#medieval marvel au

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: bro, Idk how I start at point A and get to fucking outer space. Also happy bday to Steverino.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gardens of Astra Castle are unlike any you’ve seen before. Certainly, you’ve never been to a royal castle previously. Your father’s own hold is modest, still bearing the wooden foundation, whereas the rich lords have poured mortar and built in stone. 

So, it is a great honour to be among the noble women chosen to serve the queen. Most unexpected. As a daughter of a lower house, it is rather unusual, but it comes with the newly set writ tabled at the end of the uprising. That is how your father tells it anyhow. 

King Steven is as newly crowned as he is newlywed. After a lengthy revolt against the previous king, the land has settled, and upon his victory, the new ruler promises the expansion of prosperity to all. The very precedence of his war rested on the greed of the former court and its covetous lords. 

To those who took up his mantle, he has made good his word. To the commoners, he has sent bread and ale, livestock and alms; to the nobles, he has granted titles and lands. You were of the same doubt as your father, however, you expected to be forgotten in the disarray. 

Yet, you were not. You’re there with several other ladies. A set of blond twins borne of a duke and duchess, the sole heir of a widowed countess, and several earl’s daughters such as yourself. Unlike them, you do not wear satin or silk, not muslin either. You have only the dyed linen your mother attempted to enhance with some embroidery around the cuffs and collar. 

“Marcia and Marigold,” the twins introduce themselves as you cluster together in the gardens, grooms and servants bustling around carriages and chests. “Lady Calliope,” they call out the countess’ daughter, “we met prior, yes? Your mother is near Estrela.” 

“She is,” Calliope answers in her stern manner, herself seeming a widow in her black dress. The shimmery fabric makes up for its single tone. 

“Ameri, Dorida, and... Selene,” they point to the other girls, themselves clothed in scarlet, rose, and azure respectively. “We know the earls, your fathers. They gathered at our father’s hold for the battle near Caffre.” 

The twins take turns speak so that sometimes you cannot track whose lips are moving. It is even that they trade off in the middle of sentences. You find yourself almost as lost by their words as your new surroundings. 

“And you...” The twins turn their jade eyes upon you. It is there you have found the only difference in them; they have the same heights, the same hair, the same gowns even, but there is a sliver of grey through Marcia’s green iris. “We haven’t figured who you are.” 

“My father is an earl. In Woodsdam.” 

“Woodsdam,” they echo in unison and share a look. They are perplexed. 

“A minor house,” Calliope provides. “a farmer more than a noble, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“We have vast lands and we tend to them, yes,” you assure. You expect their condescension. Your father warned you for it but he bid that you keep your chin up. The king has given him a mission of his own and so you will represent the family for the time. “We keep our people well and we fed the king’s troops when they marched." 

“Mm, sounds very... common,” Marigold grins and her sister snorts into her hand. 

“We know many lords like us, yes. They work hard amidst their vassals. It keeps the lands strong so that we may better serve the crown,” you return evenly.  

Your mother helped you prepare. She coached you to keep your manners and your spine. The latter is much more difficult as you face these ladies and their bobbles with only a ribbon in your hair and a pair of patched gloves. 

“Woodsdam? I think I rode through it once on the way to my grandfather’s summer castle,” Ameri tuts, “it was little more than a swamp.” 

“It must’ve been the spring rains, perhaps, lady,” you offer. 

“Summer house,” she enunciates, “one travels there in the summer.” 

Your cheek twitches at her barbed retort. Very well. You are not used to their sharpness. Their chittering has thus far centered on gossip and the cost of their new caps. 

“A wonder the pauper’s daughter received an invite. Are you certain you can read, lady?” Dorida snipes and looks to the twins for approval. You notice how they all tend to do so. 

“It was sent to my father, Lord Eldon,” your voice quavers. You are not so strong as your mother bid you to be.  

They cackle at your meek response, “the precious maiden of Woodsdam.” 

You put your head down as the activity all around threatens to swallow you up. You wish the ground would rent and you would fall right through. All your excitement has dissipated to a sludge in your veins. You touch your cheek as you try not to show your embarrassment. 

“The Lord of Woodsdam,” a deep voice startles you as boots approach from behind, “is that what I heard?” 

