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sattlersquarry · 9 days

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the great divide (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: (Post Season 4 AU, the sequel to orange juice) After your miraculous return to the land of the living, you aren't doing well.

Word Count: ~12k

Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation. The reader has panic attacks and intrusive thoughts about Not Wanting To Be Alive. If that will be triggering for you please don't read this (read my happier bloom series instead). there's also an allusion to a relapse, slut-shaming, and allusions to sex (although there's no smut, it just gets slightly steamy). this fic is angst + hurt/comfort with an optimistic ending. inspired by noah kahan's music (including this amazing demo on instagram).

a/n: please let me know if i missed any warnings. please don't read this if you think it will be too triggering. the last thing i want is to make someone upset! but writing this was cathartic and helped me work through some things, i think. writing is magical!

🫀🫀🫀

THE GREAT DIVIDE

SOMETIME IN 1987

You aren’t sure how long it’s been since you last saw your friends. It feels like a fucking long time.

You woke up on the ground of the Upside Down, covered in dried blood and terrified at the sight of Vecna towering above you.

He brought you back to life. He wanted to send you back home and use you as a soldier and spy, the same thing he did to Will, Billy, Heather, and countless others.

“If you do this,” Vecna had growled, “You can once again see your family. Your friends. Your beloved Steven. Otherwise…you will die here.”

You refused, not interested in being his lackey. He tried to flay you anyway, but he was weak from the hell Nancy, Steve, and Robin rained down on him, allowing you to escape his clutches.

He stalked you for days, finally catching up to you—but you got the upper hand, using Eddie’s spear to stab him. Repeatedly.

Killing Vecna caused the gates he opened to sew themselves back shut before you could get through. You were glad that your friends no longer had to worry about Vecna and his army of monsters pouring through the four gates, but it meant you were trapped on the wrong side of the universe.

Vecna gone meant the Upside Down could revert back to what it was before he arrived. Now, the sky of the Upside Down was a buttery yellow, and it was much warmer. You saw patches of green grass and flowers starting to grow in various spots around town. But it still felt like a nightmare.

You wander the Upside Down each day with a routine: avoid monsters, forage for food and clean water, and visit the gates to see if any of them reopened. Food and water aren’t as hard to find as you feared, since the world isn’t so much of a poison, desolate nightmare anymore. But the gates stay staunchly shut, much to your chagrin.

You miss your life. You miss Steve. You miss his laugh, his smile, his kisses, his touch. You would do ungodly things to see him again.

You hope he’s okay. Any time you want to give up, you remind yourself that if roles were reversed, Steve would keep fighting to come back to you no matter what.

And, to your pleasant surprise, he does just that.

🫀🫀🫀

AUGUST 1987

It’s been three months since you returned to the land of the living. You’re not taking it well.

Surviving the Upside Down meant constantly being in fight-or-flight, scrambling to find food and clean water while avoiding demo-creature attacks. Without Vecna’s evil influence, the animals weren’t so bloodthirsty—but they still needed to eat.

You were able to avoid them, surviving yourself off disgusting canned food from the Upside Down’s version of the Big Buy and whatever houses you ransacked. It wasn’t very appetizing. It made the meal you were serving up today seem like a 5-star, 5-course delight.

It was neither of those things. It was for a church potluck that your mother had a hand in throwing. Lots of casseroles and carbs. She dragged you along to volunteer in hopes to get you out of the house.

Ever since you left the hospital in May, you’d only ever left the house to go to doctor’s appointments, therapy appointments, and Steve’s place. Your parents wanted to encourage more of a well-rounded life and schedule, and although they’d never admit it, you figured they hoped you’d turn back to your normal self. To the person you were before it all happened.

You think she might have died.

As you plate some macaroni and cornbread for your next patron, you sense eyes on you. You glance over and see two women at a table a few feet away. To your chagrin, they’re gossiping about you.

“I mean, it’s appalling,” an old bat named Shirley hisses. “She claims to have lost her memory after the earthquake and gotten lost, but it’s obvious that she just ran away.”

“Probably thought she was grown up, that she knew better than her parents,” Mildred says with a sniff, adjusting her too-big glasses.

“I can’t believe she left poor Steve Harrington high and dry,” Shirley adds.

Your heart clenches at the fact that these women see you as a villain, as an irresponsible idiot who up and left everyone who loved her out of spite. If they knew the truth…if they knew the nightmare you’d survived…

It only gets worse from there.

“You know what Cynthia told me?” Mildred says. “That her cousin’s roommate’s friend’s brother saw Y/N working a street corner in Manassas. It's just shameful.”

Anger burns through you, hot like hellfire. So, what? You’re not just a flake—you’re a slut to this people now, too? What happened to ‘loving thy neighbor’ and ‘forgiveness’ and all that shit?

“Can I get some more of that?” an elderly man says.

It snaps you back to your task at hand: dishing out food to hungry churchgoers.

“Ah, yeah,” you say. You dump macaroni on his Styrofoam plate. “Sorry. Here you go.”

The man smiles and ambles off. You take a deep breath and try your best to tune out the whispers of the chattering hens.

Your mother must notice the scowl on your face. She makes her way to you, practically floating, as graceful as ever. She’s totally in her element. She deserves a daughter who doesn’t clomp and stumble her way through life. Who doesn’t jump at every loud noise and sleep with a hunting knife under her pillow.

“Doing all right?” your mother asks you, giving you that sympathetic look that you think you might despise by now.

You muster up a smile of your own and nod.

Your mother can’t tell its fake and beams.

“See?” she says. “I knew getting you out of the house would turn that frown upside-down!”

She doesn’t know about the Upside Down. She thinks you got injured in the earthquake, stumbled through the Indiana woodlands, and got found by cops two states over. That you couldn’t remember where you came from due to amnesia, that since they pronounced you dead no one assumed you were the missing girl from Hawkins until your memories came back.

You let her comment slide and fake a smile, figuring it’s better to pretend you’re fine than feel it all.

🫀🫀🫀

That night, you chat with Steve on the phone. He’s gone back to college for the fall semester and you miss him terribly.

He promised he’d come back to Hawkins every other weekend. He knows how hard it’s been for you coming back. Or, he says he knows. Sometimes, you get the idea that he doesn’t really understand.

How could he? Every time he tries to get you to open up about what happened and what you went through, you shut down.

However, when he asks how your day was, you decide to be honest.

“It sucked,” you say. You blow out a huff of air. “These old crones were being total bitches at the church potluck. Apparently, the new conspiracy theory is that I was turning tricks in Virginia.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry Y/N,” Steve says. For some reason, the sympathy in his voice makes you wince.

“But it’s fine,” you say quickly. “I don’t care what they say about me.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“It’s okay if you do, you know,” Steve says, speaking slowly and carefully as if he’s worried about setting you off. (For good reason; you’ve been prone to outbursts of anger lately.)

“I know!” you say, defensiveness seeping into your tone. “But I don’t give a shit. Really.”

“Good,” Steve says. But he sounds unconvinced. “You shouldn’t.”

Another pause. It lasts a little too long for your liking. You clear your throat.

“I should probably shower and head to bed,” you say. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, totally,” Steve says. You don’t understand why he sounds almost intrigued by the prospect of your boring nighttime routine until he says, “A shower with you sounds like heaven right now…”

Shit. You’re really not in the mood for phone sex. Even if that’s not what Steve is angling for, just slightly flirty banter doesn’t sound fun to you either.

Steve has been a total gentleman ever since you got back. You’ve kissed a little, but anytime he tries to take it further, you stop him. As much as you longed for him in every sense while in the Upside Down, you don’t feel ready to re-engage in those kinds of activities—like you’ve been shot back to the insecure, unconfident person you were before you started dating Steve.

He respects those boundaries and never, ever presses for more. But you worry he’s getting bored and wants to get back into old habits, possibly evidenced by his shower comment.

You’re a coward. You don’t tell him outright that you’re not in the mood, afraid he’ll have an out-of-character reaction and chew you out for being a prude or a tease.

“Huh?” you say. Steve starts to repeat his salacious comment, but you interrupt with: “Bad…connection…can’t…better…”

You hang up the phone and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

🫀🫀🫀

OCTOBER 1987

It’s a Thursday in October, and you’re taking a trip for the first time in a long time.

“You have everything you need?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Toothbrush? Extra socks? Lambchop?”

You huff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms like a petulant teenager.

“Mom! I’m an adult. I do not need a stuffed animal.”

“But you packed her, right?”

You mumble out a “Yes” as she pulls up to the parking lot near Steve’s apartment building.

You applied for spring admission at the University of Indiana. Your lovely boyfriend invited you to stay with him for a few days so he could show you around campus for homecoming weekend.

Tonight is the unofficial campus tour with “Tour Guide Steve.” Tomorrow, you’ll help him and his friends put the finishing touches on a homecoming parade float, and Saturday is the big football game.

Before your disappearance and assumed death, your parents were insanely strict about you staying the night with Steve and wouldn’t have allowed it. Now, they’ve mellowed out—but you hate thinking it’s because of some kind of twisted pity.

Steve must have seen your mom’s minivan pull up from his apartment window, because he jogs over to you before you’ve even grabbed your bag from the trunk.

“Hey, babe!” he says with a beaming grin; the picture of exuberance. You can feel his excitement roll off him in waves. You feel like an asshole for matching his energy. Even though you’re excited for time with Steve, you have a pit in your stomach at the thought of being away from home for so many days.

Of course, if you get accepted to U of I, you’ll be away from home for weeks at a time. You try not to think about that.

Steve hugs you tightly, and you hope he can’t sense your apprehension.

He seems not too, still smiling as he gives your mom a quick hug and then offers to carry your duffel bag for you.

You give your mom a hug goodbye, promising to call if you want to get picked up early.

You and Steve wave as your mom drives away. After dropping your bag off at his apartment, Steve takes you on an abridged campus tour that ends at the dining hall. He wants to introduce you to his friends.

He has friends here. Of course he does, you’re glad he does. No one should feel like they don’t have friends, or like their girlfriend is their only friend. But what does it mean that your boyfriend is your only friend lately?

Nancy’s off at Emerson. As for the Hawkins crew, Jonathan’s busy with family stuff, helping Joyce and Hopper renovate their new house. Eddie’s preoccupied with his band, trying to get Corroded Coffin off the ground after a he-was-accused-of-murder hiatus. And Robin’s a student at Roane County Community College, spending her days with marching band and classes and clubs and work.

They’ve started inviting you to things, and sometimes you go. You usually don’t have much fun, distracted with your own anxieties and unable to think of anything interesting to say.

So, the fact that Steve seems to have moved on from everything so easily and has a pack of friends at college makes you feel pathetic, even though it shouldn’t.

At the dining hall, Steve introduces you to his buddies. When Steve lived on-campus last semester, Gus was his roommate. Now Steve’s moved into his own apartment off-campus, but the boys still hang out often and play together on a club basketball team.

Jessica is Gus’ girlfriend. She has a kind smile and compliments your sweater.

The last friend in their clique is Rochelle. She’s tall and slender, like a supermodel. Apparently, she and Jessica grew up together and are good friends.

Everyone greets you happily when Steve introduces you—except Rochelle, who looks you up and down like she’s inspecting you. It makes you uneasy.

You immediately start to dislike her more when she laughs loudly at Steve’s jokes and squeezes his shoulder flirtatiously.

“You are tew much, Harrington,” Rochelle says, flipping her shiny hair over her shoulder.

It makes you feel tense and jealous and angry and sick all at once.

You’re completely content to listen in silence while the others chat, but then Jessica asks where you go to school.

“Oh, um, here, in the spring,” you say. “Uh, hopefully.”

“That’s awesome!” Gus says. “You get the full Hoosiers homecoming experience a whole semester before having to pay tuition.”

You chuckle and smile. Any good feelings you have about this interaction come crashing down when Rochelle asks, “So, like, if you aren’t a student right now, what do you do?”

“She’s working at Sonic,” Steve says. “Saving up money. Right babe?”

You turn to him, face falling. You’re not working. You tried to apply for a job at Sonic and had a panic attack when you saw the gap in your resume from your 15 months in the Upside Down, so you roller-skated your way home to unemployment.

Did you not tell Steve that? You suppose you “forgot” to tell him about that panic episode.

“Uh, actually no,” you say, furrowing your brow. “Not anymore. I’m just taking a semester off.”

Surprise flashes behind Steve’s eyes, but he recovers quickly. He throws an arm around your shoulders and says, “Right, of course.”

The rest of the conversation is mostly you smiling and nodding along to the funny stories and inside jokes the group shares. When you and Steve get back to his place later that evening, you apologize for not updating him on the Sonic situation sooner.

Steve waves away your apology.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he says.

“But I feel bad,” you say, fidgeting with your fingers while you sit next to him on the couch. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

(You didn’t truly forget. You were embarrassed and didn’t want him to know.)

“These things happen,” Steve says. “I totally get it. For a few months after Vecna and…you, my brain was like scrambled eggs. I’d drink myself to a coma every other night. I definitely didn’t have the sharpest mind.”

You appreciate him for understanding. Except you feel shitty because you’re lying to him about forgetting. It’s a vicious cycle.

The two of you put on a movie, and while you’re lying on the couch with him, you start thinking of something you haven’t done in a long, long time.

You lightly trace your hand up and down the arm that’s wrapped around your middle.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “Would you want to…”

You clear your throat.

“What?” Steve asks.

You aren’t sure how to ask for what you want without sounding wholly desperate and/or pathetic and/or like the horniest bastard alive.

“Go to your room?” you say.

“Sure, if you want, we can go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

You laugh lightly.

“No, I mean. You know.”

You wiggle your eyebrows and Steve’s jaw drops. Mouth agape, like a goldfish, his brains seems to short circuit.

The air is charged with something you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Are you sure?” Steve says, a barely audibly whisper. His hand cups your cheek so delicately, and you feel cherished. Love. Seen.

“I am,” you whisper back, before pulling him closer to you for a kiss.

It’s the kind of kiss you dreamed about while you were trapped in another universe.

It makes you feel electric, the same way your first kiss had. That iconic kiss happened because Steve found out you’d never played spin the bottle. In his kitchen late, late at night, he took an empty soda bottle and spun it on the countertop.

He had maneuvered it just right and stopped it with his hand when the bottle neck pointed right at you, like a compass needle finding truth north.

“Well, what do you know,” Steve had said at the time, with a dopey grin on his face. “It’s you.”

“If you wanted to kiss me so bad,” you had quipped, “you could’ve just asked.”

And then you two kissed like crazy, amongst other things.

Back in the present, all your hesitancies and qualms about re-engaging in intimacy and sex with Steve are thrown out the window when you feel his lips on yours.

Giddy as if it’s the first time (because, in a way, it kind of is), the two of you break apart and practically race down the hall to his bedroom. Thank goodness for no roommates, because when you’re in there, Steve slams the door and presses you against it to kiss some more, closing the gap between the metaphorical great divide that you’ve placed between you both.

You tug at his shirt, and he pulls it off before the two of you stumble into his bed.

Things heat up, and they’re going great. Steve is kissing and biting your neck, probably leaving a hickey or two, but you don’t mind. His hands are gripping your waist, practically leaving scorch marks in their wake.

You’re loving this. You’re having a great time.

Until you’re not. The trains of thought in your brain all rush from the station at the same time, colliding at a junction on the tracks.

What if you give Steve an infection? Not an STD, but like, an Upside Down sickness. You could be a carrier and not even realize it. Is that a possibility? What did Dr. Owens say last time you saw him?

He advised you not to get pregnant. He said there’s a possibility your future children could have birth defects after your time in the Upside Down. Birth defects! You’re only 21 years old and your body is poisoned. Not enough to harm you in the short term, but the long term effects on you (and your progeny) could be terrible to deal with.

But Steve really wants kids. What if he finds out you can’t give him children and he leaves you? You really, really don’t want him to leave you.

You don’t realize it, but you start breathing a little harder. To Steve, it seems like you’re insanely turned on. Mentally, your brain is on a different plane of existence.

He’s going to leave you because he’s better off without you. He doesn’t realize it yet but one day, one day. He will.

Vecna was right. Vecna said Steve would get tired and bored of you. That’s why the monster tried to recruit you, to flay you. That’s why he pursued you across the Upside Down for days, hunting you like a dog until he cornered you at the quarry.

Steve finally takes notice of your erratic breathing pattern. You’re not reacting how you usually do to his kissing. He ceases the lovefest and leans up on his elbows.

“Y/N? You okay?”

You don’t hear him. You continue to hyperventilate, your eyes screwed tightly shut.

And when you stabbed the beast through the chest with the spear Eddie left behind, you didn’t even feel sorry.

Is that the kind of person you are? A sick, violent freak?

But it was self-defense!

But if you hadn’t tried to draw the demobats away, you wouldn’t have been in that situation. You went against the plan. You caused all the bad things that happened to you.

You’re a bad person. A bad omen. A bad girlfriend. A bad daughter. A—

“Hey, can you hear me? Y/N?”

Steve’s soft, slightly panicked, voice brings you back down to reality.

You nod, eyes still shut.

“Sorry,” you say. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, still speaking quietly as if he’s afraid to scare you. You don’t feel his hands on you anymore, but you sense he’s still close. “It’s okay. Can you sit up? I think you should drink something.”

You sit up slowly and open your eyes. Steve looks frazzled, but he musters up a smile when he hands you a glass of cold water.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

You don’t respond, just take a sip.

“Can we just go to bed?” you say after a moment, voice cracking.

