#medieval!steve rogers x reader

[anika-ann]

Pomiluj me (Love Me Tender) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; standalone (NOT a part of this medieval AU)

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 10k 😁 best possible division if needed is at the first divider

Summary: Knight Steven Rogers and his brothers in arms are returning home after having tackled an unruly creature terrorizing the people of Starkerbürg. Upon encountering an injured woman, Steven offers to bring her – carry her, truly – back to her home. How could he deserve a knighthood if he left a woman in distress to her fate, after all? 

But not everything it as it seems. And love blooms in the most unlikely of places. 

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex (shocking in medieval times huh), bit of angst, tons of fluff, himbo knights in BBC Merlin style (long live the legends), knight Steve ‘cause he’s a warning, Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Title from the song which inspired the story, Pomiluj mě (Love on Me/Love Me Tender)...tumblr cannot handle an “ě “in their title 🙃 Lyrics, translation and link here, you’ll find a few lines in the fic as well - truly recommend. DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics

A/N/2: AO3 says this is my 100th work (as posted here anyway) and I’m brushing 1,680k of words written according to the counter. Which… whoa. And it’s almost six years since I first posted a marvel fic 🥺 Enjoy!

Alone, you only wander in the dark Chased by the cold I shall light up the torch you’re guarding

Should I be worried about you That all you do is take When are you coming back to me?

The cavalry moved rather slowly.

The noble men appeared a far cry from the polished image known from books, even as they had attempted to wash in a river. They reeked of battle, smoke and blood still; and the drying blood in their wounds was just as red as that of ordinary men, the scent of sweat and fear having seeped into their clothes and armour. And yet, their vests carried the sigil of Starkerbürg with pride, signaling the knights’ dedication to the protection of their kingdom.

With only horse left, they truly might make a pitiful sight, certain weariness to their step; but an air of victory and camaraderie made for a picture of life instead. Laughter sounded between the group, a joke thrown around here and there, a tease about a wound each of them suffered, particularly the youngest one. Despite those, true concern for their new friend, Sir Parker, could be read in their eyes. He was the youngest to ever been dubbed in the history of Starkerbürg; it was no wonder the good men assigned him the role he would have played had the bond they shared been one of a blood family. The youngest of brothers was as much made fun of as protected, since he was eager to prove he deserved the honour to ride with the knights of Starkerbürg just like any other. Now he sat on the horse in front of Sir Barton, the eldest, as they made their way back after successfully ridding the kingdom of a horrific creature: the chimera had been believed to only exist in old tales until it brought terrible and painfully real suffering to the people of the west of the kingdom and so the king’s loyal servants were tasked to ride at dawn five days ago.

“Alright, alright, let us leave the poor lad,” Sir Barton said, patting the young Sir Parker on his shoulder a little too hard. “He shall do better next time.”

Peter smiled over his shoulder gratefully, having started to feel not humbled, but humiliated.

“Yes, yes, we should let him be,” Sir Maximoff agreed, side-eyeing the two riders mischievously. “We should talk about how you moved like an old lady.”

The collective ooooooh and chuckles might have as well come from a group of children, rather than grown men, causing Sir Barton to glare at the cheeky lad he called a friend.

“Old ladies are wise and worth of respect, Maximoff. You could learn a thing or two from them, as you had learned from me,” he scoffed, feigning offence. “Do not forget who taught you how to swing a sword, kiddo.”

“There is a point in what Clint is saying,” Sir Wilson hummed good-naturedly, raising his eyebrow at Pietro in challenge.

“Maybe. Does not change the fact he’s grown seven years older since then, while I have grown seven years more mature.”

The explosion of laughter following his statement was louder this time.

“In your dreams, maybe,” Sir Barnes snorted, elbowing his best of friends, Sir Rogers. “About as mature as this one was when he used to pick his battles with guys twice his size, eh?”

Sir Rogers, Steven to most, only smirked, speaking up for the first time in a while, since his thoughts were far far away. “Should we get technical, we all took up on an enemy twice our size only yesterday morning.”

“Oh?” Sir Barton feigned surprise. “Listen to the guy. He might tell you what brought the monster to its knees next – an arrow straight to its eye. Remind me, Maximoff, whose crossbow it was that fired it?” he asked pointedly, grinning down at the man walking by their horse, earning an eyeroll.

“Did it even have knees?” Sir Lang questioned, “All I know is that it was a nasty, nasty thing.”

“Nastier than Hydra? Cut off one had, two shall takes its place? I truly believed that was only a legend…” Sir Wilson said, a visible shiver of disgust shaking him.

“Not sure we can compare the two… maybe Barnes or Rogers could, huh?” Sir Maximoff suggested.

Steven’s face darkened; he did indeed remember the hydra creature very well for it nearly cost his best friend his arm. The scars still littered Bucky’s skin, from the back of his hand all the way up to his shoulder; Gods had blessed him enough that his ability to use his arm remained intact, even as its appearance did not.

As for the strange chimera they had slayed yesterday… it was true that Steven had gotten more familiar with it then he would have liked. He could recall it with uncomfortable clarity: its foul breath smelling of death on his face, feeling as if it had seeped deep into his very bones when he had finally thrusted his sword through its heart. He could still hear the clang of teeth near his neck, a near death sentence.

No, he would rather not compare the two. He would rather not think of either of the creatures at all.

“Why us, Maximoff? Because I nearly lost my arm to the former and my best friend to latter? No thanks,” Sir Barnes hissed, face turning ashen as well.

Steven instinctively reached for his friend, squeezing his arm, casting a concerned glance as he was torn away from his own dark memories.

“Buck…”

“Are you jesting? Sir Rogers was incredible,” Sir Parker cried out excitedly, having four of the knights groan, for Steven’s bravery – or idiocy, should anyone ask Sir Barnes, truly – was all the youngest knight had been talking about for the majority of their journey, causing Steven’s cheeks redden under his beard, sense of pride and satisfaction battling the terror of the memory. As for the remaining knights, well; while they did not diminish Steven’s important contribution of delivering the fatal blow, they had grown annoyed at the constant babble.

“Sure he was, kiddo.”

“Oh yes. They should probably knight him. Oh wait-“ Sir Wilson said, causing the men to laugh.

“Yeah, a set of deadly teeth perhaps three inches from his throat? Let him have all the glory and Princess Morgana’s hand too,” Sir Barnes grumbled, sending his friend both a proud and irked glance.

A sudden rustle of leaves and a woman’s yelp followed by a thud caused them all fall silent and turnbattle-ready in a split second, snapping in the direction of noise.

However, there was little need for caution. Their intruder barely appeared dangerous: the peasant woman observed them with wide eyes and forehead scrunched in pain, blossoms of common elder, spilled all around her like precious silks of a gown instead of the worn fabric of the simple shirt, shawl and ankle-length skirt, speaking thousand words of what she had been doing until she had fallen. Her fingers were clutching at her left foot, a clear sign of her ungraceful landing. The tree was by no means tall, but that should not mean the fall was what they could call comfortable.

For a moment, the group of knights stood frozen, rendered speechless as much as the poor woman who found herself face to face with not one but seven of the crown’s most loyal servants.

Steven, perhaps the kindest of them all, was the first to snap from the shock of an unexpected disturbance of their journey, releasing the grip on his sword, never having drawn it from its sheath. He took several long strides to the young woman, instantly capturing her attention.

“My lady, are you quite alright?” Steven inquired, gently as he realized his large frame, accentuated by his armour, might intimidate the poor sweetling.

And yet. Just as the question left his lips and his gaze met hers, he was the one rendered mute all of sudden.

Steven had never seen anyone more clearly, he was certain; and just as sure he was of the fact that no woman could ever hope to encompass sincerity and beauty in her eyes only as the one he was facing at the moment.

Her smile was but a shy little thing, pain masked by gratitude for the knight’s care. He was a handsome one, of robust built but with delicate lines to his face, bright blue irises with a speckle of green, plush lips framed by a short beard; distantly, she imagined his wide shoulders would barely fit the doorframe of her cabin – of her hut, truly. She found the imagery enticing, almost as much as the gentle tone he had spoken with despite his giant frame.

“’Quite aright’ seems accurate, sir. I am not hurting much beyond my left ankle,” she admitted, even as her source of discomfort was evident from her hand still covering the affected area.

Steven’s brows furrowed slightly in worry, yet he made no move, spoke no words, even as his lips parted. Instead, his eyes roamed the woman’s face, searching and fascinated. It was the silence which prompted his comrades to enter the interaction.

“Do you think you can walk?” Sir Wilson asked as he stepped forward – a movement barely acknowledged as the woman did not shift her gaze from Steven still.

“Wobble, perhaps,” she said, the corners of her lips briefly turning downwards. “Could perhaps one of you assist me? I should be most grateful for your chivalry.”

Sir Barnes could scoff at the absurdity of her wording; even as she suggested she would welcome anyone’s aid, her fixation on Steven was ridiculously evident. It almost scared him, how steadily she watched him; even as ladies’ interest in his best friend’s company had increased significantly along with how Steven’s muscles had grown, the way this woman observed him… unsettling him for some reason.

“Oh! We should borrow you the horse for a while-“ Sir Parker – bless him, the youngest and the purest of heart of them all – cried out, soon silenced by a more sombre voice of reason of Sir Barnes.

“Kid, you lose your leg should you put your weight on it now. Believe me, I have almost lost my arm to the same foolishness.”

“…oh.”

“Well, I suppose one of us should support you and walk you to your home,” Sir Barton suggested nonchalantly, preparing to dismount the horse. “The most experienced one of us, perhaps?”

“Truly? Is that so, Clinton?” Sir Wilson questioned as he eyed him, his tone carrying wryness of a man who would not care for nonsense – unless it was one that could earn him a great deal of fun. “Why you?”

“I have a pair of very well-working eyes for one,” the older man uttered, causing sir Maximoff to snicker silently.

“So do I and yet I would never offer!” Sir Lang opposed as soon as he understood the meanings behind Sir Barton’s words. “Must we remind you how inappropriate that would be, since you have a lovely wife and three kids at home?”

“And a knee that knows a rain is coming at least two sunsets ahead?” Sir Barnes added for honestly, the foolishness of Sir Barton’s idea battled the one of the youngling’s.

“Ugh, alright then. Spoilsports.”

Sir Maximoff, unsurprisingly, grinned and shrugged as he stepped forward. “Ah, well, fellas, it seems-“

“I can do it. I can even carry her.”

Sir Barnes sighed, an involuntary reaction to best of comrades choosing this moment to snap from his reverie. Speaking of foolishness.

Not once had Steven’s gaze left the beautiful woman since the very moment he had laid his eyes on her, almost as if he was drawn by ancient power whose pull not even his virtuous heart could resist. The pull had been literal too; while the movements had been subtle, step by step Steven inched closer to the woman, now standing barely three feet from her, way too close even as he had been the first to spring forward.

Sir Barnes would be amazed and certainly more than amused at his friend’s antics, had it not been for the fact the scene was as fascinating as disconcerting. For a myriad of reasons. Beginning with-

“You are injured as well,” Sir Wilson noted pointedly.

Sir Wilson appeared to be the only of the men aside from Sir Barnes who had not lost all reason in the midst of all of them having acquired an expression of awe and smugness. In all fairness, the reaction of the knights was nothing short of understandable, for Steven, Sir Rogers, who had kept from many women who had been rather literally battling for his attention, seemed enamoured all of sudden. And of all creatures, enamoured by a beautiful, yet the most ordinary of women. He appeared if not utterly lost to the fabled love at first sight, then certainly lost enough to abandon all reason.

“Oh no, if you are severely injured, I could not possibly-“ the woman resisted, gathering her skirt in attempt to stand up as if to prove she was considerably less inconvenienced by absence of aid than it had originally appeared.

Naturally, her efforts were doomed to failure – and just as naturally, Steve had been there to catch her, promptly supporting her weight. She had barely caught herself, one palm flat against his chest, the other on his bicep, lips parted in silent surprise; and much to the amusement of all knights, in awe of his strength.

Sir Rogers was certainly not the only one of the pair who appeared smitten.

“Thank you, good Sir.”

“Sir Steven Rogers, my lady. I should be happy to aid you,” he pronounced, the words ‘with anything’ unsaid but clearly implied as he helped her straighten up as much as her own injury allowed. “I have not been injured severely. Worry not.”

Needless to say, Sir Barnes would argue; bruised ribs, several cuts, more so when one of them sat right above his brow, should be considered severe enough not to carry a woman in his arms… particularly when these injuries were coupled with a heavy blow to the head. Before, Sir Barnes had not been sure how strong of a hit Steven had taken, but now, seeing how absent of any common sense Steven was-

Ah. His best friend was being quite himself, now that Sir Barnes thought of it.  

“…so we are to ignore there are at least three better candidates whose ribs are not bruised or-“ Peter muttered in low voice to his companions, all but earning a warning slap to his healthy leg as Sir Lang gently shushed him, himself charmed by the romantic ballad-worthy scene in front of them.

“Seeing as she does, I suppose we do too,” Sir Maximoff scoffed lowly, tilting his head to side as he observed his comrade, suddenly frowning, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And so does he. Is he alright? He looks… strange. Has any of you put something in his water?”

“You are saying this as if you were not as miffed about him being chosen by her as I am,” Sir Barton huffed, sourness turning into humour at the other man’s misery.

Pietro’s gaze torn away from the pair, their downright love-sick gazes suddenly difficult to watch; it almost felt as if by looking at them, they were prying on an intimate moment. Pietro thought it curious, for he had never had any issues of laughing loud at the displays of affection his fellow knights had offered in the Tower tavern for everyone to see, but he did not want to examine it too hard. He could find joy elsewhere once they had made it to the city, with no shortage of ladies no doubt willing to offer comfort to the heroes of Starkerbürg.

“He is one lucky bastard,” he sighed, patting the horse’s neck, preparing to take off.

“And lucky he might get…” Sir Wilson sing-sang quietly, causing the group to laugh as their gazes once again appreciated the almost palpable spark between the unlikely couple, exchanging knowing glances as the woman gasped when Steven sneaked his arms under her knees and back, lifting her into his arms with ease despite his gear weighting him down.

“Alright, it is settled. We are certain you are safe with Sir Rogers…” Sir Barton called out, entirely ignored by the pair who instead kept observing one another without as much as a blink, as if they could not bear losing even a fraction of the precious time they were given. “For he is-- they are not even listening to me, are they? No one cares about me anymore, I truly must be getting old-”

Sir Barnes sighed again, realization dawning to him; one he should never share with his companions, but one he would for certain inquire about later when Steven returned to the castle.

“We shall move then,” he muttered, beckoning others towards the road, not before sparing the couple a last slightly disapproving glance.

He feared not for his most precious friend’s safety; he only feared for his heart, too big even for the impressive size his body had grown into since his early days as a weakling. At the moment, it was his mind Bucky feared for, since it almost seemed feeble under a spell of a beautiful woman. A spell no one dared to break.

As the group walked away, each of their steps was uncharacteristically silent; until they believed to reach enough of a distance to have a boisterous laugh about Sir Rogers no doubt to be rewarded for his chivalry. The sound bothered not the pair as they smiled at each other softly, the woman’s thumb brushing over Steven’s sternum, covered by worn chainmail.

The simple touch seemed to reach his soul; his breathing, having already eased since he had first caught her, cleared completely, the ache in his bones gone. The woman’s smile widened, silently prompting Steven to start walking. He was not one to hesitate, his feet moving almost of their own volition.

“You are not obliged to carry me,” she said, a teasing note lacing her gentle voice. “I slowed the landing enough. It is nothing but a bruise.”

Steven shook his head, appearing as if he was barely holding back a grin. “But I must, my lady. It is my duty as a knight of Starkerbürg.”

She pursed her lips, one corner lifting in a smirk.

“Oh? Is it so, my good sir? Hm... speaking of knights of Starkerbürg, Sir Rogers,” she emphasized, a playful spark appearing in her eye, “your friends act like children.”

Undignified for a knight for certain – yet who was he to diminish the already scraped reputation of men who truly unsubtly jested about him taking advantage of the very woman in distress he was to help – Steven snorted.

“Don’t I know it.”

“But Samuel might not be wrong…“ she said, voice equally full of amusement and promise. “Set me down, Steven. You must be tired.”

Tired he was not. Not ever since he had met the woman’s eyes moments ago and recognized their beauty and depth as familiar. But who was he to deny a lady?

And a lady she was, for all she was and was not. They might have jested about it together, but in Steven’s mind, she was precisely that and nothing less, no matter what any half-wit of this kingdom would think. Slowly, he lowered her back to her feet, his heart thundering in his ribcage in anticipation as he focused on the sounds surrounding them.

Content with only gentle whisper of the wind and songs of robins for a company, his worn hands cradled the woman’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, heart trembling when she leaned into his touch, her lips brushing his palm.

In return, the tips of her fingers ghosted over his brow, the nasty cut closing at once, without a single sting of pain. She focused on that aspect often, even as she knew he would try and not as much as flinch for her benefit, much like he had not when she healed his ribs earlier.

“Thank you. They must be far enough now, I am sure,” he whispered, stepping closer so their bodies aligned and nearly merged in one. “Do not hide from me, bosorka moja. Let me see you, beautiful.”

Her smile turned a little coy, even as her soul sang at his sweet words. Steven was quite a master of compliments; but not a shameless flirt or a rake. What he said always came from heart; that beautiful, beautiful heart he had sworn belonged to her and never made her question it despite their situation.

“As you wish, good sir,” she whispered, fingertips sliding down his cheekbone, repairing the darkening bruising in their wake, before she turned focus on her own transformation. “Close your eyes, love, release me for just a moment.”

With a sigh of disappointment – but eager to oblige – Steven lifted his hands an inch, missing the lovely heat under his touch at once, and let his eyes slide close. Soft light caressed his skin, flickering behind his closed eyelids as her features shifted, her cloaking spell dispersing.

Steven did not fight the smile tugging at his lips as he allowed himself to open his eyes again just as the glow was dying out, welcomed by the sight of his beloved in her true face. The spell she had casted changed her features but a bit, only enough to protect her from those who would still hunt her upon mere suspicion of her being a magical creature. She appeared just as human as before; but should a half-wit still nursing grudges against magic even century and half since its dark side caused people to suffer ever recognize her as anything else… Steven did not wish to imagine what hell would have been raised; even as it would have been one he would fight to death against.

Indeed, she appeared human even in her true form to most, Steven assumed. Yet, to him, she appeared almost ethereal; she always had. From the very moment she had walked into his life and took his world by gentle storm, slowly nursing him back to health day by day from multiple wounds which would have been his doom. She had risked her own life in process, revealing her talents to anyone, let alone a knight of Starkerbürg, but for a good deed, she had barely even hesitated.

Beautiful, powerful, brave and endlessly kind; and now, by the blessing of gods, even as Steven failed to be a proper gentleman, his.

He let his fingers slide into her hair, tilting her face up to feast his eyes on her features, heart humming pleasantly as only a person who owned it could make it hum.

It was clearer than the skies that she felt just the same. Drawing him close, not waiting for his prompting, she rose to her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers, sweet and healing. No cut was there for her to fix, but it appeared that whenever she kissed him, even with no magic involved as she had claimed, Steven’s often weary soul was lifted.

He followed her lips, earning a hearty chuckle but no protest, a hand on his nape as her fingers curled in his hair as well.

“Bosorka moja,” he said softly against her lips before tasting them again, greedy for every stolen moment, every stolen kiss she was willing to give him.

And she would give him a lifetime, much like he would give his own to her.

But there was not a single reason to do it right where they stood. One more peck to his lips and she escaped his arms sneakily, only to grab at his hand with both of hers, tugging him down the now familiar path.

“Come, rytier moj.”

And so he followed her, without a word of protest. He would follow his heart anywhere.

Their destination was by no means far, they were in no rush. Unbeknownst to Sir Barnes, his thoughts had been precisely on point – the pair of lovers cherished every moment spent together, may it be walking with purpose or wandering.

This day, they chose the former, the hut soon appearing in a barely-there clearing among the trees. Steve’s lips curled in a smile on instinct as despite the humble outside state of the tiny house, he knew what he would find upon entering with his love and lover by his side. A home. Not only hers; theirs. A safe space for their love.

As soon as they entered, the air smelling of herbs and dried meadow flowers, ones he had picked and gifted her the last time he had escaped his knight-bound duties, hit his nostrils and widened his smile. It was met with her own, soft and welcoming, heartbreakingly beautiful; ache echoed in his heart, its emptiness present for the past few days without her suddenly dissolving into nothing.

He brought her hand to his lips, a gentle kiss to her knuckles before releasing her, so they could begin their routine.

From the mountains Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay your armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

Wind from the mountains

Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay my armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

You made your way to the pot, a simple curl of your wrist lighting up a fire to heat the water for tea. Steven’s gaze followed you as he stood by the door, blindly unclasping his belt, putting away his sword and chainmail. He had no need for weapons nor armour in his home; vulnerability in this house was no sign of weakness, but one of strength. It was a privilege he took upon proudly as you were blissfully aware.

Then, you ruminated through your dried herbs in search of chamomile and lavender, even as you knew the exact placement of every single item; once you heard Steven lose his armour and step forward, you looked over your shoulder, offering an unassuming smile – despite assuming quite a lot from the many encounters you had shared before.

“Tea, my love?”

Like clockwork, like the most beautiful habit, you barely got the chance to speak the question before he stood behind you, fingers cradling your chin, angling your head further to meet your lips again, an indulgent smile tasting indulgent smile as neither of you ever believed a tea was to be served. Not yet at least.

Where your first shared kiss after days of being apart tasted of longing, relief and soft smiles, this one tasted of feelings much more primal. Your breath hitched in the briefest surprise at the intensity, yet you responded in earnest, shifting to accommodate his large body, your hands finding purchase of his broad shoulders as soon as you spun around. He rewarded your cooperation with enthusiasm; you yielded to his force with a breathy laugh once he allowed you to retrieve the air he so lovingly stole from your lungs.

“No tea then?”

A hand previously grasping at your hips wrapped around your back to pull you to his chest, three steps leading you to walk backwards until your back brushed the makeshift table, Steven’s lips as urgent as sweet, his beard scratching at your sensitive skin, each breath tickling your lips.

“Would rather drink from your lips, love,” he whispered to your mouth, the only chance for both of you to breathe in before his lips returned. His hold tightened to ground you against his advances, trapping you in a cage of love you could have easily escaped should you wish; yet, you only withdrew for a moment, a cheeky retort on your tongue as your need for him grew with every touch.

“That could be arranged, I believe.”

Glancing up, you were met with his darkened eyes, his hand firm as he held onto your jaw; and yet, his thumb caressed your skin gently, the desire blending into softness and amusement at your bold demeanour. You lifted one corner of your lips in a smirk, gasping when his mouth possessed yours again, teeth tugging at your lower lip, his arm still holding onto your waist – the only thing keeping you from practically laying on the table, his hips pining yours against the hard surface, fingers squeezing your flesh.

Now there was a thought; Steve’s weight rendering you weightless as he’d coax peak after peak from your body laid on the dark wood as an offering to Gods at an altar…

The very thought, however, was fast to dissolve as Steven’s hips rocked into yours, allowing you to feel the outline of his burning need, having you clutch at his shirt as friction teased your throbbing core. He swallowed the needy noise he elicited from your lips, fingers slipping under your shirt, thumb pressing into your skin just above your hipbone as to guide your movements.

You shuddered upon his lips travelling down the column of your throat, teeth grazing skin alongside the hem of your shirt above your collarbone; your hands began their own quest over the hard planes of his body, appreciative of his truly impressive physique. Steven’s fingers roamed as well, caressing and squeezing, your given name but a breathy whisper when his fingertips stroked the underside of your breasts.

You nearly missed his words due to the blissful sensation, but you had heard the silent plea spoken so many times before there was no mistaking it.

“Dance for me, my love?”

Your swollen lips curled in a playful smile as his fingers carded through your hair, kiss brushing your cheek and jaw and finally your mouth again.

“Oh? Is that what you wish for, lover mine?”

His gaze followed the patterns his fingertips whispered over your face as if they were brushes painting the most precious canvas, a curious contradiction to his eager kisses and hardness.

“Would you hold it against me?” he inquired in a hushed voice, stealing yet another kiss from your waiting lips, his nose gently caressing yours before his gaze bore into yours with intensity again, “that I wish to see something so beautiful and so alive after a battle?”

The amusement slipped from your face, features softening as your heart sored at the subtle confession. The knights of Starkerbürg were full of jest and gestures so great they might border on insanity when situation allowed it. Their bravery was a thing of legends, as much of a legend as the thing you knew they had gone to fight days ago and were only now returning, having bested a mythical creature much more vicious and deadly than yourself, crushing life with not more than one bite to a man’s flesh.

Yet, for all their heroism, even knights, even the most precious of them all – even your Steven – felt the disarming fear of death itself, cruel and all too powerful. You would be always be more than willing to remind him of the power of life for a change, until you’d release yours with your last breath.

Ad so the answer was no – no, you would not hold it against him, whatever he would ask. Never him.

Standing on your tiptoes, framing his face with your hands, his whiskers and already messy hair ticking your palms, you told him as much, sealing your deal with a kiss.

Easing his grip, he allowed you to push against chest, easily giving in as you lead him to walk backwards until his calves hit the frame of your bed. He sat down obediently and you leaned into him, stealing another brief peck.

“Please, bosorka moja,” he pleaded once more as your forehead touched his, taking a moment to breathe him in, reminding yourself that both you indeed were still alive; and thus, such victory should be celebrated with joys life itself provided. “Dance for me, my love.”

Smiling, you placed a finger over his lips to shush him at last, gliding several steps back, mischief appearing in your eyes as his own followed your every movement hungrily, more so when you slipped out of your shawl, the shirt far from brushing the waist of the skirt suddenly hanging low on your hips, providing Steve with a silver of skin of your stomach.

There was no music but the howl of the wind carrying the occasional note by chaffinches and dunnocks and rustles of leaves. Yet, an old old melody echoed in your heart, guiding your movements and filling you with power and confidence of all witches that came before you and enchanted men into giving away their kingdom without as much as a fleeting thought, surrendering their strength and their hearts, all that only to be blessed with a single sinful glance, a single touch of magic as old as humanity itself. For a single drop of passion.

You could feel it fill the air, the longing and thirst for life and body, your lover’s eyes turning dark, hypnotized by the simple swirls of your wrists above your head, at your sides, following every slide of the back of your hands over your ribs, over your bare skin, his visceral need to replace your touch with his own. Drinking in but the smallest motions of your hips, breath hitching at the briefest tilt of your head back or to side, his lips tingling to attach themselves to the exposed skin of your throat, to taste, to suck a bruise. The force with which his fists curled into themselves seemed to ignite sparkles in the air, bringing a sensual smile to your lips as you let your eyes slip shut, feeling the energy hum louder when you moved closer; a sweet thunder within you, within Steve, all around you.

The thud of Steve’s knees on the floor came with his hands grasping your hips; needy but not firm, only to feel the slow movements of your hips and allow you to continue swinging freely. You released a breath, head tipping backwards as Steve’s hot lips found the now burning skin of your stomach, nosing his way up an inch at a time, beard tickling, an open-mouthed kiss following and causing you to shudder – with pleasure, with overwhelming power.

“Steven-“

“Keep dancing, bosorka moja,” he hummed into your skin with a pleased smile, teeth grazing over your belly button as if to distract you from his rough but deft fingers slipping under the waist on your skirt, inching it lower and lower until it hit the floor. Cold air brushed over your bare core, Steven’s lips trailing to the junction of your thigh, his smile growing wicked. “I shall help you dance.”

The very first flicker of his tongue over your pearl had you stutter in your movements, a whimper leaving your lips as Steven’s fingers dug deep into your flesh of your sides and thighs, a wordless warning not to cease the dance he had pleaded for. With a shudder of a breath, you willed yourself to continue, naturally rocking onto his hot tongue as it swept over your weeping core with indulgence, stars flashing behind your closed eyelids at the contrast of the slick muscle to the scrapes his beard left behind.

“Steven-“

“Shhh,” your lover whispered, the sound gentle and teasing at once, the pleasant vibration against your sensitive flesh causing your fingers to find way into his hair and grip, only earning another appreciative hum. “Keep dancing, love.”

And so you did. Leaning into the affection so willingly offered, you succumbed to a different kind of dance. Fingers flexing in Steven’s hair upon a particularly smart swirl of his tongue, breathless praise, calls to Gods and desperate pleas for more more more spilling from your lips. Meeting his ministrations without shame; guiding him, opening up for him as the liquid fire of pleasure spread through your veins, turning into an inferno when you found your thigh on his shoulder, completely out of your doing, an instinct to chase relief – but thoroughly appreciated as Steven’s arm circled your bottom, pulling you impossibly close and loving you deep enough to set you on fire entirely.

You let the primal hunger consume you as you climbed to your peak, crying out when you reached it, head spinning from the intensity; waves of bliss washed over you, body pliant and relaxed. You shrieked when you suddenly found yourself losing your footing, for a brief moment frustratingly empty and cold; and then you were spread on the table, your lover’s lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves, burning blue gaze swallowed by lust firmly set on your face as two thick fingers entered you, latching onto the last aftershocks of your peak. You reached a second high with dizzying speed, unable to tear your gaze away from your giving – and so, so wicked – lover. Gods could possess you at that moment and you would have not felt as if you ascended to such heights as you had while indulging on Earthly pleasures with him.

A soft trail of kisses and pets soothed you as you came down, a breathless chuckle bleeding into a sob when you noticed few of your possessions floating in the air, your magic quite literally having exploded outside of you.

Steven’s lips curled into a smile against your jaw and then you were tasting your essence – as well his much-satisfied grin – on your tongue, revelling in the warm weight of his body covering yours. It seemed your Steven had a few magic tricks up his sleeve too, mind-reading being one of them. You smiled into the kiss, using your grip on his hair to pull him even closer. He could never be close enough; and as he stood between your spread legs, his hard bulge brushing against your bare core, his lips and hands eager, you were certain he felt just the same.

“So beautiful for me,” he whispered to your mouth before retreating, darkened eyes sparkling with lust and pride as well as affection.

“And yours,” you hummed, fingers raking through his beard appreciatively, chuckling when fresh hunger flashed in his pupils. Oh how possessive your knight could be… how much joy it brought you to tease him. “Should I show you?”

A breathy yes was your only answer and so you gripped his shirt, using the fabric for leverage to you sit up. You kissed him again, hands sliding under his garments, gliding over his stomach, your magic flowing freely and healing whichever injuries you had missed earlier.

Easily ridding him of his shirt and pants in between sweet encounters of lips and shedding your clothes as well, you wrapped your legs around his waist, a faint whisper of ‘bed’ enough to have him pick you up without protest; on contrary, with quite the enthusiasm since his hardness throbbed when you led him to sit down with you in his lap.

“Missed you… love you… need you,” you confessed, his breathy voice echoing your sentiments as your lips brushed over every patch of his skin in reach, fingers wrapping around him and guiding him inside you, bliss surrounding you both when you finally sank yourself down his length in one fluid movement.

You rested your forehead against his and simply breathed, living in the moment of utter bliss; a different kind, not the almost primitive one, no, not the wild one. This moment belonged to serenity. Sharing air and warmth with your lover, tender hands appreciating the wide planes of his muscles, strength radiating from flesh and soul alike. And love. Always love.

As if he was able to read your mind once more, his lips sought out yours, a declaration of love indeed, simple, honest and unyielding. His thumb gently traced the pattern of your tattoo, its ink reaching from behind your ear over the side on your neck, a swirl over your left collarbone and spreading over your shoulder. I love you as you are, for all you are, his touch whispered even as no sound left his lips. And even if you felt no shame for your nature, your Steven’s acceptance caressed your soul as did his diligence; not once he had forgotten his ritual of reminding you that with him, your existence was not merely tolerated – but adored and celebrated. When you first understood the significance of this habit of his, tears had stung your eyes, kissed away before they could roll down your cheeks.

“Ľúbim ťa,” you had breathed out then, a love confession in the old language, and ever since, you had not failed to say it once in response to his gesture.

Then, rough fingertips carefully followed the line of a fine silver chain carrying a tear-shaped indigo sapphire, a token of affection usually hidden from plain sight, protected; a promise of faithfulness even as you remained unwed. You had no need for gemstones, but you understood its importance, the significance of the gesture; it made for your heart warm and safe upon its possession and for Steven’s heart lighter a pound of the burden of your circumstance.

Your circumstance was not one of the simple ones, a forbidden love one might say; in which you were the only forbidden thing. Forbidden to even live, let alone love or be loved; an abomination to some. A magic wielder, no doubt seducing the most honourable with her dark powers, for what other reason could be there for him to take liking in you? It mattered not that there was less than a little true to it, that your bond was of much purer nature, as common and as human as the blood you drew from your own veins to cast protection spells over your beloved. True did not matter. Should you reveal your relationship now, Steven would have been painted a victim; and you would have lived no more.

An easy circumstance yours was not at all; but your dedication to each other was to conquer all troubles. And in the meantime, you shall have moments of serenity and of passion, of you and him.

The smallest shift of Steven’s hand pulled from your thoughts, breath hitching when his fingers slid an inch lower, brushing over your nipple. Your hips buckled on instinct, drawing a groan from your lover’s lips, a grip on your bottom encouraging you to move.

Who were you to deny pleasure to you both?

Smiling, you withdrew, index finger covering Steve’s lips as he tried to follow, a discontent furrow to his brow. You tilted your head, thumb brushing over his swollen lips.

“Would you like me to dance still, lover mine?” you inquired teasingly, his disapproval at your actions wiped away in an instant, replaced by fire in his eyes.

Gentle flames of affection battled those of desire, his warm palm caressing over your lower cheeks, before he snapped you impossibly close, causing you to gasp – and to question who it was who had the upper hand here. Your hand fell to his chest, his heart beating wildly under your palm, an answer of its own.

Both then. It seemed you were both on top and simultaneously under the other’s thumb. Such a beautiful thing.  

“Would you, bosorka moja?”

Your smile grew, lips attaching to his once more and planning to remain for as long as possible, first careful rock of your hips the first step to reach for the stars – together this time.

“Oh Steven… for my honourable knight? For you, my love? With pleasure…”

An absent smile played on Steve’s lips, his fingers running up and down your arm, appreciating the softness and warmth of your skin. An air of comfort and contentedness hovered around you as he held you close, fast asleep in his arms, cheek pressed to his chest as if the very sound of his heart against your ear lulled you to peaceful slumber.

Despite the sweetness of the idea, Steve felt his brows furrow in concern. While as he was perfectly happy to serve as a pillow for his beautiful lover, aware there was barely any greater expression of trust than a shared sleep, worry seized him for this occurrence was beyond rare. He once asked whether your incredible magic was an effortless as you made it seem, met with a weary chuckle and a kind, if a little condescending smile and a confession that if seen weak, your kind would have been an easy prey. Having understood he had taken your answer as a testimony to the lack of trust you had laid in him, you had also admitted that while the teachings of your ancestors had been deeply ingrained in your instincts, part of your reluctance to show your weakness to him was precisely what weighted his conscience just now. You simply could not be bothered to make him fret too much.

The fact you had let sleep take you alone was truly worrisome and Steve pondered just how exhausted you must have been. Even as the fresh memory of your breathless pleas for more and the cries of pleasure as you rode him till you both tasted heaven were nothing short of precious to him, he could not but wonder whether he was taking too much; your magic healing his wounds, your body a sanctuary to his love and fears.

Perhaps he had. But who could ever blame him?