You stiffen up as the ladies before you hush and blink, almost in tandem. They curtsey as their faces wash over in shock and you turn to face the newcomer. A man in a deep blue vest over black sleeves and grey breeches. He wears belt of gold and a circlet across his brow in a similar hue. It is that which betrays his statues. 

You lower your eyes and mimic the other women, mortified to be faced with new king so informally. You would not think him wandering out in the yard. Still, he has vowed to be unlike the former leige. That he would be of the people. 

“King Steven, your majesty,” the others titter in a messy chant and you murmur your own propriety as you back away. You find yourself still to the shoulder of the king as the other ladies give no room for you to join. 

The vision of him stains your mind. He is tall, with dark blond tresses that extend past his neck, and blue eyes which put his own attire to shame. He has a jaw which looks etched in stone and a bearing which matches his rank. He is tall and broad and a finely built knight. 

“It is an honour,” Marcia says most boldly. 

“You may rise,” he allows in a breezy timbre. “I did hear my wife would receive new ladies. Young ladies.” 

“Your majesty,” the murmur rolls across each lip. 

“It is much needed. We have so many established ladies at court and yet we need to think of the future. Of the next generation,” he declares as he emphasizes his words with his large hand. You watch his garnet ring to keep from so brazenly looking him in the face. 

“Certainly, your majesty,” Marcia and Marigold chime in unision. 

“And don’t worry for there are many young lords as well,” the king laughs galely at the quip which makes the ladies, yourself included, blush. “Ah, then, Woodsdam I believe we were speaking of...” 

You blink and glance at the other ladies. They are cowed, unsure if they were overheard in their derision. You hope as much as they that they were not. It is rather unflattering. 

“My father, Lord Eldon,” you explain, “your majesty.” 

“You? You are the young lady of Woodsdam I heard so much of.” 

“You did? Er, your majesty,” you curtsey apologetically; unnecessarily. 

“Certainly, I did. Your father was a great assistance in me holding counsel with the lower lords. He is very patient. “When not about his duty, he spoke of you oft. Though what matters are more important than family?” 

“Yes, your majesty,” you can’t help a smile, “my father is a very kind man.” 

“Kind and courageous. I’m certain you’ve inherited as much,” the king praises, “and these other ladies. The twins who belong to Mawsley, the Countess of Clovers daughter, and the three earls daughters from the White Plains.” 

The ladies each bow their heads as he proclaims them by their forebearers’ titles. You watch from aside, feeling even more out-of-place. The king recites them all proudly as he extends a finger for each. 

“Allow me myself to extend a welcome to Astra. When you are sorted, my wife shall receive you all and have you acquainted with the grounds. I hope you enjoy them, we’ve had the gardeners at work day and night,” he pronounces, “for now, I must be off, for a king has many obligations and not so much time.” 

He bows and turns on his heel, marching off with his shoulder straight and head high. He walks as a soldier does, not some lord. You’ve seen the difference before, more recently in the aftermath of battle. A soldier is more akin to a farmer, much as your father, whereas a Lord tends to keep his steps tight. 

“Wow, oh my,” Dorida fans herself, “he is rather handsome.” 

“Oh yes,” Marcia and Marigold say, the latter forging ahead, “we met him at our father’s castle. He is ever so charming.” 

“Hm, and the queen would love to hear it, I’m certain,” Calliope intones brusquely. 

“The queen is not here,” Ameri sneers, “so what does it matter? Besides, is it so wrong to state a truth?” 

“He is very elegant,” Selene agrees. 

“Much too kind, as well,” Marigold snips, “Woodsdam? He speaks as if it more than some paltry farmhouse.” 

“You’d never even heard of it,” Calliope remarks. 

“And how had you, hm? You seem the bookish type. Perhaps you should leave the maps to the men. What good will a river or road do for a widow’s welp?” 

“Needn’t be cruel,” Calliope rebuffs. 

“Pity if this is the lot they send,” Marcia shakes her head as the sisters share another cryptic look. 

You keep to yourself. That is all you can do. It is better to watch and learn than to leap and land wherever you might. Your mother always said so and she was your best teacher. 

“Right, there must be some maid who might show us to our rooms,” Marigold stands on her toes and waves at each passing servant. “I tire of the sunlight and boorish company.” 