Steve nods and gives your knee a gentle squeeze.

“Of course. And, hey, listen, we don’t have to have sex anytime soon, okay?”

“But—”

“No, seriously,” Steve says, shaking his head vehemently. “I mean, of course I like having sex with you. Probably too much.”

You snort and shake your head, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“But you know I don’t mind waiting. Right?”

You nod.

“Yeah, I know.”

But as you lie awake, tossing and turning, your brain continues feeding you lie after lie, and you find yourself believing the opposite. Prude, tease. Bad girlfriend. Bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

The next morning, you, Steve, Gus, Jessica, and Rochelle work on a homecoming float for the club basketball team the boys are on.

It’s fun at first. The parking lot is filled with floats for all different student organizations. Someone is playing music a bit too loud, but the energy is electric.

It takes a turn when Steve rushes off with Gus to get more supplies.

While you’re kneeling by the float trying to staple tinsel trim around the edge, you hear Rochelle and Jessica whispering conspiratorially on the other side. They can’t see you due to a large papier mâché basketball blocking you from view.

You're awash with embarrassment, feeling warm head to toe, when you realize they’re talking about you.

“You know what Mollie told me?” Rochelle said. “When she and Steve were hooking up last year, he called her Y/N, like, three times.”

Your heart shrinks. You didn’t know Steve had been involved with anyone while you were gone. In fact, he said the opposite.

“That’s kind of sweet though, when you think about it,” Jessica muses. “But I wonder what caused Steve and Y/N to break up and then get back together. I’ve never dreamed of breaking up with Gus.”

“I heard some other super freaky stuff about her,” Rochelle says. “My sorority sister, Tina, is from Hawkins too. Apparently, Y/N had, like, amnesia or some shit after that earthquake thing. And she was like missing.”

“Damn,” Jessica says. “That’s crazy. How’d she remember stuff and get back home?”

“Who gives a shit?” Rochelle scoffs. “That’s obviously a cover story. Tina said the real story is probably something much simpler. Like she ran away to become a stripper but couldn’t hack it because she doesn’t have a good body. And, well, we’ve seen that firsthand.”

Anger and shame courses through your veins, and you tug on the hem of your sweatshirt. You’re comforted only a miniscule amount when you hear Jessica come to your defense.

“Don’t be such a jerk. And we have no idea what really happened so stop making shit up, mkay?”

“I’m just repeating what I heard. But Tina’s right, her whole deal is so weird. I can’t believe she’s Steve’s girlfriend. He deserves better.”

Those words echo in your head. He deserves better. He deserves better. You’ve been thinking that a lot yourself lately.

You don’t care if Jessica and Rochelle see you when you toss your stapler onto the ground and stomp off.

“Oh, shit,” you hear Jessica say. “Nice going, Roche.”

“It’s not my fault! I didn’t know she was creeping around!”

As you beeline through the throngs of float-makers, you bump into Steve, holding a box of glittery something. He grins at you.

“Hey, where’s the fire?”

When he notices the grim look on your face, he sobers up.

“Whoa, what happened?”

“Who’s Mollie?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Steve pales. He swallows hard, grip on the box loosening. He gingerly sets it on the ground next to him and shrugs.

“No one.”

“Liar.”

Steve glances around before leading you away from the crowd to a secluded spot on the outskirts of the parking lot.

“She really was no one,” Steve repeats. “Just some girl I had a class with. I was lonely and she liked me, so we went out twice.”

“I heard Rochelle say you hooked up with her,” you say. You cross your arms and try to keep angry tears at bay. “You told me you didn’t find anybody else.”

“I didn’t!” Steve says, a little louder. He clears his throat. “I meant that. We almost hooked up, but I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You sigh and shake your head. You want to believe him so badly. But the voice in your head that’s been so cruel to you lately isn’t convinced.

“Do you still think about her?”

Steve scrunches up his face, wholly confused at your line of questioning.

“What? No, of course not. Like I said, we hung out twice, had one near-miss, and then never spoke again. Babe, is everything okay?”

He reaches a hand to your arm and you flinch away. Your action makes him frown deeper.

You rub your forehead.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. “Just tired.”

A beat. You think Steve’s going to accept your answer, until: “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying!” you say, irritation creeping into your tone. “I’m just tired. Okay, Steve?”

Steve fidgets from foot to foot. He’s starting to look as agitated as you feel. With an annoyingly calm, even voice, he says, “I think you’re not being honest.”

“And I think you should shut up,” you fire back, before you can stop yourself.

Steve’s face contorts into a frown, the line between his brows deepening.

“Whoa, what the hell?” he says. “Why are you being like this?”

“Because I just found out you lied about not being involved with someone while I was gone!”

Steve rubs his face with his hands, as if he’s trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. He takes a deep breath, another one, and then finally speaks.

“Y/N, I thought you were dead,” he says, voice strained. “You can’t seriously be jealous of me spending time with someone else because to my knowledge, I was never going to see you again.”

You know you should apologize for your outburst. Tell him about your insecurities, now dialed up to 1000 thanks to Rochelle’s comments. Rejoin his friends at the float like the normal girlfriend he probably wishes you were.

But instead, you find yourself voicing one of the fears that’s been swirling in your brain since June.

“It would be so much easier for you if that was still the case, right?” you ask, softly.

“Excuse me?” Steve asks.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask. “Bringing me back?” He doesn’t react, doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. You clear your throat and, louder, add, “Because it would be so much simpler for you to date a girl like Mollie or Rochelle.”

“Jesus, Y/N,” Steve groans. “Don’t bring Rochelle into this.”

“Why not? She’s obviously obsessed with you!”

“Yeah?” Steve scoffs. “Well, I don’t like her. I like you.” He shakes his head, as if he’s short-circuiting, and corrects, “I love you!”

Too late. You already heard the Freudian slip of your worst nightmare. He doesn’t regard you in the same way he did before your so-called death. You’ve changed too much.

You shake your head vehemently.

“No,” you say. “No. You loved the girl I was before it all happened.”

“You’re still the same girl!”

“I’m not!” you shout. You’re so angry, so upset, so emotional, you can’t stop. You’re floating above your body and watching yourself speak when you say, “I’m not. She’s gone, and sometimes I wish you’d never brought me back so I wouldn’t feel like this.”

Steve goes still once more. When he finally replies, his voice is dangerously quiet: “How dare you say that.”

You hadn’t expected that. You’d expected him to swoop in with comforting platitudes. To hug you and promise it would all be okay. To truly hear the words you’re saying—the thoughts you’ve been too afraid to voice in therapy, thoughts you’ve sugarcoated in your mind to lessen that bitter feeling on your tongue when you finally speak them aloud.

“What?” you whisper. Your eyes sting, unshed tears collecting on your lash line.

“How dare you say that,” Steve says, shaking his head. He’s angrier than you’ve ever seen him. He runs a hand through his hair and barks out a laugh so hollow, you can practically hear the echo in his ribcage. “That’s so fucking selfish that you wish you were still down there. I was miserable without you. I didn’t want to go on. I didn’t think I could!”

He's not getting what you’re trying to say. You open your mouth to reply, to apologize, to try and fix things, but Steve continues.

“So for you to be so callous, to think so little of me, to think I’d rather date some vapid airhead just because it would be ‘simpler’? To think I somehow can’t love you anymore because of what you went through? That’s just…bullshit!”

You heave out a sob as tears roll down your cheeks. Steve’s expression morphs into one of guilt. He swallows hard.

“Y/N, I—”

“You don’t get to tell me my feelings are bullshit!” you snap. You sniffle and roughly wipe your tears away, before jabbing a finger into his chest and pressing in. “Ever since I’ve been back, it’s all about how everyone else feels about it. You and my parents are so much happier, and you seem to think I can snap back to how I was before and forget it all happened and be grateful that I survived. Well, I can’t!”

Despite your distance from the parade planning festivities, you see a few curious students glance in your direction. You can’t be bothered to care.

“I don’t know how to go on with life like normal after 15 months in that hell, and no one understands what I’m going through!” you yell. “No one has been through that! And I’m miserable and scared and anxious and I’m lying to my therapist week after week because I can’t even verbalize what I’m thinking without feeling like I’m losing my goddamn mind. So sorry if sometimes I wish all this would go away.”

Steve’s facial expression cracks your heart in seventeen pieces. He looks devastated and confused.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, somewhat cautiously. “You’re right. I’m not handling this well, not seeing it from your point of view. But this is the most you’ve expressed how you’re feeling about it all. For the past few months, I—I don’t know. I thought you were feeling okay.”

You sniffle again and shrug.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Steve says. He clears his throat. “This is good, I think. Well, no, it’s not good that we’re screaming at each other in the quad. But getting our feelings out is—”

“I want to go home,” you say, cutting him off.

Steve closes his eyes, sighs softly, and nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll drive you back to Hawkins tonight.”

“No, I want to go now,” you say, voice cracking as you try not to cry harder. “I want my mom to come get me.”

Hurt flashes on Steve’s features. “Babe, are you sure? I really don’t mind. I want to, actually. The drive will give us more of a chance to talk.”

But you’re too tired and overwhelmed to talk anymore. Steve understands, though his shoulders are slumped as the two of you walk back to his apartment.

He offers to pack your bag while you call your house. Your mom picks up on the second ring.

“Hello, Y/L/N residence.”

“Mom?” you sniff. “Can you come get me?”

“Oh, of course sweetie!” You hear the jingle of car keys. “Wait, are you crying? What’s wrong? Was it another nightmare?”

“I just don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Did you and Steve have a fight?”

“His friends were really mean,” you say quietly, deciding not to disclose that you indeed got in an argument with Steve. “This girl, Rochelle, said one of her friends from Hawkins is telling everyone I was a stripper.”

“Oh, don’t you listen to that.”

You can’t hold back tears as you begin to cry harder.

“How come everyone makes up those dumb rumors?” you say through sobs. “And if people on campus already know them, how much worse will it be if I’m a student here?!”

Your mom soothes you over the phone before promising to get there as quickly as possible. As you hang up the phone, Steve comes in from down the hall, frowning and carrying your now-packed duffel. He doesn’t even try to be subtle about his eavesdropping when he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me Rochelle said that to you?”

You shrug and look down at your feet.

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I keep replaying our conversation in my head,” he says, “and I feel like an ass.”

“You’re not, Steve.”

“No! I am. I absolutely am. You were honest and vulnerable, and I immediately got mad. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say flatly. Admittedly, you’re not sure if you forgive him yet. But you know you didn’t treat him well either, so you say, “I’m sorry too. I was insensitive. I know you had a hard time while I was gone—”

“But it’s nothing compared to what you were dealing with,” Steve says. He steps closer to you and intertwines your hands together. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“My mom’s already on her way,” you say. “And you should rest up. Tomorrow’s the parade, and the homecoming game.”

“I don’t need to go to the game.”

“Steve—”

“I’d rather come back to Hawkins this weekend,” he continues. “Spend more time with you. Talk things through, you know? Maybe I can just ride with you and your mom, and Munson can bring me back Sunday.”

He’s sweet. But you aren’t sure how to tell him that you really, really don’t want to be around him right now. You don’t want to be around anyone, really.

You take a deep breath, gently drop his hands, and say, “I think I need some space.”

You can’t look Steve in the eye, but you hear the pain in his voice when he says, “Oh. Um, okay. Yeah. Of course. Space.”

You two sit in awkward silence while you wait for your mom to arrive. When she gets there, Steve continues to be a gentleman, carrying your bag for you and politely making small talk with your mom. He gives you a hug goodbye, but it doesn’t linger the way his hugs usually do.

As your mom drives away, you watch your boyfriend get smaller and smaller in the side mirror.

Before leaving, you promised him you’d call him that night.

You conveniently “forget” to do that.

He leaves a message at 9:37 p.m., asking you to call him back.

You don’t.

🫀🫀🫀

NOVEMBER 1987

“Hey, babe. It’s Steve. Again. I know we agreed on ‘space’ but I haven’t heard from you in three weeks…I don’t want to rush or smother you, but I’d really like to talk, even if it’s for, like, five minutes. So please call me back. I love you, Y/N.”

“Hey Y/N. Are you doing okay? Robin says she saw you and your mom at the store the other day and you just seemed kind of…out of it. To be honest, I’m worried about you. Listen, even if you don’t…even if we…even if you’ve decided you don’t want to be with me anymore, or something, I still care about you. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Please call me. Bye. Love you.”

“Hi Y/N, I’m coming back to Hawkins for Thanksgiving. Can I come by after you and your parents have dinner? I want to check in. On how you’re doing, and on how you’re feeling about ‘us.’ Let me know, okay? Bye, Y/N.”

“Hey. I’m going to swing by your place after I’ve finished Thanksgiving dinner with the Buckleys. Robin told me you’ve been avoiding her too. And Eddie, and Jonathan. I know you’re going through a tough time, but don’t try to do it alone. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way last year. I’ll see you tonight, all right?”

🫀🫀🫀

You’ve spent the past month and a half wallowing. All you really do is sleep, eat, shower, and take short walks around your neighborhood for exercise. Any time Steve calls the house phone, you tell your parents to let it ring and let it go to voicemail.

It’s shitty of you, but you aren’t sure how to dig yourself out of this hole that you’ve found yourself in. You’re still feeling rather undeserving of Steve.

So when he shows up on your doorstep on Thanksgiving, wearing that maroon sweater that you’ve always just adored, the first thing you do is apologize for your radio silence. Then, you offer him pumpkin pie.

“I won’t say no,” he says. “As long as you split it with me.”

While your parents cuddle on the couch and watch It’s A Wonderful Life, you and Steve sit on the kitchen counter and eat slices of pie with whipped cream.

For a few minutes, you exchange small talk and pleasantries. Then, Steve gets down to business.

“How have you been doing, really?” Steve asks.

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Y/N,” Steve says with a sigh. “Please just be honest with me.”

You suck in a breath.

“Okay. You want honesty? I’m having a really hard time.”

“I know,” Steve says gently. “And I want to help. Can you talk to me about what’s going on?”

You consider it. You consider wrenching your heart open for him and admitting all your fears and insecurities. But last time you broached this subject with Steve and tried to be wholly honest about what you were feeling, you didn’t explain it right and he took it the wrong way.

And you also hear what sounds like Rochelle’s voice in your mind: He deserves better. He deserves better.

You save yourself the trouble and say, “I need to get my shit together. And I’m not being a very good girlfriend while I do, so I think we need to break up.”

Despite your best efforts to stay strong, you feel tears coming on. Everything only worsens when you hear Steve whisper, “What?”

He deserves better. He deserves better. He deserves better than you.

“I have to focus on myself right now,” you continue as the tears roll down your cheeks. You stab your pie with your fork and say, “I’m sorry. I love you so much—”

“I love you too, Y/N, so I—”

“—but I need to deal with this on my own. It’s not fair of me to treat you like this.” You clear your throat and add, “You deserve someone who can give you everything you want.”

“You’re what I want,” Steve says. You can’t look at him, but you get the impression that he’s tearing up too. “I mean, if this is really what you want, I’ll respect your decision completely, but I just have to know—is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

You don’t want to do this—

—but he deserves better.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Steve says after a beat. “Even if we aren’t together anymore, I’m still here for you. You know that, right?”

You nod, still decimating your pie slice with your fork.

“Okay, good.” He sniffles.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Sorry. Ah, I mean—”

Steve chuckles, despite everything. You two share an awkward hug goodbye before he leaves.

You stay in the kitchen and hear him wish your parents “Happy holidays.” As you hear the front door open and shut, as you hear his car turn on and drive away, you try to convince yourself this was the correct choice. That shutting him out means he’ll live a happier life without you.

The pit of emptiness like a chasm in your soul will go away eventually, right?

🫀🫀🫀

FEBRUARY 1988

It’s been 3 months since you broke up with Steve.

You decided to defer your U of I enrollment. Steve, being a good friend, calls a few days before the semester starts asking if you’d like help moving into your dorm, and you break the news to him. He understands but sounds disappointed. It makes you feel terrible.

But this is the right choice. You aren’t ready to be away from home, away from your parents, even if it’s just a couple hours away.

You start taking community college classes to fill your time and get some credits, along with working at Bradley’s Big Buy as a stocker. It’s mindless, monotonous work. It’s kind of perfect.

What isn’t so perfect is your therapist, Elaine. She’s nice enough. But she doesn’t seem to get it. You aren’t able to fully tell her what you went through, considering she knows nothing about the Upside Down, so she can’t really help you.

When you start opening up about the dark thoughts worming their way through your mind, Elaine advocates strongly and staunchly for putting yourself out there and making new friends to fill the void. You’re starting to wonder if you’re wasting your time shelling out $50 a week.

You do think a better social life would be good for you, so you invite Robin, Eddie, and Jonathan to come over to your place for a horror movie marathon. (Nancy would be invited too, if she wasn’t away at school.) You’ve rented a D-level slasher trilogy about a man in a hockey mask attacking pageant queens. It’s small potatoes compared to what you’ve actually been through.

Jonathan agrees, but both Robin and Eddie tell you they can’t make it. Robin because she’s got the flu. Eddie because he has band practice all afternoon and into the night.

It stings like a barb ripping you open when you swing by Melvald’s for cheap movie candy and spot the two of them across the street, laughing as they head into the Hawk with…Steve, who must be home from school for the weekend.

So they do want to have a movie night. Just with Steve and not you. Message received.

You wonder if Steve said something to sour you in their eyes. You thought the breakup was amicable. You know he was upset by it, but he respected your decision. And he doesn’t seem like the type to badmouth an ex, especially after all you’ve been through together.

