of your cheek, your eyes flickering down in embarrassment.

“No. I was going to propose the idea.” You admit as Steve shakes his head.

“He’ll never take it. Forgive me, but considering your position, he’ll consider marrying you as a mercy. Asking him to interfere with the situation in Faliene will end in disaster.” He says, slowly guiding you from the crowd on the dance floor as the song draws to an end. His hand slips from your waist as you clear your throat, hyper-aware of the royals scowling at the two of you.

“I fear you are correct, but all I can do is try. If not with Rumlow, then another lord.” You say, withdrawing your hand from his shoulder as you step away.

“I have every faith that you will succeed.” Steve hums with a smile. “I return to Galanta tomorrow. We will see each other again for the Season, but allow me to thank you for your company these past years.”

“Why, was the royal court too dull for your taste?” You tease. You know you should move on and stop talking to him with so many eyes on you. But you can’t help yourself. If the war had taught you anything, it was that you were lonely. Especially with your mother being sick and all your childhood friends either dead or remaining in Faliene.

“Dull definitely seems like the correct word to describe Haiford Court. Especially if you had not been here.”

“Careful, Sir Rogers.” You warn, although you are smiling.

“Apologies, but I hope you know I am telling the truth.” Steve chuckles with his own smile.

“I should bid you goodnight before the ladies of court conjure up any more scandalous rumors.” You could already imagine the muttering that would ensue at afternoon tea tomorrow, that you had distracted Steve from the women who were actually suitable for him. There had been plenty of ladies who had eyed him over the years. You had watched them flutter their eyelashes while watching him train with his men in the courtyard. While most of the higher-born ladies stuck to Prince Micheal’s side, the ladies in waiting and other head maids had swooned over the Knights of Galanta.

“Of course, farewell, Lady Y/N.” Steve takes your hand, raising your knuckles to his lips in a quick kiss. You try to keep your face neutral as he bows, offering him a small nod before you escape the dining hall for the night. You needed to visit your mother before you slept.

—

They called your mother’s sickness Delirium.

At first, they had worried that your mother had brought the plague to Haiford when she grew sick, but the symptoms were different. The plague had started as a small fever, which then quickly spiraled into violent vomiting until the victim could no longer keep down food or water. The victim would slip away, an empty husk of themselves. No matter all the cures tried, rituals performed, and prayers said, no one survived. They would go from a picture of health to a corpse within a matter of days. It was sudden and brutal. You didn’t know if you preferred it that way. You didn’t know if watching your mother slowly waste away the past few years was worse. In some ways, it would be a relief to see the end of her suffering. It would be hard to mourn, as it felt as if you already had. Delirium was cruel, worse than the plague that had taken Faliene. Delirium taunted its victims, infecting their minds until their thoughts were crazed and jumbled. It was a disease that stripped a person of all their dignity; they were dead long before they took their last breath. If anything, death was a mercy.

Delirium started with forgetting things like names, birthdays, or getting lost in their own home. The symptoms were slow-moving, like a deadly, invisible poison. By the time it was recognized, it was too late. Your mother had forgotten your name and your face years ago. Still, you visited her every night. You watched as the seizures shook her body, with her ladies having to hold her down to stop her from hurting herself. You watched as she sweated through relentless fevers, fearing that she would slip away in the night. The disease was relentless, yet it would not let her escape from its grasp. Tormented by nightmares and fear, your mother would scream and weep all through the night. She would treat you as a stranger, threaten you, and throw things across the room. Yet still, you tried. You would read to her, brush her hair, and stroke her back as she sobbed.

“Lady Y/N,” A voice called, drawing you from your thoughts. You stood outside the doors of your mother's chambers, your chest heaving with every breath. You didn’t get startled easily, no, not anymore. It was, however, too distressing for you to witness hearing your mother scream and shout as she was restrained by her ladies maids and the healers. It shook you to your core, a feeling of restlessness settling over your body as you held in hysteria.

“Your Majesty,” You gasp out, now realizing King Harrison stood across from you. One of the healers must have informed him, or maybe he had heard the screaming. His chamber was not too far from your mother's. They slept separately, for obvious reasons. Despite your mother’s marriage to him being a loveless, political action, King Harrison did seem to care. You had witnessed him visiting her from time to time. He had been so deeply broken by the death of his first wife, much like your mother had been over your father’s death. You wonder if the two of them had bonded over the tragedy in the short time they had together. Had King Harrison been relieved that she had become sick before he truly got to know her? Or had he been upset that he was left with a wife who could not bear him an heir and now had to handle her outspoken daughter? You would never know.