👑

You have two trunks awaiting you in your chambers. Not as the other ladies who had at least a dozen each. Less humble than your lunger are the rooms themselves.

There is an antechamber hung with tapestries showing wildlife and flora, a table set for two and cushioned bench by the window. The bedroom is draped in similar hangings with a four-post bed and a grand hearth. A desk, another bench, a woven carpet, and fine accouterments on square tables. And a closet for the commode as well and a pot in the far corner of the bedchamber. 

If only your mother and father could see this. They would be just as amazed. You can’t help but admire all of it. To touch the curtains as you approach the window and stare off at the afternoon sky. The gardens are a medley of hues; petals and thorns; leaves and dirt. It’s all so wonderful, you can still hardly believe it. 

Seems those other ladies can’t either. You can’t help but think of their words anon. They said so outrightly what you doubted inwardly. You don’t belong here. It must be so clear to them. 

You lean on the ledge and peer down into the garden pathways. It is almost a labyrinth with how intricately they’ve laid out the hedges. You lower yourself down to your elbows and cross your arms as you sigh. 

Your eyes are drawn from the swaying roses to the dark speck that appears below. You squint at first. From the second floor, it is harder to discern. It is the glimmer of gold in his hair and the defined gait that gives away the king. For an instant, you believe you might be dreaming. 

He walks along one path and to the next. There is another with him. A man with darker hair and a stauncher figure. They speak and stop just as they enter a circled walkway centered by a large vase of flowers. The other man talks, though you can hear neither, and the king rubs his chin. 

You should turn away. They might think you an eavesdropper. Oh, too late! You don’t dare move as the king tilts his head. You wouldn’t want to pique his attention. You cannot tell if he has spotted you. Not until he raises a hand and waves. The other man stops and looks to follow the gesture. 

You stand up straight but before you can flee in horror, you recall yourself. It is improper to turn your back to the king. You lift your hand and return the wave. He dips his head and turns to clap his companion’s shoulder, pointing him onward. 

Oh, you hope he is not unhappy. If you pray, perhaps he will not have recognised you. You needn’t an enemy of the king as well. 

[leehanji]

Illustrations from my Stucky fic The Limits of Duty

Read it here on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48358507/chapters/121967410

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [9 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: You find unexpected acceptance within the pack.  

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: 👀 as always, reblogs and feedback of all kinds are appreciated and always welcome! thank you! mind the warnings ❤️

When you wake, it is to thick fog.  It is early, the pale shadow of the sun barely visible above the damp grass. You wake before most of the pack, the majority of them still tucked away in their sleeping rolls. Carol is too, you spy the top of her blonde head some twenty, thirty paces away.

You rise quietly, rolling your pack up before slinging the bow Steve had given you across your shoulders—just in case. Your short-sword, a mere dagger in an Orc’s hands—remains strapped to your waist. The grass sea is dangerous.  You’d known it before, but now you understand it. ‘Tis an accursed land, far from Halith’s light. You have found no curses here, though. No angry, vengeful Gods; at least no more or less vengeful than your father’s own. 

The grass parts for you easily, though your feet stick in the mud. The bound leathers Carol had fitted for your “tiny human feet” do better at keeping out the damp and the cold than any shoes made in the village ever had, and you are especially grateful for them now. It hasn’t taken long—only a matter of weeks, really—for the village that had been your home for every summer its walls had stood to belong to another you, another life. You have no desire to return to the clutches of the Kingdom, nor the Church of Undying Light. They are as dead to you as the ones lost in the pass. 

Still, though, you cannot help but wonder what lies ahead as you move slowly through the grass. What future Tarrath holds for you. Steve had spoken of a vast city on the edge of an endless salt-sea, and you long to gaze upon it with your own eyes, to learn its mysteries. 

You are not far from the camp now, close enough to see it over the tops of the grass if you stand on the very tips of your toes. By the time you’ve crested the nearby hill, your cheeks warm with exertion and brow damp, the morning mist has all but dissipated. You stare down at the valley spread out below you with awe.

In the distance to the east, you can see the dark shape of that treacherous pass, dotted against the landscape. But in truth, you can see so much more. The sky is a pale, sickly blue, still a shadow of its former self after the might of the storm, but even so, you are glad to see it anyway. The grass sea stretches on for uncountable leagues in every direction, rolling into a horizon so vast your head spins at the thought of it. Mountains rise and fall, emerging and disappearing into the green. 