Steven had never known a woman like this – unafraid to give, just as unshy to take; one or the other, but never like this. He had fallen for you and had fallen hard, body and soul. Yes, should anyone call him selfish, they would not be wrong, because Gods, did he take what he craved and lusted – and yet. Yet, every moment with you felt ethereally right as your still unconscious form drifted closer, almost as if you sensed his thoughts and wished for them to evaporate. And so far, they always had, dissolved in your easy smile when you refused his offer and plea to come with him; to bring you to the castle with him so he could give as well, give more, provide and protect and worship you in his home, your new home, true home where you would not have to hide in the middle of the woods like some sort of an abomination.

It is not the time yet, my love. It will come, you would always say, washing away his guilt with a sweet kiss and a promise. One day. One day I shall come with you and we should be unabashedly happy with no fear, free to be you and me.

He had let your words and touch sooth him, always; but not today. Your body having melted into his had his protective instinct flare up, determination set in his very heart. He should convince you today, to make you his and him yours as two people in love deserved. He shall make an honest woman of you in the eyes of the whole kingdom at last. It was what you were worthy of, for you were worthy of anything and everything. And with you… he believed he deserved the same. He could not stand it anymore. Parting ways with you, only to hope for your next stolen moment to come the very minute after he had left. He could no longer bear you existing so close and yet so far out of his reach.

No, he shall convince you today, insist more than ever. He wanted this, he wished for nothing more than to lay to sleep like this every night, with you. You deserved it. You deserved the world and he shall lay it to your feet, for his honour and his benefit at once.

Any other day, you would have berated yourself for having fallen asleep; but knowing the changes your body was going through, weariness settling in sooner than it used to, it only brought a smile to your face when you found yourself waking to Steven’s tender fingers carding through your hair.

The night was slowly falling. Wandering the woods in darkness would have been an unnecessary risk for anyone, even for a skilled knight with your protective spell over him;  your lover was more than aware of it and still, you could tell it pained him to bring you out of your slumber nevertheless. It was no feat to kiss his guilt away, smiles adorning your faces, noses caressing, hands wandering, nearly leading you back into the clutches of lust.

He sat patiently on your bed now, half dressed as you took your blade, his eyes following your every move with more attention than ever as he absently sipped chamomile tea; he found himself deep in thought, such was obvious. It was not difficult to guess where his mind had trailed off to, for it had always been the same.

His voice was soft when he spoke the words, a soft wrinkle on his forehead as your cut your finger and stood between his spread legs.

“Come with me.”

A sad smile played in the corner of your lips as your heart fluttered at his plea, one he never failed to deliver, even as your sigh must have sounded weary every time.

“I cannot. Not yet.”

Steven was no half-wit, which was more than could said about many of the people of Starkerbürg. He knew precisely why you could not come; why you never could, at least not yet. Magic was still forbidden – as if it was a choice, as if one could choose to stop breathing and still live – hated for the pain and destruction the dark twisted witches and sorcerers had once left in their wake, misusing magic to spread fear and suffering. It was not just that all magic wielders were still paying the price for what their ancestors had done. It was even less just that you, not having done any harm unless you needed to escape imminent danger to your life, should live a hermit life, too far from your love and lover. Yet it was how times were, still.

But you were no fool either. You could feel Steven’s uneasiness growing heavier every time he left without you, for it went against his very nature, against the need to keep you close, to hold you, to love – to protect you from harm. You had no doubt he would lay his life for you. You could not allow him to do that, not when the time was finally growing near for your love to be cherished as any other, time for your kind to be free. You must not lose him to rushed foolishness. He was no longer only yours to lose.

“I would protect you,” he promised, steely conviction in his husky voice.

As sweet as the sentiment was, you could not but smirk, a knowing gaze reminding him that should the situation require it, you could very well protect yourself, even as your true gift – the one special talent every magic wielder had, naturally developed with barely any practice – was of the healing kind. Should you truly wished, you could burn villages with terrifying ease; gods knew sorcerers and sorceresses had done this and more with a single snap of their fingers.

Steve took no offence in your teasing gaze; but the determination in his own remained unshaken as you begun to draw the protective symbol over his sternum.

“The time is yet come for people to understand the blessings of magic again, for its light to outshine the darkness it had sowed,” you reasoned, as much as it pained you. “The time shall come soon, I promise. It is simply not today, my love.”

Long fingers circled your wrist, gentle but firm, having you cease your movement, your gaze meeting the brilliant blue roaming over your face.

“I miss you. All days, all nights. I-“ he paused, licking his lips, a shadow of hurt passing over his face. “Don’t you?”

Your heart soared, a sigh leaving your lips. Steven was not easy on you today; but your conviction and determination was just as strong as his. You had to be brave and so did he. A few days longer, that would be all you needed. The right time would come. You were certain of it, even as it was nothing but a whisper of intuition in the back of your mind. Wait, the voice said, the time grows near, but you must wait.

“Do not do this, rytier moj,” you scolded Steven, letting gentleness seep into your voice. “It does not suit you. You must know I love you. I miss you too. And I worry. All days. All nights. Therefore…”

You wiggled your fingers, Steven’s shoulders sagging as he released you, an exasperated pout to his lips – unjustly adorable – as you resumed your work. You smiled widely despite your unnerving circumstance; he would give you anything and everything. The knowledge of this, having been reminded by every little gesture, every word he spoke, made for the warmest feeling in your soul.

Content with your handiwork as you drew the last spiral, you had to swallow a chuckle when Steven’s brows furrowed in confusion, head bowing, eyes flickering over the unfamiliar pattern. A triskele instead of a simple two-headed spiral. A symbol speaking more words than your knight could ever imagine in his wildest dreams, you supposed.  

“It’s different.”

Shrugging, you withdrew your hand, calling to your magic to finish the ritual.

“You always draw two spirals connected…” Steve continued, eyes growing large and curious.

“I do”, you agreed softly.

He observed you, intrigued. He had once said he might not understand your power, but he swore he would always try. He would not dare to question your rituals, but you could almost feel how fast his thoughts whirled in a frantic search for an answer. The ritual had remained the same, always, countless times, over and over… why would you steer from it today of all days? What was its significance? What had changed?

Oh Steven. Your sweet, sweet Steven… if he only knew.

“You always say it is about love. The unity of us. You and me,” he said slowly and you nodded, unable to contain your joy any longer, eyes surely glimmering.

“Yes. Our love, you and me. Unity of two.”

His eyes, roaming your face in silent question still, suddenly widened, flickering down and snapping back up as the realization dawned on him, leaving his lips slightly parted.

You simply shrugged, a chuckle shaking your chest, while guilt already began to gnaw at your conscience. You should have not told him, not yet. But how could you have kept it for yourself? How could you have denied yourself a little indulgence, even when knowing nothing could change just yet? You simply wished to see him learn your sweet secret, yours and his, even if for a moment, see he was equally elated.

Your knight did not disappoint you, not that you believed he ever could. His face was a perfect blend of shock and delight, radiating joy and hope and shame and sadness in equal amount as he stammered, shaky hand reaching out to carefully brush his fingers over your belly showing no signs of the treasure growing inside yet.

“You- are you—are we? Oh gods-“ And then, as you predicted, his expression shifted in an instant, determination taking deep root. “Then you must come with me. Allow me to take care of you, to-“

Satisfied and aching at once, you promptly shushed him with your still bloody finger to his lips. A single tear rolled down your cheek; a testimony to happiness, reassured anew of your lover’s goodness and dedication to you. To your family. The wonder, the glimmer of hope and the conviction in Steven’s expression would stay with you till you could grant him his wish.

“The time has not yet come, my love. I share your joy. And your worry,” you whispered through the tightness of your throat, even as a smile adorned your lips. Your finger drew a small cross over his mouth despite the pain it caused you. You had had your moment – and that had to be enough for now. “I am sorry, rytier moj. But you shall not remember this, not yet.”  

Before he could as much as take a breath, you withdrew your hand, the symbols on his chest and lips disappearing with a soft glow. Disoriented, your knight blinked, steadying himself by the hand on your hip even as he remained seated.

With a shaky inhale you composed yourself before he could, leaning forward and planting a tender kiss on his lips, fingers raking through his hair. His hand cradled your jaw, adoring.

“Be careful,” you spoke against his lips, earning another small peck.

“Always.”

You retreated with a huff, shaking your head as you went to find an ointment you knew his friend would soon need.

“You speak as if I did not know you, Steven. A basilisk chimera’s teeth three inches from your throat, I heard? Careful indeed.”

His smile was sheepish as he rose to his full height, tying the top of his shirt before reaching for the garments you had so hastily rid him of earlier.

“I always try. The idea that should I fail, I shall never see you again… it can be quite a motivation,” he sweet-talked, succeeding just a bit in softening your exasperation.

Perhaps the vision of him dutifully putting on his armour, making his frame appear even larger – and protected – calmed you further.

“Well, Steven, try harder,” you snipped, pressing a tiny pot into his hand, earning a raised brow. “And take this to Peter, the wound on his leg was already turning foul. And this…”

You reached for a salve you had prepared for when a wave of nausea had taken you by surprise, dipped your finger in the dark substance and carefully patted it over Steven’s brow where his cut had been. You did not expect Steven to feel nauseous – after all he was not the one carrying a new life under his heart – but the colour was convenient. A cut healing so rapidly would have casted a dangerous suspicion on whoever he had interacted with – or worse, on Steven himself. You could not have that.

He observed you softly as you tended to him, adding a small tap where a bruise had begun to form earlier on his cheekbone. He did not utter a word until you were satisfied with your work. Once your hands fell to your sides, his own framed your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose and finally your mouth again, a bittersweet goodbye.

“Always so meticulous and careful… always so good. Taking care of me, of my friends…” he mused, breathing you in one last time, hovering, hesitating more than usual. Almost, almost as if your spell had not worked and he still knew. As if he still knew precisely what he was leaving behind this time. “Take care of the person most precious to me too? Until I come back again?”

There might be two of those for you now, you thought, the memory of his delight flashing in your mind, bringing a smile to your lips as you nuzzled into his touch and kissed his palm.

Looking up at his face, you echoed his own reassurance. “Always.”

With one last kiss and hearts as heavy as light, you declared your love to each other. You walked him out quietly, watching him disappear between the trees, his gaze turning to you several times, always finding you standing at the doorstep of his true home, a tender smile on your lips.

Once he was out of sight, you released a sigh, hand settling over your belly, a tear stinging in your eye despite the corners of your lips having been turn upwards.

Yes. The time was yet to come for the people to see again the blessings of magic. For now… the blessing of love already bloomed and it was enough.

Očaruj mě (a fic with the same pairing in the same universe)

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this one

Complete masterlist

Yes, I’m mixing symbols, I know… do I care? Nope.

Terms of endearment/addressing used from Slovak language: bosorka moja = witch mine rytier môj = knight mine ľubim ťa = I love you

Thank you for reading!💕 I wrote it in between really difficult exams in the ocourse of two months and it needed a LOT of editing afterwards too, so... feedback is, as always, appreciated 🥰

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #knight steve rogers #knight steve rogers x reader #knight steve rogers x you #knight steve rogers imagine #medieval au #fantasy au #fairy tale au #lemons #pomiluj me #anika ann

[holylulusworld]

Before you (6)

Summary: King Steven Grant Rogers once was a good king and a gentle alpha. Now he’s a cruel shadow of his former self. Can he find the light again?

Pairing: King(Alpha)!Steve Rogers x Maid(Omega)!Reader

Characters: Knight Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes

Warnings: angst, language, grumpy and loud Steve, Bucky is the best (soft Bucky is a warning, okay), mentions of loss of loved ones, undefined age gap, a hint of fluff, true mates, a/b/o, scenting, Steve is a little possessive in this…

Before you masterlist

<< Part 5

“Steve! BROTHER! Open the door,” you flinch as it seems that Bucky wants to tear the door down with his bare hands. “If you hurt her, you’ll regret it. She’s your true mate.”

“Bucky, stop this immediately or you’ll end up in the dungeon. I swear if you threaten my claim, you are no longer my brother,” Steve warns.

There is a commotion behind the door, and then silence.

“He-he means well, my king,” whimpering in fear you look up at Steve. “Please don’t punish him. He pities me. Please.”

“You’ve got a soft spot for my brother,” he grits his teeth. “How far did he go? Did he touch you?”

“What? He wouldn’t…no. Your brother is a good man. All this time he tried to help me, my king. I swear on my father’s grave,” you sniffle. “Please…”

“A good man,” he huffs. “Unlike me?” The king questions. He waits for you to protest but you press your lips into a thin line. “I wasn’t always like this. Hard. Cold. Careless.”

“I don’t know you, my king,” you drop your gaze. “You’re a king. You have all the right to treat me like…this.”

“Look at me,” it’s an alpha command and your head immediately snaps upward. “I promised to keep you safe, and I will. No one will ever hurt you again or break your heart.”

“It’s too late for that.”

Steve swallows thickly as you start trembling. “Why’s that?”

“My family is gone,” you whimper. “And the only boy I ever loved forgot about me.” You give him a sad smile. “Promises are meant to be broken, my king. I don’t know if yours are meant to be kept.”

“My love,” your eyes round as he steps closer to cup your cheek with his right hand. “I never forgot about you. And I never wanted to break my promises. My father has forbidden me to come back to you. One day, he said you died in the fire with your family.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you press your hands weakly against his chest. “What is the meaning of your words, your highness.”

“Do you remember the horseshoe? I gave it to you,” he speaks as softly as he can. It’s hard to control his emotions after he got to know about Peggy’s betrayal.

“Horseshoe.”

Your heart wildly beats in your chest. This can’t be. No.

“You still have it.”

“A boy named Grant gave it to me, my king. I would remember being friends with a king.”

“A crown prince, my love,” he whispers lowly. Steve leans closer to sniff at your neck. “My name is Steven Grant Rogers. King of Brooklyn. My father wanted me to hide that I am the crown prince back then. So, I used my middle name.”

“No—no,” you cry. “My friend was a good person. He would’ve never treated people like you do. Grant was kind and so nice. He gave me my first kiss…my only kiss.”

“I never forgot about our kiss,” Steve tries to bring you into his arms but you fight him. A king can take whatever he wants, but you won’t give in without a fight. Your innocence is all you’ve got left.

“You’re not him,” he wins. You end up in his arms, your face pressed into his chest. You are forced to scent the king and feel his warmth. “You can’t be him. He would’ve saved me. Grant will come for me one day. I know it.”

“Y/N, I’m here. I would’ve come for you. I didn’t know you are still alive. I swear,” he sniffs as you wiggle in his grip. “Please, Y/N. I still go the flower you gave me.”

You stop wiggling and lift your head. “What kind of flower?”

He smiles now as you place your hands flat against his chest. “I’ll tell you if you stop fighting me.”

“I-“ you nod, but cautiously watch Steve. He lets go of you to walk toward his bed. He kneels to look under the bed and gets a small golden chest out. “What’s this?”

“My treasure,” he places the chest onto the bed and opens it. “Look,” Steve gets a small book out. He opens the book to show you a pressed flower, hidden in the middle of the book. “It’s a daisy.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. This can’t be. No. The king cannot be the boy you loved for so long.

“No. What happened to you? How can you be like this?”

“I lost everything when my father told me you died in that fire,” he carefully closes the book again. “Peggy became my queen, even though, I only ever wanted you to become mine.”

“She died,” you softly say. “I heard it from Bucky. He said something along the lines when I took care of her horse.”

“It’s not her horse,” he grits out. “She said it’s hers, but it wasn’t,” Steve says. “I asked my father to get it from your father before all of this happened. I wanted to gift it to you. She took it away from you. Peggy stole your place by my side with lies and her treacherous words.”

“It never was my place,” you step toward the door. “Even if you are Grant, you are not the man I had hoped you’ll become.” You sniff. “My king, you know that a maid cannot take a queen’s place. You and that woman were meant to be. Not us.”

“Please don’t say this,” he begs. His eyes fill with tears as you reach for the doorknob. “We were always meant to be, omega. No one can stop an alpha from claiming his true mate. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

“Not hours ago, you wanted me gone.”

He flinches as something hits the door from the other side. You shriek and fall to your knees to crawl away. “Y/N.”

Steve runs toward you. He goes down on his knees to wrap his body around your trembling form.

“STEVE!” the door finally bursts open, and a very angry Bucky, followed by Samuel storms into the room. “Where? What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Steve mutters. “You just destroyed my door.”

“I thought…I mean,” Bucky huffs as you cling to his brother’s body. You hide your face in his chest, crying as you are scared to hell and back. “You didn’t hurt her.”

“Of course not,” Steve bites back. “I told you to read Peggy’s diary and leave us alone. I need to talk to Y/N and explain a few more things.”

“Did you already tell her?” the brunette lifts a brow as his brother sighs deeply. “I guess things didn’t go well?”

“She doesn’t believe me, Bucky. I got the flower and all,” the king whispers. “What else can I do to make her believe that I’m Grant, the boy who fell in love with her so many years ago?”

“Steve let’s be honest. You treated her like the worst since you met her for the first time,” Bucky tries to make his brother see that you won’t be able to forgive the king so easily. “I told you that she’s special.”

“I know,” Steve gently rocks you in his arms. “You must read the diary, Bucky. I need to talk about it with someone. Peggy betrayed me, brother.”

“I asked Lord Barton and Samuel to find out more about Rumlow, and the knights attacking Y/N’s family that night.”

“Good. I want him in the dungeon. He’ll pay for what he did,” Steve runs one hand up and down your back. “Can you leave me alone with Y/N for a little longer? Maybe find someone to take care of the door.”

“Steve, I think you should leave Y/N alone for a while. It’s a lot to take in,” you lift your head to look at the kind brunette. “She can sleep in one of the spare chambers next to yours.”

“No,” you whine as Steve wraps his arms tighter around your body. “She must stay here. We don’t know if one of Peggy’s allies will go after her. No one can take her away from me ever again.”

“Brother you need to calm down. You’re scaring her. It’s no good to let your alpha take over at the moment,” Bucky tries again. “I want you to tell me what this is all about. Rumlow. Peggy. The fire.”

“You need to read the diary, Bucky. We will talk after you read it,” Steve nuzzles his nose in your hair to inhale your scent deeply. “She’s still scared.”

“Of you.”

“No! She’s not scared of me,” the king talks back as you start to squirm in his hold again. “She cannot be scared of me. I finally found her again after believing I lost her five years ago.”

Bucky reluctantly leaves the room to find someone to take care of the door and read the diary. “Steve, be gentle. Y/N is a blooming flower, don’t pick her too soon.”

“I’ll wed her first,” Steve mutters under his breath. “She’s going to be a queen and I’ll treat her like one. I won’t steal her innocence without making her, my wife.”

Bucky clears his throat at Steve’s words. “That’s not what I meant, Steve. I wanted you to be careful and not yell at her again.”

“Oh Steven,” Bucky closes the diary. He wipes a single tear off his cheek. “How could she do this to you and Y/N? I knew she was a treacherous snake, but this is unforgivable.”

He sighs deeply. What else can he do? One moment his brother wants to chase you away, and the next he’s talking about marriage and making you his queen.

“I will make sure you’ll not hurt Y/N. If your heart’s not in this, I’ll bring her away from here…”

“I want to go,” you press the bundle with your belongings to your chest. “I don’t belong here, my king. Please let me go.”

“Y/N, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m Grant,” he carefully approaches you. “How can I convince you?”

“You can’t be him,” stubbornly shaking your head you step back as Steve gets closer. “How could you change so much?”

“I lost you and my father forced me to marry Peggy. She died during childbirth,” he shrugs. “Peggy was all I had left after my father passed away. I was suddenly a king, and she was my salvation. Or so I thought.”

You remain silent and look away.

“She died, and my son didn’t live longer than a few days. I felt like the world betrayed me and turned my back on my people, even my brother,” Steve sniffs. “Peggy’s death opened old wounds. Wounds that never healed.”

“You can’t be him,” you repeat.

“Maybe you’re right. I’m not the Grant you used to know,” he takes another step toward you. “But there is still the young man falling in love with you inside of me. Can you help me find him again?”

“I’m only a maid, my king,” you glance at Steve. Your heart aches at the sadness in his eyes. He’s barely a shell of the young man you used to know. “How could I help you?”

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers #king!steve rogers #Before you (6) #king!steve x peasant!reader #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x maid!reader #a/b/o #medieval au #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes

[i-have-a-wonky-eye-too]

A Princess. A Queen. A Wife. A Mother. Part 28

<Part 27<

Warnings: fluff, Steve being cute, 18+ readers only, swearing, IT'S THERE WEDDING NIGHT! SMUT, fingering, hand job, oral (f-receiving), virginity lose, unprotected sex, soft sex, blood, people listening (medieval shit), Steve being a tease, Steve and reader just being cute

"Another?" Morgana asked around a yawn.

You rolled your eyes playfully at her from where you knelt on the floor beside her bed. Not an easy task in your ball gown, but you couldn't say no to the Little Princess when she asked for a bed time story. "I don't think you'll stay awake for a second story, Little Princess." You teased her. "Now, snuggle your bear tight and close your eyes."

"I don't want to go to sleep." She yawned again.

"I think you do." You smiled softly at her. "I certainly do." You sighed and rested your head against your hand as you leaned against her bed.

Morgana shook her head, "If I go to sleep, it means I won't get to see you again." She pouted.

Your brow furrowed. "You'll see me tomorrow."

She shook her head. "But you're leaving... Forever. I'll never see you again." She sniffled.

Your heart broke at the sight of her tears. "Oh, Morgana, of course you will," You got up with a struggle and sat on the bed beaide her, pulling her onto your lap.

"What if, you move away, and, forget, about me?" She sobbed.

"Impossible." You smiled. "We're family. You're one of the most important people in my life."

"And mine." Steve smiled at the pair of you from the door way. "You're welcome to visit Brook whenever you want, Princess Morgana. There's a room already waiting for you." He smiled softly at her.

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

Steve nodded. "Just needs your seal of approval." He winked at her making her giggle.

You smiled, "Feel better?" You asked her.

She nodded, "Can I have another story?" She asked batting her eyelashes at you making you roll your eyes again.

"I don't have the energy, Little Princess." You gave her a tired smile.

"I'l can read it, if you'd like, Princess Morgana..." Steve knelt beside the bed as he placed his hand on your knee. "You need to get ready for bed yourself, My love." Steve softly said as he gave you a reassuring look.

You nodded nervously and turned to Morgana. "Can King Steven read to you?" You asked.

She nodded and got off your lap. "Okay... But I hope you're better than daddy... He's terrible." She rolled her eye making you giggle and Steve grin.

"I'm sure I'm much better than your father, Princess." Steve stood up and held his hand out to you, helping you up from the bed. "I'll be along shortly, my love." He kissed your cheek.

You nodded and looked back to Morgana. "Good night, Little Princess."

"Night..." She waved you off with barely a second glance. "Will you read this, King Steven?" She asked him as she held up a second (thicker) book.

You left Morgana's chambers with a giggle as you watched Steve settle in the small armchair near Morgana's bed as he took the book from her.

"Everything okay, Your Highness?" Bucky asked as you closed the door behind you and joined him and Sam in the hallway.

You smiled and nodded at the pair of them.

"Where is the King?" Sam asked with a curious look.

You let out a small giggle, "Somehow, Morgana has managed to convince Steve to read her another book."

The pair of them chuckled, tempted to take a peak at their mighty king behaving so mundane.

"I'll give it five minutes and rescue His Majesty, shall I?" Sam asked with a smirk.

You smiled, "I don't think Morgan a will last five minutes." You chuckled softly. "I'll bid you good evening, Sam. " You bowed your head to him.

"Goodnight, Your Highness." Sam bowed before you.

Bucky offered his arm to you before the pair of you began to make your towards the chambers you and Steve would be sharing on your wedding night.

"I wanted to give you this back whilst we were still alone." You smiled up at Bucky as you placed the velvet pouch into his hand. "Thank you."

Bucky nodded, "It was my honour, Your Highness." He smiled and quickly slipped into his pocket as you came to a stop outside the chamber doors.

"Goodnight, Bucky." You leaned up and kissed his cheek, smiling to yourself as he blushed.

Bucky bowed before you before opening the door for you. You entered the room and let out a relieved sign once you saw Natasha and Wanda waiting for you.

"You look about ready to pass out." Natasha chuckled as she walked up to you. "Princess Morgana make it all the way through the story?"

You nodded, "And some." You sighed and looked around the room you were in. You had an uneasy feeling being in a room that wasn't yours, knowing what was about to happen.

"Relax," Wanda smiled warmly at you as she began to take youe jewellery off.

You hummed, "Easy for someone to say who isn't about to have the entire court listen to her-"

"I meant-" Wanda cut you off with a giggle. "You have nothing to fear with King Steven." She smiled kindly at you.

You nodded, "I know... I'm just, worried I'll make a fool of myself... Steve, is far more experienced than I am." You frowned to yourself.

"From my experience, women rarely make a fool of themselves if they're stood naked in front of a man." Natasha chuckled behind you making you and Wanda giggle. "King Steven, isn't going to judge you, Your Highness."

You nodded. "I know, I know... I'm just being silly..." You smiled to yourself, "It's still hard to believe that we're really married."

"Well believe it, Your Highness..." Natasha smiled as she finished unbuttoning the back of your gown.

With the help of Natasha and Wanda you were able to slip out of your gown and under skirts quickly, the three of you having done the whole routine countless times.

"Shall I brush your hair now, Your Highness?" Wanda asked holding your hairbrush once you were just in your nights gown.

You shook your head, "No, thank you. I'd like to do it myself." You smiled softly at her as she handed you the hairbrush. "The two of you are dismissed now. Thank you."

Natasha frowned, "But we still have-"

"It's fine, Natasha. I'd like a few moments to myself." You smiled at her. "Really, I'm fine."

The two of them nodded and bowed before leaving the room. You were left in silence as you settled in front of the dressing table at the far side of the room opposite the doors to the chambers.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, struggling to believe that you were someone's wife now. And not just anyone's, you were Steve's wife, and the thought made you so happy.

Since you were old enough to understand, you'd been terrified of being forced to marry a man that would treat you horrendously. Use you as nothing else but a breeding machine. You were terrified you'd be forced to marry King Brock and be treated to a life of misery.

"My love?"

You looked up at Steve's reflection in the mirror as he stood behind you. "Oh, Steve," You sniffled, wiping your fallen tears away, not even realising you'd been crying.

"My love, what's wrong?" Steve asked as he knelt beside you and cupped your face in his hands, brushing your tears away.

You shook your head with a smile, "I'm just... Happy." You giggled, "You make me happy." You smiled at him, making him grin.

"You make me happy too." He leaned forwards and pressed his lips against yours lovingly.

"Did Morgana fall asleep?" You asked as he stood up and took your hands, helping you stand.

He nodded. "After the first page." He chuckled.

"Thank you, for reading to her. You didn't need to." You leaned up and pecked his lips.

Steve smiled and rested his forehead against yours. "She's family, Y/n and I look after my family." He whispered.

You nodded with a smile, "Me too."

A creak in the floor boards on the other side of the door that separated you from the room where the Lords will be waiting drew your attention away from Steve.

Steve pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger and turned your head back to him. "It's just you and me, My love." He whispered before pressing his lips against yours.

You let out a soft moan feeling Steve's large hands trail down your sides and settle on your hips. His tongue licked into your mouth like it had thw previous night and memories of the wonderful feeling of what happened between you flooded your mind.

Steve pulled back with a soft hum, "Just us." He whispered.

You nodded with a smile. "Just us."

Steve winked at you making you blush and look away. "Remember how I made you feel last night?" Steve asked as he slowly moved you towards the large bed.

You nodded, "Yes."

"Remember what I promised?" He asked. "Words, My love. Always tell me how you feel. If it's too much or if you want more. Always tell me, yes?"

You nodded biting your bottom lip nervously. "I have nothing to fear."

Steve smiled against your neck. "Good girl." He pulled back and pecked your lips. "Ready?"

You gulped, nodding. "Can we go slow?" You placed your hands on his chest, toying with the collar of his sleep shirt.

"Of course, My love." Steve gave you a loving smile as he reached up and cupped your cheek. "There's no need to rush." Steve pressed his lips against yours gently as he pulled you closer by your hips.

You let out a soft moan as he gave your hips a squeeze. You closed your eyes as Steve aaslowly began to softly kiss your neck, his large hands bunched your night gown up. You bit your bottom lip as Steve ran his tongue over your neck.

"Can I remove your night gown, My love?" Steve whispered against your next.

You nodded, "Will you, remove, yours?" You asked nervously.

Steve pulled back with a smirk, "You want me naked, My love?"

Your cheeks blushed as you nodded. "Don't you?"

Steve's smirk grew as he reached for the hem of his shirt and practically ripped it over his head leaving him completely bare before. You gulped as you ran your eyes over his bare chest that was covered in hair, licking your lips as your eyes slowly fell down to his thick, heavy cock that was slowly hardening as you stared.

"You're drooling, My love." Steve teased making your cheeks flush.

You gasped and looked back up to meet his eyes. "I certainly am not."

Steve chuckled softly, "It's fine if you are, My love... I'm your husband now, you can drool all over me as much as you want." He said playfully making you blush even more. Steve reached out and took your hand, gently placing it over his hard cock, a soft moan escaping his lips. "Feel what you do to me, My love." His eyes fell shut as you wrapped your delicate hand around him. "Fuck," He breathed softly, "That's it." He moaned softly as you began to stroke him.

You bit your bottom lip as you squeezed your thighs together. You took your hand away from him making Steve open his eyes with a soft pout. If the moment was so serious, you'd have giggled at his cute little frown, but you saw worry and concern lacing his eyes as he stared at you, so you quickly pulled the collar of your night gown open and let the thin material fall down your body so it pooled at your feet.

"I'm ready, Steve. Make me yours." You whispered, staring ar him lovingly.

Steve licked his lips as he gave a soft nod and closed the short distance between you. One hand held the back of your head as the other laid on the small of your back and pulled your soft naked body against his as he crashed his lips against yours passionately.

Your mind reeled as Steve gently pushed you backwards onto the large bed and hovered over you, his tongue and lips claiming yours. A soft moan left your mouth as Steve once more began to kiss and lick his way down toue neck and across your collar bones until he came to the tops of your breasts where he finally pulled back and took a breath, much to your dismay.

"I need you to promise me something, My love." Steve whispered as the two of you looked into each other's eyes.

You nodded, "Anything."

"If you want me to stop, for any reason, please, tell me. You are the most important thing to me, My love... My wife... My Queen." Steve smiled lovingly down at you as he brushed a strand of your hair back from yoir forehead. "I do not wish to harm you, in anyway."

You nodded with a smile, "I know. I trust you... My darling husband." You grinned up at him. "Now, make me yours, My King."

Steve crashed his lips against yours once more, something primal taking over after hearing you call him your husband.

He kissed his way down the curve of your left breast, licking and sucking on your peaked nipple, pulling the most beautiful of noises from you as you rolled your hips against his thigh to get some relief. He smirked to himself as he trailed his tongue down your stomach until he came to the tuft of hair that sat between your thighs.

Steve's large hands gripped your thighs and puajed them open as he dived in and began to devour your cunt.

"Oh, Steven," You moaned, quickly covering your mouth to hide your pleasured moans.

Steve pulled back with a smirk and reached up, pulling your hand away from your mouth. "You don't need to be quiet, my love. We want those bastards to hear how much you love your husband paying attention to your cunt." Steve said with such confidence and vulgarity, sending shivers up your spine. Steve smirked and lowered his face back between your legs.

You tangled your fingers in the silk sheets as your eyes rolled back and your hips mices against Steve's mouth. "Oh. Oh, Steve," You moaned loudly as his tongue slipped inside your slit. You let out another loud moan as Steve began move his tongue in ans out of you, his thumb rubbing on your throbbing buddle of nerves. "Oh, Steeeve," You moaned.

Steve raised his head momentarily to catch his breath and to judge your reaction as he slipped bis thumb that was toying with your clit inside your wet hole.

You cried out as his thick digit stretched you out. You were so pure and untouched. So innocent, yet so curious.

"That's it, My love." Steve kissed your thigh as he pumped his thumb in and out of you a couple of times.

"Steve," You panted, "Please." You begged making Steve smirk proudly.

Steve removed his thumb and gently ran the knuckles of his index and middle finger through your wet lips coating his fingers in your sweet nectar and his saliva before he slowly began to inch his thick fingers inside of you.

You cried out, a wave of pleasure made your back arch of the bed. "Oh, Steve," You groaned sinfully loud ad Steve began to move his fingers in and out of you.

"How do you feel, My love? Tell me. Tell Your King." He asked as he watched you like a hawk.

"I... I feel-" You moaned loudly as your eyes rolled backwards, letting out a pleasure filled scream behind your hand as your orgasm washed over you.

"Fuck," He growled and lightly bit your thigh as you came. He gently pressed his lips against your warm, slick skin as he worked his way up Your body until he was laid beside you. "You did so good, my love." He praised as he wrapped you up in his arms. His left hand softly cupped your breast, pulling a low moan from me. "God, you're beautiful." He whispered. "So... Beautiful." He leaned down placing a soft kiss against your lips.

He then began working his lips down your jaw, then neck, where he graze his teeth across your soft skin until he came to collar bone. Kissing, sucking, nipping his way towards your breasts. Soft, needy moans escaped your mouth as you threaded your fingers of your left hand through his hair ad your other tangled in the sheets, needing to hold on to something.

You let out a sinful moan as Steve wrapped his lips around one of your pebbled peaks, suckling softly as he kneaded your plump backside. He suddenly bit down, not enough to cause any harm but enough to make you cry out.

Steve pulled back in concern, "My love, did I hurt you? I don't have-"

You shook your head, pulling his head back down. "No! No. I-I like it... please, don't stop." You pleaded making Steve smile. You smiled too and leaned up gently pressing your lips to his, pulling him closer, feeling his hard cock press between your thighs. "Make love to me, Steve." You whispered against his lips as you cupped his face in your hands.

Steve nodded, wearing a loving smile as he rolled you on to your back and settled between your spread thighs. He leaned down and kissed you again. He moved his weight onto his right arm to hold himself above you so he wasn't squashing you as he took a hold of his cock, lining him up at your entrance. Slowly, Steve began to push into you.

You cried out in pain as his bulbous head split you open. "AH... Steve..." You sobbed, turning away from him as tears began to run.

"Hold me, My love." Steve whispered against your temple. "Good girl." He praised as you wrapped your arms around his body, your hands laying against his strong back.

You moaned out as Steve continued to slowly fill you.

"How do you feel, My love?" Steve asked as he placed kisses against my forehead.

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. "Strange. Full... A little sore." You panted. "But... I like it." You let out a nervous giggle.

Steve chuckled, "It'll get better. I promise." He kissed you. "Tell me when I can move, okay? I don't want to harm you, if you're not ready."

You nodded taking a deep breath. "I'm ready, Steve."

Steve nodded and gave you a soft kiss, slowly pulling out. Your breath caught as the unfamiliar feeling made you tingle. Steve pressed his face against your neck as the two of you began to moan in tandem together.

"That's it, sweetheart... You're doing so good, for Your King." Steve praised as you moaned and wrapped your legs arpund his waist. "You feel like... Fucking, heaven." He moaned. "Fuck... Princess... My beautiful, perfect, wife..." He groaned loudly as he felt your cunt squeeze around him. Steve kissed down your neck before lightly biting the curve of it, making you moan loudly as he sucked and licked your skin.

"Oh... Steve..." You moaned. "Yes! Steve-"

"Mmm... sweetheart... so good."

Your sweaty bodies slid against one another. The sound of skin slapping skin, mixed with pure pleasure was a sympathy. Soon the pair of you were almost there.

"Steve, I'm... close... please-"

"Me too, My love . Together." He kissed your neck as the two of you whispered 'I love you' repeatedly.

Your eyes screwed shut as you cried out in ecstasy, your cunt squeezed around Steve's cock, taking everything he had as he too let out a pleasured cry as he came.

Steve tried to keeo his weight off you but you squeezed youe legs around him and pulled him down, letting out a satisfied hum.

"I'm squashing you, Princess." He chuckled softly.