But anxiety rolls through your nervous system the rest of the day. As you and Jonathan watch the crappy movies, you just feel numb.

“Jee-sus!” Jonathan yelps as the killer’s chainsaw hacks through someone’s limb.

He glances your way, eyebrows raising. “What? That didn’t scare you?”

You shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”

Jonathan’s brow furrows. He leans over and pauses the movie.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? We can watch something else. Or, if you’d rather be alone, I can head out.”

You pick at a loose thread on the pillow in your lap.

“Are Robin and Eddie mad at me?” you whisper.

“What?” Jonathan says with a laugh. “You’re, like, the nicest person in a fifty-mile radius. Why would they be mad at you?”

The old you was nice. The current you is moody. But Jonathan is also pretty moody, so maybe your moodiness is baseline in his eyes.

“They both said they couldn’t come tonight,” you continue, “but then I saw them just an hour ago in downtown Hawkins heading into the Hawk with Steve. Why else would they make up excuses not to come unless they were mad?”

Jonathan takes a long, slow sip of his grape soda and shrugs.

“It’s probably because they don’t want you to think they chose Steve over you in the breakup.”

“But that’s exactly what they did!”

“Maybe not,” Jonathan says. “Maybe they just made the plans with Steve before you invited us over and it’s easier to turn down your invitation than cancel on him.”

That’s a very logical way of looking at it, but it still stings feeling like you’ve lost two friends since you and Steve aren’t together anymore.

You and Jonathan continue watching, but his mom calls halfway through the second movie, forcing him to leave early—something about El using telekinesis to turn her bed into a bunk bed and it backfiring horribly.

You try to push your worries out of your mind, but paranoia takes a hold. As you toss and turn in your bed that night, clutching Lambchop for a semblance of comfort, your brain bullies you.

Robin and Eddie are pissed at you. Probably because you haven’t gone to any Corroded Coffin shows since you’ve been back. You’ve been a little preoccupied.

A little selfish, more like. It doesn’t matter what you’re going through. You should still support your friends.

But why? You don’t like drinking alcohol anymore because you don’t like feeling out of control. And the Hideout is the only place Corroded Coffin plays, and that place reeks of booze and cigarettes and bad decisions.

Maybe that’s why Eddie’s mad. Is Robin mad by proxy? Did Steve shit-talk you to her? How did he describe the events of the breakup?

Were you a bad girlfriend? Are you a bad friend? Bad person?

Yes. You’re a bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

You happen to run into Robin on the community college’s campus the following Monday. You can’t help but ask if she’s feeling better.

Her eyes widen and she plasters on a smile.

“O-oh, yeah!” she says. “I’m feeling loads better. Tons! Tons better.”

“Your sinus infection is gone?” you prompt, knowing full well she told you it was the flu.

“Yep! All gone. My sinuses are as healthy as can be. I feel like I could live to be 100!”

You exchange a few more pleasantries and shuffle off.

🫀🫀🫀

MARCH 1988

There’s a dark cloud hovering over your mind. Most days, you’re lethargic. You go to classes and go to work, and you do start going to the Hideout on Tuesday nights with Jonathan and Robin to watch Eddie play with his band.

But that’s the extent of your social life. You’re feeling lonely and drained.

Things take a turn for the worse in March. It was a cold, cold winter in Hawkins, and spring is shaping up to be warmer but just as gloomy. Really bad thunderstorms shake the windowpanes of your house most days, and the streaks of lightning remind you so much of the grayish-yellow Upside Down sky, it makes you sick.

You can’t help but find yourself thinking you want to disappear to escape it all. Not die, exactly. But fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Maybe when you woke up, things would be better.

You try to explain what you’re feeling to Elaine the Therapist, and she doesn’t understand what you meant in the slightest.

“Have you gotten checked for narcolepsy?” she asks.

You give her a tight smile and say you’ll ask your doctor about it at your next checkup.

A bright spot is when Robin invites you to a party at her apartment. You forgot her and Eddie’s little white lie from a few weeks ago and RSVP yes.

The party is going well. You’re having a nice conversation with Jonathan and Eddie when Steve walks in, and he’s not alone.

Your heart sinks to your feet, through the floor, and all the way to the core of the earth when you see Steve is joined by Rochelle.

You don’t even hear any of the conversations happening around you. You quickly excuse yourself to the kitchen for a glass of water—and because you need to be alone.

You get about 15 seconds of a reprieve before Steve enters.

“Listen, it’s not what you think,” he says quickly.

“Hello to you too, Steve,” you say. You can’t even look him in the eye, choosing instead to study the ice cubes in your glass.

“I’m not here with Rochelle,” Steve continues. He runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, yes, she’s here. And I’m here. And we’re here together. But not together together! God, I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“None at all.”

“She needed a ride to her parents’ house for the weekend,” Steve explains. “She lives just forty-five minutes from here. But I guess they were out of town, and she didn’t have a key, so she’s staying with me. And she didn’t want to spend all day in my house alone, so—”

“She’s here,” you finish for him. You finally look him in the eye and force a smile. “That’s fine, Steve. You can hang out with whoever you want.”

“Trust me,” Steve snorts. “I’d rather not be hanging out with her. I’m just doing her a favor because she’s friends with Jessica and Gus.”

Before you can respond, Rochelle saunters into the kitchen. She smiles like a shark—all gums and teeth.

“Oh, it’s you!” she says. “Y/N! How have you been?”

“Fine,” you say politely. “How about you?”

“Oh, just great. Really great. Sad to not see you around campus, though. I thought you enrolled?”

She has the impressive capability of making everything single sentence sound like an insult.

“I’m going to community college instead,” you explain. “But I really should get back out there.”

You give Steve and Rochelle a wide berth before stepping back into the living room.

The rest of the party goes by fine. Except you can’t quite contain your rage watching Rochelle throw herself at Steve all afternoon.

She sits too close to him. She constantly whispers in his ear and giggles, like they’re sharing inside jokes and secrets. While Robin’s putting on a movie for everyone to watch, you swear you even see Rochelle put her hand on Steve’s thigh.

The only thing that makes you feel better is that Steve blocks every one of these advances. While Eddie regales you all with a Corroded Coffin storytime, you even notice Steve's slotted himself in between Robin and the wall, forcing Rochelle to stand off to the side near a potted plant.

When the party’s over, you wish Robin well and try to slip out unnoticed. Unfortunately, Steve has a terrible habit of noticing everything about you, and he follows you out.

“Hey, wait up!” he calls, jogging behind you as you speed walk to your car to avoid the sprinkling rain.

“Sorry, I have to go,” you say, struggling to unlock your car door.

Before you can get it unlocked and make your escape, Steve places a hand over the driver’s side door handle.

“Hold on,” he says. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Well, I have to get home—”

“This’ll take five minutes,” Steve promises. He traces an X over his heart. “Cross my heart, hope to cry.”

You scrunch your nose in confusion. “It’s ‘die.’”

“Huh?”

“It’s ‘Cross my heart, hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye.’”

Steve’s eyes widen and jaw drops, affronted. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles. “Why would anyone ever want to do that?”

“That’s the point!” you say, and you can’t help but laugh at the appalled look on his face. “You don’t want to do that, so you keep the promise.”

“Ah. Okay, well, I’ll be fast. I just want to see how you’ve been doing these past few months. I—I miss you, you know?”

You swallow hard. The rain’s starting to pick up now. You don’t want to wait too much longer to drive home, or else it’ll be too hard to see. And if you see lightning, you’ll probably have a panic attack behind the wheel, making you a danger to yourself and others.

“I miss you too,” you say. “But I really, really need to get home now.”

You think of leaving it at that, but your heart feels as sad as the look on his face, so you add, “But you can come by my house later tonight and we can talk? Uh, how’s 8 sound?”

Steve’s face brightens. He gives you that smile that always makes your stomach do a backflip.

“I’d like that,” he says.

You smile back and open your car door. Before stepping in, you turn to him and say, “Do not bring Rochelle.”

“Cross my whatever and hope to who-gives-a-shit!” Steve says as he walks backward away from your car. You give him a small wave, which he returns, before getting in the car and driving off.

As you suspected, the drive home is much, much too anxiety-inducing. Thunder seems to shake the whole frame of the car as you drive across town. Rain falls in pails, as if angels are taking buckets and throwing them on your car specifically. Your windshield wipers can barely keep up, and cars are honking and passing you since your fear is causing you to drive about ten under the speed limit.

You try not to let that bother you as your hands grip the wheel for dear life, the muscles from your fingers up to your shoulders impossibly tense. There’s a reason your mom drove you everywhere last summer and fall. Getting back into the habit of operating a motor vehicle isn’t easy, and everything seems to scare you now.

Despite everything, the drive is going fine—until one of the cars passing you cuts a little too close as they swerve back into the right lane. They almost clip your front bumper, which causes you to panic and swerve off the road near the now defunct trailer park.

Your tires squeak on the wet grass and you slam on your breaks, heart pounding. Shuddery breaths draw in, out. In, out. You try and collect yourself and turn your left turn signal on to merge back onto the main road. However, something gray out of the corner of your eye causes you to whip your head in the direction of the trailer park.

This is where you died and were resurrected—well, the version of this in the Upside Down. In Hawkins, the area is cordoned off. No one can live there anymore, thanks to the big cracks in the earth. Once gates, they were now sealed, but they upended some trailers and tore others in two.

You see a flash of movement between two broken trailers. The gates are supposed to be closed, and there aren’t supposed to be Upside Down creatures in Hawkins anymore, but you can’t help but wonder alternatives. You feel compelled to check it out.

You turn off your car’s ignition, grab the flashlight from your glove box, and clamor out, ducking under the “CAUTION” tape and jogging into the park. You squint in the rain, the beam of your flashlight scanning the surrounding area. You step over uneven earth, wondering if you’re wasting your time and should just—

“GRRRRRROWWWLLLL!!!!!”

You whip around and gasp. The gray creature you saw wasn’t a demo-creature, but a mangy, stray dog with muddy fur. It snaps its jaws and you see three little puppies cowering under a bush behind it.

An overprotective mama dog wouldn’t have scared you two years ago. You would’ve known exactly how to handle the situation without freaking out. But now, your fear spikes and you remember the few run-ins with hungry demodogs you had in the Upside Down. The dog is blocking your way back to your car, so you turn on your heel and run in the opposite direction, toward the imposing forest.

You can’t think clearly. Your mind is on fire. All you can think is Danger! Danger! Danger! And it’s keeping you from making any rational decisions.

You swear you hear the dog chasing behind you, snarling and ready to attack. You zig-zag between trees and glance behind to see if you really are being chased.

You lose your footing on slick mud, left ankle twisting painfully as you fall to the ground. Your flashlight skitters out of your grasp and rolls away, blinking out.

Now, you’re stuck in the rain, in the dark, with an injured ankle and no flashlight. Thankfully, the dog wasn’t following. But you feel powerless, hoping you can muster any survival instincts from your time in the Upside Down to make your way back to safety.

🫀🫀🫀

At 7:58 p.m., Steve parks outside your house.

He’s more nervous than he needs to be. He tries to remember that this isn’t a visit to win you back, as much as he wishes it was. No, he’s respecting your decision. But he’s glad he has the chance to just talk to you.

After you dumped him, he spent way too much time overanalyzing that fight you two had in October. It solidified the fact that he was an ass, completely misunderstanding you and getting mad for no good fucking reason.

Admittedly, he was tempted to throw away all his progress and drink away his misery. But he didn’t, channeling that energy toward more productive things. His mind is clearer than it was, and he’s going to make it right this time. Steve wants to check on you, the way his friends checked on him while he was having a tough time. Their support was invaluable.

Steve rings your doorbell, shaking out his umbrella.

The front door swings open. Your father looks expectant, before he frowns.

“Steve, hello,” your father says. “Is Y/N with you?”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Uh, no,” he says. “I’m supposed to meet her here.”

Your father curses and puts his head in his hands.

“Is it her?” your mother says, rushing around the corner with the cordless phone tucked under her shoulder. When she sees Steve, her shoulders slump. She speaks into the phone, “Hopper, she’s still not back.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, heart sinking. “Y/N’s missing?”

“She never came back from Robin’s party,” your father says, stepping aside to let Steve in. “You saw her leave, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod. His mouth feels very, very dry.

Your mother continues murmuring on the phone with Hopper, and your father continues grilling Steve: “How was she? Did she seem upset?”

“A little nervous, maybe,” Steve says. He swallows hard. “I, uh, I think she was freaked out by the storm.”

You should’ve driven her home, Steve thinks. You idiot. If something happens to her, it’ll be your fault.

“She’s been so quiet lately,” your father says, voice strained. He clears his throat. “And so jumpy. But she said she wanted to start driving again. We thought she was getting better…”

Your father looks like he’s beside himself. Steve is unsure what to say to make things right.

Your mother hangs up the phone and sighs. “Hopper’s going to go look for her,” she says. She chokes out a sob. “Oh, Roger…she’s been so down lately. What if she…”

“Let’s not speculate,” your father says firmly, though he looks anxious about the possibilities.

Your parents decide to drive around looking for you, and Steve joins the search in his own car as well. He can’t sit idly by knowing you’re out there, possibly in distress, possibly in danger.

🫀🫀🫀

While you’re sitting against a tree trunk trying to shield yourself from the rain, there’s a morbid part of you that’s okay with this.

You wanted something bad to happen. You wanted to be in some kind of distress, because you being hurt means people have to care about you. Right? They have to really, truly see that you’ve been struggling but haven’t been able to ask for proper help.

You snap yourself out of that thought process, trying to remind yourself that people do care about you. But it’s hard to feel that way when you’ve put so much distance between yourself and the people you love.

You aren’t sure how long you sit in the rain having a pity party, watching your swollen ankle get bigger and bigger. You need to ice it and elevate it. And anytime longer in this rain, you’ll catch a cold.

So, you crawl on your hands and knees and find as sturdy a branch as you can on the forest floor. You use it as a pseudo walking stick to help you hobble back toward the trailer park. You know the way, thanks to your time traversing the forest daily in the Upside Down.

As you get closer to the break in the trees, you hear people calling for you. You shuffle there faster.

“I’m here!” you yell, stumbling through the tree line. “I’m here!”

It’s Chief Powell and Hopper, and they look relieved to see you. Officer Callahan and an animal control worker are trying to coax the mama dog and her three pups into crates.

“What happened, kid?” Hopper asks, sitting with you in the backseat of Powell’s truck while the other man radios for an ambulance and a tow truck for your car. The usual gruff timbre to Hopper's voice has a softened edge to it today, like he can sense your emotional fragility.

“Some jerk pushed me off the road. And I thought I saw…I—listen, the mud made the dog’s fur look gray, and I thought it was—”

“One of these hellhounds?”

You nod.

“I’m not sure if you realize this,” Hopper says. “But it’s been two years to the day since you…you know.”

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t remember,” you admit. “I mean, I knew the anniversary was coming up soon, I just…”

“We were all worried you…did something,” Hopper continues cautiously.

“I wouldn’t,” you say, much too quickly. “I mean, I feel like shit a lot of the time, but…no. I wouldn’t.”

Hopper nods, eyeing you. He doesn’t quite look convinced.

When the ambulance arrives, he rides with you to the hospital. Then, your parents meet you at the ER, while a doctor looks over your ankle.

It’s sprained, but not broken, thankfully. They send you home with a brace, some crutches, painkillers, and instructions to elevate and ice.

The whole drive home, your parents give you a speech about how much they love you and how they want to know how you’re doing, and that if you ever feel low, to talk to them because they can help. Normally, that kind of thing would annoy you, but after today—the fear of seeing what you thought was a demodog, of being back in the wilderness by yourself, even just for a few hours—you appreciate the gesture.

It's after midnight when you get home, and the rain has finally let up. Your dad helps you up the porch stairs, leaning the side with your bad leg against him the whole way. You almost don’t notice the note tacked to the front door until your mom points it out.

It has your name on it. You open it. Parts of it have been scratched out, but you can still read it all.

Hey, Y/N. I was driving around looking for you when Hopper found me. I’m so glad to hear that you’re going to be okay.

I’ll swing by tomorrow to chat, if you’re still up for it. If not, no worries. I know it’s a tough time. I just want you to know that I miss you I care about you more than you know I’m here.

-Steve

🫀🫀🫀

When Steve comes by the next day, he’s not alone.

You’re surprised to see him and Max Mayfield standing on your porch.

“Uh, hello!” you say. “How are you, Max?”

“Pretty good,” she says, “now that Steve is taking us for ice cream.”

You raise your eyebrows and adjust your stance on your crutches.

“Oh!” you say. You look to Steve. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Everything about his posture is tense, nervous. You wonder if this is an intervention or something—if you’ll arrive at the ice cream shop and be bombarded by the rest of your friends and a licensed professional promising a “safe space.”

You tell your parents where you’re going, promising a million times that you’ll be careful, and hobble down the porch steps to Steve’s waiting car. He’s a gentleman, one hand hovering behind your back and ready to catch you if you fall.

Max lets you have the passenger seat, likely due to your injury. On the ride over, you consider (politely) asking what she’s doing there, as you expected this conversation would be about the nature of your and Steve’s relationship.

A part of you deep, deep down had hoped he would beg you to take him back. A part of you deeper down felt selfish for that, but it was what you wanted.

You made a huge mistake letting him go.