The world is quite a bit bigger than I imagined.

You had never really imagined it at all, existence beyond the village was immaterial and unimportant, your life a strange combination of droll, unending horror that you’d known would one day end in your unremarkable death. But now the land itself unfurls before you like the most tempting of scrolls, begging you to look, to see, to know and understand, to learn and experience—and you want to. 

The shifting hiss of grass parting makes you turn, a hand flying to the hilt of the sword at your hip, but you drop it back to your side almost instantly. The young orc before you holds his hands out placatingly. 

“Apologies,” you say with a wry smile.

“None needed. The zikaegina is a wild place. An old place, is what my mahem tells me.” He is young, much younger than Steve. Perhaps one of the youngest in the entire pack. Bright, warm brown eyes crease at the corners as he grins at you boyishly, his short tusks gleaming. “But beautiful, also.” He gestures at the view. 

“It is,” you agree. “I thought… I thought when I looked upon it that it must never end,” you admit, and he chuckles. 

“All things have an end.” He says amusedly, returning his gaze to the sea. “I am Peter.” You tell him your name, and he repeats it in that matter-of-fact way that Steve had done, like he means to taste each syllable, though it doesn’t make the skin on the back of your neck prickle like it had when Steve had said it. If he were human, you might’ve placed Peter at twenty summers, perhaps two or three more at a push, but as he’s decidedly not, it is hard to tell. Your eyes stray to the string of rabbits tied at his  waist, and he looses a little laugh. 

“Ah, yes. I thought it important to hunt this morning.” He unties them from his waist, hoisting them up proudly. It is quite a good catch, they are all plump and fat, much larger than the one you’d managed to bring down, before your rather dumb luck with the stag. “Do you like them?”

His question takes you aback, and you squint at him confusedly. 

“I—I suppose? I know Carol and the others will surely appreciate the addition to the stores.” Peter shakes his head, frowning. 

“They are not for the stores.” He brandishes them again, and you see now that they are an offering. He presses them into your hands, smiling. “They are for you.” Your face heats. 

“I, er—why?” Your brows crease. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”  Peter’s brows knit together in confusion. His eyes drop to your throat, and the bewilderment in his eyes only grows. 

“You are unmated, are you not?” He asks, nervously rubbing his shoulder with the opposite hand. “I-I know many females prefer jewelry, but I thought perhaps the rabbits might be more pertinent…” He trails off awkwardly, and the nervous fluttering in your belly turns into full blown panic. 

Oh no.

“I, well, that is to say—” You sputter out nonsense, wringing your skirts in your hands. You admit the hope had blossomed within you that one day you might truly be seen as pack too, but it had not yet occurred to you that attraction might also follow suit. You lick your lips before trying again.

“I’m not, but I, well I don’t think this is—”

“I am a good warrior, strong.” He says confidently. “I will never fail to provide, this I vow.” You swallow thickly.

“I’m sure you are,” you say slowly. “But—I—there are certain things to—”

“What is going on here?” Steve’s voice is icy, and his stony expression is just as cold. His eyes flick down to the rabbits in your hand, and then back to Peter before narrowing. “You shouldn’t be off hunting alone.” It doesn’t sound like he’s speaking to everyone—just to you. The weight of his admonishment makes your cheeks burn. It does not help when Peter puffs his chest out, looking decidedly childish before Steve, standing half a head higher and two paces wider. 

“I am blooded, and a capable warrior. Twenty-two summers is more than old enough to take a mate. Maavuman usok. The gift is given.” Peter fixes Steve with a stubborn, challenging expression. 

“She does not understand our ways.” Steve’s frustration is palpable. “You would as well claim a youngling.” Your eyes narrow at the comparison even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. While you can admit  to a certain lack of skill, you are certainly no child. 

“I am not a child.” You snap, and Steve’s deep answering laugh only stokes your ire.

“So you would take Peter as your own?” Steve raises an eyebrow. “From now till hereafter?” Cold fills your belly at his words, and you shake your head furiously.