You shook your head, "I like it... I need it." You whispered.

That's how you stayed for a moment as the two of you caught your breath.

The sound of three bangs against the wooden door startled you from your happy little bubble.

"What was that? Are they coming in?" You panicked, trying to push Steve off you so you could cover yourself.

"No one, My love." Steve rolled onto his back with a tired sigh and pulled you against him, kissing the top of toie head. "That was just the signal the lords use to let the maid's know our marriage is consummated."

Your brow furrowed, "Why do the maids need to know?" You asked looking at him.

Steve looked down at you with a sorrowful look in his eyes. "They need to collect the sheets, My love..." He pulled them back and revealed the mess that had been created.

Your eyes widened as you saw the blood and looked between your legs. You gasped, feeling tears prick your eyes and shame flood your chest.

"Hey, shh," Steve cupped your cheek as a small sob escaped. "You have nothing to worry about, My love... We talked about this, didn't we?" Steve smiled at you reassuringly. You nodded. "What did I promise?"

You gulped and smiled to yourself as you thought back to what he had said. "You'd have a bath drawn... For the two of us... Filled with lavender oil." You smiled at him.

Steve nodded, "I had someone arrange everything beforehand." He pecked your lips before standing up from the bed still naked. He bent over and scooped you up, making you squeal and laugh as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Steve chuckled, "I won't drop you, My love."

Steve took you into another room that was joined onto the main chamber. In the center was a large wooden tub, easily big enough for two. The room was hot and full of steam, spreading the scent of lavender all around, instantly relaxing you.

"I can walk, Steven." You giggled as he took you all the way over to the bathtub.

Steve grinned and placed you back on your feet inside the tub. As he let go you wobbled and grabbed a hold of his arms, "I'm not so sure you can after that." He teased as he kept hold of your hips making you gasp.

"Steven," You lightly hit his shoulder, "Don't talk like that... It's embarrassing." You blushed.

"Why? It's just us... And it's true." He wiggled his eyebrows at you making you giggle. "Don't be embarrassed, My love. Making love, between husband and wife, is nothing to be ashamed of." He smiled lovingly at you.

You nodded, "I know... It's just the thought of people knowing what we did." You said with a blush.

Steve chuckled as he brushed your hair back. "I know, My love, it's daunting and strange but it's over with now. We never have to go through it again." He gave you a reassuring smile.

"I love you, My darling husband." You whispered as you reached up placed your hand on his cheek.

Steve's smile grew as he leaned into your touch. "I love you too, My love." He whispered closing the gap.

It felt like your heart was going to explode from the love the two of you were sharing in that one kiss.

Steve climbed into the tub amd lowered himself into the water, letting out a relieved sigh as he did.

He gently pulled you down to sit between his spread legs, smirking playfully as you blushed. "You're going to have to get over this shyness, Princess." Steve teased as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. "We're married now."

"I know." You bit your bottom lip as you looked down into the water as it swerled around you. "And I will... But right now it still feels like a dream." You admitted. "I never thought on my wedding day I'd be this happy." You chew on your bottom lip as you played with Steve's fingers in the water. "I always thought..." You gulped, feeling tears form in your eyes, "I thought I'd be forced to marry -"

Steve wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest. "It's okay, My love. You're safe, now." Steve kissed the top of your head as you cried softly against his chest. "You're safe."

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

@letsdisneythings @smile1318 @readawaythereality @dad-supremedeactivated04291992 @marebare21 @imjustanotherperson @slutforchrisjamalevans @summersong69 @gretavankleep37 @calimoi @noonenuts @nighttimestan @sarahbellesaurus @bloodyinspiredfuck @coffeebooksandfandom @lewisroscoelove @oceansrose2002 @teambarnes72

#chris evans #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #King Steve Rogers x reader #King Steve Rogers x princess reader #King Steve Rogers x princess reader smut #Steve Rogers x reader smut #Steve Rogers x virgin reader smut #Kin!Steve Rogers x Princes!Stark!reader smut #Medieval au #A Princess. A Wife. A Queen. A Mother.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

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

[foxgloveprincess]

Another Taste Of Devouring Rush

Pairing: Pagan Gods Stucky x Female Reader [First Person Narrator]

Word Count: 8.8K

Summary: Growing up in a brothel, you’ve known and prepared for the fate that awaits you. But your madam’s scheme is looking for the highest bidder, and two potential bidders have caught your eye—though you’ve never seen their faces.

Warnings: Dark (Soft Dark Stucky), Medieval(ish) AU (Historical Inaccuracy because it’s a fictional setting), Polytheistic/Pagan Beliefs, Mythology, Yandere Behavior, Obsession, Possessiveness, Manipulation, Dubious Consent, Smut (Foreplay, Vaginal Penetration, Unprotected Sex, Loss of Virginity), Forced Escorting/Companionship/Prostitution, Virginity Auction/Bidding on Virginity, Innocence Kink (sorta), Minor Character Death, Abuse/Violence, Blood/Gore. All characters depicted/discussed as SWers are over the age of 18. Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: This is in the same universe as A Little Touch of Heavenly Light. Though I think it’s perhaps darker than Tony’s tale. Not just Steve and Bucky, but also the reader’s circumstances make this one a bit of a doozy. Anyone who gets the Man of La Mancha nod, you’re my new favorite person. 

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work, at all. I cross-post to my own AO3 account. Seeing this anywhere else means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

Title from “Breath of Life” by Florence + the Machine

This is not Beta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Enjoy!

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or unwilling to read/consume dark content, thank you!

I was born in a ditch, left naked and alone to die. Too cold to even cry out for my mother. A mother who abandoned me. 

Another woman, named Aida, wandering through the cold streets deep in the night, stumbled across me and carried my fragile, near-frozen body to her abode. Tucked close to her breast, beating warm and welcoming. 

The sign for The Broken Beast has always hung crooked over its doorway, welcoming customers to a small establishment of the world’s oldest profession. Not the most ideal situation for a growing girl. But no one ever touched me. Not the patrons, not the prostitutes. Not unless they wanted Aida’s wrath to rain down upon them like the tide of the Gods’ Blood. And it has been all I’ve ever known.

“You’re special, my jewel,” she says, brushing away my worries with the strands of my hair that stick to my forehead. “Only when you are ripe shall you be plucked.” 

And every day I wait, learning from the women and men of the brothel—my siblings in trade. Etiquette, composure, seduction, sensuality. Blossoming and utilizing my developing talents to become appealing—the perfect fantasy. For I know, one day, that is my fate. 

Yet every dawn, when their weary legs carry their heavy hearts to the small temple at the edge of the city and they bow before Ari the God of Pleasure and Passion, I weave my way toward others. The Righteous Captain and his companion, The Freed Soldier. 

Of course, they remain silent. What use would two gods have for a future wretch. It soothes my soul, though, surrounded by their offerings. Gorgeous works of art and ornamented trinkets. No spark of envy in my heart, but a longing for that beauty. True beauty, when my world constructs it from fantasy more fragile than a butterfly’s silken wing. 

I bow before them, my head resting against my hands, prayers muttered on syllables barely a whisper. My heart clenches in my chest and tears prick at my eyes. Hope a withering thing in my chest. Anticipating the day my precarious peace will shatter. 

Shuffling feet alert me to an approach. Skye, her kind eyes gazing upon my prostrated form with pity. Not much older than I, but a mistress to many lonely souls. Still she remains soft, the closest person to a friend I have.

“Let’s go home,” she beckons with an outstretched hand. 

I accept, as I must.

“You come closer every day, my jewel,” Aida declares, the flimsy material of her curtains obstructing her view of the street below.

My shoulders slump, sinking into my chair as my spirit droops within.

Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I conceal my distress with a pristine,“Of course, ma’am.”

“How are your lessons?” she asks, turning her eyes to pierce through me. Locked on every movement with an exacting precision. Never in my life have I been able to hide from her scrutiny.

“They teach me well,” I reply, folding my hands in my lap and shifting upon the cushion of the chair, sitting straight. I clear my throat of despair, biting back the temptation keen to voice my deepest desires and greatest fears. My ankles cross behind the chair’s leg, uncomfortable no matter how I settle. I feel it, deep in me. The question rises from within my gut, and before I can halt its progress I ask, “Shall I be presented upon the dais tonight?”

Aida scoffs, a fond smile tilting her lips. “Oh, my gem.” She stands and saunters toward me, lifting my chin with a gentle finger. “You shall be the most prized whore in all of the Nine Kingdoms.” She pats my cheek and returns to sit behind the sturdy mahogany of her desk. A ledger falls open before her, pages filled with names and sums. Her voice stills like water after it ripples, tone clear and dispassionate. “You shall begin to entertain tonight. But only the one who desires you most will have the chance to gaze upon you and enjoy your deflowering.”

I clamp my lips together, a distressed noise stuck in my throat. My gaze drops to my lap and my fidgeting fingers before I glance back up. Aida’s quill scratches more names into her book, waiting. She knows me too well.

“There are others, far more beautiful than I. My features bear nothing exquisite,” I insist with a gesture toward myself, heart pleading for my freedom toward the only mother I have ever known. Yet, as well as she knows me, she never seems to hear. “Should any new courtesan not do just as well?”

Regretful eyes meet mine. “Oh, my jewel, you are far more precious.” Her hands fold together and prop her chin atop her desk. She sighs. “Your innocence is far more potent in attraction than any fine face. And it shall win us a grand sum.” She stands and leans forward on her palms. “You shall be my crowning glory.”

The tears well along my waterline, blinked away and choked down. I nod. Anguish creeps along my spine, grasping at my heart and squeezing until my breath hitches.

“Of course, ma’am.” With my final word, I stand, bowing my head and retreating from her stifling expectation.

Descending the steps to the vast main room with its bar and many tables, my steps grow heavy, bile churning in my gut at the thought of strutting across this floor and seducing patrons for Aida’s purse. 

Melinda greets me from her stool with a stoic nod. She tips back her drink and shifts silently in her seat. Though she says nothing, barely acknowledges me, her eyes flicker with the briefest glimpse of sympathy. It’s enough to draw me closer, settling beside her and dropping my head to the smooth, well-worn wood. Her presence—the slightest sense of her understanding—washes over me like the flames of a cozy fire in the dead of winter.

A bottle of aqua vitae clinks on the bar before my eyes, Melinda’s hand wrapped around it’s neck. She pours me a small glass, watching as I stare wide-eyed at the spirit. 

“Don’t let them have more than they need.” The caution in Melinda’s voice startles me, the quiet woman not one to often offer advice. “Keep something for yourself. Your rage, your humor, your joy—keep something and tuck it away.” 

“Thank you,” I whisper as I straighten to meet her gaze, gratitude lacing every word. My throat grows tight with emotion, tears pricking at the back of my eyes.

She says nothing more, grabs her bottle of mead, and swaggers away. Chin held high, shoulders straight, yet burdened by the many years of her trade.

I remain at the bar, staring into the cup before me and the rippling drink within. It’s never touched my lips before, but I’ve heard of the acrid burn, the numbness. Too many girls getting lost in drink before entertaining their suitors. The dangers and temptations. Delicate fingers trace the rim, a debate rampant and inconclusive whirring through my mind. In the end, I push it away. Deserting the bar for the solace of my shared room. 

The day passes in distraction. Evening draws nigh. The sun dipping toward the horizon. As the others leave for the bar downstairs, to get to work and earn their keep, I begin the transformation. Style my hair. Rouge my cheeks. Dress in my finest rags. 

Voices swell below, raucous laughter and tittering giggles of delight. A farce. But one that brings coin and keeps customers returning again and again. My lungs expand on a deep breath and I stand without another look in the mirror.

“No,” Aida chastises from the doorway with only a glimpse of me, her frustration leaking from her pores. “This shan’t do.” Her fingers pluck in disgust at my cheeks. A sneer contorts her lip, hands grabbing at my chin.

A cloth wipes rough against my cheeks and her hands peel away the unsatisfactory outfit. She insists I wash again and presents a fine garment of crystal blue—pure, almost holy in its shade. Her foot taps as I scramble to appease her, turning once I am finished and awaiting her approval. 

Her face remains a careful mask, though preferable to the disgust of before. She reaches out her hand. “Come.”

I nod and follow, navigating the hallways of the brothel until we reach a room empty of occupant, but not of purpose. This place, once used for boarding, looks nothing like the barren chamber of the rooms where we sleep. Cushions in lush textiles line the floors. Colorful lamps swing overhead, flickering their flames. Swaths of fabric drape over once bare walls. A table rests before a long, translucent purple curtain partitioning the room. 

Aida draws me over and places me behind it. “You shall sit here,” she instructs, waiting to continue until I find my place. Raised upon a platform to survey the room before me. “Entertain your guests and who knows? One may desire to keep you.” She smiles, no warmth to her eyes, but a greed that consumes her. One with which I am well acquainted. It strikes me with her every glance in my direction.

“Yes, ma’am,” I whisper. 

She hums and spins on her heel, exiting with a click of the latch on the door.

Many pass over the threshold throughout the night, curious eyes seeking the Beast’s jewel. Some leave after a glimpse of the gossamer barrier. Others stay longer, sitting before me for a moment of my time. Ever demure in tone and bearing, I entertain them—ask of their stories and charm them as I’ve been taught.

It is not until the late hours of the night, when a kind older man departs with promises of a return, do I receive my final callers. 

Two figures enter. Strutting into the room with all the air of royalty. They sit like kings across the cushions, sprawling in a display of regal leisure. 

“My lords,” I greet, my chin dipping toward my chest, a gesture of deference still visible through the barrier. 

They do not speak for a moment. The silence elongating until I shift in my position and contemplate how I should continue to address them.

“What’s your name?” one asks, pleasant and genuine curiosity lacing his rich baritone. 

Whether he expects a pseudonym or the truth, I answer with my name on a stuttered breath, struck by his gaiety and left intrigued. 

“Your age?” he inquires.

Again, I answer with the truth, counting the years of my life. Older than the youngest who sell themselves here, well into womanhood and past the hopefulness of youth. The perfect age, Aida once said, to know better, yet not know at all. 

He hums. His companion remains silent. The companion’s head tilts, and I shift once more. Despite the gossamer partition fixed between us, his eyes bore through me. I swallow and match his stare, waiting.  

“Tell me of your tastes,” the first continues. And my gaze drifts from the silent figure.

“Tastes, my lord?” I question, not quite grasping his meaning. “Do you wish to speak of certain proclivities? Or—”

“Your favorites,” he intones, voice warm and soft with a tinge of amusement rife on his tongue. It’s sweet and disarming. I pause, contemplating the correct answer when he prompts, “Just the truth will suffice. Tell me of the foods you enjoy. The colors that catch your eye. The songs to which you long to dance.”

“I,” The words cuts off as my mind scrambles for the truth—too many thoughts whirling like a windstorm in my mind. I focus on the response most easily given. “My palate may not be as well traveled as some, sir, but I enjoy the sweet buns from the bakery down by the temple.”

“You enjoy sweets, then? All the better,” he jests with the confirmation of my reluctant nod, “for now I know a weakness. I must use it to my advantage.”

A laugh—a spontaneous thing, unpracticed and genuine—bursts from me. My lips spread in a smile. 

“And you, sir? What are your weaknesses?” I inquire, with an honest interest lurking behind my words. Never have I felt the necessity of knowing potential paramours in such a way, but something within my belly yearns for it now. 

“He’s bullheaded, and always pursues heavenly creatures without relent,” the companion speaks for the first time. 

His voice, soft and smoky, wraps around me and dizzies my head. My eyes trace his obscured form, and I breathe a laugh again. The delighted sound accompanied by them both. 

The rest of our night, we spend in each other’s company, exchanging pleasantries and small tidbits of favor until Aida shatters our peace to escort the potential bidders out.

Disappointment sits heavy in my gut, but I wait for my madam’s return. She sweeps into the room and brushes the curtain away, a twinkle of triumph in her eyes. My lips part on a question. Yet it goes unanswered, guided as I am to my rooms to sleep and prepare for the rigors of the next evening. 

Many more visit the second night. More the third. But each night, I wait. Bated breath and hopes high, anticipating the the arrival of the two lords who begin to occupy my every waking thought. 

Each night, always the last, they return, enlivening me with their attention and gentle affections. They grow bolder, sneaking closer toward the curtain. Prodding at the boundary between us.

“Why deep purple, little blossom?” one asks, soft voice reaching me. His fingers skim the fabric, catching on the tips and tugging until it flutters. “I have seen many don the color here. Is it the brand of your establishment?”

I swallow, leaning away from his unconscious lure. So close to them, so thin a barrier between us. The impulse tickles my spine and bids my fingers move—but I resist.

“My lord,” I explain with caution, “surely you know, in these lands, purple is the mark of a whore.” 

Silence stretches.

Broken by a growl—an almost inhuman sound, accompanying a cutting assertion, “You are not a whore.” 

I swallow, a spike of fear flickering at the base of my skull at the strict remonstrance. Lips parting, my mind scrambles for an apt response. Working through stunned and fluttering thoughts, I reply, “I am not, as of yet, my lord.” My head bows, unwilling to peek at their figures behind the delicate material. Heat warms my cheeks. “But I might be yours.” 

A sharp inhale meets my ears. 

The door bursts open, Aida ready for her nightly routine. The men stand, unmoving for a moment as they attempt to peer at my visage. To no avail as the curtain remains in place, not a shift or quiver.

No, the only quake comes from my blood, thrumming through my veins in an intoxicating rush. I wait, as I always do, for their reaction—just one more word from either of their lips. My fingers sink into the cushion beneath me, threatening to rip the cloth and expose the feathers and fluff beneath. But they remain as silent as me.

In incremental movements, I begin to stand. My legs untuck from under me, lifting me up. A shaking hand reaches forward. Fingers brush the fabric and begin to grip. Though my reason rebels against the instinct, every fiber in my being wishes to gaze upon their faces. To trace their features and drink in their presence without any impediment.

“My lords, if you would follow me,” Aida insists. Her tone breaks me from my thrall, barbed and biting—her ire roiling behind a composed guise.

When she returns, her nails dig into my arms, grip tight and painful. There is no gentleness in her treatment that night. Only a threat and a lesson learned.

Journeying with the others the next morning, I find the temple on an empty stomach, coaxed to deliver the first of my offerings to the God of Pleasure.

Everything within me revolts at his feet, bowing my head and refusing to utter my prayer. But I offer a coin from my meager purse before weaving my way toward beauty.

It feels right, supplicating myself to the patron of lost souls. The Freed Soldier looking upon my fatigued frame with indifference. 

“I cannot go on,” I lament at his feet, unable to glance at the altar of the Righteous Captain, knowing too well how conflicting my position is to his virtue. Only the Soldier may be my confessor this morning. “This venture, it taints me—spreading like a stain until it will cover every part of me.” Beneath my skirts, I loose a tiny sachet from around my thigh—a few aromatic herbs, a shard of iridescent glass, and a speckled pebble encased inside. “Please, I beg you. I will be loyal all my days.” Tears drip down my cheeks, and splash across the tiled floor. “Help me,” I whisper from quivering lips.

There is no answer. 

The night falls, as it must, and I return to my shrouded position. The faces blur in their familiarity from behind my curtain. Voices returning from the nights previous. Aida keeps new, curious gazes away—culling the interest pool to those wealthy enough to bid for my innocence. 

The older man returns from the first night, his voice jovial. Though he doesn’t tell me it, his name sits scrawled on a piece of parchment resting under Aida’s arm, along with the others who vie for my attentions. 

They’ve started to sit closer, their curiosity feeding a need to discern my appearance. But none catch a glimpse—none that I wish to catch a glimpse.

Except for them. 

Only one comes that night. His companion absent from his side. My heart sinks, distraught and cycling through notions of my failure before he speaks.

“I hope you will forgive me,” the man excuses, sitting before the curtain, pressing probing fingers across the translucent cloth. “I wished for a moment of your time, alone.”

My throat clears, mind searching for the words to express my curiosity and sate my incompetence with answers. “Then your friend has no need of my services?”

“No, no,” he rushes to reassure, “business calls him away this night. Though he should return tomorrow, neither of us wished to lose an opportunity to see you.”

Relief floods through my veins, a grin stretching my lips. “I suppose that will do.”

“Be assured, my sweet, we shall only ever have you together.” 

Heat rushes to my cheeks. His implications and passion striking me to my core. His figure leans closer to the drape, so close I might perceive his features if it were more sheer. Even still, his proximity ensnares my senses, scenting the faintest hint of sage on his clothes, the brush of his breath. My heartbeat thumps in my ears.

“You shall be my sweet, shan’t you?” he questions no louder than a whisper.

Before my thoughts can form coherence, my lips murmur, “yes,” without pause, fervor rife in the declaration.

“Then I have something for you.”

He turns away, hands procuring a bag tied to his belt. He offers it out. Just on the other side of the curtain but no further. I reach for it, charades of anonymity and mystery cursed to the riverbed.

The curtain parts around my arm, fingers grasping at the pouch. A hand locks around my wrist, lips descending for a tantalizing caress. I gasp. 

The man smooths his fingertips over my skin. Such tenderness, reverence in the gesture. And I sit still, unable to break the sanctity of the moment until he releases me with a final kiss to my knuckles. 

I swallow, a lump forming in my throat, impeding any sentiment I might utter. My eyes flick away from the shadow of his face, locking onto my gift and untying the ties. Pulse fluttering beneath my skin, every fiber of my being grasps for composure. 

Peeking into the linen bag, my fingers pluck out a small, dark shard which melts in my touch.

“Eat it,” he encourages, eager and insistent. “It’s called chocolate.”

I hesitate, wondering at the food, trying to discern its flavor without a taste. Yet chocolate is not something with which I am familiar. But the shard finds its way to my mouth, melting as it did between my fingers. It coats my palate with sweet bitterness. A sound of delight trills in my throat, looking to the man who offered such a fine gift.

“Thank you,” I whisper, still struggling to form words and lost in the pleasures of the treat, and even a simple offering of gratitude feels ill-equipped to convey my appreciation.

“Steve.”

“What?” I ask in confusion, glancing toward the pouch now resting in my lap and back to the gossamer.

“Steve,” he repeats, a patience to his voice, “it’s my name.”

“Steve.” It repeats on my tongue, sweeter than the chocolate still lingering. “A pleasure to know your name, my lord.” A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. An ache growing within my chest—inexplicable yet all-consuming. Akin to tenderness, affection. Accompanied by a pang, worse than those of a growing body. Knowing he and his companion are still but one of many who might win my innocence. Possibility and probability and favor warring against our fates that may not align.

But I disregard it. Allowing my own indulgence, engaging Steve in conversation and gaiety—as if I were not hiding behind a veil, and he were any man I might meet on the street. 

And the next night, they return together. My endearment to them growing even more incisive. Heavy as a boulder within my chest and piercing through me. Yet I have been taught well. A charming air shielding my true feelings from them, just as my face remains concealed.

“What think you of your other suitors?” 

The jubilance of my laughter ceases. Stunned by the man’s inquiry. Steve turns to face his companion, fidgeting in his seat. My eyelids blink, batting away bewilderment.

“They are of no concern, my lord,” I rush to say, stumbling over the words. Dread slithers down my spine, colder than winter’s frost. “You may be my only master, should you wish it.”

“And what would be the price of that?” he growls.

“James,” Steve reprimands, cautioning his companion and introducing me to him for the first time. 

Though my throat dries and my nerves pluck with discomfort, I reply, “I will never set the price, my lord. It is not one I wish to collect from you.”

Silence settles between the three of us. Long moments spent with our own thoughts. A chair creaks. A cup clinks. My breath stays within my chest, refusing to escape my lungs.

“Do you wish to be ours?” James asks, an edge to his words that I cannot define nor fathom.

“More than any other,” I reply.

“No matter the price,” Steve intones, question woven with an intensity much like his companion’s.

“Yes, my lord.”

It is the last thing I say to them. Their bodies rising as one and exiting the room. A strong, determined steeliness lining their shoulders and regimenting their gait.

Aida barges into my room, expression a blazing inferno of rage. Her nails sink into my arms, dragging me from my bed and shoving me against the floor. 

“You think to trick me, to make a fool of my endeavors?” she questions, tone sharp and pointed. 

My chin ducks, unaware of my slight against her. Trying to puzzle together whatever infraction I have committed. 

She tilts my gaze up, fingers squishing my cheeks and nails biting at my skin. “I own you,” she seethes. “Until the breath leaves my lungs and my soul fords the Gods’ Blood, you are mine and no one else’s.” She pushes me away and I yelp, head smacking against the frame of Skye’s cot. “Play your games with your suitors, my gem,” she spits, “but do not think you may challenge me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I whisper, still lost and perplexed by her sudden wrath. But unwilling to provoke it further.

“Now,” she straightens, smoothing her hands over her bodice and turning her gaze from me. Yet still it sends a shiver down my spine. “You shall pray with your sisters and brothers at the temple. And come the evening, you shall see no more of those two lords who think themselves your keepers.”

I swallow hard, nodding and waiting to gather myself until her steps retreat down the hall. Head dizzy, I stumble to my feet and brush away the tears lining my eyes. For I know of whom Aida speaks. No two other men had sought me so ardently than James and Steve. I sniff away the distress and smooth my dress. Leaving my sorrow tucked away in the empty room.

My steps tread heavy toward the temple. My knees aching before Ari. Sorrow clings to me like a shroud and I cannot remember the words of my prayers before his feet.

I stay with my siblings at the temple, too forlorn to find my way to any other god to plead my case. Aida has spoken. As the madam of the brothel, her word equates to law and I cannot defy her. I cannot even fathom any strength to try.

Skye wraps her arm around me, guiding me back toward the temple door. Passing by a priestess with a half-veiled face, my steps falter. Her hand stretches before my waist, blocking my exit. 

“You so often find your way to this temple,” she states, her voice smooth and deep. A curl of shocking red hair falling to brush her cheek. Feline eyes scrupulous as they survey my frozen form.

My throat dries, a spark of fear curdling in my belly. “Yes,” I reply on a stuttered breath.

“You do not seek out your gods today,” she presses, gaze narrowed. 

Skye’s hold tightens upon my arm, a firm tug urging me away. But even she knows the respect owed to those in service of the gods. I release myself from her grasp and turn more fully to the priestess, whose emerald eyes shine with some divine knowledge.

“You know our station, sister,” Skye replies for me, biting even as her gentle hands reach for my waist. “Our prayers are sent to Ari in the morning light.”

“Yet her prayers are not yours,” the priestess refutes, turning her attention away from the woman at my side. 

I swallow, lips parted on some protestation that does not come. 

The priestess’s hands enfold mine, a small object placed in my palm. Voice soft, she whispers, “I have seen this appear upon their altar only when your prayers are the most sincere. Yet you have never noticed that it is yours.” With no further explanation, she bows her head and spins on her heel, returning to other duties of the temple and leaving me stunned with the weight of such a holy gift in my hand. 

“Come,” Skye urges, wrapping her guiding arm around me again. Her eyes trail after the priestess, confused and wary. 

My hand drops to my side. The points of the trinket prick at my palm, but every notion in my head knows without doubt that this precious thing must be protected. That Aida must never know it has come into my possession. It slips beneath my pillow, a ten-pointed star strung upon a smooth string. Out of sight and safe and mine.

The evening looms closer with the passing of hours, my heart heavy in my chest. For I know, with Aida’s supervision, I won’t see Steve or James again. 

As the sun descends on the horizon, despite my disappointment, I carry myself with charm and poise. Hoping to endear myself toward one of my few other suitors. For I must. My life hangs in the balance of their favor. 

“So, my dear,” the older gentleman inquires, “what shall I bring you?”

Swallowing down my dry throat, I reply with words fit to choke me, “Just yourself, my lord. I only wish for you.” The falsehoods are bitter on my tongue, forced. And I cannot help but compare them with the truths often spoken with my two favorites, the ones forbidden to me. 

Instead, I am left to please strangers, to lure the rich and bait them with innocence and false fidelity. It drains me each night. The first passing with no sign of Steve and James. The second falling with little hope. 

Until a crash sounds from outside my room. A cacophonous racket that sends me jumping in my seat. It startles my suitor as well—a younger man pleased by strokes to his ego and unconcerned with truth. 

“What in the Land Beyond is happening out there?” he huffs, standing from his place and stomping toward the door. 

Only to be forced back as it bursts open and another figure storms inside. He calls my name, his rough voice a boon, lifting my spirits—James. 

I stand, stepping toward the gossamer partition and wait for his approach. My tongue ties in my mouth, unable to exclaim in curiosity or astonishment, simply gazing at his form through the curtain. Sounds from without reach my ears, more crashes—broken cups and chairs. A ruckus that must have stemmed from him.

“You entertain them still?” he questions, hushed and incredulous. Reaching through the barrier between us, his touch wraps around my wrist. With a gentle tug, he attempts to draw me forward—an attempt I reluctantly resist. “You need not. Come.” He urges me forward again.

“My madam forbids it, sir,” I protest, voice quiet as a mouse yet as loud as I can make it. I do not budge from my spot before my pedestal, nerves a flurry of fear and confusion fluttering within my chest. 

He pauses, grip pulsing around my wrist with a stern strength. “You wish to stay here with them?” James spits the words with contempt, releasing me as if I scalded him. 

My lips part on a confirmation I cannot voice, silenced by an inability to form the proper words on my tongue. Tears prick at my eyes, dripping in cool rivulets down my cheeks. 

He huffs a scornful bark of a laugh, shaking his head and turning toward my evening’s patron. “You think you may have her?” he questions, tense shoulders held like a threat, feet stalking forward. “You will not.”

“Wait!” I cry, hiccuping a sob in distress. My hands grip the curtain, threatening to tear it from its hanging. “Please, James. Don’t—”

Another figure fills the doorway, just as broad and strong. He steps inside and closes the door behind him. 

“Are we ready?” Steve asks, his voice sure and soothing. 

“She will not come,” James replies, turning his attention back toward me and approaching on ominous steps. “Yet.” He whispers the word, almost against my lips through the thin barrier between us. 

His head tilts. A moment of calm passes, our breaths shared. But striking out in an instant, his hand wraps around my nape and drags me forward until his lips crash against mine. 

The fabric remains between us, but I taste his ardent desire in his touch and kiss, shaking me to my core. His heat burns me, tantalizing and tempestuous. And just as suddenly as he had ravished my senses, he releases me.

“You have promised yourself to us, lost little blossom, do not forget,” he murmurs against my lips before stepping back toward his companion.

They both leave through the door without a glance back. And I am left stunned. Lifting gentle fingers to trace my lips, my knees weaken beneath me and I fall upon my cushioned seat. 

Dazed, I continue my duties of the night, inattentive and lost to contemplation. Of Steve and James’ reappearance and urgency—of the hunger in James’ kiss. Ill-defined figures pass before the curtain, shadows forming the men left in my cadre of callers. Even in my dreams, hand tucked under my pillow and clinging to the star, I cannot bid my thoughts settle. Instead, it replays in my mind over and over. The press of James’ lips. His hand on my skin. His heat. The piercing of Steve’s gaze. His soft voice. His calm in the midst of chaos. Fantasies weaving together, leaving me in fits of sleep and waking with a gnawing need. 

It is the first time my prayers ring sincere as I bow before Ari—beseeching his lenience, desire threatening to overwhelm and consume me. 

Sitting before his feet, morning light soft against my skin, I prostrate myself, bending low and touching my forehead to the cool stone floor.

“Ravenous One, God of Passion and Pleasure, patron to lovers and the fallen, grant me clarity, I beg.” I speak through the dryness of my throat, spine pricking with awareness, knowing the bodies lined beside me might overhear my whispered plea. Yet I persevere knowing I can neither abide nor endure my heart beating for two men I shall never have. “Give me strength to fulfill my duty, to obey my madam, to forget those I—” Words threaten to fall from my lips, perched precariously on my tongue—words of love and affection I cannot entertain. I finish the thought, swallowing down those tempting utterances which wish to be spoken, “to forget those I fear I cannot.” My voice cracks, as fragile as my state of mind, searching for mercy—from my desires, from the gods, from myself. I lick my dry lips and stumble over the rest. “So I may serve you in all ways, a loyal and ready supplicant to indulgence. And may the Gods’ Blood flow forever and ever.” 

The candles before the god’s feet flicker. A soft draft brushing against them. I sigh and stand, patting my hands against my skirts and placing my offering upon the altar. A strip of luxurious fabric taken from my cushion wrapped around a small flask of Melinda’s best mead. 

Staring up at my new patron god, tears sting my eyes. A soul-deep acceptance settling within me. His fiery eyes gaze down at me, unseeing and unsympathetic.  

Preparing for the night brings me to the partitioned room, shrouded in secret and ready to beguile. 

An hour passes. Aida’s presence stifling in the close quarters. We wait in silence, yet my madam cannot stay still. Her irritation and uncertainty growing with each passing second. Her shoulders tense. Her fingers pressing to her cheeks and kneading the flesh there. She casts glances toward me over her shoulder, staring at the door with a glare. 

“What have you done?” she grits out between clenched teeth. Though she doesn’t turn, she waits for my answer.

“Nothing ma’am, I don’t understand. I thought—”

She raises her hand to silence me, storming from the room. 

Alone, I puzzle over the absence of my suitors. For they had all been eager—if not for our carefully constructed rapport, than for the thought of defiling my body. Surely they could not have all lost their interest in the span of one day.

My teeth sink into my lower lip, worrying over the flesh as dread rises like bile up my throat. To disappoint Aida would be a sentence worse than death—for she would make it so. Hands clasped before my chest, I mutter a prayer to Ari, pleading for my salvation. 

And it comes with the opening of the door. 

The older gentleman, the one with kind words and a penchant for trying to charm me in return, enters my room and sits before my curtain. 

“You must forgive me my tardiness,” he excuses with a good nature. “I was discussing some business with your madam.”  

“Please, sir, uh, do not fret over such matters,” I rush to appease, stumbling over the placation with a huff of relief. “I will wait for you, with pleasure.”

He makes a happy little sound in the back of his throat and eases into his chair, conversing with me freely and distracting me from the lack of other men eager for my company. He stays until Aida collects him at the end of our night, ushering him out with promises of satisfaction. 

And my routine shifts abruptly. When I stand to weave my way back to my bed, the latch on the door will not budge. Locked in the lavish room, I’m once again left waiting with no explanation. 

The door opens again, a delighted Aida waiting for me without. My brow creases with worry, unsure of this abrupt change in temperament.

“My jewel, come with me,” she begs with a gentle hand guiding my elbow. “Master Radcliffe quite enjoys your company and has just this night bid for your maidenhead.” She smiles over at me, brushing her fingers against my cheek.

Everything within me braces so that I do not flinch under her touch. “So he will be my new master, ma’am?” I inquire, keeping my voice steady though it wishes to crack and crumble into sobs. 

She hums an amused sound. “Only for one night.” She tucks my chin with her finger before drawing me toward her personal chambers. “If he wishes to own you, he shall have to pay a much more fine price.” Her fingers pinch at my upper arm. “If you wish for more, you shall have to please him, shan’t you?” 

She chuckles and prods me into her room. Her bed sits pushed into the corner adjacent to the window. Before the window, her desk. Across sits a cabinet—one I know well. 

The box bed waits with its doors open, the bed still small and cramped and lined with soft linens. My childhood spent locked away during the night, to keep me from wandering eyes and hands. It used to make me feel safe and protected. Now, the space sends a bolt of fear up my spine.

“Ma’am?” 

“In you go, my dazzling jewel,” she urges with a tinge of impatience, pushing me toward the door and dipping her hand between her breasts to retrieve an old, iron key. “We must assure your innocence only one day more. I promised Master Radcliffe we would take every precaution.” She smiles, a sinister glee sparkling in her eyes. “I will bring you your meals and allow you to bathe before your formal introduction.”

My feet hesitate, stuck to their spots on the floor before the bed. My lips part on a plea, but there is no time for its utterance. 