You move to curtsy for him, but he waves you off with the flick of his hand. Your teeth find the tip of your tongue as you try to hold back your surprise. Even if King Harrison cared for some of those around him, he had never particularly cared for you. You had never held it against him or expected it of him. Even if you were his daughter-in-law, he treated you as just another lady in his court. He had let you run wild throughout your teenage years and run circles around the Knights of Galanta, but it seemed that the fun was over. It had only been a few weeks since he announced he expected you to find a husband and leave the castle. You were of age; it made sense. The only ties you had left here was your mother, and she was only holding together by a thread.

King Harrison had been open about his disinterest in helping Faliene beyond what he had already done. He had never offered to send money or men after your mother grew too sick to ask. No, the way he would help would be by blessing your marriage to the nearest lord who would take you. A part of you despised him for it. Rather than face his failures before the people of Faliene, he would bury them. It wasn’t unknown to you that the people of Haiford Court hoped you would settle down once you were married. You were outspoken and too intelligent for your own good.

“Do not trouble yourself.” King Harrison sighs. Reaching into his coat, he hands you a small silken handkerchief. “For your face.” He explains.

You gulp, trying not to flush in embarrassment. Your mother, before her episode, had kindly coughed blood all over your face and dress. In your panic, you had completely forgotten to wipe it from your skin. You utter a quiet ‘thank you’ as you wipe some of the blood from your face, though some of it has already dried and crusted. You would have to return to your chambers and scrub it off with a wet cloth.

“The healers say the blood is the last stage of Delirium.” King Harrison muses as you busy yourself with the handkerchief. “They do not expect her to make it through the winter.”

There is a long pause as you ball the handkerchief up in your fist with a small sigh. You don’t know how to respond; instead, instead nodding wordlessly. His mustache twitches slightly, like he’s anticipating that you would explode into tears. You felt beyond mourning at this point; rather, you felt that you were staring your own death in the face.

“You must marry soon, once she passes, you won’t be able to remain at court.” The King reminds you. It was cruel; it truly was. You roll your tongue over your bottom lip in thought. You were well-known for making snide remarks and hidden insults without a care. You couldn’t let that beast take over in front of King Harrison. He could easily have your head.

“Yes. Of course. I am grateful that you are able to introduce me to Lord Rumlow.” You say, forcing yourself to smile at the man. Inside, you did not feel happy; you felt absolutely powerless.

“I have been in communication with a few more Lords who are… sympathetic to your situation. Provided The Galanta Season goes well, you should be married by spring.” King Harrison continues, and you try to stay present and ignore the dread creeping in your stomach. Sympathetic.

You had done the math quickly years ago, looking at all of the available men in Haiford. Any man who would dare offer to help Faliene were either already married or would be uninterested in you. The war had been a distraction from your impending doom, in the hope that maybe some new, gallant men might be awarded lordships for their efforts. It had proven to be wishful thinking. The reality was that no one cared. You could either marry to secure yourself or return to Faliene penniless and waste away with the last of your people, unable to properly help them due to your gender.

“Thank you for all your help and hospitality, Your Majesty.” You say, trying to keep the bitterness from your tone.

“Of course. I only warn you that during the season you should keep your distance from Sir Rogers. I am aware you two are… acquaintances of a type. I would hate for the Lords asking for your hand to get the wrong impression.” The King’s words feel like a punch to the gut. You know what he is implying. He was implying that Steve was not a suitable match, not because he did not meet your qualifications of having money and land, but because you were too lowly for him. King Harrison did not believe a gallant knight such as Steve deserved to be rewarded with a wife such as yourself. The other lords think the same. They would see you interact with him and assume you were some kind of fling or mistress – a tainted woman. If you thought your options were low now, the implications that you weren’t a virgin would make them even lower.

“I understand.” You say, defeatedly.

“I am glad you understand. I expect Sir Rogers will understand as well. It is a shame, your situation. The two of you would have made a handsome couple.” King Harrison is either completely aware of his cruelty or completely oblivious. You can’t tell. Either way, the comment leaves you winded. Maybe you do despise him, despite all he has done for you. His face is neutral as he steps towards the ajar doors in your mother's chambers. Your mother has settled now; the screaming has turned to soft wailing and sobs.

“I feel it is best I do not dwell on such thoughts, Your Majesty. I understand my position.” You choke out, trying to keep your voice impartial despite the resentment stinging on your tongue.

“You are a smart woman, Lady Y/N. You will do well if you are also agreeable. I shall bid you goodnight now.” King Harrison says with a smile, pushing open the doors to walk through. You hold your face still, not reacting to the obvious insult. You will do well if you are also agreeable.

“Yes, thank you again. Goodnight, Your Majesty.” You mutter as he slips into your mother’s chambers. You quickly leave, heading to your own rooms, before you consider becoming disagreeable.

chapter two

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