Steve ends up taking you both to Sonic, pulling into one of the parking spots and pressing the “Order” button. Max leans up from the backseat, sticking her head between the two front seats, and rattles off a complicated order of hot dogs, fries, slushies, and ice cream into the speaker.

“I thought this was just ice cream,” you say with an eyebrow raised.

Max smirks.

“Moneybags Harrington is paying,” she says, patting him on the shoulder.

“I resent that,” Steve grouses. But there’s a sparkle in his eye.

When the food comes, Steve divvies it up amongst the three of you. However, he quickly comes up with a shoddy excuse to step out of the car—something about the fries being a medium instead of a large.

Max climbs over the center console to settle in the driver’s seat.

You aren’t sure what to expect when you’re alone with Max, but it’s definitely not, “Dying and coming back really sucks, doesn’t it?”

Your burger immediately tastes like sandpaper. “Oh, let’s not talk about that,” you say. “Let’s talk about fun things. Have you learned any new skate tricks recently?”

“Don’t deflect,” Max says, waving a french fry at you for emphasis. “Steve said you were having a hard time because no one could relate to you, and I’m probably the only person in the world who can.”

She’s not wrong. After your return to the right side of the universe, you learned that Max woke up from her coma, completely healed, after you killed Vecna and the gates closed. You hadn’t thought about how the two of you had similar, paralleled experiences.

“It does suck,” you say quietly, swirling your spoon around in your ice cream cup. “And I kind of feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“For me, it was a lot of anger,” Max says. She fidgets with her own food as she continues. “I couldn’t understand people’s priorities anymore. Like, what do you mean you’re worried about a chem test, Dustin? A few months ago, the world almost ended!”

“I totally get that,” you say, and your heart already feels lighter. “And my parents don’t understand what really happened, so they just don’t get me at all. Why I get so scared, so angry. So jumpy. It makes me feel like I’m a freak in their eyes.”

“I feel like my mom doesn’t even see me anymore,” Max says. She clears her throat and you catch a glimpse of tears gathering on her lash line before she roughly wipes them away. “Like to her, I’m a ghost.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you say. She scoffs.

“And there’s another annoying thing,” Max says. “The empty platitudes to make us feel better. That shit doesn’t fix anything!”

You’re not offended by her outburst, because you honestly agree. The two of you lament a bit longer, and by the end of the conversation, you’re feeling on top of the world. Sure, nothing is really fixed. But you finally realize that you have a kindred spirit in all this.

You and Max make a plan to do things together more often. You’re seeing her as a de facto little sister already, and you’re hopeful that your planned meetings will be just as beneficial for her as they are for you.

Steve comes back after what seems like a millennium, shooing Max back to the backseat.

“Took you long enough!” she says.

He just smiles.

🫀🫀🫀

JUNE 1988

It’s the first day of summer.

And it’s been a year to the day since you returned.

You expect to feel more anxious than you do. Instead, you feel peaceful.

You’re doing a lot better, genuinely. You found a new therapist (sorry, Elaine) and since it’s someone who worked with Dr. Owens, you’re able to spill all the gory details of your past and your trauma. Healing isn’t easy, but you feel yourself slowly sewing yourself back together again.

You and Max stick to your word and take weekly trips to Sonic. You talk about the heavy stuff, but also the normal life stuff. You sometimes have guests. This past week, Lucas and Mike tagged along, arguing the whole time about what should happen in the Ghostbusters sequel that’s supposed to release next year.

You and Steve…ah, what’s there to say. You want him back, but you imploded the relationship and it feels selfish to waltz up to him and say, “Hey, hot stuff. Wanna get back together?”

However, you’ve officially enrolled for the fall semester at U of I. While he’s home from Hawkins for summer break, under the guise of asking for tips about campus life, you spend a lot of time with him.

You also spend time in the library, doing some studying to catch up before you start your classes in the fall. Your high school graduation was a lifetime ago. Literally.

Steve, Robin, and Jonathan join you for those summertime study sessions, although Jonathan and Robin usually bicker over the music theory books and Steve doesn’t get much done except for doodling in his notebook. But sometimes you catch him staring at you, and then his cheeks flush pink in that adorable way that makes you want to do something stupid, like beg him to take you back.

If only you knew if he really felt the same…

…which you find out he does, during the summer solstice.

You’re at the county fair with your friends, but they’ve all run off to watch the fireworks, so it’s just you and Steve at a picnic table downing sodas and cotton candy.

Your fingers wrap around the cool glass of a now-empty Coke bottle, and you place it on the tabletop. You attempt to look nonchalant as you spin it slowly.

Once it’s picked up momentum, you let it go, watching it spin a few more times before stopping it with your hand when the bottle neck points at Steve.

“It’s you,” you whisper, attempting to recreate that magical first kiss moment from years and years ago. You clear your throat at Steve’s dumbfounded expression. “Ah, sorry. You don’t have to kiss me. I was just…”

To your pleasant surprise, Steve’s face splits into a grin. “Well, gee, Y/N,” he says. “If you wanted to kiss me that bad, you could’ve just said so.”

A million canaries titter a love song in your heart as he leans forward.

The two of you kiss, for the first time in a long time.

The great divide in your soul is starting to seal. And everything feels right.

THE END

🫀🫀🫀

a/n please lmk what you thought 🩵

tags; @aloneinthehellfire @starry-eyed-steve @hollandweather @wisdomssdaughterr @huffledor-able541 @springautumn

@sunshinesteviee @curiositydooropened @crappymixtape

#st fic: oj #st fic: tgd #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic

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anika-ann · 19 days

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Ocaruj me (Bewitch Me) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; drabbl-ish; a part of this pseudo-medieval-fantasy AU

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 2k

Summary: Knight Steven Rogers is a man with love. That love is you. His beautiful lady who bewitched his soul even without the supernatural powers you possess. He'll follow you anywhere.

It that means bathing in a lake in a moonlight, so be it.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex (shocking in medieval times huh), bit of angst, fluff, knight Steve ‘cause he’s a warning, Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Actual title is Očaruj mě (Bewitch Me) ...tumblr cannot handle a "č" and an “ě“ in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; inspired by THIS ask (you can find headcanons and a playlist there)

A/N 2: Chronologically fits before the events of Pomiluj mě, but if you read this first, you will spoil some of the reveals.

Magic is a dark evil thing; that is what all knights of the kingdom are reminded during their studies and training.

Magic is the wicked twine that curls around your wrist when you reach out a hand, grips you tight and drags you towards perdition.

Magic takes face of a twisted beauty, a temptress, and leads you down the path of sin with a smile worth of the Devil himself.

Magic only knows curses and wrongs.

Sir Steven Rogers knows these axioms by heart.

Steve knows they are horseshit; or at least fail to fulfil the basic rule of an axiom, which is supposed to be universality.

In Steve’s eyes, people are corrupted by many things, amongst which there is the power that comes with magic. That much is true. But the nature of magic itself is pure; t reveals the person wielding it and amplifies who they already are.

Steve would only agree with part of the axiom second to last, assured whenever he sees you. He would now too, standing near the bank of a lake, still fully clothed, his gaze inevitably drawn to the enticing image in front of him.

You, standing to the waist in the water, dressed in but the luxurious robe of moonlight caressing your skin and wearing the lake like the richest skirt; your hair cascading down freely like an elaborate veil, the commonly dark ink of your tattoo reaching from the side of your neck down your shoulder shinning bright.

When you glance over your shoulder, eyes glimmering more entrancingly than the moon and the stars combined, lips curling in a smile, the last thing Steve would compare you to would be the Devil, a dark evil thing.

The truth, however, is that if you did decide to drag him towards his end, he would follow voluntarily, heart pounding just as hard as it is now, with warmth in his chest and searing heat in is gut.

When you speak his name, a sweet ‘rytier moj’, you indeed are every bit of a temptress, the seductress steering him toward the most beautiful of sins; but not in the name of evil.

In the name of love.

“How is it that you are not cold, bosorka moja? And by gods, remind me, love, why is it that I should follow?” he asks with a grin on his lips, as if he does not feel every ounce of his body being pulled to you by the alluring image of you alone, by the promise of the feel of your skin under his fingertips, of the taste of your lips, of your wickedly delicate hands touching him in ways no unwed lovers should.

You have told him there was a deeper meaning in bathing in that particular lake on this very night, but as fascinated as he always is by your faiths and magic, you have been convincing him with your lips whispering to his own, causing his memory to be considerably less reliable, his mind much more pliant.

You turn around to face him fully, your watery skirt swirling; Steve’s mouth turns dry at the sight of your stiff nipples and plump breasts, his last reservations dispersing as his pants become uncomfortably tight.

“For this lake is believed to possess supernatural properties, rytier moj. For I know it does,” you remind him gently, your gaze trailing down his body in appreciation as he sheds his cloak, his tunic and pants.

You once told him what you saw when he did and have aided him in recalling it quite frequently.

Beauty.

Strength.

Goodness.

Safety.

Home.

And desires personified.

Steve is only a man; all these are virtues in his mind, privileges, and the one that is not makes him preen all the more.

Dark eyes glimmering in the moonlight, your smile earns a teasing edge even as your words begin with gravity.

“Bathing in the light of the full moon nearest to the summer solstice makes one stronger. Something my knight might appreciate. I know I for sure would, since he insists on recklessly risking his life.”

His own lips curl up, heart humming with tenderness; he is cared for. He is worried about. He is loved. He is not the only one who has the comfort of a lover on their mind. Perhaps it is for ‘lovers’ is not quite the word fit for where his heart quivers in the matter of you and him. Not the only word.

Desire personified.

Gorgeous temptress.

But also beloved.

Láska moja.

Bosorka moja.

Home.

“All knights do, bosorka moja,” he says as he steps into the water, the liquid welcoming him with an unexpected sensation of cold and warmth combined.

Where his skin meets the water, immersed deeper with each tentative step on the invisible rocky floor, he is enveloped with an unfamiliar sensation, the warmth seeping into his skin almost violently, leaving gentle tingling in its wake.

His lungs expand. His heart thunders. His muscles ache until they feel as light as a feather. His large bones seem to harden, his joints feel stronger but pliant. His blood pumps vigorously, forcing a shuddering breath out of his chest.

Well, he’ll be damned; he would be if he wasn’t so blessed. He would never doubt you again. Not that he ever truly did.

You watch him, a hypnotic and hypnotizing gaze, soaked in the satisfaction and desire having thickened your tenderness. Your skin almost glows and Steve understands that his eyes were not deceiving him earlier. He is not the only one absorbing power; yours might be different in nature from his, so different and ethereal, a true force of nature, but a power nevertheless. And as you soaked in the water, your immense power grew further.

“And yet, I have not seen any knight, soldier or mercenary, nor the clumsiest commoner with as many scars, nor I saved them from so many,” you oppose him, still playful; yet, your voice has earned a husky quality Steve is drawn to like a mot to a flame, his steps growing confident.

For almost every step he takes, you take one back, away from him, sinking deeper, hiding your tempting body from his hungry sight. A delightful feigned chase begins, one of which you both know will only end in bodies intertwined. A dance Steve knows, for he has felt its thrill before, for he has danced with you before; he has danced lips to lips, hands to hips, hips to hips, lips attached to your mound with hooded eyes too, senses enveloped with heady primal need, laced with love both corporal and intangible.

It all hums within him, pounds with force bolstered by the magic surrounding him. You feel it too; he reads as much in your features.

“You haven’t seen them naked either,” he notes, a slight smile remaining.

The conversation continues even as it fades.

You hum with a smile of your own, stopping at last as takes three long strides and catches up with you, gazing up at him with a sweet challenge he cannot refuse. “That is true, rytier moj.”

But that is not what your body whispers, already miles ahead when only inches from him.

Touch me, it coaxes him instead.

Hold me.

Love me.

Have me.

Fill me.

Make me sing for you. Only for you.

Do as you crave; I crave the same, just as much.

Who is he to deny a lady? Who is he to deny you, especially when the wordless pleas entice him, please him, echo his own?

The slight prickle of strength reborn, one unknown to ordinary men, still heats his very core, his lips speaking on their own even as his fingers wander with purpose, over the skin of your waist, down your hip, over your belly button, to your sternum, over the swell of your breast, stepping closer to feel your hardened peaks brush against his chest, eliciting a breathy sound of his name amongst his questions.

“What of other blessed nights bathing in this lake? Equinoxes as well?”

Your hands move with purpose too; mapping the constellations of freckles and moles on his body, caressing the planes of strengthened muscle with teasing lightness. Your touch is surprisingly warm, Steve realizes distantly, his head and hands full of you; if he did not know better, if he did not know you were a witch, he would think you an entirely different magical species.

As you nod and explain, your hand rises above water, stroking over his shoulder – the water follows seemingly effortlessly, swirling and curling around your palm; even as you speak, he shudders under the touch where your hands could not have possibly reached him, not at so many places at once; and yet, every single of these caresses are just as warm, loving and teasing as those of your own fingers.

With how you bended the water to your will, Steve would have thought you were born to do so. He would have thought he found himself a water nymph instead. His breathtaking, enchantingly playful water nymph.

“Bathing in the lake on a new moon nearing the spring equinox breeds rebirth, ridding of all old aches, body and heart,” you explain quietly, intimately, as your fingers tease along the dip along his hips, his own hands grasping your soft flesh with urgency growing. “First new moon after the autumn equinox calls upon the forest spirits, their protection, bringing the wiseness of our ancestors with their blessings.”

Steve’s head is full of you; your words, almost fairy-tale like, but spoken with reverence of a person who knows them true, whose rituals has called upon the forces of nature and has been rewarded for it, blessed by them.

His hands are full of you too and as his heart sings.

The rest of his body vibrates with need, impatient fingers slipping lower, towards your core, teasing alongside your slit. Even as he asks the only natural question, his focus is elsewhere, fingertip dipping into your welcoming heat, his lips whispering against yours, your hips eagerly meeting his touch.

“And what of winter solstice, bosorka moja? Tell me,” he coaxes, revelling in your playful touch turning into a grip on his hip instead, other hand wrapping around his own to urge him to sink his finger deeper, for another to join.

Who is he to deny you again? His bewitching water nymph, whose heat would envelop him just as welcomingly as the water of the lake and fill him with just as much exceptional powerful sensation...

Love her.

Take her.

Protect her.

Make her mine.

“It keeps your heart warm,” you sigh, mouth chasing after his, fingertips finally brushing over his hardness, curling around the length and squeezing and twisting enough for his strained muscles to melt, rushing to lift your leg to wrap around his waist, opening you up for him, your taste, your scent, your husky voice like the most tempting trap he rushes into with vigour and pride. “Keeps your love safe. On the full moon close--- oh Steve— closest to the solstice- preserving it even through the— the harshest of winters----Steven!

The steady movements of his fingers stutter at the needy pulsing grip around them, eliciting another and another, his thumb brushing over your clit, mouth slanting over yours to swallow your cries of ecstasy, cradling your head to his as your hips keep rocking into his hand. You’ll feel like heaven, like you always do, but the burst inside him at feeling your pleasure coaxed by him is almost, almost enough.

“I’ll be here,” he promises against your lips, kissing you again, tipping your head back, your body so gorgeously pliant to his greedy touch. “I will be here, with you, every quarter a year. Every month, every day, love.”

“Ľubim ťa,” you gasp and Steve makes another promise, to not meet you here, but bring you. Bring you from your shared home at last, because even by the damn equinox, he will have done you right, a ring on your finger, his everything made yours, as you deserve.

“Ľubim ťa, bosorka moja,” he whispers back, a chuckle escaping him when his eyes flutter open, offered a sight of soft sprinkles and curls of water rising above the surface and glimmering in the moonlight.

Your magic exploding outside of you as pleasure fills your veins.

Steve is certain it will never cease to amaze him; or spur him to coax something even more fascinating when chasing his own peak and yours together, even as that alone is a gift he cherishes.

Your hands slide to his shoulders for leverage as his fingers leave you empty, moving to your bottom to lift you up, sliding in almost effortlessly.

No words are needed then. As you connect your bodies and souls alike, the water keeps dancing.

You glow behind Steve’s hooded eyes, tattoo shining as bright as your affection, beauty and goodness, a reminder that no, magic could not be further from the darkness in corporal form. In every waking moment, he would swear he has never seen, nor heard, nor felt anything more beautiful and lighter than you, even with a face and voice of a temptress you embody.

The only sin you have led him to, the only speckle of shame on his honour, is the one he will remedy soon and has nothing do with your magical nature.

No, not the Devil; a goddess in your own right.

And you have not cursed him, no. Sir Steven Rogers, tvoj rytier, entirely bewitched, feels blessed.

Other headcanon and playlist

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

Complete masterlist

Terms of endearment from Slovak language: Rytier moj (My knight) Bosorka moja (Witch mine) Láska moja (Love mine) Ľubim ťa (I love you)

I hope you enjoyed, loves 💕 Please consider leaving feedback/reblog/anything if you did 🥰

May April be kind to you 🌼✨

#steve rogers x reader #knight steve rogers #knight steve rogers x you #knight steve rogers imagine #knight steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america au #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #medeival au #fantasy au #fairy tale au #ocaruj me #bewitch me #pomiluj me #love me tender #anika ann

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navybrat817 · 2 years

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Cordially Invited

Pairing: Modern Knight!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Female Reader Summary: You're in need of a date for an upcoming wedding. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: Pining, flirting, slight feels (it's me okay), could be considered fake dating (or is it? 😏), protective Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?), future smut. A/N: Again, I need another AU like a hole in the head, but here we are. @11thstreetvigilante, thank you for letting me scream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the beautiful @whisperlullaby (thank YOU as well!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by Nix, divider by @firefly-graphics and moodboard and banner by yours truly.

Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications and please reblog or comment as it means the world!

Modern royalty is both a wondrous and strange concept. As the only child of the King and Queen of Brooklyn, your parents raised you with a blend of tradition and modernization. They taught you to speak your mind while stressing to follow certain customs. You did your best to make them proud.

The picture-perfect princess.

Except, you didn't have a prince by your side.

“Something wrong, your highness?”

You turned in your chair to look at your personal knight, James “Bucky” Barnes. Standing tall at 6’4” with a muscular build, he served as your bodyguard when he wasn’t fighting for your father. Like his father before him. You worried in the beginning that he’d resent you for having to be your personal guard, but he took his duties seriously. He watched over you as if it was an honor to do so. Though he intimidated most because of his size and strength, he displayed kindness toward you. He quickly became one of your closest confidants.

A knight in name, but a prince in my heart.

“Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, not moving from his spot in the left corner of your large bedroom. It was the perfect vantage point for him to see your window, the door, and you. “You dismissed your ladies for no reason, you’re not dressed for the day, and you’ve been staring at that invitation for the better part of an hour.”

You turned back toward your vanity and picked up the ornate invitation with a sigh.

Her Majesty Queen of Waverly requests the pleasure of your company at the Marriage of His Royal Highness Prince Clinton of Waverly with Her Royal Highness Princess Natalia of Volgograd.

You RSVP’d to Clint and Natasha’s wedding weeks ago and said you would bring a plus one because that was the expectation. Your parents asked every day since the invitation arrived who you planned to have on your arm. They gave you the option of choosing instead of making the decision themselves. With the wedding around the corner, you were running out of time.

“I still haven't chosen a date and my parents want an answer today."

"Forgive me for saying so, but you have been dodging the King and Queen's question."

"I know, I know. They're already disappointed that I've dragged this out."

Just like they're probably disappointed that they didn't arrange a marriage for me once I was old enough to wed.

"I highly doubt you could do anything to disappoint them or anyone else. You’re Brooklyn’s beloved princess through and through," he said.

Blood rushed to your cheeks as you set the invitation down. His praise felt good. "Thank you, Bucky. But why do I have to bring someone?”

"Tradition," he replied, crossing his arms. “You know, I figured the princes would be knocking down your door at the chance to be your plus one.”

“As if you’d let them get close enough to ask,” you said. "You don't even let Sir Steven near me and he's your best friend."

As your knight, one of Bucky's duties was to keep you safe from any possible threats. He took it to the extreme. If anyone got within a few feet of you, he was there to keep them away. Most didn’t try to speak to you once they caught a glimpse of him.

“It is my job to protect you,” he reminded you. “Especially from handsy princes.”

"Does that include Prince Nicholas?"

Bucky's jaw twitched as he nodded. It was a bit of a low blow to mention Nick’s name considering your knight couldn’t stand him. The prince was one of the few men not afraid of him.

"Especially Prince Nicholas," he grumbled, not hiding his disdain for the man. "What gift did he send you last week?"

"An emerald necklace. I almost felt bad sending it back."

"Insulting. Doesn't he know diamonds are a girl's best friend?"

You narrowed your eyes at him in the mirror, which made him chuckle. The sound sent a jolt between your thighs. Between that and the earlier praise, you prayed he didn’t notice how it affected you. Your knight was not only brave and trusting, but so handsome. Staring into his eyes was like getting lost at sea. Too many nights, you imagined how silky the brown strands of his hair would feel against your fingers.

And how the scruff on his chin would feel between your legs.

“Emeralds, diamonds, it doesn't matter. You don’t let any man get close enough to give them to me themselves,” you muttered to distract yourself from getting aroused. “Some days I wonder if you take pleasure in making sure I’m alone.”

Bucky frowned as he unfolded his arms. “You think I want you to be alone?”

"You tell me. My parents want me to wed eventually, but how will that happen if you won't let any suitors near me?" you asked, toying with one of your makeup brushes to keep your hands busy. “Or are you punishing me for constantly being on babysitting duty?"

"I'm sure the right man can court you without being in close proximity to you," he said, even though he didn't sound pleased. "And we both know I want to watch over you, so why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

You looked away, embarrassed. You had no reason to speak to him like that. But how could you admit that you didn’t want any suitors when you had him right in front of you? He wasn’t just your knight, he was everything to you. It upset you to think he didn't want you. It scared you more that he’d resign from his duties to settle down and have his own family. You didn't want that day to come.

Is it selfish that I want him forever by my side?

“I’m not trying to pick a fight,” you said, turning in your chair to face him. “And you know I don't care about any suitors. I'm just frustrated."

That includes being sexually frustrated and the toy I named after you is calling my name.

"I'm glad you don't care about those suitors because if you married one soon, I might be out of a job."

"You're stuck with me no matter what," you smiled. "I'm sorry for being rude."

“Give me a hug, princess, and I’ll forgive you,” he said as he held out his arms.

“No,” you said, but you were already on your feet. The robe you wore didn't do much to cover your body and you wondered if you imagined the hunger in his eyes. “I don’t think you deserve a hug.”

He placed his left hand over his chest, which drew your attention to it. He lost his left arm in battle years before and the kingdom had a state of the art metal prosthetic fashioned for him. To some, it was a sign of sacrifice and bravery. It showed you that he was a fighter and survivor.

“You wounded me with your words and you’re hurting me more by denying me a simple request.”

You fought to keep from smiling as you walked toward him. Knowing that he wanted to touch you, even in an innocent form, was a heady feeling. You wanted his touch, too. You craved it like nothing else.

“I’m only going to hug you because I love you,” you said, wrapping your arms around him once you were close enough.

He inhaled as he hugged you close and you allowed yourself to melt in his strong embrace. It made you feel safe and cared for. “I love you, too, my princess,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes and hid your face in his shoulder. Whenever you said you did things for him because you loved him, he always replied that he loved you, too. You dreamt of falling asleep to him whispering that in your ear.

I wish he loved me the way I love him.

“If I could, I'd be your date for the evening."

You lifted your head and pulled free from his arms as you considered his words. You couldn't stop the grin from spreading across your face. Bucky as your date? Why didn't you think of that?

“What’s that look for?”

"Sir James, would you do me the honor of being my date to the wedding?"

His eyebrows shot up. "You called me James."

"That should tell you how serious I am."

Please, don't reject me. I'd feel like a fool.

He cleared his throat and you tried not to feel anxious as you waited for his answer. "I’m not a prince.”

“Who said I have to bring a prince? It may be tradition for a princess to have someone on their arm for royal functions, but it should be a person of my choosing. Who better than the man my parents trust with my life?”

“But-” he began before you held up a hand to stop him.

"Isn't it your duty to serve and protect me? Your princess?" you asked.

“It is,” he answered, looking down when you took his left hand in yours.

“Bucky, I’m not just asking you as my knight. I’m asking because I want you to go with me,” you said, your voice soft as he lifted his head to look at you. "There’s no one else I’d rather go with."

You felt a slight burn in your eyes from unshed tears, but you held your head high. If he sensed your vulnerability, he kindly didn't call you out on it. You didn’t want to command him to take you nor did you want to beg.

“But if you don’t want to, I understand. I can ask Prince Nicholas instead.”

Bucky stopped you before you could turn away from him. "You'll do no such thing," he said, bringing your hand to his lips and softly kissing it. “It would be my honor to be your date, your highness."

"Really?" you smiled as he lowered your hand, but didn't let go.

"Only because I love you," he smiled back.

Your heart raced as you playfully hit his arm, letting your touch linger. "That's my line," you teased, looking over your shoulder to check the time. "Let's go tell my parents."

"You're in your robe," he reminded you as you tried to pull him across the room. "I don't think the other guards need to see you like that."

"I'll change later," you huffed when he planted his feet firmly on the ground. A wall of muscle, he was nearly impossible to move. "Bucky."

You gasped when he gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His enormous hand could crush your bones if he chose to, but the gentle hold reminded you that you were in his care. There was no mistaking the hunger there this time.

"Get dressed, princess," he gently ordered, his voice deeper than before.

I'm going to have to change my panties since I'm soaking wet.

"Then we'll tell your parents."

"Yes, Bucky," you whispered as he released you, having to put some distance between the two of you. If you didn't, you'd be too tempted to kiss him. And if you kissed him, you wouldn't be able to stop.

"Good girl," he smirked, moving back to his spot in the corner as you tried to calm your pounding heart. "I'll be right here waiting."

Good girl?

You weren't sure if he was teasing you or trying to rile you up, but you could play, too.

Oh, this wedding is going to be a lot of fun.

Let's hope it's nice and easy for them. We'll see how it goes. 😏 Check out Part 2. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #modern knight!bucky barnes x princess!reader #bucky barnes #knight!bucky barnes #modern knight!bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan #royalty au

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phoenixyfriend · 2 months

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Making this its own post instead of an ask.

I divide crossovers into categories or types, and here the most basic ones.

Intrusive:

A character from one setting ends up in another, completely unrelated setting. They do not share a universe, do not share a planet, nada. This is "falls through a portal" type of crossover. EXAMPLE: A Witch's Favor, where Wanda Maximoff and Maria Rambeau (Marvel) end up in the Star Wars universe due to an unexplained spell malfunction.

Shared Verse:

The settings could theoretically, in some manner, exist in the same universe without ever intersecting. EXAMPLE: I usually use Naruto for this example, e.g. the Hidden Continent exists in the Pacific but has had minimal influence/interaction with the rest of the setting up to this point because it's magically cut off from the rest of the planet. For Star Wars, this is usually pretty easy by just putting whatever the second canon is as just. A planet in Wild Space. They exist in the same universe! They just haven't found each other yet! A great example is the fic A Star to Steer By, by @norcumii and @dogmatix. A subset of this is fics where one is the distant past of the other, like Muse on This or Red-Eyed Black Widow.

Mixed Verse:

The setting is one that involves both canons influencing each other to a degree, or being in the same verse without being a fusion AU or shared-verse. The settings exist together, both having strong worldbuilding elements of the original, but are not fully themselves and show obvious elements of the other. EXAMPLE: Unfortunately my most recent example is an HP crossover so. Please keep in mind that this is from four years ago, before R*wling outed herself as a massive bigot: Professor Storm.

Fusion:

More or less 1:1 "this character from fandom A would be this character from fandom B" or otherwise "characters from fandom A reimagined in fandom B with none of the original setting." For a long time, HP was the biggest and most constant example, but uhhh that's clearly been falling out of favor like raw eggs. I've seen a lot of good ones for Hunger Games, though, and even wrote my own, but I know some other common ones are Steven Universe (which gem are they?), AtLA (which bender type are they?), or Pokemon (what trainer type are they). Also, arguably, generic AUs that don't take place in canon-verse, like modern or historical or zombie or Generic Cyberdystopia. EXAMPLE: After Me Comes the Flood.

Element Overlay:

A world-building element from Fandom B is applied to the setting and characters of Fandom A. Common examples are Daemon AUs or Sentinel/Guide AUs. I think a fun thing to point out is that, while they don't technically have a source fandom of origin since they were developed communally by fandom, soulmate AUs and omegaverse count as well.

There are other types, like infusing the plot of one narrative into the setting and characters of the other, which is a really fun kind of fusion (I always come back to thinking about Age of Marvels by justplainrii, which only ever got three chapters but still eats at my brain sometimes), buuuuut I'd say most crossovers are some variant of the above.

#phoenix talks #star wars #naruto #girl genius #the fandom that shan't be named #phoenix babbles #marvel #hunger games #etc

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fettuccin-e · 7 months

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Kinktober 2023 Masterlist!

Here are all of the things that I have written for Kinktober 2023. I am following these prompts from @flightlessangelwings and @the-purity-pen! Of course, these are all extremely explicit, so please heed the warnings, and if you are a minor, please do not interact. Happy Kinktober to all of the sluts, whores, and degenerates!

(Dividers are by the absolutely lovely @saradika)

Day 1: Love Marks (featuring Matt Murdock)

Day 2: Public (featuring Miguel O'Hara)

Day 3: Monster AU (featuring Din Djarin)

Day 4: Thigh Riding (featuring Joel Miller)

Day 5: Threesome (featuring Santiago Garcia and Frankie Morales)

Day 6: Bondage (featuring Miguel O'Hara)

Day 7: Soft and Slow (featuring Javier Peña)

Day 8: Rough Sex (featuring Matt Murdock)

Day 9: Pegging (featuring Poe Dameron)

Day 10: Stripping (featuring Steven Grant)

Day 11: Seduction (featuring Joel Miller)

Day 12: Formal Wear (featuring Agent Whiskey)

Day 13: Anonymous Sex (featuring Joel Miller)

Day 14: Nipple Play (featuring Matt Murdock)

Day 15: Size Kink (featuring Frankie Morales)

Day 16: Role-Reversal (featuring Steven Grant)

Day 17: Praise Kink (featuring Miguel O'Hara)

Day 18: Squirting + Dacryphilia (featuring Din Djarin)

Day 19: Voyeurism (featuring Marc Spector and Steven Grant)

Day 20: Corruption (featuring Joel Miller)

Day 21: Hate Sex (featuring Javier Peña)

Day 22: Voice Kink (featuring Matt Murdock)

Day 23: Dirty Talk (featuring Santiago Garcia)

Day 24: Edging (featuring Marc Spector, Steven Grant, and Jake Lockley)

Day 25: Mirror Sex (featuring Miguel O'Hara)

Day 26: Face Sitting (featuring Marc Spector)

Day 28: Intercrural Sex (featuring Joel Miller)

(rip to days 27, 29, 30, and 31 i tried but i failed u)

#shannon's kinktober 2023

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factual-fantasy · 2 months

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26 ASKS!! THANK YOU!! :}}} 🥪

(Post in question)

WAAHAHAAG THANK YOU SO MUHC!!! :DDDD As for your questions-

Spider crab's name is just a place holder for now, much like a lot of the crew has.. I want to give them all proper names at some point. Like Ellie and Louis have.. But I'm just really bad at coming up with names for stuff- <XD 💔💔

For Luigi- no one in particular! I just wanted to draw him with that expression <XD And don't worry, Mario cheered him up in the end :}}

As for the FNAF doodle, thats Foxy, Roxy and Mangle! I get that its hard to recognize her by her side profile and without color though-- <XD I had experimented with some ideas of a pirate themed Glamrock Mangle being added to one of the AUs. Though that sketch was the only one I really liked. :/

I have seen Encanto! :D It was alright, I liked the living house aspect of it :00

As for Red, I thiiink he might be too young to understand fusion or how to do it.. I pictured him being.. like what, five? Or something? That's like half the age of when Steven first learned to fuse-

That, and it felt a little odd for him to fuse with any of the crew, since they're all so much older than him. :/

@astaherussy (Post in question)

XD Sure were! Convenient aren't they?🤣🤣

I've definitely heard of it, and I've seen some gifs/posts about it here and there.. but truth be told I have no idea what its about. :( I think I've seen two Mario's and one wears a black suit...?

(Link/video in question)

XDD I imagine Ellie would shut that down real quick. But in the off chance that they get away with it.. I feel like Louis would come out on top.

He could block any oncoming attacks with his unbreakable claw arm, then whip around and launch whole watermelons and pies with the other XDD He would probably think it was fun too!

Does the game have large birds like that?? :0 I had no idea! They gotta be on the look out for those then--

Oof, I suppose they could.. though I don't intend for either party to experience that. It just sounds miserable! D:>

(Link/video in question)

XDD Oh man, that's hilarious! Poor Red--

@yourstrulylightstar283 (Referencing this post)

Thank you! I hope I get better soon too.. I hope to have some answers by next week.. <:) 🙏

:DD Thank you! I'm so glad you like my Freddy! :))

I always kind'a felt like a certain.. gloomy-ness, would be fitting for him. He already has some of that in the game. But with everything my Freddy's been through.. just.. having this weight to his tone. This lingering exhaustion.. I felt like it would suit him. :(

Hmm... I imagine that Seam and Jevil would be options.. Maybe in bad cases Calico Jack would.. Almost everyone in FNAF is an option <XD

No.. in a sad twist of fate, no one ever heard his cries in the dungeon. Imagine how much more lonely he felt becuase of that..

I don't know if he gets phantom pains from getting beat up.. but I imagine his horn stumps give him some aches and soreness that can be attributed to phantom pain.. :(

Who's gingerbrave? That's the main character right..? I have no idea if he'd come across my crew.. I don't know what kind of shenanigans he gets up to.. wait "gang"? He travels in a group with other people??

@chickenmilk120

fank uu! :}}}

@couchwow

Yeah,, I'm aware.. 😔🙄 ya hate to see it. But hey the watermark is right there saying "this art is stolen." so it could be worse I guess.

@littlelightfish

Tuna:

He is not being normal about it XDD You've totally flattered him!

@potatocryptid

Thank you!! :DD Yeah,, I think I WILL work on what ever I want!! XDD

Off the top of my head, there's an AWESOME Mario artist by the name of @katlyntheartist! I love her work, I highly recommend you stop by her blog! :D

I've also seen some jaw-dropping Mario artwork by @suedoodle! Both blogs are worth a visit! :}}

(Post in question)

Ah yes! The idea behind that was to show the initial divide between Grillby and Spamton.