“Get in,” Aida insists, a firm hand on my back shoving me inside.

My legs tuck beneath me just as the doors swing shut, the lock clicking into place and leaving me in darkness. 

Her steps retreat and her door latches, though the flame in her room continues to flicker on its wick. The candlelight a sliver between the seam of the bed’s doors. 

My knees fold beneath me, the flat pillow cradled to my chest, face tucking into the cushion. Filling my body with air, I struggle to remain calm. Forgotten memories flash before my eyes, nights spent crying within these sheets, waiting for a kind word or comforting embrace.

Skimming over the wood to my side, my fingers find the small notch of a carving. The two stars well-worn by so many years spent tracing the crude shapes. Sinking into the bed and turning on my side, my shaky breaths calm, legends of the Righteous Captain and the Freed Soldier stirring a gentle warmth within my chest. Years of learning my destined craft accompanied by an overheard story, a whisper of legend, a glimpse of splendorous offerings.

My lips press together. My eyes close. There are no more prayers for me to utter, but still I spend a restless moment with thoughts of them before I drift off to sleep.

The doors rattle. An unsteady hand presses the key into the lock of my bed, the iron clicking several times. I jolt awake, body forced upright.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, fearful of the answer. Despite the fatigue clinging to my limbs, I remain alert, heart pounding as no response returns. “Aida?”

The low light of the early morning greets me when the doors swing open. The grey fog outside Aida’s window tints the room with its dreary presence. Befuddlement strikes me. It is far too early for the girls to be awake and readying for their prayers. And I was sure I would not be permitted for the sake of my intact innocence. But instead of Aida standing before me, Skye’s wide eyes stare back in terror. 

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, foreboding dripping down my throat and pooling in my belly. 

“You,” her voice cracks and she glances away a moment before sniffing and turning back to me, “You have to come with me.”

Her hand reaches toward me in offering, spattered with crimson drops. My head tilts as I accept. Sore bones from the cramped space protest when I stand. But I make no complaint, focused on my friend—her mind wandering on thoughts I cannot comprehend. 

She rushes away, dragging me behind, her steps quick and frantic toward the room I share with her and a few others. Though their beds are disheveled from sleep, they are absent. My lips part in inquiry, but Skye proceeds with urging me to wash and dress, glancing over her shoulder after every move. 

“Wear this,” she insists, helping me don the gown of crystal blue—the one I wore my first night behind the veil—though it sparkles more now, shining incandescent in the dim light. “It is what they want.”

“Aida and Master Radcliffe?” 

Skye’s head shakes in denial, but her quivering lips do not grant me any other crumb of information. So I am left following her, and stuck in bewilderment. The house remains far too quiet as she finishes readying me. Only thoughts of Aida’s endeavor make sense as Skye checks my appearance. No other explanation forms within my mind. Yet she denied it. 

“Hurry,” Skye beckons with urgency. “We can make them wait no longer.” Her voice cracks over the words, eyes shiny with tears. 

I only pause one moment, reaching beneath my pillow to take the gift from the gods and shove it within the pouch of my pocket. Then my hasty steps mirror Skye’s, unsure yet scared for her distress, descending the stairs to find a captive crowd. 

By the time my feet find the middle step, the scene stretches before me in gruesome spectacle. Cowering in fear, my brothers and sister of the brothel remain by the bar—dotted by the same crimson splattered against Skye’s hands. On their faces, their clothes, staining their skin. Before them, lining the floor sit eight heads. Unfamiliar faces filthy and sitting in a pool of blood, their mouths open and eyes bloody and burnt hollows. Flies buzz about the room, landing upon slack lips and tongues, burrowing into the empty sockets. The stench curls in my nose, death and decay striking pungent and vile. Bile rises in my throat and I freeze. The horrific sight, inexplicable and grotesque, stays my step. Even as Skye prods me forward, I cannot force myself to continue. 

Then I hear my name, honey sweet and calm, from a voice I know so well. “Please, join us, my sweet.” 

I comply on trembling legs, swallowing hard and fighting back the urge to heave and scream. 

Steve and James stand in the center of the room, swords brandished and dripping. Pride in their bearing, a confidence borne of their bloodthirst. Just as crimson speckled as the rest, yet faces alight with satisfaction.

Skye scurries toward our siblings, stepping carefully around the congealing substance on the floor. Welcomed into their terrified and protective embrace as all eyes turn to me.

And I’m alone at the foot of the stair, unable to tear my gaze from the two men I once thought my salvation. Our focus does not waver, though mine darts between the two. Trying to fathom the meaning behind their display. Unable to place a name to their face—seeing them for the first time, unprepared for their beauty and their brutality.

“Who,” I croak, clearing my throat in the attempt to speak louder than a whisper, “Who are those men?” My trembling hand gestures toward the macabre sight.

“You do not recognize them?” one asks, brow tilted in skepticism. That voice—James? My head shakes in response, denying any knowledge of the men. He hums, pleased by the response. “They thought themselves worthy of you. To sit beside you and relish in your company.”

My eyes blink, a slow motion that tempers the faint feeling that assaults my head. A hand reaches out, gripping the bannister of the stairs and my other plunges into my pocket through my dress, grasping the pendant in an effort to ground myself. 

Lined up in a row, the men who bid for my maidenhead. Tracing their features with my eyes, sickness assaults my senses. My knees bend beneath me, weakened by the thoughts flurrying through my mind. The meaning of such violence. The cause for such ghastly arrangement. 

And then I see her. Behind the line of dismembered heads, contorted in an unpleasant pose sprawls Aida’s corpse. Her eyes staring blind toward the ceiling and arms splayed to her sides in unnatural angles. A thick, jagged line of red slices across her throat, no longer spurting her blood, but slick with it. It coats down her dress and across the floor—the source of the pool beneath the necks of those unfortunate men. 

I hiccup a sob, the sound stuck in my throat. Crashing around me, the world slips from beneath my feet. My legs collapse. Only the strong grip which wraps about my waist keeps me upright. Not Skye or Melinda or any other from the brothel. No. My head tilts, the sight of my rescuer churning my guts in a nauseous wave. The brown hair that brushes his shoulders, the crystalline gaze which pierces through my very soul. 

He shushes my whimpers, caressing his fingertips across my cheek, a look of awe brightening his features. He smiles. 

“Loyal for all your days,” he murmurs, focus attracted to the parted flesh of my lips. An aborted noise of horror chokes in my throat. “There will be many of them.” The promise rings in my ears as he rights me on my feet and gathers me close, bringing me toward his companion. 

“I believe formal introductions are in order,” the other says, standing tall and stalwart beside the severed heads, triumph straightening his shoulders. “We’ve waited for this moment for so long. Though I will admit, we hoped for more amenable circumstances.” His hand reaches up, scratching at the beard on his cheeks, a sheepish smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

I’m released by the brunet’s arm, left standing where the pool of blood just grazes the side of my shoe. 

A babble of noise rises from those by the bar, harsh and harried. One swift glance from the blond stops it short, before a single phrase may form. 

He turns back to me, catching my eye and bowing his head. The softness of his expression, the warmth of his stare, before he utters the words, I know. “I’m Steve, little sweet.”

“I’m James,” the brunet intones, a smirk plucking at his upper lip. He holds himself with a bold smugness I do not understand, until he open his mouth to speak again. “Though perhaps, despite our many meetings, you might know us better by a different title.” 

A subtle glow begins to form around them both. Not from the rising of the sun, though it does begin to crest the horizon. It is something innate within them that grows and brightens. Almost until it burns. 

He gestures to Steve with a tilt of his head. “Patron to artists and carrier of justice.” His hand sweeps before himself as he steps forward, snaking his arm back around my waist. “I shoulder free will and aid lost souls.” 

I do not need to speak the words aloud. Though they sit, perched on the tip of my tongue. Instead, the Soldier sees them in my terrified gaze and nudges my chin with one of his fingers. But my head shakes and shakes and shakes, denial coursing through me.

“Will you come with us now?” Steve asks, stepping forward, a hopeful tilt to his brow. He reaches forward and gently grasps my arm, lifting it until my wrist sits within his grasp and he can brush his lips across the skin of my hand.

“Or must we extinguish this whole place?” Bucky inquires, whispering into my ear with a glance sent toward the people standing by the bar.

I swallow, heart stuttering in my chest and heave a deep breath. “I will go with you,” I reply around the lump in my throat.

In the Land Beyond the River, where the gods reside, time moves differently. Every morning I wake to a new day, full of luxury and leisure. Yet every night it is the night of my ruin. 

Wandering hands, whispered words—over and over and over. My innocence taken from me again and again with the same affection and tenderness as the first night when I was stolen from The Broken Beast and found myself in the God’s Domain.

“Here, little blossom,” James coos, pressing a ripe fernberry to my lips, “taste this and let me savor it on your tongue.” 

My teeth pierce the flesh, tears already welling in my eyes—waiting for the moment it comes. When he will brace himself on my thighs and sink into me. Juice dribbles down my chin, tilted back so that Steve might lap at the sweet nectar. 

“You are divine, my sweet,” Steve sighs, fingers cradling my jaw and holding me steady.

Contorted as I am, I never ache—at least not for long. No matter how they may handle my body, my muscles never weaken and never tire. Instead, their ravenous embrace holds me tight until each is satisfied and I might drift away on pleasurable waves of respite. 

“Say it,” James prompts, the same words every night. 

I swallow around them, stuck behind my teeth. Though each night it gets easier and easier to say it, to confess and lay myself upon their mercy, to believe it with my whole heart. “I love you,” I say, repeating it like a chant, captured by Steve’s lips until they’re muffled in his kiss.

My thighs part wide, held by caring hands that smooth over the skin with a devoted reverence. 

“And we love you,” James assures with a soft smile, “more than you will ever know.” 

His member, thick and turgid, brushes against my delicate petals. My breath catches in my throat as it taps upon that sensational bundle of nerves. 

Fingers ease his way, stretching me until my lips parts on a moaning gasp, the very core of me weeping for them both. Then, with a tilt of his hips, James begins the plunge. It stings, as it does every night. No amount of gentleness or preparation readying me for that initial thrust. 

His hips rock against mine, furthering himself into me. Steve holds me secure, cradling me against his chest, keeping my legs wrapped over his, and my arms locked to my sides. He murmurs sweet sentiments into my ear until my mind turns hazy, dripping with their syrupy honey.

“That’s it. I’ve got you,” he coos in my ear, “our most precious girl.” 

“Yes,” I moan as James stills, the sting of his length accompanied by an all-encompassing hunger. The longer he remains dormant within me, the more ravenous it grows. 

James presses a kiss to my cheek, lips drawn in a smile. “Right where you belong.” He grasps my chin with sticky fingers, tongue licking into my mouth and tasting the sweet fruit and passion that coats my palate. He hums and consumes. 

And I let him, reveling in it. Aching for it. 

How many days have passed thus, I cannot count. Each as steady as the way James plunders me. His hips striking against mine in his fervor. He chases our ecstasy and drags me with him until we plummet into bliss. And Steve does the same. Maneuvering my body to his whims. His tender attentions guiding me until I fall again and again. Until no thought lingers in my mind, but of them. Not the slickness of the sweat on our bodies nor the coolness of the silk cushions. Not the brilliant moon lighting the horizon nor the crash of the river upon its shore. 

Just them. Always them.

read Wanda and Pietro’s myth in A Dream of a Life

or

read Loki’s myth in My Heart is a Hollow Plain

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #medieval au #polytheistic au #mythology au #the avengers pantheon #dark #dark fic #tw dub con #dub con #yandere vibes #smut #heed the warning #18+ #minors dni

[cthulhu-calling]

kill the lights and kiss my eyes : new beginnings

Natasha Romanoff x female!Reader

Summary : You never knew what love was, not until Natasha. But now that the King has his eye on you, will your perfect little world come crumbling down?

Warnings : medieval AU, smut, fluff, MISCARRIAGE, second marriages

Author's Note : Okaayy, the end is here! I wrote and rewrote it this so many times but honestly, I'm still not satisfied with how this turned out. I might revisit this on a later day and reedit the whole thing. This is not proofread so all mistakes are my own. I might do an epilogue if anyone is interested but for the time being, this series is over and if y'all are expecting some BuckyxReader smut than I'm sorry lol but this story ain't about him. Thank you to each and every one of you who stuck around and left comments and kudos, it made my day every time. I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for reading this :))

Word Count : 3224

series masterlist

The next month goes by in a whirlwind of preparations and meetings, accords signed and dress fittings made. You felt like you hardly had a second to slow down, catch your breath. You never did have any rosy dreams about marriage, not after how you witnessed men treat their wives growing up. Your father, your brother, your brother-in-law, none of them could ever be able to spare an ounce of respect for their wives, forget about love. 

But you keep on looking forward. You don’t let the ire and the snide comments of the other ladies get to you, beyond trying to prove your innocence in their so-called plot of ensnaring the King. All that matters is that Natasha knew the truth. You’d been seeing less and less of her as of lately. Your father had railed on you that night, asking how could you have given in so easy? He could have milked the King for so much more. You stayed silent, knowing nothing you say or do will quell his anger at you in the moment. As for the King, he was ever the same. Lecherous looks across the room, wandering hands and a nasty mouth. He showered you in gifts, little compensation for the disgust you felt every time he touched you. It made you wonder, was that all that you were truly worth, your body? He swore up and down that he loved you, but you were sure he once did the same to many before you, even Natasha, and look where you’ve all ended up? 

The day of the wedding looms closer and it feels like a noose tightening around your neck. Your meetings with Natasha grow infrequent though not by your choice. She keeps her distance and you can no longer pretend that it doesn’t shatter your heart every time your eyes meet, only for her to swiftly avert hers. You take all that hurt and lock it in a box, deep in your heart. You can’t help but wonder though, if just like her husband, will her eye shift to someone new? 

Your apathy towards Lord Rogers remains much the same and though you do catch his smouldering looks from time to time, he was the least of your concerns. You embellish your plain wedding vows to the King’s satisfaction. Everything is to the King’s tastes though you don’t mind, having no desire to make choices. Keep the ceremony as impersonal as possible. Most days you roamed the castle halls in a daze, following where the wedding planners would direct you, trying on dresses and updos. You were little more than a doll, dressing up and looking pretty was all you had to do. Your days had taken on a sort of monotone, the routine bringing you a much needed reprieve from the constant noise inside your mind. You find no reason to rejoice in your predicament knowing just how precarious your position is, existing on the periphery of one man’s ever shifting desires. 

When you retire to your chambers for the night, separate from the other ladies now that you were to wed the King, you’re shocked to find Natasha awaiting your arrival. She looks as ravishing as ever though the bags under her eyes betray her true predicament. 

“My Queen,” you eke out almost breathlessly, nervous all of a sudden. She was the last person you expected to see sitting there. She smiles gently as she walks to you, holding her hands out in front of her, quickly pulling you close. 

“I missed you, my love,” she sighs into your hair, breathing in the familiar smell of you in. 

You pull away from her but she doesn’t let your hands go, your eyes betraying the hurt you feel although your tone does not. 

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” You try to laugh it off, the way one would who’s trying to brush off the hurt they feel. 

She sighs loudly, cupping your cheek in her palm, forcing you to look at her. “I couldn’t be as I’ve always been, it would be far too suspicious. The ladies are already speaking conspiratorially,” she says. 

“But you could’ve told me before. Do you know how much it hurt? To have you always looking in the other direction, never once acknowledging my presence? Even behind closed doors?” You question tearfully.

“I know, my love. But I beg you, please, try to understand my reasons for it. I derive no pleasure in denying myself your company. But it had to be done,” she pleads with you. 

You understand her reasoning now, of course you do, but it does little to do away the agony you carried in your chest for the past few weeks. You sniffle softly, nodding your head. “What are the ladies saying about me?” You wonder out loud and Natasha laughs softly before answering.

“They really seem to believe the only reason you were close to me was because you had your sights set on the King. They really do take their Queen for a fool, don’t they?” She laughs, pulling you besides her on the bed.

“I wouldn’t know, none of them will speak to me unless it’s to let me know how I’ve betrayed you, of how I’m the interloper,” you shrug. 

Natasha clutches your hand tighter, making you look at her. 

“Don’t believe their vitriolic words. As if they wouldn’t trade everything to be in your shoes.” 

You suppose she is right. Who wouldn’t want to be Queen? 

“We can talk about them all day but I have something more important to discuss,” she says, pulling you closer besides her, your hands in hers. You feel her slip something into your palm. You open it to find a beautiful silver anklet, bejewelled with tiny rubies. It’s vibrant red colour is exactly the colour that she so loves seeing on you. 

“It’s beautiful,” you say, holding the delicate piece in your hands. 

“I want you to wear it everyday. Something to remind you of me,” she says and you nod, holding out your foot as she clasps it around your ankle. It catches the light, glistening with an insurmountable beauty. 

She admires it, her hand slowly moving up your leg, rubbing slow circles on your knee, your long skirt pushed up. Before she can move any further, you push her hands away, standing up to undo the laced front of your gown, pulling it off and leaving you in just your shift. As if just shaken out of a daze, she does the same before she’s pulling you close, her lips hungry against yours. They slowly move down your neck as she avoids leaving marks on your neck, lavishing her attention on your nipples, licking one as her hand massages the other. She continues down your body, leaving little kisses down your stomach, her tongue poking into your navel before she moves on, sucking tiny dark marks on your hip bones. You can’t do much but close your eyes in bliss, your fingers cradling through her hair. 

Her fingers slowly run up and down your folds, spreading the wetness. “You’re so wet for me, my love,” she says, a husky quality to her tone that has you clenching on nothing. “Please, I need you,” you whine and she chuckles, clicking her tongue. 

“Patience, my love,” she says as she licks a stripe up your folds, circling your clit. You throw your head back, a needy whine erupting from your throat. When she feels satisfied that she’s made you needy enough, she slowly enters two of her fingers, the ring and the middle, into your tight, dripping hole, moving them in and out at an almost agonising pace, only increasing her pace when you whine. She’s never done something like this before. Her fingers stay inside of you as they’re moving up and down in an odd fashion, her mouth sucking your clit with a renewed vigour as you’re positively shaking. Your legs are quivering from her constant onslaught of pleasure and when her fingers hit a certain spot that has you seeing stars, you let out a loud shriek, as if prompting her to go faster and harder. She doubles down and you don’t even realise what’s happening when you cum all over her fingers, your whole body shaking in the afterglow. She pulls her fingers out of you slowly, lightly slapping your cunt with her other hand as she sucks her fingers into her mouth. You try to push her hand away, the feeling growing to be too much but she simply swats your hand away, continuing her ministrations. She quickly switches to rubbing your clit again and you cry out, trying to stop her by trapping her fingers in between your thighs but it doesn’t faze her. She simply bites your thigh, causing them to part as her mouth quickly replaces her hand. You’re drowning in pleasure, simultaneously pulling her closer to your cunt and pushing her away although you both know she's the one who’s truly in charge. You don’t let go of each other, not until she’s pulled another couple of orgasms from your prone body. The night ends with her riding your face, stopping only when her legs can no longer support her. She falls on her back besides you, both of you breathing heavy, the cool jewels around your anklet a contrast to your heated skin. 

Natasha won’t say it out loud but to her, the bejewelled anklet is something that binds you to her, almost like shackles around your ankle. But she won’t admit it, ever. 

*

It’s only a week to the wedding and the bride and groom are prohibited from seeing each other though you welcome this reprieve from his wandering hands and acid touch. You’re seeing less and less of Natasha too, much to your chagrin. You wore the ruby studded anklet still. 

June, to your surprise, couldn’t be happier at the prospect of you getting married to her father. Wouldn’t that make you her mother of sorts? She made her feelings on the matter clear, that you were her choice over Lady Morwenna, or any other ladies at court for that matter. You were with her in the garden, weaving flower crowns. She wants you to wear one for the wedding and you oblige, obviously. 

The comfortable quiet that cloaks you and June is disturbed by the clearing of a throat and you look up to find intent azure orbs gazing at you. You hold back a grimace, the pit in your stomach deepening at the sight of him. 

“Your Majesty,” you rise to your feet. “It’s only a week until the wedding. We aren’t supposed to see each other,” you admonish and he waves you off with a scoff. He dismisses June with a wave of his hand and much to your chagrin, she obliges and runs off. 

“The Queen and I kept every little tradition and look at where that got us. It’s not these things that make a happy marriage, it’s much more,” he whispers huskily as he pulls you close by the waist. You fight the urge to push him away, accepting his embrace with a straight face. The King might not believe in these little traditions but a little part of you always had. You weren’t naive enough to believe that these little things guaranteed a happy and long lasting marriage but the fact that they were still upheld for generations before you had to count for something, right? 

“I suppose you are right,” you shrug as his hands shamelessly glide over your curves. 

“I cannot wait for our wedding night. The day looms closer and you do tempt me so my love,” he whispers in your ear and a shiver of disgust rolls down your spine. 

“I understand Your Majesty but we must wait. Now that’s one tradition I refuse to forgo of,” you admonish, hoping and praying to the Lord that he might accept it and let you go. You couldn’t stand to be alone with him any longer. Now that you were to be wed to this man, no one would bat an eye at the lack of a chaperone. 

“I can respect that. It is only six days before you are completely mine,” he says with a final squeeze of your hip as he lets you go. 

I’d nothing else, it brings you comfort to know that you will not be completely his. You can never be.

*

You sit motionless as the women flutter around you, fixing your makeup and making last minute arrangements to your veil. You decided on leaving your natural and open, a dainty flower crown of lavenders adorning your forehead. You wouldn’t remove the anklet Natasha gave you, much to the displeasure of your mother. But even you had to admit, you looked ethereal. 

The ride in the carriage to the church was short, almost too short. It was odd. After weeks where you weren’t left alone for more than a few minutes, the sudden solitude of the coach was suffocating. It’s funny, you suppose, the women at your side as you readied to march to your doom but you’re undeniably alone when push comes to shove. 

Natasha won’t be at the ceremony and you’re glad for it. You’re not sure you’d be able to stand there with her watching. Your mind would no doubt be overrun with the thought of how happy you would be if only Nat was in His Majesty’s place. 

You walk down the aisle in a daze, not noticing the myriad of faces surrounding you. Your father’s proud gaze, your mother and sister already tearing up, the ladies that cannot disguise their contempt, Lord Rogers’ face a mix of misery and anger. You simply focus on walking towards the man who holds your life in his palms. You’re nothing but a mere puppet to his whims and fancies. 

You go through your vows without noticing. You know you won’t mess up when they’ve been rehearsed and re-rehearsed to perfection. You kiss him when the minister allows you to but you don’t feel it. You don’t feel the hunger on his lips, the victory. You don’t even feel the butter sting of your defeat. Maybe you’ve just gone numb or maybe it’s the wine. By the smirk on his lips, you think he can tell. 

You ride back to the palace together and you’re thankful that the ride is short enough that he can’t do more than just paw at your breasts like an animal. Your lack of enthusiasm doesn’t deter him. 

Natasha’s handmaiden leads you to your former chambers for you to ready, much to your surprise. The jealousy and hatred of the ladies pretty much seals the fate on their arrival but you are thankful for their absence. 

The handmaiden, Mina, ushers you in and shuts the door behind her, leaving you alone and confused. You sit at the vanity, wondering what to do when you hear the ruffling of skirts and soft footsteps behind  you. 

“Why do you look so confused, my love?” Natasha’s voice pierces through the silence and your breath hitches at the sight of her. She is dressed in a delicate pink gown, the one you suspect she wore at her wedding, her hair adorned with a beautiful mix of lavenders and daisies. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, confused but not averse to the idea of her being here.

“Why, I’m here to celebrate my wedding night with my lovely wife,” she says as she gently cups your cheek and you lean into her touch. 

“I don’t understand,” you admit and she smiles, a genuine one, filled with love and adoration. 

“James is bound in holy matrimony to the both of us so doesn’t that bind us in a way too? Am I wrong then, to call you my wife? To want to share this night with you, on our marital bed?” She asks and you can hear the vulnerability in her tone that brings tears to your eyes. 

“I am yours, forever. I am bound to you just as I am to him. Maybe even more deeply,” you say as she sighs in relief and pulls you in for a kiss, leading you towards the bed. She starts kissing down your throat, pulling off your dress when you stop her, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What about His Majesty?” You frown. 

She chuckles before continuing to make her way down your torso, stopping to gently bite your nipple. “I’ve made sure that he’ll be too drunk to do much. He always had a habit of imbibing far too much,” she says between kisses. You chuckle and pull her close for another kiss, flipping her on her back swiftly. 

She gasps softly and you smirk. “And that’s why I love you,” you tell her. 

“That’s the only reason?” She asks and you smile to yourself before kissing down her neck. “Yeah, and because of these beautiful breasts… Your soft stomach…. Your strong legs…and, this tight pussy,” you say as you kiss down her body before finally reaching her centre. She’s wearing nothing underneath the dress, granting you all the permission you need. You suck her clit into your mouth as she drapes her thighs over your shoulders and pulls you closer to her wet cunt. Two of your fingers slowly delve into her hole, softly looking for the spot and when she moans airily, you know you’ve found it. You rub her g-spot softly as you suck her clit in your mouth. She’s a mess above you, tugging on your hair with one hand as the other pinches at her own nipples. She’s cum thrice before you finally stop, sitting back to catch your breath as she lays there, panting. You can’t help but smile at the thought that she is your wife. 

Nat gently tugs on your hand as you turn to look at her. 

“Sit on my face,” she commands and you’re about to complain when she pinches your side. 

“Just do what I say, this night is about the both of us,” she says as she pulls you closer, manoeuvring your knees onto either side of her face as her hands frame your lower back, pulling you lower onto her face. She laps at your folds slowly before sucking your clit into her mouth as your fingers find purchase in her scarlet locks. You ride her face until your legs are shaking and you can no longer support yourself, falling down besides her. You’re exhausted but still a woozy smile adorns your face just like it does her. 

Natasha couldn’t leave marks on you no matter how much she wanted to but you made up for it by leaving more than enough marks on her, her pale skin littered with deep red and maroon bruises and crescent moons adoring her thighs where you’d gripped them a little too hard. 

You couldn’t imagine sex with His Majesty would come even close to this but you knew it had to happen. So once Natasha is asleep, you slip away with a note left for her on the pillow : 

I may walk alone in the night’s chill, 

But the taste of you lingers on my lips still. 

#soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #angst #fluff #bucky barnes #cheating #female reader #medieval au #tw miscarriage #steve rogers #sam wilson #smut #original female characters #second marriage

[imsonick]

Imagine...

You are lady in waiting to queen Sarah in time when the king dies and New Kings Stucky are coming from they provinces to take over the throne. They have mistresses- but the queen dowager does not approve of them.

Suddenly you catch eyes of both of them with a little machination by the queen- she just want you to marry her sons.

But you are not so willing as the Kings would like, so it gets a little darkish...😈

#stucky #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #fanfiction #yandere steve rogers #yandere bucky barnes #dark stucky x reader #dark stucky #yandere avengers #medieval au #steve rogers #bucky barnes

[buckets-and-trees]

Congrats again on 300 my love ❤️❤️ so you may already know which AU I’m going to be requesting, because it’s my favourite story of yours (so far) and that is Fire Burning from a Cedar Tree!! This story made my heart ache and if you have the inspiration for it I’d love love love to see more!! I don’t want to restrict your imagination by being too specific, but literally anything with those two and I would die of happiness 💙💙

Em, I squealed when you dropped this into my box for the request fest! Partly because I adore you. Partly because you know I also really adore Fire Burning from a Cedar Tree. And partly I squealed out of terror because...I was worried I wouldn't be able to do any kind of follow up to this fic justice. But I took a deep breath and let that go and decided to just let whatever happen happen. I was also a little worried because when I wrote Cedar Tree, it felt very finished, so I didn't have any leftover thoughts to pick up and play around with, so I literally took that first week to just think about them and their story. And then... a lot of scenes started to emerge - stuff before and after Cedar Tree, stuff that was just them, stuff with the people around them.

This is where I landed for now. It's not the same as Cedar Tree - first thing being that it's told from Steve's perspective instead of the reader's - but I'm thinking it will make sense in their overall narrative.

This it the end of their honeymoon, a few weeks before Cedar Tree.

Fandom: MCU Title: The Thrill of Knowing How Alone We Are Characters/Pairings: King!Steve Rogers x female!Queen!Reader, brief Sam and Bucky Word Count: 1.2k Summary: The final night and morning of King Steven's royal honeymoon.

Content Warnings: brief sexual relations (p in v)

Additional Notes: The third offering to celebrate 300 followers with the request fest! While this depicts events before Fire Burning from a Cedar Tree, it does not stand alone and should be read AFTER reading the original piece. Song title inspiration from Better Love by Hozier, which is one of the songs on my original Cedar Tree writing playlist. A/N 2: This still is pretty arbitrary, but although I knew the original was a historical royal AU setting, I basically closed my eyes and pointed when I ended up saying it was medieval. I debated between medieval or Georgian/regency vibe, but NOW it's decidedly Georgian, which will be more relevant if/as I share more of their story in the future.

It’s as he’s on his back, staring at the ceiling, that Steve realizes he’s already deciphered the difference between how it sounds when you’re asleep, when you’re awake, and when you’re somewhere in between. He didn’t expect that.

He expected a lot of things after taking you as his queen, but there were so many small things that make sense, but he simply hadn’t thought of, like this – knowing so quickly the sounds of your breathing.

Ten days and in some ways he knew so much more about you than he knew about anyone else but himself – more than he’d known about his parents, than Bucky whom he’d grown up with and trusted else as his closest friend and advisor, more than his general Sam who he trusted with the security of his kingdom and his own life.

The betrothal, the brief period of engagement, the wedding, and the wedding feast had all been very public and formal. The moment the two of you had entered the royal carriage to make the journey to his small palace in the lake country for the honeymoon, everything was suddenly private and intimate. It was the first time Steve had truly been alone with you, and the first moments alone would have been awkward – he certainly hadn’t thought about that moment until suddenly the two of you were there alone – but you had clearly thought of the circumstance in advance and had been prepared to make easy conversation. While the first few minutes had been an effort to make conversation, they swiftly did progress to easy conversation. The topics had been largely trivial and unimportant, but the words were not stilted.

After a late and quick supper upon arrival, the two of you had retired to the royal bedchamber. Steve had expected a dutiful consummation, and duty may have called for the deed, but the execution had unexpectedly run deeper, warmer, with the undertones of the fledgling familiarity built over the few hours alone earlier. Each day the familiarity grew, and though there could have perhaps been moments that could have allowed each of you two part naturally, you both drew each other into extending conversations, going on walks or rides or visiting a new area of the palace together, continuing formally in the first few days until it became merely natural and the two of you forgot altogether the idea of spending much of the time apart.

Now he understood the nostalgia with which many referred to the honeymoon. It was a pity it was coming to an end. Two weeks ago, you were little more than strangers to be wed and fulfill your royal duties. Here on this final night, he could not think of it ending. Tomorrow he would go back to being the king again.

He sighed and turned his head to look at you. He wanted to reach for you, pull you closer, touch you, but the touching wouldn’t be enough, and he’d said sensibly that the two of you should retire early specifically so he could sleep and be well rested for his early departure. He hadn’t thought you warming his bed would be torture. He thought that it would be soothing and help him sleep. But this was worse, and the longer he listened, the less it seemed sleep would ever come to him. But he would not leave or send you away, it was the last night he would have this kind of closeness afforded to him with ease. He also didn’t want to disturb you if you were perhaps close to dropping off to sleep. Nearness was enough, even if it meant no sleep.

Suddenly you shifted, rolling to lie on your back, and you let out a long sigh of your own.

“Sleep alluding you, my queen?”

“As it seems to be alluding you, my king. I know the time is only slipping away until you’re required to wake and depart. Is my restless state keeping you awake?”

Steve laughed. “Perhaps, but not in the way you think.”

He rolled up on his elbow and places a hand on your hip, drawing circles there with his fingers.

“Perhaps I can beckon sleep for both of us in…other ways.”

His hand moved up to cup your breast. He gave a squeeze and brushed his thumb over your nipple, the thin fabric of your night shift barely there. You whimpered his name, arching slightly into his palm.

“Yes?” he pressed.

“Yes,” you pleaded.

While he reached down to pull up the hem of your nightdress, your hands went quickly to free his growing desire for you. Quickly he shifted his body over yours, nestling between your eagerly parting legs. He smiled as he guided his cock to your heated folds, happy to find you were already wet. He looked up to your face, and you bit your lip before reaching your hands up to his jaw and drawing him down to meet your lips. Steve devoured you with his kiss as he plunged into you, and you gave yourself up to him completely until you were both exhausted and sleep finally overtook you.

When one of his esquires woke him in the pre-dawn glow, he suppressed a groan of agitation. It is not the kind of king he has ever wanted to portray to his subjects. He will always be a dignified king. He was diligent in making sure you were tucked in with propriety before falling asleep himself, but he looks over to make sure your modesty is preserved this morning now with someone else in the room. He wants to kiss you goodbye, and while part of him wants nothing more than to wake you, see your eyes look up at him before he leaves, he refrains from doing anything more than brushing the hair off and away from your face with only the lightest caress. It would be silly to wake you for any more sentimentality. The honeymoon is truly over, and he only feels this consuming tie because of the unique circumstances of here and now. When you are both back in the capitol, it will be more normal and less sentimental. He will be himself again.

Downstairs in the hall there were simple foods ready for him to break his fast, and Lord Barnes and General Wilson were both waiting and ready to receive their king. Barnes would accompany him to Stark’s kingdom, but Wilson was there to escort the queen back to the castle.

“Guard her with your life,” Steve commanded.

Wilson gave a slight bow. “Yes, my king.”

Steve turns to look at Barnes only to find a smirk on the man’s face. “What is so amusing at this hour?”

“You gave that order as if he hasn’t been in your service for years.”

“She is the queen,” Steve reminded them.

“I will afford her the same safety and security that I have for your majesty since given the responsibility of this position.”

Steve shook his head, “You should afford her more than you do me.”

Without hesitation, he responded, “It will be done.”

Steve strode out of the foyer and Barnes fell in just one step behind him. “We need not rush away from the palace so soon. The official royal business of Stark’s expo does not require you so immediately.”

“This was the plan,” Steve retorted, “why would we alter course?”

“The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return to your queen,” he agreed.

“The sooner we can return to my kingdom, Lord Barnes.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

#steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #royal au #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader insert #reader insert #steve rogers au #steve rogers royal au #king!steve rogers #request fest #aspen wrote something #aspen's request fest #cedar trees au

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Checkmate - Steve Rogers x Reader (Medieval Royalty AU)

A/N: this is my entry into @the-slumberparty week three challenge: something new! I got Royalty AU and if you have been following me since my wattpad days you’ll know I’ve already given Modern Royalty AU but this is my first go at Medieval Royalty AU so I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Sometimes you wished you were more than just a chess piece

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Light Angst! Mention of Arrange Marriage! Fluff! One bed trope if you squint!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

You had given up hope that you’d be rescued, or at least rescued alive. In the weeks you had been held captive in this dungeon you had come to terms that your death would spark a war that would result in the deaths of countless others. A thought that you hated, you didn’t want the blood of innocents on your hands.

But with every passing day that thought became your reality. You weren’t even sure how many days had passed. Your cell was damp and dark all hours of the day, the air stale and thick with the stench of decay. You couldn’t even use meals to determine the passing off time, they were so sporadic. Your gown hung loose on your body, ripped and caked in mud making the chill in the air even worse.

You were huddled in the far corner, the only one that seemed to avoid the breeze. It was a silent night, with the exception of quiet groans from those who were also imprisoned in this dungeon. The sound of keys rattling had you curling up further.

“Princess” the guard said as he walked into your cell.

“Please, please leave me alone” you whimper with a small shake of your head.