“I—n-no,” The words escape your mouth in a clumsy stampede. “I just, I er, I’m not…” 

“You do not accept the gift?” Peter looks absolutely crestfallen, his brows knitting together. You’re tempted to ramble, to attempt to soften the blow of your rejection the way you’ve been taught to, but somehow you get the feeling that that will not translate particularly well. If these weeks with the pack have taught you anything, it is that Orcs appreciate blunt honesty. Excuses, on the other hand…

“No.” You wince. “I do not.” 

You fully expect Peter’s anger, but it does not come. Instead, he adopts a fierce expression, curling his hand into a fist before slamming it against his chest. 

“Then I will find a gift you will accept, promikun ni.” The smile that curls across his lips is cheeky. “Something worthy of you.” Peter is retreating back into the grass sea, his face a mask of determination before you can tell him not to. 

“Maker have mercy,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers. Steve chuckles derisively. 

“You would not take Peter as your mate, little human?” He asks amusedly as you wrinkle your nose. 

“He’s so…young,” you reply, still watching the place where the grass had closed around him. 

“A youngling in all but name. Barely blooded.” Steve’s lips curl back around his tusks with remembered irritation. “He has no business—” he stops himself abruptly, shaking his head. He seems more relaxed now, less frustrated. “No matter. It is finished, now.” 

“Surely there are those much more… suited in Tarrath?” You do not know why you so fiercely desire for him to know that the young Orc’s desires are unrequited, but you feel driven to do so. “Unless it is common in Orc culture to raid for one’s wife.” Steve’s laughter feels heavier somehow, as if weighted with knowledge only he is aware of. 

“Only sometimes, Sweetmeat. Only the very strongest.” Warm lead settles in your belly, though you will it not to.  “We will ride for Tarrath tomorrow.” You nod. Of course—this had been the destination all along. “I would much like it if you were to ride with me, Sweetmeat.” 

“A-at the front?” You ask incredulously, and he nods.

“Yes. I should much like to see your face when you look upon the Red City for the first time,” he replies, before hoisting the rabbits. You don’t miss the fleeting scowl as it crosses his lips. “I will give these to Carol.” He slings them across his broad shoulders, and turns on his heel. 

“Steve?” He pauses at the sound of his name. 

“Yes, Sweetmeat?”

“What is m-maa-mawvwuman usak?” You know the words are clumsy and incorrect in your mouth, but you try anyway. He licks his lips slowly, grinning. The bare skin of your arms prickles as gooseflesh spreads up them. 

“Maavuman usok.” Steve repeats it slowly, each syllable rolling from his tongue like drops of honey. “The mating promise.” The sticky lump in your throat feels nearly impossible to speak around.

“And prum—prum—”

“It means promised one.”  

to be continued…

Brave Masterlist

next chapter

[moon-language-0]

ICYMI: all "Medieval AU" Stony manips by @fohatic! You can browse the master tag for the individual manips + related posts <3

(note that—yet again—the sexiest manip isn't showing up under the master tag for some reason, which is the same bs tumblr pulled when i tried to collect all my stony vampire manips in one place...)

[fandoms-writings]

hi! omg i am OBSESSED with your writing! may i request #4 angst and #3 fluff for knight!bucky <3 i think it'd go well with them

ahhh thank you for requesting one of my favorite aus <3 i hope you enjoy this one <3

If Only for a Moment

Pairing: knight!Bucky x queen!Reader

Word Count: 1041

Warnings: stress, anxiety, mentions of marriage and potential kingdom conflicts, bucky being the perfect knight he is &lt;3 angst with a fluffy ending

A/N: This is unbeta'd and unedited lol so take that as you will

Series Masterlist

You liked to think you were a graceful queen. One who kept her composure when faced with dangers most didn't know existed. Not known for losing your temper. 

But sometimes, the weight of the world was a lot for your shoulders. 

You sniffled as you pulled the pins out of your hair and ripped off your corset, the tears free flowing now that you didn't have an audience. 

There was a knock at your door and you took a deep breath before asking who was there. 

"Just me, Your Grace," James's voice responded and you sighed. He was here to take you to the stables - you were supposed to go on a night ride through the city. 

"Give me a second," you called, wiping your face free of your tears and grabbing your cloak, pulling it tight around you. Walking up to the door, you took a deep breath, pulling your emotions in check, relaxing your tense face and throwing on a soft smile. 