You see, Spamton hails Jevil as his savior of sorts. He was at his lowest low, and in unimaginable pain.. then Jevil just swoops in and offers his hand. Bringing him outside of his AU. Away from the pain, away from the torment.. Jevil is awesome!!

But then you've got Grillby.. Jevil saved him from his AU right before it collapsed in on itself. He "saved" his life, but at what cost? Grillby lost everything. And he cant help but be angry at Jevil for it. Thinking that if Jevil hadn't been there, he could have just peacefully disappeared along with his family and everyone else in his AU..

So Spamton is endlessly respectful towards Jevil, and Grillby cant help but roll his eyes and spit sass at him all the time. Those two opposing views are bound to cause problems someday..

I imagine one day the whole group is tired and cranky. Jevil did something that Grillby didn't agree with. Some bitter remarks there, Spamton defending Jevil's decision here.. some back and fourth and next thing you know a fight breaks out. :x

@im-nice-but-i-dont-like-you

XDD idk!! Why are YOU into almost every single fandom I'M into?? Also than you so much!! :}}

Thank you! I'm glad you like my sona! But aaa sorry, no can do.. I don't want fanart at all, of anything. Just comments/asks/reblogs. <:}

@canonickero (Sent after this post)

XD Thank you! I'm glad you like him :}}

I pictured Yendo being another one of Funtime Foxy's nightmare-ish visions. Though I should consider passing that onto Bon Bon.. 👀

The story goes that Funtime Freddy is a frequent flyer in parts and service. The employees groan that there's always something wrong with Freddy that needs fixing. Nobody really knows why..

Now at some point Freddy was shut down and in parts and service. As per usual.. Foxy was nearby, and heard a sudden thud/crash coming from that room. He rushes inside to see what happened and finds Funtime Freddy on the floor, what ever he was propped up on had broken, causing him to fall.

He looked at Freddy's face.. and.. his face plates were wide open..

Foxy. freaked. out. If I remember correctly, he was supposed to start shouting and panicking. Trying to help Freddy, thinking he was hurt. When he couldn't move Freddy and he wouldn't wake up, Foxy ran out of the room to get help. He runs into some employees and tried to tell them what happened. They end up just forcibly shutting him down because he cant stop freaking out..

Later on he's reactivated and the rest of the gang is with him. Including Freddy. He uncharacteristically runs to Freddy all worried and frantically inspects his face for injuries. They ask him what he saw but he just.. doesn't have the words to describe it.

Part of the horror is Foxy's inability to understand what he saw. Therefore being terrified of it and being unable to describe it..

After that Foxy began to develop these hallucinations of sorts. Overtime the image of Freddy's skinned face kind'a turns in to its own nightmare. Yendo.. overtime it feels more like "Yendo" is an entity separate from Freddy. Foxy begins to imagine this skinned bear like creature that is out there somewhere.. wanting to hurt Freddy and take his face.. its not fun :(

This idea is still in development. Well, the whole AU is. But this was my initial idea for Yendo :)

Now old man consequences is tricky.. I had intentions of him being this weird vison that Foxy sees now and again. But with recent developments to the AU.. I might need to scrap the old gator. Or at least re-write his role and function in the AU-

@stripetkattelalala54 (Post linked in question)

No problem! I'm always up for Mario questions! :DD

And as for the question, I pictured that Mario never really liked the ice flower to begin with. I imagined Mario loving the heat and the sun. Always enjoyed being warm/hot and functions the best in it.. You know like a maniac-

So the Fire flower was naturally his favorite powerup. And that experience did leave Mario with some kind of trauma, which just added to his dislike of it..

@beryl-shade

OOO I like Tendrilfoam! :00 Hmm, Captain Tendrilfoam.. I'll have to consider that one! :D

#my response #fnaf security breach #fnaf sister location #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ocs #my ocs #undertale #deltarune #octonauts #super mario bros

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marvelettesassemblenow · 10 months

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The Swan Princess

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: Fairytale AU based on the movie The Swan Princess – Bucky and you hate each other! Your kingdoms hope for a marriage between the two of you, but each summer you have to spend with in each others presence makes it worse – until his friends start to befriend you and he realizes you have more in common than he thought. But when he was ready to finally accept his feelings a curse hit you.

Warnings: Reader is called Sunshine, maybe some stuff that isn’t accurate because I couldn’t decide on a time this would take place and switching POV’s

Word Count: ~7k

A/N: This is for Nika! I started it so long ago as I rewatched the movie I liked so much as a kid and I still loved the part when they were kids! Sadly my favorite part didn’t fit in, as Bucky wouldn’t offend you in 5 syllables or less. @intrepidacious

Once upon a time there were two kingdoms divided by a sea. It wasn’t so long ago to be honest, but that’s just how fairytales start and this is the one of the swan princess. We’ll get to the part with the swan soon, but first we must start when she was just a little girl.

Her parents had both passed and the kingdom was without a ruler until the princess was of age. Until then a council was ruling the kingdom on the island. The council often argued but there was one part everybody agreed on: They needed to bond with the kingdom of Shield. An arranged marriage would solve all their problems as Shield had an heir only one year older than the princess. The only problem was that the late king and queen had made sure that their daughter should only marry if she wished so and should have never had the pressure of an arranged marriage. And so the council came up with a plan that they proposed to Queen Winnifred of Shield, who immediately agreed. Both kingdoms would benefit from a joining and the plan was made that the princess and prince would spend each of their summers together to hopefully fall in love.

They didn’t get discouraged when the princess and prince hated each other at age seven and eight. They were young kids and both thought the other gender was gross. Prince James even wiped his mouth after he was forced to kiss the young princess hand. „James, behave!“ the queen called him out.

„But mom, girls are just gross,“ James said in a whiny voice and looked up to his mom.

„You don’t think so about Natasha, right?“ His mom tried to point out, but his mind was made up. He wanted his summer spent with his two best friends Steven and Natascha – not being forced to entertain a stuck-up princess who had been apologizing repeatedly that there had been mud on her dress when she stepped outside the carriage. Natasha was covered in mud and didn’t complain!

His only logical response was to tell his mother that Natasha didn’t count. She sighed, but didn’t force him anymore. They still had time and they were still kids.

It didn’t get better the following summers. James, Steven and Natasha had been friends for years and spent all year together. You on the other hand didn’t have any friends. The council, maids and teachers raised you, so your childhood wasn’t really one for fun. You learned how to stitch and to sit properly at a table, so you were always lost when the three kids started games that you didn’t know and soon you rather sat with the maids and helped them stitching some flowers onto a tablecloth.

It all came to a turning point when Samuel came along. He was the son of a new teacher and only a year younger than you – and he was your first friend. He played hide and seek with you and taught you that it was okay when the seam of your dress was dusty and that you could clean it. And soon your laughter was heard in the castle and you were smiling as you were finally having fun. Which gave you the nickname Sunshine from the guards and maids in the castle as you were still always politely greeting them and asking how they were, while sneaking them little treats – but now you were mostly smiling and happy while doing so.

“Sunshine,“ James, who went by Bucky now, scoffed. “What kind of stupid nickname is this?“ He kicked a stone that was lying in front of him on the path and then even his supposed to be best friend had gone behind his back. “Hi Sunshine,“ he waved in the air with a stupid grin towards a tree and made gagging noises afterwards. No one was here to see him, but he had to get it off his chest. It was supposed to be Steve and him against you. Not you bringing a friend along who glared at him the whole time and Steve greeting you with a horrible nickname that wasn’t even fitting. And now he was stomping alone to his tree house while his traitor friend was making new friends and forgot all about the pact they both had made years ago to never befriend you. He hoped at least Natasha was still on his side.

It turned out that Natasha wasn’t on his side as both her and Steve reminded him, they weren’t ten anymore and that you could all spend your time together. But Bucky watched how you joked around with the guards and the smile you got back made him roll his eyes. Why were you charming everyone? He had heard about the whispers how they hoped that there would be a marriage. But he was only 14, he shouldn’t even be thinking about stuff like that. And with you? No way!

You on the other hand didn’t think your summers sucked anymore. Sam trained to be a guard and was accompanying you to your visits still and Steve and Natasha were nice and started to include you – even if it sometimes meant to exclude Bucky. Stupid nickname, you thought. And he was always especially mean when you played cards and he lost. But it wasn’t your fault when luck was on your side and that he had a tell when his cards weren’t as good as he pretended them to be.

“We could go to the market tomorrow on your last day here,” Steve suggested when he shuffled the cards. Bucky wasn’t amused but in the end he agreed to go to – at least he could get one of the best peach pastries, that would make up for the day. And at least you were gone soon and he would have his friends to himself again.

A carriage was taking the five of you to the market the next morning with four guards trailing along. They weren’t too keen to accompany the teens on an outing, but then you came and handed each of them a flower and thanking them for trailing along. One of them even put the stupid wildflower through his chain armor – which caused you to smile so brightly that Bucky finally understood why you got that nickname.

People swarmed the young prince when they saw him and you snuck away with a guard and Sam by your side. A lovely smell pulled you towards a bakery. “Good morning,” you greeted the baker when you stepped inside the small building.

There was only grunting as a response until the tall man turned around and spotted you. “Oh, excuse me. Good morning, princess. What can I get you?”

“What can you recommend?” you ask and looked around. In response the baker held a finger up in the air, turned around and came back with a steaming plate in his hands.

“These are the favorites of the prince. He loves them and gets them every time he comes by. I hope you’ll like them just as much. Maybe I can even provide them for your wedding, it would be such an honor.”

That made your eyes grew wide. “What wedding?” you asked stunned, but Sam had already placed some coins on the counter and grabbed the plate.

“Thank you for that, I’m sure we’ll enjoy them,” he said and pushed you towards the door while the guard just shook his head towards the baker.

“What wedding, Sam?” you asked him in a quiet voice when you stepped outside and he was already tasting a small pie.

“Oh yeah, well... they all hope that you and Bucky will marry,” he picked a crumb from the corner of his mouth with his tongue. “As if you couldn’t get someone better and not as brooding. What about Steve? I could see that, I think?” He was quiet after that and you pushed the half-eaten pie in his face. You could hear a chuckle behind you.

“Stop talking nonsense,” you said and grabbed the plate from him. You shared them equally with the others and Bucky was surprised that you even handed him one and that you got his favorite.

-x-

“What are you reading?” Bucky let himself fall into the seat next to Natasha. He just came from lessons and a meeting and he was tired.

“A letter from Sunshine,” his friend replied casually, but Bucky peaked up.

“You exchange letters?” he asked confused and was more awake.

“We have for three years now,” Natasha confirmed. “Mostly we write about what a dumbass you are.”

“Haha,” Bucky replied, but he wasn’t so sure she was really joking. He hadn’t been the friendliest towards you, even though you had tried.

“Other than that, she’s really nice. And lonely, Bucky. She’s living on an island without her parents. Her only friend there is Sam and her whole childhood was constantly pushing her into being a queen. She’s 17 now and the only times she was outside of her kingdom was here and let’s be honest, we weren’t friendly with her at the beginning. It’s only two months until she’ll come again, just try to not be as annoyed, will you?”

“I’m not really that annoyed with her anymore to be honest. It’s just that people expect that we’ll marry each other. They watch like a hawk how we’re acting and it’s,” his voice turned quieter at the end until he stopped himself.

“I get it,” she said and pushed her elbow into his side. “Maybe you should write to her about it. If there is one person who’ll understand how you feel it's her. Just clear the air and maybe you’ll be friends. You don’t have to marry her, you know? And before you say that it's expected from you and that both kingdoms could benefit from it... Be Bucky first and future king later. Just try to talk to her normally, you’ll see she’s nice.”

“I’ll think about it. After dinner,” he added when his stomach let out a loud growl.

In the end Bucky did send you a letter. And you replied, which motivated him to write a response and you both agreed to just try to be civil towards each other. You also both started to talk about the pressure both of you felt and with the hushes of whispers of a marriage that was following you when you were walking through the halls.

Bucky was looking forward to see you this time, because it seemed like you just got him. And so he was smiling when he stood in front of the castle, next to his mother and best friends and saw the carriage on the horizon.

“Are you smiling?” Steve teased his friend quietly, but the queen still heard and was beaming.

Sam was the one helping you out of the carriage and maybe that was a good thing because you knocked the breath out of the prince. It had been nine months since he last saw you and maybe it was because he had never really looked at you before or maybe it was because he now knew a little bit more of you, but you were beautiful. And when you smiled at Natasha who beat him to greet you, he decided that from that moment on he would call you Sunshine too. Steve came next and then his mother nudged him so he would finally come forwards and greet you.

He wanted to greet you with your title, he really did, but when he kissed your hand for the first time and wasn’t grossed out by it or the idea of standing near you, your nickname slipped his lips as a greeting.

“It’s good to see you, Bucky,” you replied and he held your hand when he guided you towards his mother where you could greet the queen.

“Do you want to lie down after your travel?” he asked you, but you denied and so it was decided that you would all gather for tea in the green house. He knew it was one of your favorite places as Steve had told him so. It was something you didn’t have at home. Bucky offered his arm and you accepted with your friends and guards following behind you.

“What is happening?” Sam asked Natasha and Steve, not believing his eyes. But that was only the beginning and when the second month of your visit was coming around no one was batting an eye seeing you and Bucky arm in arm anymore. Instead, the whispers weren’t whispers anymore and they were openly asking you when the wedding would be. But no one of you even bothered to reply to that.

“Since when do you like that brat?” Sam asked, referring to Bucky the name you had given him when you were younger.

“Since I noticed he isn’t really a brat,” you replied and tugged Sam along on your way through the garden. “We were kids, we aren’t anymore and I kind of like him now. He kind of gets me in a different way.” You then realized what you said to your best friend and started to apologize, but he stopped you.

“I get it, kind of. It’s something different for someone who is in the same position. And I mean he is friends with Steve, so how bad can he be?” he chuckled and you continued your way. As if on cue your name was yelled by the blonde, who ran up to the two of you and asked if you wanted to accompany him into town as Bucky was sitting in a meeting.

When you came back you had some peach pies in your hand and were on the search for Bucky, who was searching for you as well. When you found each other and you held out his favorite pies for him and him a flower (because he just had to give it to you as he knew it would make you smile), your friends all had a smile or smirk on their faces when you agreed to dine with Bucky while Steve decided he would eat with Sam and Nat in the kitchen tonight.

This was the first year that both parts weren’t glad that the summer was over.

“You can write to me, if you want to,” you said when Bucky was leading you through the castle towards the carriage that would bring you to your ship.

“I will,” Bucky promised and cleared his throat. “And you don’t have to wait for next summer to come visit. You can come visit in winter too. We have places here that are nice in the cold too. And the greenhouse is heated we could sit there even when it’s snowing outside. I mean, if you want to,” he added more shyly, but still hopeful.

“Do you mean that?” you asked and stopped to look at him.

“Absolu-,” he started but didn’t finish as the impact of your sudden hug cut him off.

“I would like that very much,” you admitted in his neck.

“You’re always welcome here,” he told you and although his mom had said the same sentence to you often, you never felt them like now. The farewell did take longer until a guard told you you needed to leave before it would be too late for the ship. You promised again to come back sooner and went on your way.

It was late in the evening with Steve and Natasha being in a competitive round of chess when a knock was heard above the storm outside. At the same time as a thunderbolt was hitting outside the door was opened.

“Prince James, sorry to interrupt but I thought you wanted to know. It’s about Sunshine, I mean Princess,” he started but Bucky was already jumping up at your name and stalking towards the guard that wasn’t even fully in the room. Steve and Natasha had also stopped their game and walked closer so they could hear the guard over the storm.

“There has been an accident. Samuel is here and he says they got attacked.” Bucky knew that Sam would never leave without you. His heart got heavy as he feared for the worst. The guard pointed him in the right direction where Sam was sitting on a chair while someone tried to get a look at his leg that was bleeding.

“We were attacked,” Sam said as soon as he saw Bucky running towards him. “I couldn’t really see what it was and I tried to get Sunshine out of there, but there was suddenly a bright light and she was just gone. I couldn’t find her, I searched for her, you must believe me! I would have never left without her! She wasn’t there and with the injury I thought it was better to get you.”

Not soon after Bucky left with a few men despite the storm. But they couldn’t find anything despite the carriage and the men that were left there. They couldn’t see that much and the rain would wash away every traces soon, but even Bucky had to admit to himself that they couldn’t do anything more now. The next few days and nights were restless, but your friends were searching for you.

What they didn’t know was that they had no chance of finding you. You were held at an enchanted place and even if they found it – there was no way that they would recognize you. Which would be the only way to help, but we must rewind a few days.

After the attack on the carriage, you were knocked out. When you woke up your feet were wet and your dress had soaked up a lot of water. You tried to push yourself up, but you were too dizzy to do so.

“Ahhh, my princess is awake. That is good, we can wrap this up in a few minutes.” You couldn’t recognize the voice, but something was off and nothing could have prepared you for the next sentence. “My dearest princess, would you please marry me?”

Your dizziness was all forgotten when you pushed yourself up. “What?” you wanted to scream, but it was more of a whisper. One part was because of the ridiculous offer, another because the man in front of you looked nothing like a man with the red skin across his face.

“Isn’t it simple? When I’ll marry you, I’ll be king!”

“Why do you even want to be king of Madripoor so bad? Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill me?” You didn’t know why you were even suggesting that, it was like an offer of your part and you didn’t know what he was capable of.