The sound of his boots approaching made you curl up even more, shivers running through your body. You flinched and whimpered when you felt his large hand on your shoulder.

“Princess, I’m here to get you out of here” the guard said, his tone much softer than before.

You hesitantly look over your shoulder at him, first noticing how poorly his armour seemed to fit. All the straps were as loose as they could be so the metal could fit over his large frame. None of the pieces seemed to match either, it was as if he’d just picked up random pieces as he came across them. Your eyes finally met his through his helment, you blinked a couple of times at the warmth that they held before realising you actually recognised them.

“Steve?” You whisper in disbelief.

“Yeah, it’s me” Steve nods a small smile playing at his lips “I’m here to rescue you” he says holding out his hand for you to take.

“My father sent you?” You mutter not able to believe it.

“No, I’ll explain later but lets get you out of here” Steve says as he wraps a shawl around your body, pulling the hood up so it hung low over your face “i need you to stay completely still and don’t say a word” he instructs you, you had barely nodded when he swept you up into his arms, repositioning the shawl so every inch of you was covered.

Despite your surprise, you did what he said remaining silent and still as he carried you to freedom. Relaxing into his arm feeling safe for the first time in weeks.

Steve had carried you halfway out of the dungeons when someone called out “Hey where are you going?”

Steve didn’t even flinch “the vagrant in cell 23 died, I’m dumping his body in the woods for the wolves,” he told the other guard.

The other guard laughs “oh they’ll love fighting over that, barely any meat on him” he chuckles.

Steve hums “i’ll make sure to make a hasty retreat” he says as he continues his journey out of the dungeon.

When he stepped out into the open night air you instantly began to shiver. Steve wrapped his arms around you more and held you closer to him.

“Not long now, once we’re over the border we’ll stop for the night and I’ll build a fire” he reassures you.

He walked for a few more minutes before stopping and setting you back down onto your feet. His arm wrapped around your waist as your weak knees buckled beneath you.

You pushed your hood back enough so you could see, your breath catching when you saw your horse standing waiting to be mounted.

“Maximus” you breathe out, your voice catching at the sight of your beloved horse.

“He was just as desperate to rescue you as I was, so I had to bring him along, it’s a good thing we’ve always gotten along” Steve smirks as he lifts you up onto the horse.

You chuckle gently, shaking your head since you knew that wasn’t always the case. You had known Steve since childhood, his mother was one of the palace healers and he worked in the stables whenever he wasn’t fighting his own illness. The pair of you became fast friends and before you knew of your duty as a Princess you had always hoped he would be the man you spent the rest of your days with as nobody owned your heart like he did. Maximus and Steve had a love hate relationship, something that would always make you giggle when Maximus would grab Steve’s collar to stop him from walking away, and kicking over any bucket he could to make Steve’s life harder.

“Hold on as tight as you can, we’re gonna be going pretty quick until we get over the border” Steve warns you as he climbs up onto Maximus behind you, his arms reaching around you to grab the reins.

“Ready” you confirm as you grab hold and prepare yourself for the gallop.

You had been riding for a couple of hours when you finally came to a stop for the night. Steve had already dumped the armour he’d stolen to throw anyone who followed off your scent.

He gently helped you down from the horse, guiding you over to a large log that you could sit on “here eat some of this” Steve says passing you a roll of bread from his pack.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully as you start slowly tearing into the roll, unable to stop the sigh that escaped from your lips as you tasted the first nice bit of food in weeks.

As you ate you watched as Steve set up a small camp for the night, lighting a fire and creating makeshift beds for the both of you.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked brushing his hands against his trousers as he rose to his full height.

“Better thank you,” you say quietly pulling the shawl around you tighter to fight the chill.

“It’s okay I’m sorry you had to stay there so long” Steve sighs as he sits down near the fire, adding a couple more logs to help warm you up.

You give him a small smile before looking down as you remember what he said about your rescue “you said my father hadn’t sent you… has he… had he given up?” You say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No” Steve muttered instantly, his brows furrowing as shakes his head “no not at all” he tells you as he moves closer to you, hesitating for a second before sitting down next to you, putting his hand on your knee “your father is working tirelessly to try and free you but with the politics of it all it was proving difficult to organise an attack” he explains.

“Because if he attacked it could trigger a war, which is just what they wanted” you sigh shaking your head “so how are you here?”

“I tried to convince your father that a stealth attack would free you and prevent a war, the enemy would be too busy preparing for a large-scale attack that they wouldn’t notice some slipping in but he didn’t agree” Steve explains with a shrug of his shoulders.

“So you had to prove him wrong” you chuckle shaking your head at him “I should have guessed” You say knowingly earning a bashful smile in return “I’m glad it was you though” you tell him softly, shifting closer to him so you could rest your head on his shoulder.

It was silent for a few minutes, the only sound being from the pop and crackle of the fire before Steve cleared his throat “it’s late, you should try and get some rest” he says standing up and walking over to his pack and pulling out a blanket “that should help keep you warm”

“Yes, of course, thank you,” you say quietly taking the blanket and moving to lie down on the floor.

As you tried to get comfortable you look over to where Steve was sitting, the fire casting a warm glow across his features. His back seemed tense as he sat with his arms resting atop of his knees and all you wished to do was help him relax.

“Steve….” You said quietly catching his attention “will you lie with me?” You ask softly.

Steve’s lips parted slightly in surprise “I-I- I um don’t-“ he stuttered.

“Please? I’ll feel safer knowing you’re next to me” you tell him.

He pursed his lips and you could see his resolve breaking “okay” he said softly before moving to lie beside you, close enough that you could feel his warmth but far enough away that he didn’t risk touching you.

Silence once again fell and you tried to allow yourself to fall asleep. You should be exhausted, you had barely slept during your imprisonment and it had been a tiring day. But you just couldn’t, your mind was just too loud.

“I hate politics” you mutter mostly to yourself not expecting Steve to still be awake.

“What do you mean?” He hums behind you.

“Oh sorry I thought you’d be asleep,” you say looking over your shoulder at him.

Steve gives you a soft smile “I was waiting until you fell asleep first, so what’s on your mind” he asks.

You roll over to face him, your fingers fiddling with the buttons on the cloak he’d given you “its just rules my life, it nearly killed me, if you hadn’t saved me I don’t think I would have lived to see the next full moon” you sigh shaking your head.

“I’m sorry, I should have come and saved you sooner” Steve apologises with a sad look in his eyes.

“Shush” you mutter shaking your head as you look up, your eyes meeting his in the low light “you have nothing to apologise for, I’ll forever be a chess piece for everyone to just use,” you tell him “our enemies used me to try and start a war, my father will use me to create an alliance with another kingdom, they’ll just use me to produce an heir…. All because I was born, something I had no control over leaves me with no control over my life”

Steve looks at you sadly, his hand reaching out to take yours, his thumb gently brushing over your skin in a soothing manner “what would you do if you did have control?” He asked quietly.

You smile softly as you thought about what you would do, one idea instantly coming to mind “I’d marry for love, status means nothing to me, they could be a prince, a duke…. Or a stable boy” you say, the corners of Steve’s lips twitching upwards, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Would that make you happy?” He asks, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“The happiest” you smile softly.

“Well… I will wish on every star that you get that life princess” he promises shifting closer so he could press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a few moments as he breathed deeply.

“Thank you Steve” you whisper moving so your forehead rested against his chest.

You willed your breathing to be deeper and slower to give the impression that you’d finally fallen asleep. Smiling to yourself when you felt Steve kiss your forehead again, his arm draping over your side securely.

When the sun began to rise Steve packed up the camp while you ate some of the rations he brought. Once the camp was dismantled and all signs of your stay hidden the two of you continued your journey home. As your strength had begun to return you sat behind Steve giving you the best opportunity to wrap your arms around his waist. It was a feeling you would savour as you knew you’d never get a chance like this again.

Your arrival into the kingdom did not go unnoticed, crowds all murmured and whispered as you rode past, the look of relief on their faces to see you safe and alive. Guards did not get in your way as you walked into the castle, straight to the throne room where you knew your father would be.

When your father saw you walk in his expression was one of pure shock and relief, he surged forward and hugged you tightly “my dear I am so relieved to see you alive and home”

“as am I father” you smiled reassuringly “and we have Steve to thank for that,” you tell him glancing over at Steve.

Your father straightened as he turned to look at Steve “I should have you punished for disobeying my orders but… you saved my daughter and for that, I will be eternally grateful” your father says shaking Steve’s hand “is there anything I can give you to repay this debt? Anything you desire? Anything at all, I could make you one of my knights” your father offers.

Steve glances over at you before turning his attention back to your father “I appreciate the offer of a knighthood but there is something I would value more” Steve says “I would like your permission to marry your daughter, I have loved her since childhood and I promise to continue to love her for the rest of my life” he asks.

You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips, you never expected Steve to love you in the same way that you did. You always believed the affection he showed was from your friendship and duty, not because he actually loved you back. your eyes dart between Steve and your father, praying silently to the gods that your father would say yes.

“Steve…” your father sighs “I respect you as a hard-working and loyal man but in this world, Love is not good enough for a prosperous match” he says shaking his head “Y/N has to marry someone who will be good for the kingdom, not just her”

“Steve is good for the kingdom” you interject making your father arch a brow in question “I can see no better way to show how we value are subjects that to show we don’t view ourselves as above them” you point out.

“but that would jeopardise our relationships with our allies” your father reasons.

“I believe a marriage with another kingdom could jeopardise our own, what if the man you pick for me to marry doesn’t value this kingdom as much as his own, our people could suffer, whereas a future king who is from this kingdom will forever value it and work in its best interest” you tell him “we have strong industries already, we could focus on them and use them to create allies with other kingdoms”

Your father smiles proudly back at you “you shall make a good queen someday” he says softly.

“then let me marry a man I love and that won’t stop me from performing my duty” you say stepping closer to Steve taking his hand in yours.

Your father lets out a long sigh before looking back at Steve “I guess I should start calling you son” he says shaking Steve hand with a warm smile on his face.

You smiled warmly up at Steve, you may still be a chess piece but you just won the game.

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[writeshite]

Death Shan't Do Us Apart

Summary:

You turned away, shrinking into yourself, “I just want to see my husband….” you lamented. You may think Steve neglects you, but Bucky sees it firsthand, the eerie way your husband watches you from a distance, the way he licks his lips when he catches a whiff of your scent. Yes, he pitied you, but he’d much rather you despise him that you fall prey to what was left of your husband.

Pairings:

Steve Rogers x Male!Reader

Tags:

Vampire!Steve | Human!Reader | Medieval AU | Soft Dark Steve Rogers

Words: 2725

Author's Note:

The gods gave me the power to write so I'm going to make it everyone's problem, plus vampire Steve is not a want, it's a need.

It’s lonely when you awake; the bedroom you once shared with your husband is only yours now; he’d surrendered his living household to you, keeping only the undead. The east hallway was repurposed, the curtains and drapes shut tight, and guards posted by the entrance express orders from the king - no living shall pass, not even the prince consort. 

Any attempt to forgo these new rules was unsuccessful; the guards did not move when you arrived; they would bow their heads and apologize, “His majesty commands it, sire.”

Shadows often moved in the hallway when you were there; they reached out, then skirted back in the sunlight; sometimes, a figure would emerge in the distance, turned towards you, always watching. But then a servant would grab your arm, apologies to some unknown force spilling from their mouth as they directed you away, curses under their breath and prayers to long dead gods on their tongues.

The changes came when Steve returned from his skirmish near the gulf; he’d left you as your husband and returned as another - locked himself away and moved everything to isolate himself from you. No amount of bribery or threats would wheedle the information on the matter out of anyone; the soldiers he’d returned with looked haggard, almost terrified; some willingly welcomed the promise of death. 

Steve himself was absent, he moved fast in public, a parasol above his head, and eyes turned away from your gaze; unlike before, he did not reach for your hand, and your interactions occurred through others. In the day, that is. Night brought out the old Steve, the one who would carry you to bed when you fell asleep in your study, kiss your forehead goodnight, and hold you all night. He still did it, but only when you slumbered. Once, you’d peeked open your eyes and looked up, gazing into a near-perfect replica of your husband - his eyes were icier, the sharpness of his face amplified, and from the gasp he elicited, you noted the far pointier edge of his teeth. 

“Hush now,” he’d muttered. You’d gawked, brain still muddled with sleep, his deep voice lulled you back under, and you’d fought to stay awake. You held onto his tunic loosely as he set you underneath the covers; he held your cheek delicately, then placed a kiss on your neck. He breathed in deep, his hold still soft; as something pricked your skin, it drew only a droplet of blood, but Steve backed off at the sight of it. He had stared at it hungrily, then shook his head profusely, “Forgive me, dear heart.” You hadn’t the opportunity to ask for clarification, instead waking to the morning light with no husband in sight. 

Nine people passed away the next day, and Steve held off his midnight visits for a week. The morning bells rang through your thoughts, and your breakfast lay waiting on the open balcony, in full view of Steve’s new study. He watched you every morning, stood by the windows, obscured by the opaque drapes; he would remain until you finished, then Bucky would accompany you throughout the day, “For your safety, sire,” he’s said, never clarifying what you’d need protection from.

“I want to see my husband,” you demanded.

Bucky shook his head, “I can’t allow that,” he didn’t turn to face you; his hands remained clasped behind his back.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“You’re not wearing the ring,” he redirects the conversation, the ring in question being Steve’s apology gift - one of many - after nearly a year with him at arm’s length, you’d grown tired. “He won’t be happy about that.”

“Maybe then he’d be so kind to grace me with his presence,” you grumbled.

Bucky tutted you, “You shouldn’t say such things of your king,” he lectured, “any other monarch would have you flogged for such insult.”

“Any other monarch would do me the decency of neglect upfront,” you sniped. 

“You know why he keeps his distance,” Bucky reprimanded you. “His condition amplifies everything; it’s best you remain far until he gains some semblance of control.” When you did not back down from your anger, Bucky tutted, “Would you prefer then if he drained you dry as the baron did his first wife? Or perhaps you’d like your flesh torn from your skin as mine was by your lover’s hands?”

He wrenched the glove from his metallic arm, “You may not like it, dear prince, but he is no longer your Steve, he is a creature of the night, and his hunger may just well outweigh any love he holds for you,” he spoke harshly. 

You turned away, shrinking into yourself, “I just want to see my husband….” you lamented.

Bucky stepped back, a hint of guilt in his expression; when Steve had reassigned him as your guard, he’d made it clear your safety was of great importance - and if it meant scaring you away from him, then so be it. “It’s cruel,” Steve had said - peering through the curtains to watch you dine.

“It’s necessary.” 

He pitied you, but you weren’t there. You hadn’t been there at the gulf; you hadn’t seen Steve hold his neck as blood trailed down his skin, deep red turning into an obsidian hue, back hunching over as bones cracked and teeth grew. You hadn’t watched as Steve cut through men, both enemies, and friends, with such ferocity. Steve had stood in the blood, mouthfuls of human flesh disappearing down his throat as his fingers grew to become claws. You were spared the inhuman cruelty that Steve now possessed, the thirst for blood, and the unparalleled slaughter. You may think Steve neglects you, but Bucky sees it firsthand, the eerie way your husband watches you from a distance, the way he licks his lips when he catches a whiff of your scent. Yes, he pitied you, but he’d much rather you despise him that you fall prey to what was left of your husband.

Steve didn’t plan to become a vampire; then again, no one really ever intends to die, much less become one of the undead.

He’d heard how uncaring vampiric masters tended to be, and he could understand why humans were fragile, annoying little creatures, yet here he was isolating himself from one to keep them safe. Emotion was a stranger to him now, where before he would be angry, now he would be furious before he was in love with you, now he was obsessed. 

Bucky greatly disapproved of his visits, but what could he do? Steve never went too far; he held you at most, stroking your hair as his eyes remained fixed on the pulse along your neck - once he’d pricked your skin with his finger, you’d been swimming in the haze of sleep, as his head swam with hunger. There were minute differences to the smell of blood, the stable boy he’d eaten smelt young, a touch of something meadowy in his fragrance, while the old guardsman he’d drank from last week was stale and tasted of age. On the other hand, you were sweet, sweet like the nectar in blood offerings; he’d almost leaned in to taste but then drew back just as quickly, shaking his head to dispel the craving. 

“Forgive me, dear heart.” 

You’d made a sound of confusion before dozing off again. Steve had withheld the urge long enough to make his way down to the village - nine people is how many it took before he’d quenched himself - Bucky hadn’t looked him in the eye for a week after, and he’d kept his distance from you just as long.

“He misses you,” Natasha voiced. She often lounged in his study, never far from the doors, blessed silver blade in reach, “Refused to wear the ring.” She constantly prodded at the edge of his sanity, little comments about you and your day, what she’d heard of you from Bucky or Sam. The ring had been a precaution, crafted in silver and blessed by the priestess herself, a ward to deter him should he seek you out in a state of hunger.

“It’s to be expected, rebellion often sparks in times of uncertainty, but he will adjust in time,” Steve responded.

Natasha huffed, “You say that, but forget how willful the prince consort is,” she chuckled, “perhaps in time, he will take on a lover,” she jokingly muses.

Steve snaps the pen in his hand, the ink bursting on his hand; Natasha merely laughs, her objective of the day complete, “I did not relieve you of your duties to the regiment so you could taunt me with lies,” he hisses, dabbing away at the ink.

“They are not lies, merely half-truths; your husband is lonely, majesty,” she says, “either he will find company in another or wither away in his sorrow.”

“Any company he might find will die at my hand,” he sneers, “HE IS MINE!”

“Says you, but the nobility have begun to scheme; there are those who would love nothing more than a night between the prince consort’s —” she ducks away, words cut off when Steve’s chair flies at her. His pupils shrink, akin to a cat’s, as he seethes at her, her face may hold steady, but she can feel the slight tremble in her limbs and the rabbit jump of her near-dead heart. “Apologies, my king,” she bows, head on the floor, arms held out front, “I meant no disrespect; I serve only to inform.”

Steve says nothing, his steps rush past her, and a grunt of something passes his lips before the door opens. Natasha raises her head, a sigh of relief; Sam leans by the door, shaking his head at her, “When you said you had a death wish, I thought you were joking.”

“You heard?”

“Who didn’t? We’re all undead here,” he holds out his hand, but she brushes it aside, “using the prince consort to anger him; that’s pretty risky, even for you.”

Sam was one of the lucky ones; he’d died peacefully but came back accidentally; the gods hadn’t been ready to release him from their hold. He didn’t understand the loose grip on humanity that she and many others had, she teetered on the edge of life and death; even for a creature of the night, Steve was unbelievably heartless. The only sliver of humanity he had left was with you; as callous as it may be, “He still cares for his husband, in his own twisted way, I can use that, keep myself in high regard, keep him from going too far.”

“And if he drains the prince consort dry? Will you remain to have your head taken from your shoulders alongside us?” Sam asked.

Natasha turned away; she attempted to mimic shame but couldn’t; Sam didn’t get it; he was lucky, “Steve won’t touch you, he can’t, you hold his husband’s favor, you’re immune to his anger.”

Sam scoffed, “As long as he lives, yes, but if your plans get him killed, then no one is safe.”

Steve all but ran from his study; the afternoon sun did not bare down on him as the morning did, so he passed into the living wings with some ease. The guards stiffed when he passed by, fear pouring from their veins as their armor shook with their tremors; he finds you in the veranda, cakes half-eaten and easel set to the side, you’re sat with your back to the entrance and crown set to the side. He grimaces at the absence of your ring; the others around you all recoil at the sight of him, stepping away when he nears. 

He places his hands atop your seat and tilts his head at the door - the servants scramble over themselves to leave, and your personal guards waste no time in following. You glance around at the commotion, eyes widening when you catch sight of him, “Steve….” Disbelief laces your voice, and you stand slowly, hand outstretched to touch him. His face is twisted in slight discomfort at the shine of the afternoon sun, but he remains where he stands.

You don’t look sick, but Steve doesn’t appreciate the bags under your eyes or the tear stains on your cheeks. “What upsets you, my love?” 

“You.”

“Me? How so? I have given you more than a king ever should their consort,” he says, slightly irritated.

“And I am grateful,” you reply, “but you do not give me your company anymore; I miss my king.” You withdraw from him, arms around yourself once more, “I miss you, Steve.”

“I miss you as well, dear heart, but I’m afraid my company would do you harm. Even now,” he moves fast, and you gasp when he appears behind you. His hand comes up to your throat; a gentle pressure applied as he tilts your neck to the side, “I crave your blood unlike any other; I fear my hunger would consume me should I remain so close.” 

He would like to move away, but it’s been so long since he’s had you all to himself. His nose grazes your vein; his face has already begun to shift - the curve of his ears point out more as the edge of his teeth grows; he holds your face away from him as he hides away in your neck. “Would you still wish for my company after inflicting such pain upon you?”

Your breath hitched; Steve smiled at the increase in your heartbeat; he turned your head, his nose against yours, “I….” you hesitate, taking in the monstrous appearance of your lover; you are unsure how best to put your thoughts into words, so opt instead to move forward, slotting your lips against his. His fangs scratch against your mouth, your blood drips into his mouth, and Steve is consumed by the want, hands gripping you as you cling to him desperately. He chases after the droplets of blood, only drawing back when he remembers your need for oxygen - you are flushed, eyes dazed, and mouth swollen; Steve missed seeing you this way.

“Perhaps I’ve been too harsh with my choices, shutting myself away from a source of something so sweet,” he mulls to himself, pecking your lips after each word. No other human had quenched his thirst so fervently. 

The doors to the veranda burst open then, as Bucky and Sam rush through, Natasha trails in after them, a handful of guards by her side. They still at the sight of you in Steve’s arms, cautiously glancing at Steve as they attempt to coax you away from him. You look between them, mind still numb from the kiss; when Bucky reaches out for you, Steve hisses, tucking you away from them, “Steve, you know better,” Bucky attempts, but Steve laughs.

His laugh isn’t the warm, soothing thing it once was; it’s near deranged, cruel, “Know better? You’re the one who should know better, demanding things from your king,” his attitude changes, jovial mood shifting to disdain, “I should have you skinned alive, flesh stirred for my evening stew for your attempt at separating me from my husband.”

His grip on you has grown painful, and you whimper at it, drawing his attention back to you, “Oh forgive me, dear heart,” his grip loosens, “I forget how easy you break.” He coos apologetically, “Sam will take you away from here while I sort this out.”

You shake your head, “Please….” your eyebrows knitted in despair, “don’t kill them.”

Steve tilts his head at your request, “Oh my sweet prince, I must set an example,” he says, and you repeat the words, tears at the corner of your eyes. “Oh no, dear heart, no more tears; I dislike it when you weep.”

He wipes away your tears, “Very well, let us compromise, hmm,” he smiles, “you may take half that may live, and the rest may die. Now, now darling, it’s far fairer than what I’d intended,” he cuts you off before you can argue. His smile is strained, and his gaze is stern; you feel the implication of his grip on you and nod; once you’ve picked your half, Steve shoos you and them away from the veranda. The doors close, and you shiver at the screams that emerge after the doors close.

“I told you,” Bucky voiced, “He is no longer your Steve.”

End Note:

Again, soft dark Steve Rogers as a vampire is not a want, it's a need. Stay Hydrated.

#steve rogers x male!reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #vampire!steve rogers #the gods gave me the ability to write so i'm making it everyone's problem #Soft Dark Steve Rogers

[anika-ann]

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

Type: medieval/fantasy AU

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bad sign.

A warning from the Gods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Steven.

Your knight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A knight from the people. A humble hero.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How kind of him – how below him  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-sir Rogers…”

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

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

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

“Lovely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not a-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my sweet…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dirty, dirty cheater.

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

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

“My heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

War.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you wished…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I heard rumours of… making men happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And by gods and Lord, she did.

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

(In the name of the king!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

The warmth of your body seeping into his skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was sure you were.

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

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

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

Steve knew instantly what caught your eye.

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

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

Steve gulped.

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

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

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

“A wolf?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sit, my sweetling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I not too heavy like this?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. I shall work now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will, my sweet. I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

For his king.

For his kingdom and the people.

For you.

Oh you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The troops were coming back.

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

They were back. Steven was back!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steven was one of them.

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

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

He was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And do you not… do you get scared?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I trust them with my life.

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

I trust them with my life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lovers.

Your love. Your Steven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me? Now? What for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You recognized them.

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

Oh gods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was alive. Your beloved was alive.

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

I am here.

A promise. A declaration of love.

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

Steve was alive.

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

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

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

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

“Will you marry me, my sweet?”

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

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

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

As much as you always would be his.

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

S.R. masterlist

Sequel - In the Name of All That’s Holy

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

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

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

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

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

[holylulusworld]

Before you (3)

Title: Before you (3) 

Summary: King Steven Grant Rogers once was a good king and a gentle alpha. Now he’s a cruel shadow of his former self. Can he find the light again? 

Pairing: King(Alpha)!Steve Rogers x Maid(Omega)!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, grumpy and loud Steve, hurt reader, Bucky is the best (soft Bucky is a warning, okay), sadness, mentions of loss of loved ones,  flashbacks, undefined age gap

Before you masterlist

<< Part 2

 Flashback - around fifteen years ago, your home, …

“Faster!” you run toward the tables, giggling as your friend chases after you.

His father came to your father’s stables to buy more horses and you sneaked off to play with him. 

Today, your friend’s father brought a gift to your father. A colorful window. Two horses are on the window, a black one, and a white one. 

“I’m going to get you,” the boy smirks as you stop in your tracks and look over your shoulder. You stick your tongue out, making him laugh. “Wait for me! Y/N. Please don’t run away again.”

“You’re too slow, Grant,” you wink at him. 

“I let you win,” Grant grumbles now. He can’t believe a girl beat him once again. 

“Don’t be mad.”

You run back toward the panting boy. He’s a little weaker and smaller than other boys his age. Grant should be bigger than you. He’s a few years elder than you, and still, you are the same height.

“I could never be mad at you,” his features soften, and his cheeks turn pink. “I-I wanted to give you this.” He gets a horseshoe out of his pocket, handing it to you. 

“A horseshoe. Thank you,” you swoon.

“It’s from my father’s favorite horse,” he hastily explains, grasping for your hand to hold it. “He said it’s magical and will protect you. Look, your name is carved into the horseshoe.”

Your smile widens as he holds your hand a little tighter. “It’s the most beautiful gift I ever got. Thank you, Grant.”

Now, the king’s chamber, …

“How is she, Lord Banner?” Bucky worriedly watches the king’s healer check on you. You still didn’t wake. It’s been two hours. “Please tell me she will recover. The poor girl went through enough.”

“Silence,” Steve raises his voice. He holds the small bundle with your belongings in his hands. “Let the healer help the maid. It’s not your place to take care of her.”

“Neither is it yours,” for the first time, Bucky uses his alpha voice against his brother. He growls at Steve, ready to fight him. “She’s too good for you. I had hoped she will be able to bring light into your life again. I wronged her.”

“James Buchanan,” taking one step closer toward his brother Steve sizes Bucky up, “what did you do?”

“I told the old hag to send Y/N to clean your room,” Bucky swallows thickly as you start to whimper. “I didn’t know she will send her that night…though.”

“It’s your doing? All of this,” throwing the bundle at Bucky his brother growls like a feral animal. “That girl got hurt because of you!”

“With all due respect, your highness, it was you scaring her,” the brunette bites back. “I went through blood, death, and hell with you.” Bucky lifts his artificial arm, the one the mighty Stark crafted for him. “I would’ve given my life for you, Steve. But lately, I don’t recognize my brother anymore.”

“She fell,” the king argues. “I didn’t touch her.”

“And still, you throw the things dear to her at me.”

Steve furrows his brows as Bucky carefully opens the bundle. “She doesn’t own much.” The king whispers. His heart squeezes a little as he looks at your few belongings in his brother’s hands.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Give this to me,” snatching the bundle out of his brother’s hands Steve carefully places it on the bed. “Hmm…a comb, dry bread, a handkerchief, a ribbon.” He hums as his eyes land on the colorful shard of glass. “A shard?”

“She said it was from a window in her parents’ house. It seems to be important to her. Don’t break it,” Bucky takes the shard out of Steve’s hands. “You shouldn’t touch her things.”

“What’s this?” Steve gasps audibly. His hand begins to tremble when he finds the horseshoes in your bundle. “A horseshoe. It...this can’t be.” He looks at the name carved into the metal. 

“Put it back,” his brother tries to snatch the horseshoe out of Steve’s hands. “It belongs to her. She doesn’t own much, but it’s hers. The girl lost so much in her life. Don’t take the few things she has away from her too.”

“It’s impossible. He said she’s dead,” Steve presses the horseshoe to his chest. He pushes his brother off as Bucky tries to get it. “This can’t be. So many years I believed she was dead.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about Steve!” Bucky fights to get the horseshoe. “Explain yourself, brother.”

“No—no. Father wouldn’t lie to me. Maybe she found it.”

Bucky huffs as the king carefully lifts the horseshoe to his eyes. “Steve, what’s wrong with you? It’s a horseshoe. Give it back to her.”

“The shard. Did you see the black horse on it? Or what’s left of it?” looking at his brother with tears in his eyes Steve sniffs. “I remember the day father gave it to one of the few men he respected. It was a gift.”

“What are you talking about Steve? I-“ Bucky swallows thickly. He remembers your story and the window. He just didn’t know it was his adopted father gifting it to your parents. “You mean father gave the window to Y/N’s father?”

“Y/N?” Steve drops the horseshoe. He steps away from the bed, shaking his head violently. “No-no! Impossible.”

“What?”

The king flees out of his chamber, slamming the door shut. “Your highness, my Lord,” the healer finally says. “I think the girl will recover. She will need some time and a good rest. Food and water too.”

“I’ll make sure Y/N will get all she needs, Lord Banner,” Bucky shakes the healer’s hand. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Thank you for being kind enough to even care about here,” Lord Banner gives Bucky a curt nod. “Call for me if she needs more help.”

Flashback - around fifteen years ago, your home, …

“No, Y/N. Watch out!” Grant stops his horse and jumps off the saddle to get to you. You fell off the horse, and now, you don’t move. “Y/N! My love!”

He crouches down next to you to run his hand over your hair. “Please wake up,” you whimper as Grant touches the bleeding wound on your forehead. “This is all my fault. I wanted another race. Please wake up. I promise to marry you if you wake up now.”

“Gotcha!” you sit up, giggling. “I knew I’ll get you to marry me!” you cup his cheeks to press a soft kiss on his nose. “We are going to have so many horses.”

“If you beat me at the next race, I’ll get you another one,” Grant carefully gets a flower out from under his jacket. “I stole it from my mother’s garden for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” you sniffle. “A rose. No one ever gave me a rose.” 

He nervously looks at you. Grant takes a deep breath before he leans closer to press a soft kiss on your lips.

It will be the last time you will see your friend. His father will make sure of it. 

“I didn’t think you’ll come back,” Bucky watches his brother walk back inside the chamber. He crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you want? Throw her out? She still didn’t wake.”

“What’s her name?” Steve crouches down to pick the horseshoes up. “Bucky, what is the maid’s name? I need to know!” the king yells now. “Tell me her name.”

“Y/N!” his brother yells back. Bucky is just done bearing his brother’s moods. He tried anything to help Steve find his way again, and now, he’s close to giving up on him. “Her name is Y/N. She lost her parents and brother five years ago.”

“Five years ago,” feeling his legs give in Steve presses the horseshoe to his chest. He releases a shuddery breath as his eyes land on you on his bed. “I married Peggy five years ago after father told me the girl I loved when I was a boy died.”

“You never told me so,” stepping closer to his brother, Bucky places his metal hand on Steve’s shoulder. “What else did you hide from me, brother?”

“You were not with us at that time,” Steve whispers. “I was a weak and small boy back then. Father wanted me to get to know our people. The first time I saw the girl she tried to climb up a tree. She giggled and waved at me as I stared up at her.”

“Steven, you never talked about a girl. Not once.”

“One day. I think it was the day father gifted the colorful window to her parents; he said that I cannot see her again,” Steve shakes his head. “Father saw me kissing the girl. He told me this can never happen.”

“What happened?”

“I wasn’t allowed to see her. Year after year I would ask him. And then, around five years ago father told me that she died in a fire,” Steve’s voice cracks. “It was around the time Peggy visited the castle. I fell in love with her, and we married.”

“Steve…”

“Maybe it was my way to forget about the girl. She saw more in me than a prince. Y/N didn’t even know I was going to become the next king,” he sighs now. “How could I not recognize it was her all this time?”

“That was how long ago?” Bucky sighs. “Steve, you were just a boy back then. How could you remember a girl you befriended so long ago?”

“How could I not?”

“You had Peggy and,” Bucky swallows thickly, “your child. Your love never had the chance to bloom. It was friendship, not love.”

“I left and never came back,” the king clears his throat. “Father wasn’t wrong. I made a promise I couldn’t keep. A king marries a maid. Not in this world. She must leave. I cannot have her here, Bucky.”

“She wasn’t always a maid, brother. I dug a little deeper after Y/N told me about her family. Her mother was of royal blood.”

“I know you mean well,” Steve cradles his brother’s face in his hands, “but don’t lie. I cannot remember her. I have my wife and child to mourn. This light is long gone. Buried under fire and dust. Let’s keep it buried…”

>> Part 4

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #king!steve x peasant!reader #king!steve x reader #steve rogers x you #alpha!steve rogers x omega reader #a/b/o #medieval au #steve x reader #alpha!steve rogers x reader #Before you (3)

[i-have-a-wonky-eye-too]

A Princess. A Queen. A Wife. A Mother.

Part 27

<Part 26<

The Royal carriage of York New...

You ran your thumb over your pendant nervously as you stared out of the carriage window, an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You wanted nothing more than to jump on the back of Storm and charge to the Abbey so you could be in Steve's arms.

You let out a startled gasp as the carriage came to a sudden stop. You lurched forwards along with Morgana, holding onto her as Tony caught the two of you.

You looked at him with a panicked look. "Tony?"

He held his hands up in front of you as he peered out of the window to see what was going on. His brow furrowed with a huff. "Wait here." He ordered as he opened the door and got out of the carriage.

Morgana cuddled closer to you and looked up at you. "I'm scared." She whispered.

"I'm not." You offered her a smile to cover your lie and moved to look out of the window, frowning as Pietro charged past on his horse.

"Princess," Bucky jogged up to you. "Please, stay inside." He stood before you, blocking the door and your view out of the carriage.

"What's going on, Bucky?" You asked. "Is something wrong?"

Bucky looked back at where Tony stood and nodded with a soft sigh. He looked back to you and then to Morgana. "Just some interesting news from the castle..." He smiled at Morgana, although you could tell from how his brow furrowed he was lying. "Nothing to worry about. Sir Pietro, is on his way to share the news with, King Steven. I'm sure he'll tell you all about it once he sees you." He winked at Morgana making her giggle and hide her face in her hands. He looked back at you and nodded. "It's fine."

You nodded and drew in a deep breath, "If you say so..."

Bucky nodded before he stood to the side, opening the door for Tony as he approached the carriage once more.

Your brother gave you a concerned look before he smiled at Morgana. "I need to practice my speech." He declared as he climb back inside the carriage.

Morgana rolled her eyes with a groan and fell back into the seat making you giggle. "Not again, daddy."

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

The Abbey of York New where King Steven waits...

Steve's hands were clasped behind his back as he marched back and forth across the stone floor. Dread and fear eating away at his insides. He needed you by his side where he knew you were safe.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Steven, do stop pacing back and forth. You're going to wear a hole in the floor." Sarah scolded her son with a roll of her eyes.

Steve barely stopped as he looked back at his mother. "My apologies, mother."

Sarah furrowed her brow as she watched him continue. "You're nervous." She stated. Steve nodded as he continued to walk back and forth. "The only other time I've seen you this nervous was your Coronation," Sarah stated. "What troubles you, son?"

Steve drew in a deep breath as he turned to face his mother and dropped himself into the armchair opposite her. "I'm scared, mother. There's so much that threatens our happiness... Y/n's, happiness. And all I want to do is protect her, and my brain is telling me the only way to do that is to lock her up in a tower away from danger..." He shook his head with a chuckle. "But that's ridiculous... Because I know she's far braver and stronger than anyone believes... Plus, she'd just scale the side of the tower to yell at me." He smiled thinking about you.

Sarah smiled as she reached over and took his hand. "You believe." She said. "You've always believed in her. And you've always been there to protect her and fight for her. And you will do so until the day you die." Sarah smiled at her son. "Now, stop worrying. My beautiful daughter-in-law will be here shortly... She can read you like a book and I don't want her-"

"Your Majesty!" Sam burst into the room with Pietro closely behind him startling Steve and his mother.

Steve shot up out of his chair, "What's wrong?"

"A young boy... He came to the castle, Your Majesty," Pietro began as he tried to catch his breath. "... He witnessed... Hydra bandits murder his father in the village... Not long ago."

Sarah gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh, that poor boy."

Steve turned to his mouth. "Mother, please," He took her hand in his. "I assume, Sir Rhodey, has already checked the castle and grounds?"

Pietro nodded. "Everywhere possible after last time."

Steve nodded and looked at Sam. "It has to be a tactic." Steve sighed as he sat down in the armchair.

Sam nodded. "They're trying to scare us."

"How can you be so sure?" Sarah looked between the two.

"Because they'd be stupid to attack today of all days, mother." Steve said as he pulled his pocket watch out and looked at the inscription.

"His Majesty is right," Sam said. "Every Kingdom that Brook and York New allies with, are invited to the King and Princess' wedding. It would be a guaranteed blood bath for Lower East."

Steve nodded and looked at Pietro. "You passed them on your way?"

Pietro nodded with a reassuring grin. "She looks beautiful, Your Majesty."

Steve nodded, a smile filling his face as he looked down at his pocket watch. "Does she know?"

Pietro shook his head. "King Anthony didn't want to worry her before she arrived, nor did he want to scare, Princess Morgana. When I was leaving, Bucky was going to talk to her."

"Bucky will have made sure she wasn't worrying." Sam gave him a reassuring smile.

Steve nodded. "I want to be the one to tell her." He stood up and put his pocket watch away. "Now, no more talk of this, not until we're back at the castle. My beautiful bride is almost here." Steve smiled and held his arm out to his mother. "Shall we?"

Sarah got up and took Steve's arm. "Come along then." She smiled proudly at him.

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

The abbey doors were closed behind you, muffling the sounds of the cheering crowds and making your nerves shoot through the roof. After your brief stop on your way to the abbey, dread and fear settled in the pit of your stomach. You were sure something bad was going to happen and stop you from marrying Steve.

"Morgana." Tony huffed as he quickly wandered off after the young girl down a corridor making you giggle.

You turned to Natasha and Wanda, "Could you give me a minute, please? I just need some space to breathe." You asked.

"Of course, Your Highness." They both bowed to you before following Tony to help.

You closed your eyes taking a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves as you ran a hand over the bodice of your wedding dress.

"Your Highness," Bucky whispered as he placed his hand on yours to stop them from shaking. You opened your eyes and looked up at him. "King Steven, asked me to give you this before you walked down the aisle." He smiled at you as he handed you an envelope.

You thanked him as you took it, handing your flowers to him with a giggle. The sight of a feared knight holding a bouquet of delicate flowers was amusing. You opened the envelope and began smiling as you read it.

My love,

I write this in hopes of calming your nerves as you stand on the other side of the chapel doors, minutes away from becoming my darling wife. I promise to love and protect you with my whole heart, body and soul. There's no reason to be nervous, my love.

We will face the enemies together as one. You have my word and love.

I'm just on the other side of those doors and soon you'll be in my arms as my wife and I, your husband.

So hurry along. I miss you.

Your King and soon-to-be darling husband.

P.S. The answer to your riddle is a needle.

You began smiling to yourself, quickly brushing your happy tears away and looked up at Bucky. "Thank you, Bucky, for giving me this."

He shook his head, "It's nothing to do with me, Your Highness..." He smiled. "I also wanted to give you this?" He handed you a red velvet pouch. "Natasha mentioned you still didn't have your something borrowed." He nodded to the pouch. "I wanted you to use this."

You smiled up at him as you emptied the contents into the palm of your hand. Your eyes widened at the beautiful ring that sat there. "Oh, James,"

He chuckled, "I was hoping to get your blessing, Your Highness. You're Natasha's, closest friend... Almost like a sister, even..."

You once again wiped away your happy tears as you nodded. "Of course, you have my blessing, Bucky." You smiled up at him as you safely tucked the velvet pouch away.

Bucky gave you a shy smile as he looked down. "Thank you, Your Highness." He handed you your flowers back.

"Sorry to interrupt." Tony smiled at you. "It's time... Ready?" He asked as he held his arm out to you.

You drew in a deep breath as you nodded. "More than anything." You grinned up at him.

The moment the chapel doors were opened and your eyes met Steve's, your nerves and dread disappeared. You couldn't hear the choir as they sang or the organist play. You couldn't see the hundreds of guests that watched you walk down the aisle. The only thing that you could see before you, the only thing that mattered to you, was Steve.

Steve winked at you, his smile widening as yours did. You were thankful for the veil covering your face, it hid the blush you were sure covering your face. You turned to Tony and gave him a kiss on the cheek making him smile.

He took Steve's hand and put yours in it, "You best take care of her, Rogers, or I'll be coming for you." He warned the younger man as he gave him a stern look, trying to intimidate him before the pair began laughing at each other and shook hands. Tony looked back at you and gave you a kiss on the temple before whispering. "Mother would be proud of you, little princess."

You smiled up at him, trying not to cry at his sweet words.

As Tony sat down, you handed your flowers to Natasha before facing Steve. He raised your veil over your head. "You look beautiful, My love," Steve whispered making you blush even more.

"The same can be said for you, Your Majesty." You whispered back.

It seemed you and Steve were lost in your own world, looking at each other with so much love as he held your hands firmly in his, softly caressing the backs of your knuckles. The storm of negative emotions you'd been harbouring inside had calmed and all it took was Steve's touch.

The Bishop cleared his throat before he began the ceremony, "Blessings and merry meet. Your Majesties, Lords and Ladies, we are gathered here today to join, King Steve of Brook and Princess Y/n of York New, together in holy matrimony. They have asked you here to share in their joy, and to declare their love for one another before you as a community." The Bishop smiled and looked between you and Steve. "Your Majesty, art thou here this day in pledged truth of thy own free will and choice?"

Steve looked at you as he nodded with a grin. "Yes, Father."

The Bishop nodded and looked at you. "Princess, art thou here this day in pledged truth of thy own free will and choice?"

"Yes, Father." You nodded with your own grin. Steve gave your hands a reassuring squeeze as he winked at you making you giggle.

The Bishop smiled, "In as much as, King Steven and Princess Y/n, have pledged their troth to be married this day, we call upon Heaven to bless this union."

You held your breath and your body tensed as you waited for the part you feared most, dread once more filling the pit of your stomach.

"Therefore if anyone can show just cause, why they may not be joined together, by God's Law, or the Laws of the Realm; let them now speak, or else hereafter keep silent for all time.

"Lest it not be overlooked, however, there is rumour amongst the fair princess' people that any such scurrilous objector shall be later beheaded today at the feast for the entertainment and amusement of the Lords and Ladies in attendance." The Bishop chuckled.

Your eyes widened as laughter eruptted throughout the room. Steve shook his head with a chuckle and looked over at where Tony sat. You looked over at your brother with a frown and shook your head as he sat there with a smug grin on his face.

The Bishop looked out to your guests as he waited and once satisfied he nodded before continuing. "There being no objection to this marriage, let us continue."

The Bishop turned to the stand beside him where a sacred blade sat upon a red and gold velvet pillow. The same blade that your brother used during his wedding and the same one your parents used in there's. And it will be the same blade Morgana uses during her wedding when that day comes.

The Bishop holds the sacred blade in his hands and holds it between you and Steve. "Your Majesty, swear on this sacred blade, that there is no reason known to you that this union should not proceed."

Steve placed his right hand over the blade as he bobbed his head. "I do so swear."

The Bishop turned to you, "Princess, is there any reason known to you why this partnership should not be made?"

You placed your hand over Steve's and shook your head before answering, "There is none."

"Heavenly Father, creator of all things both in heaven and Earth, we humbly ask thee to bless this union, may these thy servants seek goodness all the days of their lives, may they be strong in defence of what is right, may they be united as one even as thou art with God. May they be numbered amongst thy sheep. We humbly pray in the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

"I forgot how much these things drag on," Tony muttered under his breath with a heavy sigh. Morgana gave her father an elbow in his side as she scolded him, making Rhodey and others around them chuckle.

You lowered your head to hide your amusement at the pair, quickly straightening yourself as the Bishop cleared his throat and drew everyone's attention back to him.

"Do you King Steven, take unto thyself as husband to Princess Y/n and pledge unto her before God and these witnesses to be her protector, defender and sure resort, to honour and sustain her, in sickness and in health, in fair and in foul, with all thy worldly powers, to cherish and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as you both shall live?"

Steve smiled at you. "I will, with all my heart." He said as he raised your left hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to where your engagement ring sat. You felt your cheeks blush as you heard the ladies of the court in awe.

"Do you Princess Y/n, take unto thyself the Noble King Steven to be thy rightful wife and pledge unto him before God and these witnesses to honour and cherish him, to cleave unto him, in sickness and in health, in fair and in foul, be his one true and lasting counsellor and solace, and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?" The Bishop asked as he looked at you.

You nodded as you smiled at Steve. "I will."

"The rings," The Bishop looked to Sir Samuel with his hand out.

Sam nodded as he patted himself down as searched for the rings, his eyes widening in panic. "Hmm, what would you say if I said, I forgot them?" He asked Steve.

Steve stared at him unamused, "For your sake, you better be fooling around."

Sam began grinning as he pulled the rings out of his pocket and handed them to the Bishop.

You held in your amusement as the Bishop shook his head with a small huff as he snatched the rings from Sam, equally unimpressed by Sam's foolery.

"Heavenly Father, bless these rings which King Steven and Princess Y/n have set apart to be visible signs of the inward and spiritual bond which unites their hearts. As they give and receive these rings, may they testify to the world of the covenant made between them.

Steve took the respected ring for you and gently slipped it onto your finger as he said, "Receive and wear this ring as a symbol of my trust, my respect and my love for you."

You took his ring and repeated the same words as you slipped the ring onto his finger.

"This circle will now seal the vows of this marriage and will symbolize the purity and endlessness of their love." The Bishop declared to the chapel. "We will now do the ancient hand fastening ritual where three cords will be placed over their joined hands."

Steve's mother made her way up to the pair of you holding a burgundy cord that symbolized romance, partnership and happiness and placed it over yours and Steve's joined hands.

Peter walked up to the two of you next with an ivory cord which stands for peace, sincerity and devotion, and placed that over your hands.

Then Morgana and Tony walked up to the two of you, Morgana holding a gold cord which represents unity, prosperity and longevity, and with the help of her father placed it over your hands. She let out a giggle as Steve winked at her and thanked her.

Tony rolled his eyes and sent Morgana back to her seat where Nanny Friday was waiting for her. He then turned back to you with a smile before he tied the cords together to signify the tying of the knot.

"As this knot is tied, so are your lives now bound. Woven into this cord, imbued into its very fibres, are all the hopes of thy friends and family, and of themselves, for a new life together. With the fashioning of this knot you tie all the desires, dreams, love, and happiness wished here in this place to your lives for as long as love shall last, your lives now bound, one to another. By this cord you are thus now and forevermore bound to your vow. May this knot remain tied for as long as love shall last. May this cord draw your hands together in love, never to be used in anger. May the vows you have spoken never grow bitter in your mouths.

"As your hands are bound by this cord, so is your partnership held by the symbol of this knot. Two entwined in love, bound by commitment and fear, sadness and joy, hardship and victory, anger and reconciliation, all of which bring strength to this union. Hold tight to one another through both good times and bad, and watch as your strength grows. I shall now remove the cords."

The Bishop removed the cords from your hands before continuing to talk, "Thou has pledged truth of thy own free will and sworn upon the sacred blade. Thou hast exchanged rings and been bound together by the ritual of the cords. May it be granted that what is done before the gods be not undone by man." The Bishop smiled, "By the power vested in me by the Realm, I now pronounce you King Steven and Princess Y/n of Brook. Husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Steve gently cupped your face in his left hand, as the chapel filled with cheers and applause. Your eyes closed as you slipped your hand that Steve held up his arm until it rested on his shoulder, letting yourself melt against him as he pressed his lips against yours in a loving kiss.

You pulled back from Steve beaming up at him, "We're married." You giggled.

"We are indeed wife." He grinned at you. He went to give you another kiss but the Bishop cleared his throat.

"Join me in cheer as the newly wedded couple make their way up the aisle on the first of their many journeys together."

The room erupted into cheers once more as Steve offered his arm to you, and the two of you began to make your way up the aisle.

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

With the help of your darling husband, the two of you climbed into the royal carriage of Brook and began to make your journey back to the castle.

You looked at Steve and began to blush when you realised he was already looking at you. "What is it?" You asked.

He shook his head and grinned at you. "... I'm just," He let out a soft sigh as he sat forwards and took your left hand in his. "I'm so very happy, my love."

You smiled back at him as you held his hand. "As am I." Then you remember everything that happened before you arrived at the abbey. Your brow creased as you looked at him. "What happened?" You asked making Steve's brow furrow.

"With what, my love?"

"Why did, Pietro, come? Bucky said there was some interesting news from the castle. So what was it?" You asked him.

"Ah, that," Steve nodded, "Well, according to, Pietro, a young boy arrived at the castle in distress. He witnessed his father's murder..."

You gasped, covering your mouth with your hand as you felt tears form. "It was Hydra, wasn't it?" You asked already knowing the answer.

Steve nodded, "Apparently so."

You felt a lump in your throat as you glanced out of the window and saw the crowds of happy villagers cheering and celebrating your and Steve's marriage.

Steve moved closer to you and cupped your cheek with his hand, smiling as you nuzzled into his palm. "I promise you, my love, you're safe. They're not going to try anything, especially today."

You nodded, "I know... But, that poor boy... And his father... What about his mother? Oh, Steve, I feel awful that these poor people have gotten dragged into all this because of some... Bastards!" You huffed. Steve's eyebrows raised in surprise at your outburst. You looked up at Steve with puppy-like eyes as you held his hands in yours. "I want to make sure the young boy and his family are looked after, Steven. Please."

Steve began smiling at you. "I knew you would. I asked Sam to arrange a meeting with the boy as soon as we returned to the castle. Things will be sorted, my love. I promise." He smiled.

You smiled back, "Oh, thank you... Darling Husband." You grinned before leaning forwards and kissing him. "I can't believe we're really married."

Steve chuckled as he sat back in his seat with your hand in his lap. "I know. It feels almost like a dream." He kissed your knuckles and smiled at you. "You've made me the happiest man alive, Y/n. I hope you understand how much I love you. And my vows to you are my law. I will do everything in my power to-" You cut Steve off by crashing your lips against his, your arms around his neck as he let your tongue into his mouth.

After a few seconds you pulled back from him, your face even redder than before as you cleared your throat. "My apologies... But you talk too much," You laughed softly at him.

Steve shook his head with a chuckle, "I was trying to be romantic and woo you with my words, wife."

You rolled your eyes playfully at him. "Haven't you learnt by now, husband, that I already trust everything you say to me?"

"As I, you." Steve hummed as he slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "I love you, Y/n." He whispered.

"I love you too, Steve."

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

"Where is he, Sam?" Steve asked, as the pair of you walked down the hallway of the castle, your hands intertwined.

"Library, Your Majesty," Sam said. "However, he's not alone."

"Meaning?" Steve raised his eyebrow.

Sam let out a heavy sigh, "King Anthony and his council are... Questioning, the young boy." Sam grimaced as he said the words.

You huffed and pulled your hand out of Steve's as you quickly marched ahead of Steve and Sam, Bucky hot on your trail being careful not to trip on the skirts of your wedding gown.

Steve grinned to himself as he watched you, "That's my wife, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes playfully, "Yes... That poor girl." He joked receiving a slap on the back of the head from Steve. "Ow."

"Whimp." Steve chuckled and hurried after you.

Tony was slouched in a chair with his hand covering his face as he listened to his council huff and puff at the young boy. He didn't need this, not today.

"Gentlemen," He groaned. "Could this not wait?"

"We need to ask these questions, Your Majesty. Now."

"What if he's a rat, Sire?"

"It could all be a trick."

"We don't even know who he is."

"Perhaps the man that was killed, wasn't even his father."

"Yes! He could be working for Hydra. I bet he is. What better way to get into the castle than to pretend-"

The library doors were suddenly pushed open with force, startling everyone inside the room. Bucky stood on the other side before stepping to the side and allowing you entry.

"That's enough!" You shouted as you stormed into the room.

"This doesn't concern you, Your-"

"ENOUGH!" You snarled. "This is my wedding day! Not a time for you to be interrogating a poor young boy that-"

"Oh, please!" One of the older council members scoffed. "Of course, you would see him as a poor young boy. You're a woman! You don't know anything about this-"

"Watch how you speak to my wife, Sir." Steve stepped into the room and stood by your side as he glared at the older man. He looked over at Tony and raised his eyebrow, "Mind telling me why you're here?"

Tony shrugged and nodded to his council, "Ask them. They seem to think the boy is working for King Brock or-"

"I bloody well am not." The young boy cut Tony off as he scowled up at the old men that stood in front of him making you laugh.

"I believe you," Tony chuckled as he stood behind the young boy. "Gentlemen, perhaps it's time you left. After all, it was King Steven that asked for this meeting."

"Yes... So, bugger off." The young boy stuck his tongue out at them making you laugh even more and the council mad.

"I like him." You looked up at Steve as he nodded.

"He's certainly got some bite, hasn't he?" Steve smiled.

"Gentlemen, King Anthony has asked you to leave." Bucky and Rhodey held the doors open as Peter guided the council members out of them. Once the doors were shut Peter huffed, "That was like herding sheep... Only sheep listen to you."

Steve chuckled and looked at you. "Go ahead, my love." He nodded to the boy.

You smiled lovingly at him before kissing his cheek. You then turned to the boy with a sorrowful look and walked over to him. "Hello, young man."

The boy bowed to you, "Hello, Your Highness."

You crouched down before him with a heavy sigh. "I apologise for those... Old farts."

The young boy smiled at you. "It's alright, Your Highness."

You shook your head. "No, it isn't..." You let out a heavy sigh. "I'd like to talk to you, about what happened?" You asked him with a soft smile. "May I?"

He nodded. "I don't know anything. I swear." He gave you a pleading look.

You nodded, "I believe you, but we need to know everything that you can remember to work out what those men are after." You stood up with Steve's help and held your hand out for the young boy to take. "Trust me?"

He nodded and took your hand. You smiled down at him and lead him over to the bottom of the stairs where you sat down. The young boy sat down beside you.

"Now, first things first... My name is Y/n." You smiled at him.

He laughed, "I know who you are, Princess."

You chuckled, "Yes, well, it's always polite to give your name. And besides, you don't have to be formal when it's just us."

The young boy looked up at the others as they all took a seat nearby.

"Will you tell me your name?" You asked.

He nodded, "Harry." He whispered.

"Pleasure to meet you, Harry..." You shook his hand. "I'm sorry for what happened to your father."

He shook his head as he looked down. "It's not your fault." He sighed. "So... What do you want to know? I've already told, Sir James, everything I saw."

"We know you have, but the Princess and I would like to hear it for ourselves," Steve said.

"And me. It is my Kingdom after all." Tony added under his breath making you roll your eyes.

"Well, why were you in the alley? Let's start there." You smiled warmly at him.

"We were on our way to watch you pass in the royal carriage."

You felt a lump in your throat as you looked over to Steve. It was your fault. "I see... And, hm, then what happened, Harry?"

"Father noticed the men at the end of the alley. Said he didn't like the look of them, so he told me to hide."

"How many men were there?" Steve asked as he walked up the steps and sat down behind you.

"Two..." Harry answered. He closed his eyes with a sniffle.

"What happened after you hid, Harry?" Steve asked.

"Father approached them, making polite conversation, talking about the wedding-" He sniffled.

"Then what, Harry?" You asked him.

Harry shrugged, "It was like... They spooked him..." He looked up at you. "He started moving back but they-" He shook his head as he began crying. "I ran to him when they left, and that's when he told me who they were."

"How did he know they were Hydra bandits, Harry?" Tony asked.

Harry looked over to the King. "Hydra bandits killed my mother when I was two. My father always said he'd never forget any of the monsters that took her from us."

Your heart broke for him. Hydra bandits had been terrorising even the poorest of souls for as long as you could remember. They took pleasure in other people's misery and pain.

Steve placed his hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze as he kissed the top of your head, trying to comfort you.

"We're sorry to hear that, Harry." You said to the young boy and wrapped your arms around him and consoled him as he cried. "It's okay, Harry." You whispered.

"What, happens now?..." Harry looked up at you with tears rolling down his face. "I have no one to look after me."

You gulped and looked over to your brother with a pleading look.

He cleared his throat and stood up from where he sat. "Sister, didn't you mention something about the blacksmith, wanting an apprentice?"

You began smiling at him. "I did..." You smiled down at the boy. "Do you like horses, Harry?"

He nodded. "Very much so." He sniffled and wiped his tears away.

"Then, how does working in the castle stables sound?" You asked him.

"You wouldn't have to worry about anywhere to sleep, there's plenty of rooms here. Nor worry about food or clothes." Tony stood in front of him.

"Or education." You added.

Tony's brows furrowed, "Since when?"

"Since Princess Morgana, started refusing to attend her lessons." You said to him. "She's more likely to attend them if she thinks she's going to be smarter than a boy." You smiled.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Girls smell." He huffed making you all chuckle.

"Is that a yes, young man? You'll earn yourself a decent wage if you work hard enough." Tony asked him as he knelt down before him.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

Tony held his hand out for him and smiled as the young boy took it. "You're very welcome, young man."

#King Steve Rogers #King!Steve Rogers x reader #King!Steve Rogers x Princess!reader #King!Steve Rogers x Princess!Stark!reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #Medieval au #A Princess. A Queen. A Wife. A Mother.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Thy liege, thy lord

Sequel to Thou Shalt Not Covet

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, coercion, voyeurism, abuse of power, double penetration, cheating, mentions of pregnancy. My tags are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your marriage is challenged by the wandering eye of the king. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, possible untagged pairings.

Note: So there will be a third part to this because I said to myself, why don’t me make this complicated? And i said back to myself, fuck it up.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Prince Charming loves mirrors. Take care. 💖

Peter's fingers work at loosening your laces. You stare at the bed as memories swirl in your mind, like ocean tides beneath the tempest, swallowing you into the depths. He pushes the sleeves down your shoulder as the clink metal draws you from your trance.

The king pours himself a glass and stretches his neck until it cracks before sipping. The second night is no less terrifying than the first. The king wears only his breeches as a large purple splotch marks his ribs, an unceremonious strike landed in the day's sparring.

He nears the bed as Peter peels away your gown and you shy away. You don't mean to but he still feels like a stranger. And how else should you see the man who can hide such depravity? 

Like your own husband. A man who never acted thus is suddenly your keeper. You are cattle in a pen to be bartered for a price. 

Tony offers his cup. You look him in the eye, bold of you, and he tilts it. You drink from the rim as he holds it, he doesn't stop until it's empty.

"You are nervous still, dove," he muses as he caresses your cheek, "you fear me?"

"No," you lie, "I… do not know, I'm sorry."

"Do not apologise to me," he goes back to the table and pours another cup, "come."

Peter steps back and gathers up your dress as you step out of it. You don't look at him. You haven't been able to since the day before. Your own husband makes you sick, worse, you make yourself sick.

"Behind me, dove," the king bids and you near him, standing at his back as he sits on the stool, "put your hands here."

He touches his shoulder. You obey as Peter approaches and takes the other stool, curiously as he rests an arm over the table.

"Do feel how the muscles are wrought," Tony says as he gulps and plunks the cup down, covering your hands with his, squeezing your fingertips against his flesh, "perhaps you can ease your king."

He lets go and you look down at his dark hair, threads of silver woven in, and you draw lines along his muscles with your thumbs. He groans and grips the edge of the table. Your heart thrums and you knead his shoulders firmly.

"Oh," he puts his head down, "so gentle…"

Peter's watching you. You sense his gaze but cannot meet it. You focus on the king, on his shoulders, his purring voice.

"How fortunate you should marry such a woman," Tony intones, "loving…"

"That she is," Peter affirms, "I love her dearly."

"And how generous you are to share your good fortune," the king rasps.

"I serve my king diligently," Peter returns, "as does my wife. That you might see plain our loyalty and devotion."

"Be certain, I do," the king reaches to still your hand and pulls it down to kiss your knuckles, "in this pit of vipers, one must have a keen eye for fangs and I am surrounded by venomous lords."

Tony curls two fingers to beckon Peter. Your husband stands as the king releases you and bends to hear his liege's whisper. You wonder what vipers he refers to but as you've learned, you have a poor sense for deception.

Peter grins as he straightens, guiding you by the hand to the bed. You try not to show your reticence or how your skin crawls. You never thought you could feel so about your own husband.

He turns you to face the bed, the king along your peripheral and you cry out as he shoves you. You fall forward and hit the bed, bent over the edge as you grasp the coverlet. Peter quickly tugs up your skirt before you can rise.

You whimper as he pushes the linen to your waist and bares your rear to the room. He descends upon you, jostling you on the feather mattress as he crushes you. He grabs your chin and cranes your head awkwardly, straining to kiss your cheek.

"My sweet," he coos, "do you know how I love you? How the king loves you?"

Tony hums his agreement, his arm bending as he draws another mouthful of wine from his goblet. Peter covers your lips with his and his tongue delves deeper as he squeezes your hip. Your roll your eyes back to keep your tears from falling.

His mouth parts from yours and he wiggles atop you. He plants a foot and lifts himself, picking at the front of his breeches. You close your eyes and hang your head as he tickles the curve of your bottom. He pushes his knees between yours and spreads your legs wide.

He guides his tip to your cunt and you fold your hands together, fingers bent in a pious gesture. He is your husband, you are serving your husband, just how God intended. You exclaim as he thrusts into you, flesh slapping harshly and loudly.

He jolts your body as he finds his rhythm, long but hard ruts. You groan and turn your face into the quilted blanket. Your hips ache as your thighs tense, feet arching high as you try not to scream. You hear the scrape of the chair, the clunk of the king’s cup, steady footfalls and the rustle of clothing.

The bed dips by your hands and the king pries them apart as he climbs up on his knees. He places your hands on his thighs, the coarse hair against your palms as you can’t help but latch on. Peter doesn’t let up as Tony snakes his hand down to your chin and lifts your head.

Your eyes glisten up at him as he strokes himself with his other hand. He’s naked, his chest covered in dark hair, stomach lined with muscle, not too defined as his age adds some flesh. He presses his tip to your lips and rubs it there, a dampness smearing in its path.

“Open, dove,” he squeezes your jaw as Peter clasps your shoulder and slows.

You do as he says, you are a good wife and a good subject. So how come it feels so wrong? 

He slides past your lips, just a little, a salty flavour seeps onto your tongue. He eases further inside as you stretch your mouth wide. You’ve never dreamed of such a thing, a man’s member prodding at your throat.

You lengthen your neck as he sips down and your body tenses. Peter speeds up, picking up his pace as his grunts mingle with the king’s long sighs. His hand travels up your back and he bends to kiss your crown. The king’s hand stretches around Peter’s on your shoulder as they rock your body between them.

You gurgle around the king’s cock and dig your nails into the blankets. Peter tilts frantically into you, the bed quaking at his loss of control. You know him well, he’s close, already. He holds you still as he snaps into you several times, exhaling as he spills inside.

He groans as he stops, wiggling his hips as Tony keeps your head bobbing. Peter’s breath washes over you as he pulls out and slides off the bed. His hands brush down your ass and thighs as he kneels on the floor. He pushes your cheeks apart as you feel his seed dripping.

You moan as his warm mouth meets your cunt. It’s an act he’s done before, one that always has you blushing, but never after he…

The king fucks your mouth as Peter laps up his cum and his fingers dive between your folds, flicking your bud wildly. Your thighs shake at the tendrils coiling down them, winding around your spine, your muscles taut and tight with tension. You choke as your walls clench and push out a gush, the mess dribbling around Peter’s tongue and down your pelvis.

“Mmm, isn’t he a generous husband, dove?” the king’s fingers stretch across your throat and feel his intrusion within, “does she taste sweet, my lord?”

Peter hums and it flows through you. Tony sinks to his limit as saliva wets your chin, your breaths harder and harder to push out. He twitches and the heat fills your throat and into your mouth, adding to the slickness. You gag as the king sits back, drawing out of you with a deluge of cum and spit.

You garble senselessly as he pets your head and chuckles, “Parker,” he drags his thumb across your sticky lips, “turn her over.”

👑

The third and final day of the tournament sees the lords dressed for a joust. Your place in the queen's box is still barred so you must watch from a bench among those commoners and wanderers from the villages and country roads. You don't mind so much as down there the cheers drown out the judgement.

You peek only once at Virginia and her ladies. You catch Lisbeth watching you in turn, guiltily looking away and whispering to Oriane. In your absence, it appears they've become great companions, though a week before, Lisbeth was gossiping her very name.

The cheer and extravagance of the event is lost on you. You're exiled from all but the king's favour. How can you find any joy in your dejection?

Peter rides out for his first match, against another baron, in his dented and dinged armour. You stand to see him, where is that jump in your chest? Why do you feel only dread watching your own husband?

You wring your handkerchief as you watch him take his lance and ready his shield. You've heard all the talk of the grievous injury of lords in the joust, of splintered wood and shorn flesh. But it is the knight's code to take part and show his skill.

You hold your breath as the start is signaled and the hooves hammer in the beaten dirt. You watch through your fingers at the clouds amidst the legs of the horses and the jostling of armour. The crash is deafening, followed by a long silence as the crowd tries to discern the ruin.

The sudden uproar of the crowd is rapacious as the baron, Corswol, is left hanging from his saddle by a single foot as Peter rides around with his bent lance. They love him as the stomp and holler. You exhale, gladdened to see him alive but afraid of what may come. This victory only promises another run at danger.

👑

The sky glows a deep amber with swatches of red along the horizon, the day wearing to evening with the shattering of bone and wood. The final match of the event sets to ride. Through fate's laughing eye, your husband must face the king in a duel of horse and lance.

They ride around the long post that divides the field and ready, grooms checking buckles and reins. You elbow through the crowd and descend closer to the pit. You stand on your toes as the air turns static with anticipation. 

The buzz of the queen’s box quiets. Virginia does not watch as her hand rests over her round stomach, she is instead, enthralled in the ring on her finger, playing with the garish bauble. She yawns and gestures for her maid.

She rises with the help of the young girl, likely not yet bled, and her ladies look at each other in confusion. You peer down at the field, the king’s attention straying for a moment to his wife but giving her show of indifference little more from himself. He rights his lance and nods to the groom by his horse.

"This is a court of ladies, noble and pious," the queen declares, her voice carrying across the lull and drawing those still rapt on the contest below, "those who wish to maintain their reputation will not remain for this farce my husband has arranged. He plays at games of chivalry though he is known to be a philanderer and corrupt. Follow me or cosign his sins."

She turns her chin up and descends from her box, sweeping behind the canopy. The crowd murmurs in confusion as the ladies pause in dismay. The queen has welcomed them to the precipice of treason. You are spared the conundrum as the invitation was not for you, rather at your expense.

Lisbeth is the first to follow, then to much surprise, Oriana, and Maybelle, Wanda and Natasha the queen's closest ladies and highest in the box, bow their heads and remain. Some stragglers take their leave but the ladies of true rank, duchesses and the like, defy their queen, no doubt putting to consideration their husbands and bloodline.

The horn blows and extinguishes the shock of the crowd. They are thrust back into the throes of sportsmanship. The peasants hardly care for the wiles of the court, the scandal hardly affects their plows and plots.

You don't look back as you stare still at the queen's box. Wanda glances over at you and tilts her head, a silent condemnation of the queen. Let her face her consequence with her baronesses and widows.

The crowd erupts and you finally succumb to the display of the knights. The riders urge their horses to a gallop and as the impact looms, the air crackles, but no violent collision comes. Peter keeps his lance skyward and departs from the path trampled from the day's gaming.

He rides out to face the crowd as the king slows his horse and watches. It is devised  you know it, a knight of Peter's stature cannot risk besting the king, or worse, wounding him. Peter flips up the mask of his helmet.

"I must resign my lance to the king's glory," Peter shouts to the crowd, "for he has shown him the most esteemed and skillful of gentlemen this day and I cannot think to compare. Long live the King!"

The crowd responds with ribaldry, praising the king and Peter's gallantry with hollers and hoots. It is not unexpected to defer to the crown. The audience can't be disappointed as a feast is promised on tents on castle grounds, all as the nobility sups within. It is more likely, they are impatient to be in their cups.

👑

The queen's chair is left empty at the feast, along with those ladies who bolstered her departure. Her absence is felt by all though the king hardly appears affected. He even goes so far as to send his regrets that she is befallen with her condition and cannot attend. The lie is accepted with smiles and toasts but the whispers foster the truth.

You sit with Peter as you always do. Still, you cannot regain any sense of normalcy. You feel as many stolen glances in your direction as the king's for your own vacancy was noted in the queen's box. The reproof bites at you like a winter gale, even as the hall blisters with the heat of bodies.

"My sweet," Peter takes your hand, "are you well?"

He kisses your knuckles as you force away the melancholy hanging over you. You squeeze his fingers as he lowers your hands between you.

"Very well," you are making a habit of untruth, "I was only… thinking of the queen. Hoping she and her child are well."

"The queen," Peter echoes and his cheek twitches, "I am certain she is. It was a hot day, that wears on even those not in a condition."

"Surely," you agree, the tables are scattered with guests as many take to the floor, the piping and drumming striking up, "the king hardly seems to worry."

"He should not, he is blessed by the Lord," Peter assures, "as his children would be as well." He runs his thumb along the back of your hand, "come, let's dance."

"Oh, but I don't know if I can–"

"You worry too much for hearsay," Peter chides as he stands and draws you up with him, "besides, a celebration is in order."

"For the king's victory?" You wonder.

"No, for mine," Peter grins, "tomorrow, the king will announce my new title and ordain it before the council, yours as well."

"Oh…" you let him lead you along the trestle and down amid the tamping of soles and sway of figures.

"Are you not gladdened? I should think you appeased, your father too. How he doubted my veracity though we wore the same mantle," he broods as he bends his arm and waits for you to meet him for the jaunt. You do quietly, "now I will proudly declare you an earl's wife as happily as I made you my wife in earnest."

"I am happy," you say, eyes flitting around. You can't help but be aware of all those around you.

The king watches from his table. The sight of his dark eyes over the goblet brim remind you of the night before, the way he remains constant, intent like a lion on the deer.

You turn with Peter and brush against another. Wanda's blue eyes meet yours and you wince, not for malice but the lack of. The derision you expect is painted over with a thoughtful smile and a muttered apology. You continue your steps and your mind its descent.

Not all gazes are so kind. You meet the eye of one Duke Barnes, a man you've never spoken too, though his wife has proven an aloof character. You've never gotten more than a word from her and a cool stare.

You quickly avert your eyes, Lady Margaret flicks her lashes down and smiles at her husband, Lord Rogers, who is not so shy. He smiles at you and you return your attention to your husband and the dance. 