He walked closer. “See, the thing is your folk loves their princess. When you’ll finally agree to marry me, your kingdom will accept me. Because there has to be something good about me, when Sunshine decides to marry me. And you and I both know why I want your kingdom! Usually islands need more help, so I wonder why no one was suspicious that a lot of things just grow there. The things you could do with the Tesseract and you fools use it to let the ground be more nutritious,” he scoffed. And you were shocked that he knew about it - it was one of your best kept secrets! “Don’t look so shocked, I knew your father. But enough of that. Will you marry me?”

“No, never!” The words were spat out of your mouth and he nodded as if he had expected that.

“Then we’ll see each other tomorrow. Goodnight my little swan.”

You would scream if you could be sure he wouldn’t hear you and wouldn’t know he got under your skin. Why was your life so unfair? You felt helpless!

The secret had been kept for generations. Once your ancestor found a cube that had a blue shining. When he took it in his hand he felt the force from it. It had been a hard year, the rain hadn’t stopped and the harvest had been weak. His folk had been starving and so he had wished for a miracle to help him. The miracle had been the stone that was called Tessaract and the information had been only shared by a few selected people. But as it always had been when there was a force was that someone tried to steal it for their own selfish purpose. The guy that had kidnapped you and whose face you hadn’t seen yet was once called Johann Schmidt. He was a magician wo had the Tessaract for a short while. But he was too selfish, wanted too much at once and now he was called Red Skull as it described him the best now. HIs face was deformed and red and he wasn’t ashamed. Why should he care what he looked like when he almost had the solution for infinity? He had to get closer, but he couldn’t come back to the island, your father had made sure of that. So had trapped you at the lake. You could only turn into a human when the moonlight hit the water on the lake and you were touching the water. You could turn back into a swan anywhere as soon as the first rays of sunshine were seen.

Days passed and the routine stayed the same. Every night he came back, asked the same question and walked away when you refused. You were standing at the end of the lake waiting for the moon to rise. There was something in your feathers that you tried to pick out with your beak when something slammed your body into the water. You tried to lift your neck, but something pushed you under the water. Something sharp was pressed into your body and it hurt, but then you felt your body shifting. The struggle for air was still there but suddenly your human head was out of the water and you took a big breath. A pressure was on your chest and when you looked at it you saw a white cat staring at you. If a cat was able to look puzzled this one just did.

“Did you attack me?” you asked and the cat looked from its paw that was resting on your chest towards your face as if it couldn’t understand what was happening here. Which it probably couldn’t. The cat stayed close to you after that, followed you when you were walking around at night in your human form (and hid once Red Skull came to ask you the dreaded question) and when you turned back into a swan it stayed near you. It even laid beside you when you finally rested your eyes and thought back of home and your friends.

Meanwhile Bucky, Steven, Natasha and Samuel were gathered in the greenhouse as it was the only place where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Okay, I hate to say this, but we searched everywhere. I don’t know how, but if they’ve taken her, they must be really far away,” Steven sighed. He was exhausted, not that he would say that out loud but his friends looked like they would drop from the chairs any minute now.

“We can’t give up,” Bucky still sounded determined, but his eyes were closed. He just needed to rest them for a second. That’s why he didn’t notice the yellow and orange sparks that started to appear.

“What is that?” Natasha asked and it caused Bucky to raise his head. Everyone was staring now at the sparks that appeared in a circle until they suddenly spotted a blonde woman, stepping confidently through it and stopping in front of Sam.

Bucky didn’t have a weapon with him so the first thing he could think of was standing up and taking a few steps into the direction of the new arrival. “Samuel,” the blonde woman said coldly.

“Yelena,” Sam replied, not much warmer.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” the man agreed, which caused the others to share a confused glance. Their attention was divided by another newcomer. A man with white streaks in his hair and a long red cape followed through the hole and then the sparks died.

“I’m magician Strange, this is Yelena and we’re here to search for the princess. As this was the last place where she was before she disappeared we needed to come here. We’re sorry for coming in here unannounced,” he said, but he didn’t sound as he was sorry at all.

“Where were you coming from?” Natasha asked and walked around the place where the sparks had been and only a small black trace on the floor revealed that there had been something magical.

“It’s called a portal and I don’t have much time. Yelena, if you’re done with staring at Samuel, would you help?”

It still took a few seconds for the staring contest between the man and woman until she stepped back and stood next to the magician. “We need something from Sunshine that she recently had on her,” she said and suddenly Bucky felt as if he couldn’t move under her stare. Maybe it was magic too.

“I’m not going to give someone I haven’t even heard of something of her. Maybe you’re after her and I would only help you.” Bucky managed to say. He couldn’t see it, but Natasha and Steve were nodding behind him.

“You haven’t heard of us because we’re in a secret organization. That’s the point: You don’t see or hear us.” He could have sworn he also heard an insult, but it was too quiet.

“They tell the truth. They live on the island and they’re there to protect the land. I know Yelena and I know of Strange, I was wondering when they would show up.”

“Then a warning would have been nice,” Steve commented.

Samuel recreated the story of how you were taken and the other added where they had been searching for Sunshine and what they found at the damaged carriage. They brought the magician and his shadow towards your stuff. Magician Strange wasn’t interested in your clothes and books, but then he found a stone. It was a regular stone, he didn’t have a special color or a special shape. They were confused why it had been there, but Strange claimed it was the object they needed. Sunshine carried around the stone with her on her travels as it was a gift from Steve. He had given it to her when they started to become friends and he had pressed it in her hands and told her if Bucky was annoying her again she should just throw the rock at him. He had laughed and ran away, but it was the first present she got from a friend and so she kept it close to her. Strange told Yelena he would open a portal for her where he would feel she was with the help of the stone, but he looked more than confused when the other people said they would follow through. He tried to tell the prince he couldn’t just send him out, but in the end he noticed he didn’t have a chance at a discussion with them and he wanted to get their princess back so he agreed.

Packed with weapons they stepped through the portal. When Bucky looked back he saw Strange staring back at him before the portal closed. They were in a forest, trees he had never seen surrounded him. He could hear the animals, a few birds and frogs. While the others discussed how they should approach they divided in teams. Yelena, Natasha and Sam while he would walk with Steve.

“Take this,” Yelena pressed a red stone in his hand. It was smooth and cold. “If there’s black magic around it will glow and alert you. Be careful.” She nodded at him a last time before she walked away with Natasha and Sam.

“That’s a lot. Suddenly there’s magic, we just stepped through a hole full of sparks to step out into a forest and we have a stone that will glow when we stumble across magic. But I guess that’s what you’ll have to do for the woman your best friend loves,” Steve concluded.

Bucky looked from the stone to his friend who was smirking at him. “I thought she was your friend?”

“Oh, she is! But she’s also the woman you fell in love with. I actually thought we would have this discussion when she would have been gone for a few days and you noticed that you miss her. Not here – mostly because I didn’t know this part existed.”

“I already noticed,” Bucky admitted and looked at the stone. No glow, still cold and dull in his hand. “That’s why I invited her for winter. And that’s why I’m afraid we won’t find her.”

“We will! Now come, so you can tell her,” Steve patted Bucky's shoulder and with more determination than ever they walked through the uneven path. Suddenly there was a glimmer in the stone and Bucky tugged on Steve’s sleeve to show him without having to talk. The closer they walked towards a lake the brighter the glow became. The fact that the sun was down and the moon was about to come up made it look even brighter.

By the end of the lake was a white swan staring at them. Next to it was a white cat - also staring. “It seems like it comes from them,” Bucky whispered. “What should we do? Should we catch them? The swan and the cat?”

“I mean we were only here to find Sunshine,” Steve was interrupted by the swan making angry noises at them. Before they could say anything else the swan was startling them as it ran in their direction. Its beak was pulling at Bucky's sleeve, and it ripped. Steves arrow was pointing at the swan, but the bird took another bite into the fabric and Bucky was too stunned and almost lost his balance as the swan was pulling him in the direction of the lake. When he gained back his balance and pulled into the other direction, he lost another piece of fabric. It almost seemed as the swan huffed and waddled towards the water alone – still followed by the arrow. As soon as it could the swan swam on the lake and the cat followed to the muddy path where it could still stand and interrupted the line of the arrow.

“What should I do?” Steve asked, but Bucky only had eyes for the swan. As soon as the reflection of the moon hit the water small splashes flew into the air until they swirled around the swan.

“What is happening?” Bucky asked but had already drawn his sword. The cat looked unimpressed even by the splats of water that were hitting it as it was still staring at Steve. The water went higher and higher until it suddenly stopped and fell. But where previously had been the swan was now Sunshine. “How?” Bucky breathed.

“Bucky,” you sobbed and ran towards him. As you had to travel through the muddy part he had enough time to lower his sword and wrap his arm around you as soon as you reached him. Your tears landed on his shirt, but he couldn’t care at all.

“Are you okay, love?” His arm pressed you against him and he savored the moment you were in his arms. The stone in his hand suddenly wasn’t only glowing but turned hot. The air around them was shifting.

“You have to go,” you exclaimed and pushed him away.

“We just found you,” he tried to say, but you kept on pushing. “Go now, before he sees you. Please,” she begged when he didn’t move at all. The cat behind you was hissing. “Just hide there,” you pointed somewhere where the trees were thick. Unwillingly Steve and Bucky walked where you pointed and they only did it because they noticed your panic. The white cat was also hiding in the high grass and Bucky had to watch as you tried to dry your eyes while the grass around you started to become greener and flowers started to grow.

“There you are,” he heard a voice and his eyes were about to fall out when he spotted someone walking towards his Sunshine. “There is no need for tears, we can turn them into happy tears if you’ll finally accept my offer of marriage. Your days as a swan will be over, you can go back to your island. So will you marry me?” Bucky had to watch as the man with the red face stepped towards you and tried to wipe away your tears. He was about to confront the man, when he saw you stepping back and he could hear your disgust when you declined.

“Oh this would have been your chance, princess. Did you think I wouldn’t notice your little visitors. This was your last chance,” with a swipe of his hand the enormous tree where Steve and Bucky were hiding was split in two. “You think you can save her? What fools you are! Have fun finding her now!” A loud boom was heard and before they could do anything the whole area around them changed. Loud cackling was heard and suddenly hundreds of swans were surrounding the two flabbergasted men. They couldn’t see Red Skull anymore but could hear his voice before it faded out. “No more human form for you, princess. Let’s see if your prince will recognize you now.”

“Where is he?” Steve asked confused.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked at the same time.

It was loud, very loud. They could almost not hear each other despite standing next to each other, but the swans were making so much noise. They were making their way towards the lake while a few of them came towards Steve and Bucky. One snapped at Bucky’s sleeve. “Sunshine?” he asked, but the swan only turned more aggressive. Another one was biting in Steve’s shoe.

“Sunshine?” Both yelled in the hopes that you would hear them and come towards them. But they only saw birds over birds.

“And why are they so aggressive? Sunshine?” Bucky complained and tried to take some steps forward, but there were too many birds. Suddenly a few swans were extra loud and two started to dive into the air. Feathers were flying around and they could see something else between the swans: a white cat. The one which had protected Sunshine.

“We must reach it, I bet it will be able to recognize her! Can you grab it?”

“One of them just stole my shoe!” Steve complained and tried to move forward but slipped on the ground and almost fell on one swan. In the end he managed to grab the cat who climbed his form more than willingly and sat down on his shoulder. “Got it, Buck!” As soon as both men stood next to each other the cat walked over to Bucky's shoulder. Together they moved and when the claws retrieved from Bucky's skin, he knew they came closer.

Until the claws came back full force suddenly and the noise in his ear indicated that Sunshine had to be close to them. That’s when he spotted one swan fighting against two others and the cat jumped in, ready to shove her claws into the bird. Steve was pushing one out the way and Bucky almost ran to the animal that was injured and tried to scoop it up in his arms, but the bird didn’t want to be caged.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he tried to soother it. “Calm down, Sunshine. I’ve got you!”

It was these words that did the trick. Suddenly it was very quiet around them while the swan and the prince stared into each other's eyes. One by one the other swans disappeared until only one remained.

“I think she needs to be on the water to change,” Steve’s voice sounded much too loud in the now quiet area. Bucky was finally able to lift the swan he believed to be his princess and carried it towards the water. And as soon as the feet touched the surface the water started to spin splash against both – although the prince couldn’t care less as he stared into the face he came to love.

“You’re hurt,” he exclaimed once he let his eyes roam over your body and saw you clutching your arm against your torso.

“It’s not much, but we need to leave. I think the curse might be broken I feel more like myself I think. But we need to get out of here in case he comes back.”

The prince agreed. He might be a good swordsman but he was helpless against magic. The three of them made their way back to where Bucky and Steve came from, including a white feline following them. Bucky didn’t hesitate to pick it up and place it back on his shoulders. As soon as it had a comfortable place where it was secure it retreated its claws and slung its tail around the prince neck. With Sunshine to his right and Steve on her right side they continued their way.

“Okay, so we have Sunshine. And now how to we get back? The portal is closed?”

“Oh, I might be able to fix this,” you said and walked towards a burned place on the ground. Suddenly your voice had more authority than they had ever heard from you. “Magician Strange, I order you to open this portal right now so your crown princess can come back home.”

“How did you do that?” Steve asked when he watched the sparks to appear again. You pointed at a bracelet around your wrist with an orange stone like the one they had in their hand. When you told them it was a precaution so you could stay in touch with the magicians it dawned on them that they didn’t even have a plan to get back or if they even should have made it back. And later when you heard the whole story you fell even more in love with your prince and were glad that you had such good friends who risked everything for you.

“It’s so good to see you, princess,” Strange lowered his head instead of a bow.

“It’s good to see you too, magician Strange. At least one magician I know I can trust.” Your recap of the story was interrupted when another portal opened and Yelena, Natasha and Samuel stepped through. Samuel didn’t even care that he had to bow before you – never in your life had you seen him rum so quickly and his arms were thrown around you. A burnt smell filled your nose, but you didn’t care and wrapped your uninjured arm around him.

“I’m so sorry I failed you,” he almost sobbed in your shoulder.

“You didn’t fail me,” you assured him. It was chaos after that. When Strange heard the whole story, he took Yelena with him to face Red Skull and they disappeared through the portal. After a lot of hugging and checking in with each other (and calling a healer for your arm) you all agreed to get cleaned up to get rid of the burned smell and the smell of swamp.

Many hours later you were all still gathered in a sitting room. Your head laid on Bucky's shoulder and you had problems with staying awake. Sam was currently retelling the story of a dragon they had faced and you weren’t sure if you should believe him if it wasn’t for Natasha who backed up his story. The white feline was laying on the softest pillow next to Steve, but decided that your lap looked more comfortable.

“You can sleep, princess. We’ll all protect you,” Bucky mumbled in your ear.

“I need to go home tomorrow, but maybe – would you like to accompany me? I could show you my island and to be honest,” you paused as you weren’t sure if you could share your feelings now.

“I’m not ready to be apart from you again too,” he assured you and a featherlight kiss was pressed against your hair.

“Okay, good,” you yawned and your eyes finally closed.

In the end the two kingdoms were reunited. And while it was a huge political thing that no one really wanted to get into it was more about their princess. As the story started as the Sunshine and the Grump it didn’t end that way. Because when their King looked at his Queen you wouldn’t know who smiled more. It was a story of love that most people would only find in a fairytale book. And with their friends who travelled with them from the island to the mainland it wasn’t only a story about love, but friendship and family. And as we stated that the story wasn’t so long ago, they still live very happily.

Masterlist | Library Blog

Reblogs, comments, asks or just a ramble mean the world to me <3

#bucky x reader #fairytale au #fairytale retelling #the swan princess #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #prince!bucky #sunshine x grumpy #bucky x female reader #prince!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #found family

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peachyteabuck · 1 year

Text

cross the line (peggy carter x reader)

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

commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous

pairing: peggy carter x reader

words: 7649

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

divider by @firefly-graphics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you all right, your majesty?”

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

“That’s what I thought.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what would the queen mother think?”

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

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

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

“Are you okay, your majesty?”

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

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

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

“May I?”

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours looks prettier, though.”

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

“Wh…what did you just say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I believe so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one ever seemed worth the risk of losing them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-what do you-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a failure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hits you then, what he’s doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peggy stands behind Katherine, watching as she comforts you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Confess.” One of them say, calmly.

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

Each denial is met with a similar reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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joelslegalwhre · 2 months

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! this isn't sorted by character, sorry I'm lazy.. :')!

istg I'm the most confused girlie out there and I forget about my #want to read tag all the time, so this tbr shelf can be not only mine but your place to find new fics if you see anything you think sounds good!👀

If you decide to read a fic (any fic) don't forget to leave the author a reblog or comment! Supporting the creators is to show them love!💜

your heart, a sonnet - Author!Joel Miller x F!Reader by @kedsandtubesocks

incomplete - Ezra x gn!reader by @alwaysmicado

butterscotch orange - frankie morales x f!reader by @undercoverpena

waiting game - dbf!Joel x Reader by @gutsby

hating game - dbf!Joel x Reader by @gutsby

chamomile - Dieter Bravo x f!reader by @tightjeansjavi

i wonder if you stopped his world like you did mine - frankie morales x f!reader by @chronically-ghosted

meet me in the back - sleazy gas station clerk!joel x fem!reader by @atticrissfinch

i didn’t know you smoked - steven grant x reader by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

best of both worlds - mando x f!reader by @thefrogdalorian

do the right thing - Postoutbreak! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader by @joelsgreys

the sweepstakes series - porn star!pedro boys x f!reader by @katareyoudrilling (her whole masterlist tbh)

sex on fire - ceo!joel x f!reader by @macfrog

are you ever dreaming of me - dave york x f!reader by bestie @janaispunk

From Eden - AU Pirate!Joel Miller x Mermaid f!Reader by @tightjeansjavi (her whole masterlist bc Gi's writing is amazing😭)

know better - daddy!marcus pike x fem!reader by @ezrasbirdie

Divide my legs like a mathematician - Dbf!Joel x virgin!reader by @joelmillerisapunk

You wanted this masterlist - fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader by @alwaysmicado

I'll update this list as I find new fics I want to read, and remove fics I've already read. But don't worry, I'll post a monthly fic rec list starting in february, where you can find all my "already read" fics from this list! <3

main masterlist

#em's tbr shelf #joelslegalwhre’s want to read list🫶🏼#pedro pascal #tbr list #oscar isaac

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missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway · 19 days

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One day I'll be dancing on your grave...