Everywhere else there is a pair of curious eyes, judging, measuring your morals in the weight of the men who've tainted them.

The drumming slows and your feet follow the rhythm. Peter's cheeks are flush with the warmth of the hall and the effort, you feel the same heat tenfold as shame chases your skirts.

"My lord," the king has you whipping around, feet tangling as Peter steadies you, "since I find myself short a partner, might I borrow yours?"

"Your majesty," Peter lifts your hand and placed it in the kings. Not a care for you or your whims, just these men moving the pieces from square to square.

Tony twirls you away from your husband. You don't miss the sudden buzz of chatter, quickly fading to a whisper drowned beneath the music. The king's ringed fingers press into yours as you demure.

"The season will end soon," he says, "perhaps I should send you some more silks to update your wardrobe."

"Your majesty is too kind," you reply, noticing how the dancers around you slow, not for the tempo but for their intrigue.

"When we return to the capital, a better hearth for you and your husband," he carries on, he is graceful and confident.

"Our accommodation is not inadequate," you insist.

"Modest, humble," he praises, "how I do wish I could be as carefree as you, lady, that I could detach myself from material means and my physical comforts."

"You flatter me, I am neither, I am mortal as we all are and prone to our imperfection," you recite the remonstrance of a priest.

He is quiet for a moment, moving around you lithely.

"Have I wronged you? Offended you?" He asks.

How can you tell a king his sins? That is the maker's duty, not your own. You cannot tell the truth and so he does not know how truly impious you are.

"I tire from the sun and sport," you say, "apologies for my ennui, your majesty."

"Ah, so a bed is in order," he smirks crookedly, "shall I carry you there? Lay you down and tend to you diligently…"

You lower your eyes, his words are unchaste. He snickers.

"I think the court is sated with scandal," he scoffs, "I shall not be so bold as that… I can bide my wants until they can be fulfilled, but cannot help but dream of that delight." He twirls you as the music picks up, "and recall how your body feels flush to mine, bare to me, beholden to me."

"Your majesty," you exhale in a wisp.

"And how you do continue to wilt like a flower, the eternal innocent," he goads, "the dutiful wife."

His remarks remind you of your deviance and you look up to find Peter entranced by your jig with the king. He smiles with content as he holds a stein of the free flowing ale, his overt longing mirrors that of your partner. 

Can it be wrong to serve your husband or your king when both affirm it cannot be? Is not the king the voice of the Lord, as Peter has it. Is not your body avowed to all at once?

👑

The king pulls you to your knees, hands crawling from your hips up the thin linen of your shift. The movement sends a shiver through you as he cups your chest and purrs into your neck. Your cunt is swollen from his previous foray, buried to his knuckles until the swell scattered to rippling waves.

He nips at your shoulder as his fingers curl around the fabric and draw it up inch by inch, bunching it in his fists as he growls.

"Lord Parker," he calls to your husband, watching from the foot of the bed, a hand on the post, "will you not join us?"

"Mm, but I cannot think what to do first," Peter grins.

"Then you will watch," Tony declares, "I forbid anything else for your equivocation."

"Your majesty," Peter blinks, "surely, you don't mean–"

"We are enjoying ourselves well enough, aren't we, dove?" Tony taunts, "or do you challenge your sire when he has been so benevolent?"

Peter's brow twitches but he merely bows his head as he stays as he is, gripping the post as his other hand lingers along the top of his breeches. A breath shudders from him and you see his arousal stir beneath the wool.

The king searches with one hand, tilting your forward as he tickles the curve of your ass with his tip. He presses into you slowly, a long sigh slipping out until he has you impaled completely. He bucks playfully so you cry out and he chuckles.

His hands trail up your back and he wraps his fingers around the straps of your shift. He jerks you back as he snaps his hips against you. You exclaim and curl your fingers into his thighs. The angle adds to the pressure and pangs through your bones.

He ruts again, again, harder each time as he forces your body against his. You pants as your walls clench around him and bare your teeth, grunting with each slap of flesh. He's so rough it scares you, all affection replaced by carnal hunger.

"What do you think, Lord Parker? Is she a good wife? Hm, is she?"

Peter nods, entranced by the sight of you, his hand across the bulge in his breeches.

"An obedient wife, I'm sure," Tony snarls, "won't you tell her to cum? She will, won't she?"

He pulls you back, flush to him, hips rocking as he spreads a hand across your throat, the other wandering down your stomach and nestling between your thighs. He presses two fingers to your bud, rolling around the cluster of nerves as his hot breath dampens your cheek.

"Cum," Peter rasps and his throat bobs as he musters his voice, "cum, my sweet."

You close your eyes and whine at the swirling of your wits at the king's fingertips, the striking of cords deep inside, like a lute he plays you melodically. You moan at the sudden burst of fire across your pelvis and you spasm in unrestrained pleasure.

"Isn't that a beautiful vision? Blessed like the Madonna," the king utters, "hm, it would be a sin not to share such a creature."

He pulls his hand around the back of your neck and pushes you down sharply. Your face hits the mattress and it smothers your cry. Tony holds you down as he speeds up, carried away in his lust as his groans storm around you.

"As a king is so generous… to share… his seed," he puffs and shakes your body with his frantic fucking.

He rams into you several times with strangled moans and his thrusts slicken loudly as he spills into you. He drapes himself over you, urging you flat as he keeps his hips rolling, stuttered and slow. He hums and stills at last, trapping you against the blankets.

"The most dutiful wife," Tony pets your hair as you turn your head to suck in a breath, "how you must prove it so, Parker."

The king slips out of you and waves your husband closer. He stands and puts his hand on Peter's shoulder, kissing his cheek and whispering. Your eyes roll back as you resign yourself to another night of their indulgence. After all, was not woman made in service of man?

👑

Peter’s sworn his new vow of fealty as earl. His hold is now twofold, his native castle in Queen’s Heath and his new keep in Ebsil. Your own attachment sees you rising on his arm though you hardly feel jubilant at the promotion. The only change is the whispers, the intrusive gazes, the stain of disrepute.

The lords and ladies gather in trios and pairs, gabbing as the king circulates in his niceties. The formality of the ceremony dissipates as the din permeates the cool stone hall. Peter remains close as you long for it to end. Even without the queen, guilt tingles at your nape.

A shadow approaches along your peripheral. Peter turns to greet Lord Barnes as you lift your chin.

“My lord,” Peter announces.

“My lord,” Barnes echoes, “and lady. Congratulations are in order. It is not often a young baron makes such an impression.”

“Thank you,” Peter’s jaw squares, you can tell there is tension there. You’ve heard him speak of Barnes, who prefers Bucky, and it is rarely done fondly, “it is certainly easier to etch a name in stone when born with silver on the tongue.”

“Ah,” Barnes claps Peter’s shoulder and chuckles, “you do hide your wife away from us. We are all rather curious, you see, for we know the knight who nearly bested the king, but not the woman… bound to him.”

The pause is telling. He would say more but the court is no place for honesty. Cordiality masks truth for the sake of propriety.

“I have met your wife, my lord,” you eke out,.

“She is hard to miss,” he bows his head, “and much unlike yourself, not so soft spoken, nor tractable, as any wife should be.”

“Sir,” Peter says staunchly, “we are grateful for your tidings, I expect however, your wife may seek your return.”

“Ah, but my lord, my wife is my own concern, that I make sure of,” he smirks, “but I shall relent and leave you in peace.” He pauses and turns his brilliant blue eyes in your direction, “my lady.”

Peter touches your sleeve and watches him go. He clears his throat and turns to you.

“Ignore him, he is a man of empty words,” he rolls his eyes, “of jealousy, though the king never liked him. Not as his father was favoured.”

There is some activity at the other end of the hall. You mimic several others and glance over, finding the king nodding as a servant speaks quietly. He dismisses the man with a motion and turns back to his companion, Lord Visfort. They continue their conversation a moment before the king parts.

“Pardon, my lords and ladies,” the king’s voice booms over those others murmuring around him, he presents a hand decorated in silver and gold as he signals for silence, “there is a most pressing matter, the timing is both unexpected but convenient as I have you all hear to share in the joy.” 

There is a subtle movement among the crowd, shared looks, tiny fidgets, anxious shifts.

“The queen has gone for her lying in, she will take her seclusion and we can expect our prince to join us soon,” Tony smiles.

Like a stone, your stomach sinks. Not at the birth of a prince, but at the fact that Virginia will labour in such exile. As self-imposed as it is, it is still very much your fault. She would not have recused herself in anger had you not stoked it.

You grasp Peter’s wrist. He smiles over at you. You can hardly see it through your tears.

“I must leave,” you quaver, “now.”

“My sweet?”

“Now,” you insist, “please.”

He hushes you and rubs your arm, “sweet, don’t cry, please,” he coos as he steps to hide you with his body and diverts you to the door.

“Oh, Peter,” you hang your head as you let him guide you, “I thought you loved me…”

He’s silent as he takes you from the hall and into the corridor. You feel him stiffen beneath his brocade and hear the deep breath escape his nostrils. He is irritated. With you. He’s never been irritated with you. Well, he’s done many things these past days he never has before.

👑

You take to bed and cannot find the strength to leave it. Peter offers wine, some food, and even suggests a stroll through the gardens. You refuse it all in what mumbles you can muster. You don’t know what’s wrong. You just feel… worn. Empty.

There are fits of crying when you think of the days past. Of your husband and another stolen from the queen. How can you go on knowing you’ve caused such pain? You couldn’t even imagine what despair would drown you should Peter betray you thus, but to be the amour, the mistress, the other woman…

And Peter. What does he think of you? He calls you wife and treats you as courtesan. Even the internal remonstrance feels so much and you nearly apologise for the unsaid slight. He is your husband, he knows best. You swore before the lord that he did.

He paces, leaves, returns to lay beside you and sleep. You stay awake, listening to the birds, the bats, and the wind. When he rises, he tries to rouse you. Still, you are weak, as ever you have been. For what have you done but pleasured in another’s misery, stolen the place belonging to another.

Again, he goes. He’s away longer that time but when he returns, he is not alone.

The king strides around the bed before he sits. He shakes his head and tuts.

“Dove,” he says, “why do you stay abed?”

You look at him. Your eyes wet and you wipe them. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know why it’s all happening. You’re only humiliated he must see it.

“Apologies, your majesty,” you push yourself up, trembling with the effort, “you needn’t have come–”

“We did not ask for apologies, we asked what keeps you abed? What has provoked this melancholy?”

You sniffle. “Womanly… sorrows,” you lie, “you know how my sex can be and I am wrong for succumbing to it.”

He considers you, “is that what makes you unhappy? Or is it…” he looks to Peter, “someone–”

“N-no,” you stammer, “I love Peter. It is not– could never be him,” you protest, “he is my husband–”

“And me?” Tony intones as he lifts a brow.

“You, your majesty?” you frown, “what do you mean?”

He swallows and looks at you straight, “do you love me?”

The question strikes you like a fist. You don’t hesitate because you cannot. You speak before you think, “of course, I do, your majesty, I love you deeply,” you seize his hand and kiss his ring, “never could I hate you. Ever.”

“You do?” he prompts.

“I do,” you promise, “I love you both but–” you lower your chin, “I was only worried for your wife. The queen. I am ever a loyal subject and suppose I became swept up in my devotion to the kingdom, to your future son–”

The king sighs and gently slips his hand away. He cradles your head and kisses your temple before he stands.

“I see,” he smiles, “dove, I have discovered your mortal sin; jealousy. Let me affirm to you that my wife is bound to me in law but not in spirit. I am wholly at the mercy of you and our Lord Parker.”

You nod. Let him believe it envy, let him excuse your self-pity. He nears Peter and squeezes his shoulder.

“I must away, however,” the king says, “my wife continues in her condition and I must be ready to greet my son. As much as I may long to climb into that very bed with you, dove,” he purrs as he pokes his tongue between his lips, “I swear to make it up to you.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” you dip your head.

“But I do command you, as I never have, as I have been ever forgiving, that you rise and rejoice with your husband on this blessed day. Hearten yourself with the prospect that you may carry a child in this moment yourself. That your husband’s son may stir in your womb already. I have prayed for it, my lady, so do not blaspheme and welcome bad humours which may sour the soil.”

You smile, a brittle smile, and push yourself to the edge of the bed, “as you wish, your majesty, how foolish I am.”

“And Lord Parker,” Tony turns back to your husband, “keep your wife well and merry in my absence.”

“Ever do I strive for it,” Peter avows, “your majesty.”

👑

A week passes and the queen's condition remains the same. Some report that she was stricken by false symptoms of labour, though many women recuse themselves early to prepare. The court exists in a limbo, waiting for their promised prince while musing in the lazy last days of summer.

The king appears, himself waiting, unable to see his wife as prescribed by physicians. Only when the baby is born may her isolation be broken. He hardly seems perturbed by the delay, as ever buoyant.

That day, he announces a picnic lest summer leave before his son's arrival. You cannot complain for it. The castle chambers are stuffy and house the whispers of lords and ladies. You feel it a prison as you're bound by pretension.

Servants carry baskets ahead of the lords and ladies, hems stirring grass blades, boots crunching twigs and kicking pebbles. The smell of dew lingers in the air as you walk beside your husband, another Lord on his other side, the Lord Wilson who is known to many as the Earl of Jest. The king even quipped he need not hire entertainment for the wit of the earl.

He is kind enough. He does not seem to harbour the antipathy of the court, flippantly defying any underlined remark with a jape. He and Peter speak of bows and bolts, both partial to archery over sparring.

As you follow the train of nobles, you are approached by another, footsteps rustling the grass as the near and a sleeve against your own. 

You peek over and nearly let your mouth hang open at the sight of Lady Natasha. Her dark red hood lends a rosy undertone to her cheeks as her discerning eyes crack the veneer of a gentlewoman. She thinks much but says little, only what is needed.

"My lady, I regret I was unable to extend my congratulations alongside my husband," her sultry voice cocoons you, "I suppose we've been much preoccupied with the queen and royal heir."

"It is no issue," you assure her, fingers twiddling until her eyes find them and you still, "I have been praying for the queen."

"Have you?" She asks. Is she accusing you? Her tone betrays little.

"Surely, I do–"

"Forgive me if I seem forward, you strike me as the pious type, the effortlessly compassionate," she says, "so meek. It is only you may be the only who would pray on our queen's behalf."

"What do you mean?" You blink dully, "who would not–"

"Those of us with any sliver of wisdom," she smirks, "after her showing at the joust, those who stand with her will share in her culpability."

"Culpability?" You repeat and furrow your brow.

"Even the queen cannot so outwardly declare her treasonous thoughts," Natasha slips her arm through yours and pulls you close as she lowers her voice further. Her steps match your own as you proceed into the clearing, "she does awaken dangerous sentiment and if she cannot deliver the promised son…"

"Is not what you say treason, lady?" You whisper.

"I only speak if the queen's actions," she shrugs, "pretty little pet, my intentions were made clear when I did not follow her insolence."

You purse your lips as your mind reels. You continue on in tandem with her as swaths of cotton and pillows are laid out for sitting.

"Why do you tell me this?" You ask at last.

"Because, pet," she twines her arm tighter with yours, "I have never met a creature on this court who does not twitter as a bird. Not until you. I daresay, I may agree with the king's own yen, at least I might decipher it." Her full lips part and she laughs softly, "won't you sit with us? The Duchess Maximoff and I? We hardly have company but for each other."

"If you should wish it," you acquiesce as Peter tarries with Wilson and they guffaw heartily.

"The lords will be planning their next hunt, such mannish discourse bores me," she leads you onward, "let us ladies speak of finer things."

You glance around at the other bodies dispersing into groupings, sitting on cushions and sheets alike. 

The king lowers himself on a velvet pillows and tweaks a brow in your direction. You give an apologetic smile though he seems unbothered. He nods and returns the gesture before he greets Lord Rhodes.

Lady Natasha's own husband is with his usual companion, Lord Rogers, as they point to the tall firs around the clearing, lost on some tawdry conversation. It seems to you an ordinary day, nothing significant, near as bland as any before that day the king dropped a ring in your lap.

Gossip is as mortal as those who speak it. You can only hope your scandal is as forgotten as the last.

👑

You pick at the food, some grapes imported from the south and soft cheese from the north. You haven't much appetite as you're overwhelmed by your new company. 

The duchesses, Wanda and Natasha, have only ever been vaunted figures to you; prestigious and untouchable. The former is kind and makes you feel less displaced, speaking of her husband and the wheat mill they levee near that very castle. Natasha remains her usual haughty self, only short remarks between cold silence.

Peter is not far from you, he sits with Wilson and Visfort, the three of them greedily picking apart a haunch of ham and gabbing gleefully. The king remains in quiet repose with Lord Rhodes as his attendant, Hogan, fans him with a span of feathers.

"You look overheated, lady," Natasha says suddenly, "would you join me for a reprieve to the pond? The water is cooling and peaceful."

"Oh, um," you glance at the trees, drawn back by the odd flutter of her fingers, "a pond?"

"I go there sometimes in the evenings, the castle grows mundane and I like to watch the frogs," she says as she stands and shakes out her skirts, "it is my little hideaway, even from my own husband."

"I…" you hesitate and look at Peter. He's twirling a knife as Wilson tries to mess up his trick. "Thank you, lady, I will go with you."

You rise as Wanda sighs and shades her eyes, "I fear I wore my heaviest skirts, I will recline instead, perhaps call to my husband to bring more wine."

"Are you certain, Wanda?" Natasha asks though her tone holds no hope, it is a shallow courtesy.

"This sun," Wanda pats her reddened cheeks, "I could doze in this very spot."

"We won't be long," Natasha assures and swoops her arm through yours as Wanda closes her eyes and slumps against a pillow.

"Only promise you will not fall in, ladies," Wanda giggles.

Natasha turns you away and weaves between the sitting bodies around you. The smell of seasoned meat and stinky cheeses waft with that of leaves and soil. You delve past the tree line, letting her guide you as you haven’t much skill for navigation.

"You know the grounds well? Have you been here very much?"

"I would come here as a child, when the king was still a prince," she says as she runs her fingertips along bark, "he hasn't changed much. Not but for the grey in his hair."

"Were you friends?" You wonder as you step over a root, the voices of the noble party fading behind chirps and chitters.

"I called him a friend but I cannot say he felt the same of me," she answers, "it is the way of acquaintance, not all are enduring, many fleeting."

You consider her words. It may be the distance grew from her marriage to Barnes, a man known to be despised by the king. Though many would not say it aloud, it is believed the Duke had a hand in the old king's demise.

"Don't you ever get lost out here?" You ask as you're disoriented from the thickening brush and the outreaching branches above, "I can hardly see the sun."

"I never get lost, sadly," she says, "though sometimes I may wish I would."

You hear the trickle before you come upon the pond. You're even more dampened with sweat, hairline dripping as hot air is caught beneath your skirts. A large stone stands on the other side of the egg shaped pool and the overgrowth of vines and blossoms frames the far edges.

Natasha sighs, "this place is sacred to me, I think even it is blessed by the eye of God."

"It is beautiful," you breathe. You've come far though the scene feels untouched by time, "I think I might cool my face with some water, I feel a bit… faint."

"As you will," she lets you go, "it is fit for drinking even."

She strolls along the grassy boundary before the pond and you near, peering at your reflection in the crystalline surface as you kneel. You cradle water in cupped hands and close your eyes as a bird whistles. It sounds close as you rinse your face with the cool water, refreshing, almost sanctifying.

You shake off your fingers and wipe your eyes, batting away the droplets in your lashes. You smile at your face rippling in the water and a figure appears over your shoulder. Before you can turn around, you're ripped off your knees and flung into the dirt.

You croak as your back hits the ground and knocks the air from your lungs. It takes a moment to suck in a breath as your vision clears. Lord Barnes crosses his arms as he snickers at you. You try to sit up and a boot pushes you back down as another approaches. You quiver as you gape up at Lord Rogers and squirm. 

"Most convincing, Nat," Barnes says, "such a simple creature," he snarls as he comes closer, "the king is never one for a true challenge, is he?"

"What?" You kick your legs as you grasp Rogers' boot, "what are you doing?"

"Did you truly think your favour absolves you? The king is not God though he may presume the same power," Barnes scoffs.

"I… I didn't …" you gasp, "please, I never meant to hurt the queen. I don't want any of it."

"Fuck the queen," Rogers laughs, "you think we prefer either of those coxcombs?"

"Why–"

"What folly is the king playing? What a mockery he makes upon the expense of our coffers. And for what, some pathetic mouse like you? A baron's whore."

"Please, leave me be," you beg as Rogers puts more weight on you, your voice fizzling out.

"You see, we cannot strike against the king, he plays his games and no unity can be found to remind him of his parliamentary duties. No, the lords sell their souls for titles and gold, gold they don't even realise belongs to them already," Barnes hisses, "and your husband, we surely could not strike out at him so openly but you… what will you tell them, eh? That you are the whore they know you to be?"

"My…lady," you force out as you look at Natasha.

"You keep your lips sealed as you ever do, baroness," she snaps out your former title, "you should not play games you know not how to win."

She spins away, skirts swirling behind her and hums as she treads along the water's edge. She sits on the flat stone and takes a hand full of pebbles, skipping them carelessly as she watches them plunk.

The foot slides off your bodice but in an instant, is under you, flipping you onto your stomach gracelessly. You reach out, clawing at the dirt as you get your knees beneath you. Barnes grips your legs through your skirts and pulls you back down.

You exclaim as he climbs over you, straddling you flat to the dirt as you writhe. Lord Rogers stands before you and puts his sole to your veil, pushing your head to the ground. You whine as your nails drag down the leather, helpless to free yourself from either men.

Your skirts are torn up from beneath the Duke and tossed over your back. He wiggles atop you as his knuckles brush your bottom as he picks the laces of his breeches, lashing you with the tips.

He shifts and stretches a hand across the small of your back, spreading his legs as he pushes his other between your thighs. He slides his cock to your cunt as you whimper and plead, tears leaking out into the dirt. He jolts into you and sends a stab up your spine.

He pushes your legs together as he tilts and growls. He slams his pelvis against your ass as he leans his weight on the hand across your back. You cling to Rogers' boot as the pressure feels ripe to snap your bones.

"She's still tight," Barnes chuckles as he fucks you, "dry as flour, though."

"Pl-pl-...Sto-o-op," you sob weakly.

"Listen to her," Rogers chuckles, "I think she said 'don't stop'."

You babble as the duke continues his invasion, rutting into you unlovingly, his pace picking up with each buck. You squeeze your eyes shut and still, hand slipping down the heel of Rogers' boot and onto the ground. You lay, prone, and surrender to their strength. 

Barnes grunts and jams into you as deep as he can, gripping your hips as he lifts you slightly and spasms. He empties himself in you with long strokes and pulls out sharply, his cum dripping down from your cunt.

Rogers slides his boot off your hood, his foot startling you as it lands in front of your face. You dig your fingers into the dirt shakily.

You're lifted with an arm around your waist and spun around roughly. Barnes releases you and catches your chin. His grasp is crushing as he forces you to face him and Rogers grabs your skirts before they fall too far.

He twists them in his hand as Barnes shakes you, "look at me, whore."

You sniffle and squeeze your eyes tighter shut. Rogers kicks your feet apart as he pulls at his breeches. His jacket tickles the top of your ass as he lines up with your cunt. He enters you slowly, until you're on your tiptoes as Barnes grips you tighter.

"Look at me," the duke orders.

Your roll your eyes open as your tears stream out ceaselessly. Rogers buries himself completely and you unthinkingly clutch the front of Barnes' coat. The clapping of flesh reverberates in the air and your eyes drift to Nat as she leans back on her hands, watching you from her perch. There is no emotion in her eyes, no pity, not even delight.

"Don't look at her," Barnes snarls, "just me." He pushes his forehead against yours, "wouldn't it be remarkable if the bastard was ours? Hm? Let the king think the welp his own. Let you suffer never knowing."

"Why?" You rasp as your hand falls from his chest.

"You asking me, or yourself," he sneers.

You quiver as Rogers grabs your shoulder, quickening to furious thrusts. Your eyes well and the blue ones before you blur. It will end. Soon.

But what will you do then? What will they do?

#peter parker #tony stark #dark!peter parker #dark peter parker #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #peter parker x reader #tony stark x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #vision #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #medieval au #au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #trilogy #miniseries #series #mcu #marvel #avengers #iron man #spider-man

[kittenofdoomage]

Autumn Falls: Saturday

Summary: Y/N’s had a run of bad luck that’s left her miserable, so her sister and best friend surprise her with a trip to Autumn Falls, the exclusive Californian resort where your every dream comes true. Seven days of relaxation and luxury await her, but will her vacation lift her spirits or leave her longing?

Pairings (reader is female): Negan x reader, Bucky Barnes x reader, Thor Odinson x reader, Sam Winchester x reader, Negan x reader x Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester x reader, Geralt of Rivia x reader, Steve Rogers x reader

Word Count: 37041

Warnings (expect any combination): slight angst and commiseration, non-disclosure agreements, flirting, conversations about relationships, oral sex, vaginal sex, public nudity and skinny dipping, size kink, sex in a hot tub, suspension (sort of), intense sex, breeding kink, yoga, my obsession with Sam’s hands, massages, dirty talk, slight praise kink, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, and squirting, threesome, double penetration (vaginal/anal), handjobs, shower smut, sex in a kitchen, horse riding, wild nature sex, over-stimulation, excessive orgasms,  comfort, companionship, aromatherapy and hot stone massages, anal sex, light BDSM, restraints, spanking/paddling, anal play, double penetration with toys, gagging, cuddling, post-vacation blues

MASTERPOST

She had put two and two together by the time Negan left her at the stables, having forgotten them the night before due to how exhausted she felt. Ten hours of sleep had done the trick, and waking up to breakfast in bed delivered by her personal concierge was a welcome bonus. Now, she waited just inside the fence, having been assured by Negan that her companion for the day would be along any minute.

The man that appeared was not what she expected at all. Her mind had conjured an image of some rugged cowboy type but Geralt did not look like a cowboy at all, save for the leather. He looked more like he’d stepped straight out of a medieval fantasy, the long white hair strikingly bright against his dark clothing, and when he approached her, leading a young chestnut mare beside him, she noticed his eyes were a bewildering shade of gold.

“Y/N,” he greeted. “I am Geralt.” He patted the mare’s nose, and the horse snorted, rubbing her head against him. “This is Sunshine. She’ll be yours for the day.” Y/N forced a squeaked “hi”, taking the reins as he handed them to her. “Do you have much experience riding?”

“Uh, yeah, when I was a kid,” she muttered, moving closer to Sunshine with careful steps, letting the horse see what she was doing. “Might need a refresher.”

“Sunshine is a very patient and good-natured horse,” he informed her. “But we’ll take it slow. Do you need a hand up?”

She glanced at the stirrups and saddle, assessing the distance. “I think I can manage it.”

Geralt nodded, a faint hint of a smile on his lips, gesturing for her to try. Her heart pounded, and she grabbed the saddle with both hands, lifting one foot as high as she could to grab the stirrup. Sunshine whinnied but remained perfectly still, displaying the aforementioned patience as Y/N hoisted herself up.

Halfway, she caught her foot, and panic set in; a pair of large hands grabbed her from behind, giving her the leverage to free her foot and swing her leg over, landing a little heavily in the middle of the saddle. The mare tapped her hoof against the concrete floor, lowering her head slightly.

“Not too bad,” Geralt chuckled, rubbing his hand along Sunshine’s neck. “Just hold steady here, and I’ll be back in a moment.”

There wasn’t much choice in the matter but Y/N nodded anyway, smiling tightly as she gathered the reins, smoothing one hand down the mare’s shoulder, attempting to get to know her steed. The last horse she’d ridden was back in middle school, and that horse hadn’t been too friendly - she also hadn’t stayed on very long after he’d bucked, and her mom had decided that was enough horse riding for her.

Another set of hooves clacked across the yard, and she looked up, spotting Geralt emerging from a stall with two packs in his hand and a brown mare’s reins in the other. When he reached her, he handed her one of the bags, and she hefted it up, slipping it onto her shoulders one at a time.

“What’s your horse’s name?” she asked curiously.

“Roach,” he grunted back, walking around the larger mare to hoist himself up. Roach didn’t make a sound, chewing at the bit as he settled himself astride her. “Feeling okay to head out? We’ll keep it to a walk until you’re more comfortable.”

Y/N nodded, waiting for him to take the lead. He clicked his tongue as he gently nudged the mare’s side with his heels, and she stepped off, taking neat and measured steps towards the opened gate.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t look back as he answered. “There’s a good spot a few miles North where we can stop for lunch.”

That explained what was in the bags at least. 

It was very quickly obvious that Geralt was not as talkative as any of the other people she had met that week, which meant she had to make the effort to fill the silence, though her attention was captivated by the scenery around them. The trail he took her down was picturesque, surrounded on all sides by trees, and about a mile along, the path met a narrow river and followed it.

“Does this river go through the whole forest?”

Geralt glanced back. “There’s a few offshoots from the main river,” he pointed to the right, away from the river they were beside, “which is about five miles that way. It’s not deep here, so we can cross easily on horseback.”

She nodded, looking up at the trees as Sunshine kept plodding along, easily managing the smooth path. For a second, she wished she had a camera, knowing that she wouldn’t remember all of this natural beauty exactly as she wanted to, and she sighed, dropping her chin again.

“Everything okay?” Geralt asked.

“Yeah, just… it’s so beautiful here. And quiet. It’s nice not to be surrounded by people all the time.”

He chuckled. “Yes, it is.”

The path lowered alongside the river, until she suspected they were in the dip of the valley, though she couldn’t see over the trees. Geralt suddenly turned, guiding Roach towards the water and she realized they were going to cross. He paused at the edge, looking back at her, and she pulled Sunshine up beside him, worrying her lip with her teeth.

“Just keep beside me. The water isn’t rough, the horses will be fine.”

She nodded, hesitating for a second when he started to move forward, though Sunshine seemed to know where they were going and followed without her encouragement. The water rushed around the horses’ legs, and halfway across, Roach stopped for a drink before Geralt urged her on.

Once they were on the other side, the path was wider, allowing for them to ride side-by-side, and Y/N tried not to stare at her strange companion. She wanted to ask why he wasn’t wearing a helmet like she was, why his eyes were golden, why his hair was such a strange color, maybe even why he wasn’t as chatty as his predecessors were. But she kept her mouth shut, relaxing a little in the saddle under Sunshine’s calm and expert walk, enjoying the quiet of the forest around her.

She had no idea where they were by the time the trees started to thin out, opening up into a wild meadow with a carpet of flowers and grass. Geralt pulled ahead, looking back at her as the path disappeared entirely.

“We’re here,” he said, slowing Roach to a stop.

Sunshine halted too, though Y/N wasn’t sure she’d given the mare any instruction - it appeared as though she didn’t need it. She waited as Geralt dismounted, dropping his pack to the floor and hooking his horse’s rein over the saddle. He approached carefully, reaching out to stroke Sunshine’s nose and the horse snorted softly.

Dismounting was easier than mounting, especially with help. Y/N hit the ground with a low grunt, brushing herself down as she smiled up at the strange white-haired man. His lips pulled back in a tight grin, but he looked away to arrange Sunshine’s reins the same as Roach’s.

“Won’t they run away?” Y/N wondered aloud.

He laughed. “No need to worry,” he assured her, turning away. The horses didn’t seem to care about their newfound freedom, wandering off a few meters to find the freshest grass on the field. Y/N remained where she was, watching as Geralt got down on one knee to unpack his bag. Out came a blanket, some bottles of water, and half-a-dozen containers of food. Slowly, she moved closer, shrugging her own bag off. “I think Megan gave you the rest of the food.”

She paused, holding her bag in her hands as he set about spreading the blanket, and when he was done, he moved back for her to sit down. Lowering herself to the ground, she tugged her bag in front of her, opening it up to find fruit and sandwiches in labeled packages. “I wasn’t expecting a picnic,” she joked, pulling everything out.

“There isn’t much else to do this far out,” he replied, tearing the lid off of a bottle of water. “We’re near the furthest edge of the ranch property, and it’s either a long walk or a comfortable ride. Besides,” he took a swig of the cool liquid, fixing her with a strange smile, “it’s quiet.”

“You’re not like the other guys I met this week,” she murmured, shifting so she was cross-legged opposite him. “They were… chatty.”

“Sometimes you have to learn to be comfortable with the sound of nothing. To be comfortable with just yourself.”

“It’s not just me here though,” she whispered.

“No,” he replied gruffly, though he sounded amused, “it’s not.”

Some birds chirped loudly as they flew overhead and Y/N smiled, leaning her elbows on her knees as she inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet crisp air. The chin strap of her helmet began to itch, so she quickly took it off, shaking her hair out. “Did I really need this?” she chuckled.

“Insurance purposes,” Geralt grunted.

“Okay, that makes sense,” she conceded, laying the helmet on the blanket. “Why don’t you wear one?”

He grinned, reaching for the punnet of grapes he’d pulled from his pack. “Hard head.” Plucking one grape from the bunch, he casually tilted his head back, tossing the grape up and catching it in his mouth.

She watched him for a few moments, trying to figure him out. So far, she felt like each “companion” had provided a lesson, or an introspective thought - seizing the day, returning to activities she’d previously enjoyed, learning to relax and roll with it, as Negan kept telling her, to practice the self-care she’d avoided for so long. Overall, it seemed like this place was supposed to be somewhere she rediscovered herself, and she had, though she couldn’t figure out what Geralt was supposed to be showing her at all.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

His question made her look up with a shy smile. “Yeah,” she mumbled, pulling one of the containers towards her. “Just lost in thought, I guess.”

“Thinking about what?”

Maybe just straight up asking him was the best option. “I’m just trying to figure this out.” He tilted his head a little, obviously unsure what she meant. “This whole week, it feels like… lessons.”

Geralt stared at her, amusement in his golden eyes. “And what do you suppose the lesson is today?” She shrugged and he chuckled. “Maybe you’re overthinking things. Maybe there is no lesson to be had at all.”

Overthinking, she mused. It wasn’t like she didn’t do that all the time anyway, analyzing every tiny occurrence, every sentence, every encounter. Sometimes she laid awake at night going over events in the day, or stuff she hadn’t thought about in months.

Was that the lesson? To stop overthinking things?

Roll with it.

She smiled, picking up a stick of cheese. “Maybe you’re right.”

They ate in silence, though she stole several looks in his direction that didn’t go unnoticed. The horses grazed nearby, occasionally flicking their tails or wandering to a fresher patch of grass, and when Y/N was done eating, she laid back, looking up at the sky and the few clouds that slowly dragged across it.

“It really is so peaceful here,” she whispered, closing her eyes and sighing softly. “Going home is going to suck.”

His answer was a low chuckle, and she smiled to herself, keeping her eyes closed, listening to the nature around her. Birds chirped, the sound carrying on the light breeze, and somewhere in the distance, something called out, a low noise that she didn’t recognize but sounded a little like a cow. Beside her, Geralt shifted, and she opened her eyes, rolling her head to the side to look at him.

“What do you do, when you’re not taking women on isolated horse rides?”

He looked at her, the same expression of amusement on his face as before. “My primary duty is the horses,” he murmured. “In truth… you’re the first guest I’ve entertained here. I’m not what you would call a people person.”

She wasn’t surprised; he didn’t strike her as the sort of guy who liked many people. But the admission that she was the first guest he’d entertained was surprising. “Negan said you all signed up for this. What made me so special?”

A grin tugged at his lips, and he shrugged, leaning heavily on one elbow. “You intrigued me.”

Suddenly she wanted to see this “file” that had been mentioned, and all the information that they had on her. She didn’t feel particularly interesting or “intriguing”, so she wasn’t sure why Geralt would have found her to be that way. “Can I - can I ask why?”

The smile on his face made her squirm and she lifted herself up, inadvertently shifting a little closer to him. “Curiosity,” he said quietly, making eye contact as he spoke, and the intensity in his oddly-colored gaze sent a shiver down her spine. “Most of the guests here, they’re not… genuine. You’re different.”

“How can you know that?” she teased.

He shrugged, gaze unwavering. “How can you not?” His answer stunned her into silence, and he chuckled lightly, reaching out to catch her chin in his fingers. “Maybe the only lesson you needed to learn here was that you’re worth something. That just being you... is special.”

“I don’t see how you can get all that from a file.”

“I’m good at reading people.”

Shooting him a look of disbelief, she sat up, crossing her legs underneath herself, resistant to the idea that anyone could find her attractive or interesting. Geralt watched her cautiously but curiously, one thick brow arched higher than the other.

“Let me tell you what I see,” he murmured, sitting up straight, close enough that if she turned her head, her nose would be inches from his. “I see a beautiful woman. I see someone who has fought more battles than she should have. I see someone -” His fingers slipped under her chin again, sliding up to cup her jaw and force her to look at him. “- who was told she wasn’t good enough and believed that lie.”

He was so close, the earthy, warm scent of him almost clouding every thought. “If I was good enough, he wouldn’t have found someone else,” she whispered brokenly, trying not to let the tears get far enough to fall.

The look he gave her was gentle but frustrated. “And you never considered that it was him that wasn’t worthy of you?”

She hadn’t. Not for one second. And that was ridiculous when she thought about it. “No.” A shuddering breath passed her lips and she swallowed, transfixed by his eyes. “I feel like you’re going to kiss me.”

Geralt smiled. “That’s because I am.”

There was barely time to snatch a breath before he’d closed the distance between them, lips meeting in a soft caress that quickly turned hard and passionate. He licked into her mouth, coaxing little moans as his hands slipped around her hips. She shouldn’t have been surprised at the ease with which he hauled her into his lap, manhandling her until she was straddling his wide hips.

Her internal conflict from only seconds earlier was dispelled with the lust he was igniting in her, and when his hands wandered up underneath her sweater and shirt, she whimpered into his mouth, breaking the kiss to breathe. He smirked up at her, rocking slightly so she could feel the effect she was having on him.

Without the benefit of his mouth distracting her, their surroundings suddenly rushed back, and she looked around nervously. “Is this a little, uh, exposed?”

“There’s no one for miles,” he replied, moving his hands up further, bunching her clothing as he swiped his thumbs along the sensitive skin underneath her breasts. “No one to hear you scream,” he added, a filthy grin on his face.

He moved, rolling them both until she was pinned under his larger frame, finding her lips again to silence her surprised squeak. She responded in kind, twisting her fingers in his shirt and wrapped her legs around his waist to grind against him. The move made him groan, and he pulled back with darkened eyes, licking his lips hungrily.

“These,” he plucked at her pants impatiently, “are going to be a problem.”

She giggled, biting her lip as she released his shirt with a slight shove against his chest. “I can’t take them off while you’re on top of me,” she pointed out.

Geralt laughed under his breath, getting up onto his knees before reaching for the offending jodhpurs, tugging them down. Her panties went with them but she was left with no time to be bashful about her partial nudity when he instantly pinned her again, initiating another kiss that almost distracted her from the hand sliding between them. His fingers brushed her damp sex and she arched into his touch, grunting needily into his mouth.

“What about yours?” she gasped, clinging to his shoulders as he pressed two thick digits into her soaked hole. “Geralt -”

“Shush,” he growled, mouthing at her throat. “I’ll fuck you when you’re good and ready.”

His voice was thick and syrupy, rumbling against her skin as he stroked his fingers inside her. She hummed, gasping when he found the deepest spot inside her, making her hips jerk in reaction to the sudden intense stimulation. He didn’t stop, holding her down while he fucked his fingers into her harder, finding a rhythm that made her pussy clench around him, drenching him with her juices.

“You’re so wet for me,” he purred, sliding his thumb against her clit, smirking at the quiet little mewl that left her lips. “Let me feel you cum.”

She nodded absently, too busy drowning in pleasure to really process his words. Her only thought was how good it felt as the ecstasy built in her core, threatening to explode out of her. Geralt didn’t stop, watching her face as she fell apart, and moaning his approval when she shuddered, practically dripping around his fingers.

“That’s it,” he praised. “Keep going.”

“I-I can’t,” she moaned, tossing her head from side to side. “I ca -” The denial trailed off in a cry that disturbed the birds in the trees meters away. He still didn’t stop, thrusting his fingers until she could hear how wet she was. Her mouth opened in a silent cry as she quivered in his hold, and when he slowed, withdrawing his hand, she whined needily, tugging him into a kiss. “Please,” she whimpered, swallowing air furiously, “fuck me.”

Her fingers were already at his belt, peeling the thick leather through the fastening before he could catch up. Between hungry kisses, she got the belt open, and he shoved his pants down, blindly fisting his cock and pressing the thick tip against her. She gasped, rolling her hips, desperate to feel him filling her.

He growled against her jaw, nipping at her as he teased her, rubbing his cockhead through her folds. “Open up for me.”

Without hesitation, she spread her thighs wider, and Geralt groaned, penetrating her with one smooth stroke. His hips pinned her legs back, forcing her to feel every single inch buried inside her; her eyes rolled back, whole body going limp for a split second. He held deep, kissing along her throat as he unzipped her sweater and shoved her t-shirt up over the cups of her bra.

“Let me see those pretty tits,” he murmured, tugging at the cups of her bra until they were tucked underneath. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing ever but she couldn’t bring herself to care when he sucked a nipple between his lips, using his tongue to make it hard. He moaned, the sound vibrating through her, and before she could process every single point of stimulation, he started to move, fucking into her with short sharp thrusts. 

Everything faded away in pleasure, and Y/N couldn’t think beyond how good it felt to have him inside her. He left teeth marks on her breasts as he sucked at them, and she was sure there’d be bruises from his hips as he ground into her, using his thighs to keep her legs wide. She didn’t even try to fight the building pleasure in her belly, and when she began to cum again, Geralt covered her moans with kisses, fucking her through one orgasm and into another.

He slowed, allowing her a moment to breathe and think. Her whole body was buzzing with need, and her fingers itched to touch him; it didn’t take much to unbutton his shirt, letting her hands slide over his muscular and slightly hairy chest, unable to miss the scars that littered his skin.

“Ignore them,” he whispered, batting her hands away to pin them above her. She nodded, humming against his mouth when he kissed her again.

She moaned, tilting her head as he dragged his lips along her jaw, still thrusting against her lazily. Her thighs were burning with the ache of being held so wide but it only added to the bliss of it all, and as he picked up speed again, she let her eyes fall shut. He slipped one arm underneath her, forcing her whole body flush with his, making her painfully hard nipples scrape against his chest. A high-pitched whine was cut off with another kiss, and his throttled grunts vibrated through her when her cunt clenched around him.

This orgasm was a slow ripple that got stronger as it washed through her, leaving her shivering underneath him, leaving imprints of her fingernails in her palms as she curled her hands above her head. She broke the kiss, panting as she turned her head to the side, opening her eyes again when Geralt’s teeth sank into her neck. The pain caused unexpected pleasure, and she bucked, crying out loud enough that the horses both lifted their heads in surprise.

He released her, and she looked up at him, feeling the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks. She pulled her arms down, grabbing his shoulders as he drove into her again, and her shame was gone in a matter of seconds. Despite his forceful thrusts, Geralt didn’t seem to be anywhere near done, and already she was beginning to ache from each raw stroke.

“I can’t,” she moaned, pushing at him. “I - gah -”

He slowed to stop, holding himself inside her. “Am I hurting you?” he asked softly.

“N-no, just -” She choked on the words. “I’m a little… chafed.”

“I see,” he chuckled, withdrawing slowly, though he didn’t pull away. Instead, he slid down her body, taking the pressure off of her thighs for a split second before his equally broad shoulders were pinning them apart again. “Let me kiss it better.”

His mouth was hot on her skin, and she made a token effort to resist before she collapsed underneath him, squirming and panting as he began to tongue-fuck her. His tongue felt almost as thick as his cock, and though it didn’t penetrate nearly as deep, it was still incredibly gratifying. She moaned, writhing enough that he reached up to pin her down with one arm, growling against her soaked cunt. Sliding his tongue up to her clit, he used his other hand to press two fingers inside her, letting his saliva ease his path.

She wasn’t sure she was capable of cumming again but Geralt was nothing if not determined. He sucked on the tiny bundle of nerves as he fucked his fingers into her again, and within seconds, she felt the renewed stirrings in her core, unable to do anything but ride it out with a throaty moan that seemed to echo across the field.

When he withdrew, she went limp, a feeling like white noise spreading from head to toe. He watched her, chest heavy, one meaty hand wrapped around his cock, the other on her thigh, and she knew he could feel how hard her blood was pumping. “Do you want me to finish?” he asked, and she nodded, forcing herself up onto shaking arms. “On your knees then.”

Her limbs felt like jelly but she managed to comply, shrieking in surprise when he grabbed her hips to pull her backwards. The sound turned to a moan when he entered her again, the new angle allowing her to appreciate how deep he was all over again. He held her there for a moment, then started to move, pulling her back to meet each stroke.

Everything was overstimulated, and she could feel her body practically vibrating as he fucked her, chasing his own end now and dragging her along for the ride. She cried out as his thrusts grew harder, the pleasure making her arch and drop, bare breasts pressing into the blanket. His cock thickened inside her, then he came with a roar that made Sunshine snort and trot off a few meters where she wouldn’t be startled again.

With a final grunt, he slumped over her, sliding his arms around her waist as he kissed along her shoulder. Y/N hummed, content to turn to jelly now she’d gotten what she wanted, and he didn’t seem to be in any rush to move her, waiting for a few moments before gently easing her down. The blanket was soft enough that she just lay there, uncaring about her bare ass or the cum running down her thighs.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me,” he warned in amusement.

“I won’t,” she replied, yawning as she rolled onto her back and righted her shirt. “Uh, where did my pants go?”

She couldn’t deny that the ride back was a little more uncomfortable than the ride there, her sensitive pussy rubbing against the saddle with every step the patient mare took. Geralt had obviously noticed her squirming, smirking at her and laughing under his breath every so often. By the time they got back to the ranch, she was ready for a hot bath, and she tried not to whimper when he helped her down from the horse, big hands easily carrying her weight.

“I had a really, uh, good time,” she rushed out, blinking up at him nervously.

“Glad to be of service,” he replied quietly, bowing his head briefly before taking Sunshine’s reins in one hand and Roach’s in the other. “Enjoy the rest of your stay, Y/N.”

It was easy to find her way back up to the main building, and she headed straight for her room, needing to change into something a little less ruined. Halfway through changing, someone knocked at the door, so she threw on some loose fitting pants, and hurried to answer. Negan was outside, waiting patiently with a smile on his face.

“Good evening, princess,” he greeted softly. “Have a good time?”

Her cheeks filled with heat as she forced a smile, though it was likely he knew what she’d been getting up to. “Yeah,” she hummed.

“Can I come in?” She stepped back, holding the door open and he slipped into the room, turning back to face her as she closed the door again. “So just a good day, huh?”

“Do you really want details?” she laughed, shaking her head as she returned to the bedroom, aware of him following and lingering in the doorway, leaning on the frame. “I enjoyed the horse riding, and the picnic.”

He chuckled, reaching up to run his thumb along his lower lip. “And how are you feeling? Tomorrow’s your last day.”

The reminder gave her pause as she picked up a sweater, holding it in her hands as she let the sudden disappointment sink in. She hadn’t thought much about her return home in less than two days' time, content to live in ignorance, but now, it seemed too close. Home meant work, meant confronting her feelings again, being an actual functional person in a world she hadn’t tried to be a part of for a while. “I guess… nervous.” Lifting her head, she met his gaze. “This place is like a dream. I feel like I’m gonna forget it all when I get home, but that nothing’s gonna feel as good as it does here.”

He pushed off of the doorframe, walking towards her slowly. “I think,” he started, reaching out to cup her elbow in his warm hand, “that you’re gonna remember this for a long time. I think you needed to discover something positive, that you need to remember to love you first. And I also think, you found that here.”

She looked up at him, searching his face for any deception, wondering if she could really trust a stranger that had known her a few days. “I hope you’re right,” she whispered. “I don’t wanna be… like before. Not again.”

His hand dropped from her elbow, his expression turning a little more playful. “I was wondering if you wanted dinner in the restaurant tonight?”

Hesitation stayed her answer. “Just dinner? I’m a little… achy.”

His eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Just dinner. Maybe a movie. I promise,” he held up his hands, wiggling his fingers, “I can keep my hands to myself.”

Thank you for reading! Lemme know what you thought 🎃

#fanfiction #fanfic #autumn falls series #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #geralt x reader #smut #adult fiction #multifandom

[cthulhu-calling]

kill the lights and kiss my eyes : devour me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary : You never knew what love was, not until Natasha. But now that the King has his eye on you, will your perfect little world come crumbling down?

Warnings : medieval AU, smut, fluff, public smut, MISCARRIAGE, Bucky is a creep 18+

Author's Note : Hello everyone! Thanks for clicking on this story. The reader has no specified race or body type. This deals with cheating and miscarriage so please sit this one out if it isn't for you. If you liked this, please leave a kudos or a comment. Constructive criticism is always appreciated!

Word Count : 5310

series masterlsit

You lay in her marital bed, legs tangled with each other, her head on your bare chest as she played with your fingers. One of your arms wrapped around her shoulder as you held her close to yourself, enjoying the post coital bliss before real life took over the small haven you and Natasha had created for yourself.

Queen Natasha was neither cold nor unfeeling, contrary to what she’d have everyone believe. To you she was your gentle and rather reserved, Nat.

While the King claimed to love his Queen dearly, it was still rather uncharacteristic for a man of his standing to not have a mistress or even an outright harem full of concubines at his beck and call. King James though had a habit of jumping from one woman to another, that too rather quickly. None of his mistresses would last for more than a season or two. Quite a few ladies at court too had been rumoured to have been involved with him, rumours that he would neither confirm nor deny.

You had only been at court a month when the Queen lost her second child, a boy. The news devastated the whole kingdom, especially the King, who then proceeded to bury his sorrow in some whore’s cunt.

You were assigned to look after her in this period, as her lady in waiting. In the beginning, she’d been quite against having you look after her. At barely twenty, you were hardly of any use to her. But over the months you spent looking after her and lending her your company, you’d both grown immensely close to each other.

At first she hardly spoke a word to you, only a brief nod when you came in with the servants to serve her her meals and to prepare her a bath. You were always a bit intimidated by the Queen and this interaction did nothing to ease your nerves around her.

Two months after the dark day was the first time the Queen actually spoke to you.

“How long have you been at court Lady Y/n?” she asked while still in bed, sipping her herbal tea. She scrunched her face at the taste of it, something she did every morning since she began taking it.

“Three months now, Your Majesty,” you replied while directing the maids to prepare the bath, adding rose oil along with a handful of petals of the fragrant flower as well.

Humming, she continues to sip her tea before you help her out of the bed, ushering her towards the bath chamber.

Once she had relaxed into the bath, eyes closed and humming some song, you began to leave only to be stopped by her voice.

“I hear Lord Rogers has taken quite a liking to you, there are even talks of a possible betrothal in the near future,” and though she’d been absent from court, this proved she still knew exactly what was going on on what’s rightfully her turf.

Stopping in your tracks, you turn around to study her face, the way her beautiful red hair falls in messy waves around her face, pale face free of any make up and plump pink lips parted in sugary breath.

She looks breathtaking.

“Merely rumours, nothing more, Your Majesty,” you reply, running your tongue over your lower lip.

“Do you not believe in such courtly whispers that have managed to reach me even in my absence?”

Quirking your eyebrow, you answered her in as steady a tone as you could muster, “Courtly whispers are all that they are, not an ounce of fact to them. If they were true then at least a quarter dozen of the women at court would be carrying the King’s bastard. By the time you’re done breakfast would have been set in your chambers. Your Majesty.” you said as you curtsied and hurried out.

Your heart was beating a mile a minute, you couldn’t believe you had spoken to the Queen in such a manner. She was going to send you back home unmarried and disgraced, you were sure of it.

Natasha on the other hand, was rather impressed. Never had any other ladies at court dared to speak to her in such a manner. It was refreshing. She had seen the way your eyes trailed over her and she knew it then, she had to have you. A mouthy little girl who had just word vomited of the King’s scandalous indiscretions in front of her in an irate rage.

As the days went by, you became a close companion to the Queen. You had never in your life been this open and candid with anyone, not even your mother. The Queen confided in you; of her husband’s infidelity, difficulties with Princess June and stories of her childhood.

The way you loved Natalia was true and pure, unmarked by any jealousy, ill intent or selfishness. Natasha on the other hand loved you with a burning passion, a kind of love she’d never experienced before. It was deep and all consuming.

But both of you were well aware of your reality. You refused to view your relationship with a rose coloured view or with the selfish and impractical folly of young lovers. She knew one day you would have to be married and that you were never truly each other’s but God, did she want you to be. She wanted you to be only and only hers and for her to be yours as well.

Now, you’d been a year at court and six months into this illicit affair with Natasha. Lying in bed with her was your own personal slice of heaven.

Turning in your arms, she crept up to land a rather chaste kiss on your lips before she moved out of bed, pulling on her robe before moving to the bath chambers to freshen up.

By the time she came out you were already dressed and were just fixing your hair at the dresser. Nat crept up behind you, wrapping her hand around your throat before turning your head to pull you in for a heated kiss.

“I must say my love, you look absolutely ravishing in crimson. Makes me want to take you again right here, in front of this mirror, watch you fall apart all over again,” she whispered huskily into your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

Gently cupping her face, you looked at her and the expression she gave you was of pure adoration. That’s when you knew, you could never love as truly ever again. “Why do you think I wear it so often then?” you ask with a small giggle, kissing her forehead before switching places with her and starting to do her hair, putting it up in a tight updo.

“Has Lord Y/l/n told you yet my love?” she asked after she was done reapplying her lipstick, a deep red colour.

“Tell me of what, Your Majesty?”

“Of Lord Rogers' proposal, of course. What else? He wishes to court you. Only last week did he come to seek your father’s permission. He seemed rather pleased with it,” she said in a hollow voice.

“Well, I do not care what father has to say, I do not wish to marry him,” you declared.

“He seems rather intent on you, has been since the day you came to court.”

“It’s a good thing then that I do not feel much for him or his intent, no matter how easy on the eyes he is.”

“So you do agree that he’s handsome?” she asked in a teasing tone.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed her hand to pull her from in front of the mirror. “We must get going, Your Majesty, the ladies await us to take their tea.”

She sighed as she got up, linking her fingers through yours before journeying outside her chambers.

Lazy afternoons such as these were frequent and no one seemed to question it anymore, least of all the King. Apart from matters of the kingdom, Lady Morwenna, his mistress for the month, managed to keep him plenty busy.

She held no likeness to her namesake. Loud, vain and definitely not a maiden when she first started making her way through the bedchambers of the Lords at court, she was downright despicable. There was no denying that she was pretty though.

The fact that the King was busy with his mistress gave you so much more time to spend in the Queen’s company, even managing to be smuggled into her bed late at night.

Once you stepped out of her chambers, she let go of your hand in favour of looping her arm through yours as you both made your way to the garden for tea, only to be stopped by Lord Rogers.

He bowed his head slightly to the Queen before offering you a bright smile which you returned, albeit yours wasn’t all that lively, or real. Lately he seemed to be everywhere you went.

“Your Majesty, Lady Y/l/n.”

“Lord Rogers, where are you off to at this time? We seem to bump into you whenever we venture about. Is it just me or have you taken to stalking us?” Natasha asked in a teasing manner but you could hear the irritation behind her tone.

Lately, whenever you and the Queen were out and about the castle and the surrounding grounds, you seemed to bump into Steve. Even when you were alone or with the other ladies. It was starting to get on your nerves.

Looking at his feet sheepishly as a blush climbed its way up his neck, he asked “I would like to have a moment alone with the Lady, if your Highness would allow it.”

Raising a single eyebrow at the shy Lord, she replied nonchalantly, “Of course. Lady Y/n, I guess the other ladies and I will have to take our tea in your absence.”

“I understand Your Highness,” you replied with a slight pout that both Natasha and Steve noticed.

“Very well, off you go,” she said as she waved the two of you off and continued to walk towards the garden, not once turning to look at you while you continued to stare at her retreating figure, broken out of your reverie by the clearing of someone’s throat.

You turn back to look at Steve who’s looking at you with an expression that you can only define as complete infatuation.

“Well, what can I help you with Sir?” you questioned.

“It’s not your help that I need my Lady, it’s your company that I desire,” he moistened his lips, searching your face for something, you couldn’t quite guess what.

“I don’t quite understand you Sir,” you say, confused.

“I wish to spend time with you, get to know you better,” he pleaded with you earnestly.

You looked at him with a blank expression. Natasha was right after all.

“Is it true you wish to court me, Sir? That you’ve already sought my father’s permission for the same?” you asked him, voice devoid of any and all emotion.

He smiles shyly, “It is true, my Lady. I do wish to court you, only if you want me to. Tell me you’ll think about it, please, my Lady?” he was almost begging.

Your heart melts at the earnest look in his eyes and you offer him a soft, genuine smile before nodding your head. This seems to make him happy as the smile that takes over his face seems to brighten up his whole demeanour.

“Thank you My Lady, I await your response eagerly,” he smiled before he walked off, humming a happy tune.

You breath out a sigh before continuing to make your way towards the garden where the other ladies were.

Bowing gently you take your seat close to the Queen, lacing your fingers with hers under the table. All the other ladies noticed your late arrival and were greatly intrigued.

Lady Violet is the first to break the silence. “You’re never tardy, pray tell us what kept you today?” she asked with a mischievous look in her eyes. Being the wife of Lord Samuel Wilson, a close friend to Steve, she was well aware of his intentions.

“Something came up, nothing of great importance My Lady,” you mumbled. You didn’t appreciate her teasing, or liked to entertain the idea of everyone knowing about Steve and his obvious feelings towards you.

“Something or someone?” she continues to tease, the other ladies giggling at your flustered face.

You knew better than to admit to speaking to Lord Rogers, so you elected to just keep quiet until their teasing died down. Stealing a look at Natasha from the corner of your eyes, you knew she was not amused.

Jaw clenched and eyes facing forward, she still held your hand that was now placed on your lap. Slowly pulling your dress upwards until it rested just above your knee, she started drawing gentle circles with her fingertips on the inside of your thigh.

Shooting her a scandalised look, you tried to close your legs only to be stopped by a sharp pinch. Finally she turned to look at you, one eyebrow raised, “These idiots don’t know who you belong to, but don’t you dare forget it. You’re mine.” she hissed under her breath.

There wasn’t much else to do then sit there and take it while trying to keep as relaxed a face as possible. You would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it when she got possessive over you.

She couldn’t help herself. She needed you to remember that you were hers. Never mind the fact that you might very well end up getting wedded to Lord Rogers, but you were still hers.

How you managed to sit still while she teased your clit to the point that you were on the brink of an orgasm, just to stop completely and take a sip of her tea, pretending to be interested in whatever Lady Sybil was saying was beyond you. You leaned in close to her, whispering in her ear, “You know I’m only yours, my Queen. No one, especially not Lord Rogers, could take me from you.”

“Oh, I know my love,” she promised as she sucked on her fingers that were coated in your juices, the sight involuntarily making you clench your thighs together. Just as you were about to plead with her to take you somewhere alone just so you could kiss her senseless, Princess June came running towards your party, her governess running behind her with a flustered appearance. The Princess skipped over some hedges and quickly managed to settle herself in her mother’s lap.

The young girl had her mother’s fiery red hair that fell in short waves to her shoulders and her father’s icy blue eyes. She was rather sharp for an eight year old and although she did not understand your relationship with Natasha in the entirety of it, she knew that her mother loves you. And to be fair, she loved you too. In the time that you had managed to grow close to the Queen, you had managed to become friends with the Princess as well. And she too had managed to weasel her way into your heart. You loved her as if she was your own.

Her governess, Madame Carthy, was a stout woman of choleric temperament accompanied by a short temper that generally caused the Princess to despise her. She was barely civil to the Princess and did not try to hide the fact that she disapproved of her and her behaviour that was largely categorised as ‘unladylike’.

The Princess sat sideways on her mother’s lap, swinging her legs back and forth as Madame Carthy approached, a scowl on her face. “Have I not told you more times than I can count that a Lady does not run?” she questioned, not really expecting an answer.

“Well, I’m a Princess, not a Lady,” sassed June which caused many of the ladies to giggle. It was well known that the Princess did not take crap from anyone, not even her own father. Smiling at her antics, the Queen dismissed the angry governess before turning her attention back to the little Princess on her lap. “Would you care to explain what has the Madame in such a sour mood Your Highness?”

“She says Princess’ don’t rule, they only produce heirs. I didn’t agree with her so I ran off,” she shrugs as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for a Princess to behave in such a way. Natasha almost looks proud. While James wasn’t a great husband, she couldn’t deny that he was a good father. They had always taught their daughter that she was no less than any boy or prince and that she had the right to form her own opinions through experience. But certain things, like a governess and proper etiquette, she could not forgo.

“While I understand that you do not agree with Madame Carthy, you mustn’t behave as such. You are still a Princess and you must act like it, do you understand?” the Queen questioned and the Princess nodded her head solemnly.

You observed the interaction between the mother and daughter and couldn’t help but smile. You truly couldn’t wait to have your own children. While you would ideally prefer a daughter, you would love a son just the same.

Before you could get lost in your own thoughts, June was calling out to you, asking if you’d like to join her in the nursery. At your assent, her face broke out in her beautiful smile that you loved on mother and daughter alike. The nursery always meant that the Princess had something important to tell you. It was never anything of major consequence like once, when she’d stepped on a toad, crushing the poor creature, she’d taken you to the nursery and confessed to you in tears how horrible she felt. She said she felt like a killer. Later that day, when June had composed herself a bit more, the two of you along with her maid, Wanda, held a little funeral in the garden for the toad, even going as far as to construct a little shrine out of stones and brick.

Jumping from her mother’s arms she grabs hold of your hand, tugging at it to get you moving. You lace your fingers with her to rein her in so you don’t trip over your skirts.

“Slow down Princess,” you chastise and she manages to control her pace but not by much.

“We must get to the nursery quick, please Y/n,” she almost begs, sounding absolutely miserable. You’re surprised by the sudden change in her attitude and so you resolve to pick up the pace, hurrying into the nursery and shutting the door behind you.

She took a seat at the cushioned bench beneath the window, the sunlight bleaching her hair to a dull orange in contrast to her fiery red. Swinging her legs back and forth, she sighs loudly before continuing, “You have to swear you won’t tell anyone. Especially not mama.”

You raise a skeptical brow at her before swearing your silence to her, urging her to continue. She looks at you for a moment before getting right into it, “I saw something today. Someone,” she said and you were shocked to see the tears in her eyes, which started flowing unbridled once you pulled her into your arms.

Rubbing your hand in swift motions across her back, trying to calm her down achieved nothing as she clutched at the fabric of your puffed sleeve, fat tears rolling down her cheek. Hushing her, telling her that she’ll fall sick, you tried it all. She finally calmed down when she saw the unshed tears in your eyes. You couldn’t help it. Every time your little June bug so much as sniffled, you were a goner. Natasha thought you were far too emotional for your own good, easily manipulated by a crying June.

Sure, the little Princess had a flair for the dramatics but you could tell that these were no crocodile tears. Something had made her extremely upset.

“Ple-please don’t cry,” she whispers, tiny hands grabbing your face. You pull her onto your lap, nodding your head as you will yourself to stop crying.

“Okay. Okay, I will but you have to tell me what’s wrong, bug. And no more crying, we don’t want to worry your mama do we?” you questioned, trying to make yourself sound stern but failing.

She rests her head against your shoulder, arms wrapped around your neck loosely. She sniffles and clears her throat before she begins to speak.

“I-I saw papa- I saw him with Lady Morwenna. They were kissing!” she shrieked the last part before hurling her head in the curve of your neck, bursting into tears all over again.

Your heart breaks for the little girl. For the fact that she had to find out like this. If it was up to you, you’d want her to never find out. You immediately knew that you’d have to tell Natasha. There was no way you could not.

But for the time being, you just clutched the little girl to your chest and gently ran your fingers through her hair, letting her cry her little heart out.

_______________________________________

It was almost six when you left, the Princess now fast asleep. You advised her maid Wanda to serve her dinner in the nursery itself claiming that the little girl wasn’t feeling too well.

You had to see Natasha, as soon as possible. You knew this news would be rather upsetting for her but she’d feel worse if you kept it from her. So, you rushed out of the nursery and towards the Queen’s chambers.

Just as you reached the top floor where the King and Queen’s respective chambers were, you bumped into a large, hard body. Strong arms wrapped around your waist to steady you, the contrast in the weight of the hands sending a shiver down your spine.

The King.

“Y-your Majesty,” you stammer out as you move out of his hold, bowing down in a low curtsy, unable to meet his eyes once you’re standing straight again.

“Lady Y/l/n,” he answers politely, eyes searching your own. “I must ask, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Oh,” you balk, blinking at him dumbly.

“You mustn’t answer if you do not wish to,” he offers but you shake your head before replying.

“To the Queen, she did request my presence,” you say with as much confidence as you could muster at the moment. The King was the last person you wanted to see after seeing what a state his indiscretions had left the poor Princess in. He was interrupted before he could say much else.

“Your Maj- Lady Y/n?” a voice sounded from behind you.

Perhaps you spoke too soon. Standing behind you was in fact the last person you wanted to see right now.

“Lord Rogers,” you mumble, your spine stiff as he comes to stand beside you. “I must go see the Queen,” you say and quickly leave, not bothering to wait for the King to say anything.

Steve and James watch your retreating figure, the thoughts running through their heads on completely opposite ends of the spectrum.

Steve’s thoughts couldn’t be described as anything but pure. It was well known amongst his friends that he was completely taken by you. Your eyes that seemed to twinkle with amusement like a joke he wasn’t in on, your lips painted a deep crimson that were just begging to be kissed and the kindness that just seemed to ooze out of you. Never had he seen you speak harshly to anyone. It didn’t help that you were a favourite amongst children. Not only the Princess but children of other Lords and ladies were all completely enamoured with you. It made his mind wander to places that he wouldn’t dare confess, not even to Bucky, his oldest and dearest friend.

James, on the other hand, couldn’t help but let his hungry eyes stray across your cleavage and the curve of your hips. The neckline of your bodice just barely offered him a glimpse but it sure was enough to tempt him. He’d noticed you when you first came to court, a pretty young thing. Innocent and nervous, just begging him to corrupt you. But, he couldn’t do that to Natasha. She was his wife and she was pregnant with his son. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t ogle her, he did have eyes after all.

James knew that Steve was basically in love with you, had been since your first day at court but that didn’t hinder him. You never showed any particular interest in Steve and treated him with the same polite demeanour you did everyone else. But why would you deny him? Who could say ‘no’ to a King after all?

The two men watched you walk off in silence until they couldn’t see your silhouette anymore. The quiet was disturbed by Steve calling out to him.

“What?” Bucky asked as he snapped out of it.

“We have important matters to discuss. Can we please move to your office?” he questioned and was met with a nod by Bucky as they moved towards the King’s study. _______________________________________

You walked as quickly as you could and if your mama saw you now, she would be extremely disappointed. You couldn’t help it though. You could still feel the heat of either of their gazes on your retreating figure.

You barged into Natasha’s chambers, shutting and locking the doors swiftly. She looked up at you with raised brows, a thick book with yellowed pages sitting in front of her. Your breath hitched at the sight of her; she sat at the study, the light from the candle next to her casting a soft glow across her features.

You huffed out the breath you were holding and walked towards her as she still kept a questioning gaze fixed on you.

Not wasting anymore time, you blurt out, “June knows. She saw the King and Lady Morwenna together in quite the compromising situation,”

Natasha doesn’t know what to say for some time. She just watches you, letting your words sink in. She knew she couldn’t talk to James directly about this or ask him to stop. She knows how that would go down.

He’d outright deny it to her face and ply her with compliments and promises of his devotion to her, pulling her into bed. He’d tell her how he longs for a son and how she must give that to him and she’ll have no other choice but to spend the night in bed with him. Something she simply couldn’t stomach anymore. Not since she’s been in love with you, laid in bed with you.

She’d just have to speak with June, something she wasn’t looking forward to. How could she explain it to her little girl, how could she tell her of her father’s infidelity without destroying their relationship completely? She hates that her little girl has to go through this, she hates Bucky for putting her in this position but the biggest part of her hates herself. Maybe it was her fault he had strayed, sought comfort in the arms of another but she stopped that train right in its tracks. This was not her fault, it was his.

She sighs loudly before beckoning you to come closer and you comply. Once you’re behind the desk, she gently tugs you closer to sit on the desk, pulling her chair closer so she’s slotted perfectly between your spread legs, her head resting on your left thigh.

“I don’t know what to do, I’m so exhausted,” she murmurs as you run your hand through her open hair, detangling it with smooth precision.

“Sometimes I wish we could just run away, just you and me-” “And June,” you interrupt and she snorts in humours agreement “Yes, and June too. We’d live somewhere in a small cottage near the seaside, I could learn to fish, you can sew. It would be perfect,” she says as you hum, not sure if she was done speaking just yet.

She keeps quiet after that, afraid that if she said anymore she wouldn’t be able to contain her heart’s yearning. She knows there are dreams that can never come true. She could run, sure, but James would never allow it. Even if he doesn’t love her, he’d bring her back, even if only to keep her in the dungeons. What does a runaway Queen say about the King? It would tarnish his image in his lands. He couldn’t afford for that to happen. So before her mind can wander off too far into these sweet fantasies, she stops herself.

That night, just like arid land does for rain, you responded to her touch with the same sensuous longing. Kissing down her neck, laving your tongue over her nipples, sucking one into your mouth while your nimble fingers toyed with the other, causing her back to arch off the bed. Moving your attentions down her chest, leaving little kisses along her ribs and down her stomach, sucking a bruise on her hip bone as your purposefully danced around the parts of her where she wanted you the most.

When you continue to kiss along the insides of her thighs, avoiding her centre, she tugs harshly on your hair bringing your face close to her core. Giggling, you finally give her what she needs, little kitten licks on her bud before sucking it into your mouth, the action driving her wild. You push a finger into her pussy, gently moving it in and out as you continue your ministrations on her clit. She’s coming all over your tongue in minutes and you lap up everything she has to offer, cashing her legs to shake around your shoulders.

You move up from between her legs, licking your lips as she watches with a hazy look in her eyes, sweat lining her forehead. She moved her thigh between your legs, urging you to rub yourself against her but you shook your head ‘no’ instead pulling her close and telling her to sleep. She rolls her eyes before pulling you close by the collar of your shift, her hunger for you evident in her kiss.

You fall asleep like that, all your worries abandoned in the day that’s passed.

*

James is sat in his study, an amendment to the tax structure proposed by Lord Banner scattered on his desk but his mind is still stuck on you. The innocent girl, following his wife around. He knows how close you are to Natasha and also how in love with you Steve is, these facts are both hindrances in his path. But he’s a selfish man, he knows this. What the ones closest to him want does not matter above what he wants, he will freely admit to it. So he plots, reading over the laws of the land, established by the long line of his ancestors, ones he trusts the most and have always helped him in his times of need. And even now, they do. It’s an archaic law, hardly applicable to today’s times but it’s still in the constitution, no one bothered to try and do away with it.

And now, he’s found his proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, there’s nothing that can stop him. He will have you all to himself, no matter what.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #tw miscarriage #female reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #original female character #medieval au #wlw #cheating #smut #fluff #angst