Summary:

Lucien “Luci” Greco, you’re piece of shit ex, has come to NY looking for you. He's the reason you had to leave everything behind in the first place. Didn't stop him from searching for you though. The long lost mafia princess. He needs you if he is ever to rightfully take over the family from your father Declan. Little does he know you're doing mercenary work for the highest bidder. He still thinks you're some wilting damsel, a spoiled little princess. Your daddy didn't raise you that way though. You've been primed to take over since birth. Too bad he beat the shit out of you so badly you had to run for your safety. Somehow, even trying to stay under the radar you've befriended the damn Avengers family. A misfit mafia if you’ve ever seen one. You’re all after the same enemy afterall. Maybe, it's time to finally let someone or several someones in, so you can live life without constantly looking over your shoulder. Question is, do you even want the crown anymore?

Warnings:

Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Mafia Avengers, Mafia AU, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top

Notes:

Hello Heathens! Welcome to this dark little mafia world I've created. Please be aware there are dark themes throughout this story so be sure to check the tags with each new chapter just in case there may be something that triggers you. Happy reading! Banner @cafekitsune Divider @firefly-graphics

“Well if it isn't the White Wolf and his Captain.” You deadpan as you enter your living room.

“Jinx.” Bucky speaks from his place on the couch.

“To what do I owe the displeasure of finding you in my home?”

“We came to return this.” Steve places a dagger on the coffee table. “Seems you left it behind.”

“Oh Steven. I don't ‘leave’ anything behind. Every blade has a purpose. You should know that by now. That one was left as a reminder of what happens when people underestimate me.” You start to clean the dirt from under your blood soaked hands with another dagger.

“Now if you're done posturing or whatever it is you came here to do. You can kindly show yourselves out. I have a date with my clawfoot tub, a bottle of 151 and season 2 of the Witcher to get to.”

You turn on your heels and head down the hallway towards your bedroom, undressing and leaving a trail of bloody clothes behind you along the way. You're faithful Doberman Hades on your heels. The pair of enforcers sat on your couch are fixated on the sway of your hips until your form leaves their line of sight.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “What do you want to do about this? I’ve never known her to kill just for fun. Clearly someone with deep pockets hired her to take out Sitwell. Not that I’m complaining. That Hydra piece of trash deserved it.”

“Tony is going to want answers. Answers that only she can give.” Steve shrugs.

“If she’s willing. She’s not the biggest fan of Tony.”

“Thankfully she loves Pepper. Let’s see if she’ll come to the compound with us voluntarily first.”

Arching his brow and giving Steve a sly grin. “Afraid to get your hands dirty Stevie.”

“More like I’d prefer to have her tied up in my bed than in the back of my Range Rover.”

“Don’t we all Stevie. Don’t we all?”

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror as your phone begins to vibrate along the counter. You glance down and upon seeing the name flashing across the screen you take a calming breath and answer.

“It’s done. There was no need for you to check in on me.”

“That any way for you to talk to your Da? I know it’s done. I had 100% faith in ya to finish the task. I did raise ya after all. So what if I wanted to check in on ya. You’re so damn far away now. I’m not allowed to call my daughter?” Declan proclaims.

“Da. What do you need? You never call to just check in. We don’t work that way. If you wanted to see how I was doing, you’d fly a goon of yours out and stalk me for a week before deciding if it was worth it to come out here to see me. So what is it? I can’t re kill Sitwell for you.”

“Alright. Alright. I get it." He sighs into the phone. "I have some info I feel ya need to know.”

“And that is?”

“Lucien has been gone for a week. Said he had some business to attend to out of town. I just came to find out from one of his little lackeys that said business seems to be in your neck of the woods. Be careful, petal. Keep your eyes open. He very well may be there for some reason other than to hunt you down and drag you back, but I won't risk it.”

You freeze at the mention of your toxic, waste of space, abusive ex. The reason you had to run away to NY in the first place. You swallow and test the water for your bath.

“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll stay vigilant, as always. Now leave me be so I can enjoy my post kill ritual.”

“Never one to waste words.”

“I got it from you. Night Old Man.”

“Night Petal.”

Placing your phone on the tray next to the tub you proceed to submerge yourself in the steamy water. You tilt your head back and exhale as tortured memories bring themselves to the surface.

“Sunshine” His voice is getting closer to the darkened corner you’re hiding in. “Come out, come out wherever you are.” He throws one of the dining room chairs away from the table. “Come on baby, I won’t hurt you. I promise. I didn't mean to scare you. You know how I get when I have a shit day and your dad calls attention to my fuck ups in front of everyone.”

His steps get closer and the next thing you know his hand is in your hair and he’s pulling you out into the living room. Tossing you harshly on to the coffee table. You barely get your hands out in front of you before your face can connect with the solid wood.

“You know better than to hide from me, Sunshine. For that, I’m gonna deny you the use of my tongue to open you up. Hopefully you’re wet enough cause I’ve got a lot of pent up anger that I need to get rid of. Don’t move if you know what’s good for you and take this dicking I’m so graciously giving you.”

You brace yourself as he slams himself inside you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and craning your neck back so he can wrap his other hand around it. He’s squeezing so tight you know there will be finger shaped bruises left behind.

You find yourself zoning out as you try to preserve your precious air and he continues his brutal pace. It’s the only way to get through it with your mind intact. Your body will heal. It’s the emotional trauma you're most afraid of. Before you get too lost in your head, he speeds up, hips moving erratically until he stills and you feel him empty inside you. Thank the goddess is stamina is so shitty.

“Much better.” He kisses the back of your head. “See how easy that was Sunshine. Go get yourself cleaned up so we can have dinner. I don’t feel like staying in so wear something that’ll help cover those bruises. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

You numbly nod your head and limp off to your ensuite bathroom where you stare at the mottled mess of purple around your neck. You heave a sigh and get to work covering up his handiwork.

Hades emitting a low growl, snaps you out of your daydream when the pair of Super Soldier enforcers saunter into the ensuite to see if they can persuade you to come to the compound of your own freewill. You decide then and there to have a little fun with them first. A sort of quid pro quo if you will. You're keyed up from your kill and want to drown out the memories of your past that seem to want to flood back tonight. What better way than with some orgasms.

“Can I help you? As you can see I’m trying to relax.” You announce to the steam filled room.

“Tony would like to see you. He has some questions pertaining to your last kill.” Steve states.

“And before you give some snarky ass comment, we’re asking if you wouldn’t mind coming in with us of your own accord. Although I’m more than okay tying you up and dragging you in myself.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows and shoots you wink.

“Okay.” You casually declare.

“What?!” The soldiers stare at each other in shock over how easy that was. Too easy.

“What’s the catch?” Steve asks.

“It’s simple, really. It’s a win/win all around. I’ll go if Bucky uses those metal fingers of his and gets me off, then lets me ride him while I suck on that golden dick of yours Captain.”

“Deal!” Bucky blurts out, making his way over to the tub as he rolls up his left shirt sleeve.

He wastes no time submerging his hand in the hot water and seeking out your folds. He lightly runs his fingers along them and up to your clit where he makes a couple light circles, eliciting a moan from you.

“Fucking soaking and it aint even from the bath water. You’ve thought about this before, haven't you Doll.”

“Wh-what can I say? The metal is sexy. Oh Fuck!” He slides two thick digits knuckle deep inside you and curls them upward. “Yes. Yes. Right there. Right fucking there Wolfie.”

Your head is thrown back in complete pleasure as you give in to the manipulation of Bucky’s metal digits. Steve is off to the side, all of his blood having run to his cock, making his pants extremely uncomfortable, watching you writhe and make the most delicious sounds.

“That’s it. Come on babygirl. I can feel how close you are. Give it to me and then you can take me for a ride. I know you want to be stuffed full.”

His words have the desired effect and your pussy squeezes down on his fingers as you detonate and ride the wave of your orgasm.

Before you fully can come down from your high, you're pulled from the water and impaled on Bucky’s thick girth as he sits on the edge of the tub. The stretch and feeling of being so full almost sets you off once again. You take a moment to let your body accommodate him.

“Thought you wanted to ride me, Doll? So ride. Before I change my mind and bend you over this tub instead.”

Your hips move of their own accord at his threat. Undulating and bouncing to a sensuous rhythm. Losing yourself in the moment.

That is until Steve strolls over and teases your lips with his precome coated tip. “Open up, Doll. Gotta make good on that deal.”

You gaze up at the Golden Adonis standing to your right and give him one sweet kitten lick before you take him down to the root. Hollowing your cheeks, you begin to bob your head along his length, sucking the life out of him. He can’t help the moans and groans slipping out of his mouth as you suck his dick like no one ever has before.

Knowing your mouth is setting the Captain's world upside down, you pick up the pace, grinding and bouncing on the dick splitting you open. You set a tempo that has the room filled with nothing but the wet sounds of skin against skin, moans and language that would make a nun blush.

Bucky has a firm grip on your hips as he pulls you down one final time and erupts inside you, triggering your own orgasm. You come screaming around Steve’s length, setting him off as well. Rope after rope of his hot white seed coats your tongue and throat as you swallow every precious drop.

Releasing him from your mouth you lick any run away drops off your lips and proceed to lift yourself off of Bucky’s lap. “Fuck that was even better than I imagined it’d be. We most certainly need to do that again. Many many times.” You grin devilishly. You are a glutton for sin after all.

You grab a washcloth, dip it into the hot bath and begin to clean up the mess Bucky left behind. Satisfied with the level of cleanliness, you turn towards the out of breath enforcers. “I’m nothing, if not a woman of my word. Grab yourselves a drink and recoup while I throw something presentable on for the big boss man. What are we riding in by the way? Will I need my leathers or are we in a cage tonight?”

“As much as I would love to see you in your leathers, straddling me on the back of my bike.” Bucky bites his lip at the image presented in his mind. “Stevie here, brought his Range. So cage it is tonight, Doll. Gonna have to save that ride for another time.”

“No problem. You’ll just have to enjoy that sight when you're watching me from behind as I sped past you on my Ducati.” You tease.

“You won't be ahead for long, sweetheart. And once I catch you, I’ll gladly bend you over it and fuck you til cant stand, let alone handle you bike and are stuck riding bitch with me.” He cockily proclaims.

“Promises. Promises.” You smugly smile back.

Steve interrupts your moment before it escalates further. “Okay. Enough you two. Although I would love to watch that transpire, we do have somewhere to be. Come on Buck, let our little murder queen get dressed. We’ll be ready when you are Jinx.”

You walk up to Steve and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Always so polite. Even after you just had your massive dick shoved down my throat. Oh you're the best kind of dangerous. I can’t wait to see you unhinged.”

With a whistle to Hades you head back into your room and your walk-in closest to throw on some clothes and be on your way to the Avengers compound.

"There's the woman of the hour. I thought you'd put up more of a fight with the Super Soldiers. Guess I was wrong this time. We were just talking about you." Tony gets up from his chair, grinning.

"We?" You question.

"He'd be talking about me." You gaze down to a blonde head of slick back hair and a voice that haunts your nightmares sitting in front of Tony.

"Jinx, I'd like you to meet…"

"Lucien Greco." You deadpan.

He stands from his seat and turns in your direction. His blue eyes scan you from top to bottom. Cocky smirk plastered on his face. "Hello Sunshine. I was hoping I'd find you here."

"No one calls me that anymore." Another emotionless response from you.

"So I've heard. Jinx. Fitting if I do say so." You barely restrain the growl that wants to emit from your chest.

"You know him?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah. He's the asshole who gave me this.” You lift your shirt and pull up the center of your bralette, showing off the jagged scar in the middle of your sternum. “Right before he left me for dead on the side of the road."

“I didn't leave ya for dead darlin’. I was always coming back. Just needed to teach ya a lesson first.” Lucien imparts.

Before he gets a chance to even take a step, you have him pinned against Tony’s desk. Your favorite dagger, precariously placed under his chin. Blade pressed so close against his throat, a deep breath would break the skin.

“Tony. Please get on with whatever it is you need to discuss with me. Every second that passes I’m one step closer to slitting his throat and that’s just too quick of a death for him in my book. So make it quick and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Tony lets out a sigh. “Unfortunately you’re going to have to deal with him for this discussion. Says he knows who hired you for the hit on Sitwell and that we’re all after the same thing. Revenge.”

“Of course he knows who would have hired me for this hit. He’s been working for him since he was a teenager. Been around him his whole life actually. He is correct about revenge though.” You state a little too calmly.

“Are you implying Declan Scott paid you for killing Sitwell?” Tony questions.

“Never said I got paid for the job.” You shrug your shoulder.

“Why didn't you get paid?” Steve utters.

With a smug little grin Lucien answers for you. “That’s an easy one, boys. He killed her mother. In fact he was the reason she went into labor. Little Sunshine here was born in blood. Taking her first breath as her mother took her last.”

“You’re extra chatty tonight Luci? It’s a pity those words just might be your last.” You look him dead in the eyes, a look of murder in yours.

“Wait. Wasn’t Declan’s wife murdered while pregnant? He has a daughter right? She’s been MIA for the last 3 years.” Bucky adds in.

“That would be, correct gentleman. Although I wouldn't classify her as MIA any longer now would I darlin’.” Lucien chuckles.

You press the dagger in a fraction harder and watch as a trickle of blood begins to slide down his neck.

“Alright. Enough with being vague. Just tell us what you're trying to say, Greco.” Steve growls out.

Smug as ever he lets them know what’s going on. “Alright. Alright. I’ll lay it all out. You’re little Jinx here, is Declan Scott’s one and only daughter. The rightful heir to the Bay Area Mafia. I’ve come to drag her back home where she belongs before Hydra makes good on their threat and ends her fathers life.”

“I’ll be going nowhere with you.” You say through gritted teeth. “You seem to have left out the part where you only want me home so you can lock me up and throw away the key. That way you can run things solo. Not happening. I’d rather bleed out in a ditch again than see you take over for my father. Whatever deal you thought you’d strike here it’s over. Your word is as good as a knife in the back. Your mouth is full of nothing but slick words and a poisonous tongue.”

“You used to love my wicked tongue Sunshine.” You press the dagger in a bit further once again. The tiny river of crimson soothing your raging emotions.

Not wanting to have to clean blood out of the carpets Tony takes charge of the tense situation. “As sexy as it is watching her hold you at knife point, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Seems you are no longer needed for this conversation.”

He presses a button on his desk. “Happy. Would you mind escorting our guest off the premises please. Take him wherever he wants to go, as long as it’s far from here.”

“Will do, Sir.” Happy replies.

“Thanks. Now Jinx. I’m gonna need you to step back from the deadbeat ex so Happy can remove him.”

Bucky comes up behind you and places his flesh hand on your hip and his metal one around the wrist holding the dagger. He whispers in your ear so only can hear. “Let’s make him wish he never stepped foot in here thinking he could get one over on you.” He kisses along your neck as he lowers your hand away from the lowlife's, guiding it down to your thigh, where he helps you return it to its sheath.

“That’s my girl. Head on over to Tony now. Steve and I will be right behind you.” He places a final kiss on your lips and turns you toward is awaiting boss.

You walk over to Tony and he grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles. “We have a lot to discuss, little one. Seems you’ve been holding back on us.”

You laugh. “Don’t say I didn't warn you.”

#poc reader #avengers x reader #avengers smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #mafia au #steve rogers x reader

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minispidey · 9 months

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ANGIE (@minispidey)

ʰᵒʷ ᵈᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ? ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ⁿᵒ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵗᵒ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ˢᵒ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ. ⁿᵒᵗ ᶠᵃⁱʳ.

MASTERLIST.

filipino-chinese-spanish. nov 14. 8teen. co-ceo of bimbo!reader x steven grant.

oscar isaac enthusiast 💅 i don't bite i swear i'm friendly

i guess i write stuff again. i write for f!readers unless stated otherwise! mdni. please in any way shape or form, do not steal my ideas (specific scenarios) , collabs and writing, storylines, and do not directly copy paste my fics. you can use the aus (specifically steven x bimbo), inspo credit is appreciated and encouraged. plagiarism is a crime. layout is by me and so are my dividers, do not steal. asking permission though is highly encouraged, and do not hesitate to dm me 💅

REQUESTS ARE OPEN. oscar isaac and pedro pascal characters ❤️ feel free to specify! Some of the requests i do are long 🤚 all characters depicted on smut fics are all of legal age. though if i feel uncomfortable with your request, it will be deleted. (no inc3st, p3dophilia, minor character smut, etc.)

#oscar isaac #moon knight #moon knight system #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #nathan bateman #miguel o'hara #leto atreides #smut #requests #minispidey masterlist

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anika-ann · 10 months

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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

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