You pulled the door open to find him with his back turned to you before he looked at you over his shoulder with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Your Grace," His voice was soft as he looked at you, but his lips faltered and his eyes filled with concern, "Forgive me, but. . ."

Your brows pulled together in confusion, "What is it, Jamie?" 

He lowered his voice, "Do not take offense to this, but. . . Your Grace, you're a mess." 

Your eyes widened as you scoffed with a smile, "I am not a mess. What are you talking about?" 

He softly called your name, something he never did. It was alway 'your grace' or 'my love' - when in your quarters and out of earshot of anyone else. Your name sounded foreign on his tongue, but it was a welcome change. 

You looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his face, the worry prevalent in his frown, and you sighed, the tears beginning to push at the dam again. 

"I want to love you openly, Jamie," You muttered, watching his gaze soften, "I don't like having to hide you. But I also don't know what sort of consequences announcing our affections would bring." 

"Your Grace," he cupped your cheeks, pulling you so your foreheads were touching, "I do not need our relationship to be in the spotlight to feel like it's important. I don't mind hiding, it allows us to revel in those secret moments. Makes them more special in a way." 

You let out a sad, wet chuckle, "But, I want people to know. I want them to know you hold my heart, that there is no more competition for it, that there never was. I do not want to hide you anymore," You reached up, grabbing each of his wrists, squeezing them, "I want everyone to know that you're mine, and I'm yours." 

"Alright," He smiled, his lips wavering, "Then we tell them. Almost everyone within the castle walls already knows, and the people of the kingdom love you. You've done so much for them, they'd support you in anything you decided." 

"What about the other kingdoms, the ones who wouldn't appreciate that I'm not courting someone of noble blood?" You asked, your voice small as you gnawed at the edge of your lips. 

He placed a kiss on your forehead, "They'll have me to answer to then. You know I'd protect you with my life don't you?" 

You scoffed, pulling your face out of his hands, "Of course I know that, but I don't want you getting hurt and I don't want to start a possible war." 

"My love," He reached for you again, gently grabbing your hand, stopping you from pacing again, "I would never allow myself to be hurt, to risk not coming home to you. But if you want to love openly, I will protect you against any retaliation. You and your kingdom. I swear it." 

You watched as he closed the distance between the two of you, reaching up to swipe at the tears that had started to fall down your cheeks. Your heart beat hard in your chest as his gaze warmed your skin, his touch bringing chills as his fingers brushed over your skin. 

You couldn't help but fall even harder for him as he stood in front of you, declaring his intentions, prepared to protect you and the kingdom should the need arise. 

"You know," You started, "if we were to marry, it'd be your kingdom too - legally." His eyes widened at the mention of you marrying him. You'd never talked about it, but it's something you always wanted. Someone to sit at your side on the throne and rule with you. A marriage that wasn't born from duty or treaties. A partner who thought of you as an equal and actually loved you, not just saying they did for the power that came with it. 

"You would marry me?" He whispered. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat before whispering back, "If you'd have me, yes." 

His lips twitched upwards, "I know nothing of being king," he chuckled. You couldn't help the smile that burst from your lips as you giggled. 

"I'll teach you. Anything you need to know, I'll show you," you reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'll even hire the nation's best scholar if you ask me to." 

He let out a loud laugh before smiling down at you. "Are you still stressed?" He asked, his smile dropping just a bit in worry. 

"Of course I am," You laughed, "I'll always be stressed about this until we do something about it." 

He sighed, looking at you for a moment before smirking at you, "Let me kiss it better, then." 

"Oh," You laughed, "Is that going to fix it?" 

"For a moment," He smiled, "But isn't a moment enough?" 

You smiled up at him before leaning up on the tips of your toes and gently pressing your lips to his. He smirked into your lips, but you pulled back before he could deepen it. Your lips brushed against his as you asked, "Can you make it more than a moment?" 

His eyes flicked between yours and your lips as he nodded, "Anything for you, my love."

As always, thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are all very much appreciated.

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[badbcatha]

(Not)old story

[wolfsbanesparks]

Hey y'all!

This is the fifth of seven stories written for Billy Batson Week 2024! Today's prompt was: Into the Elseworlds + Favorite AU

Summary:

All his life Billy had heard tales of magic, but he'd never expected them to be anything more than stories to frighten children. He certainly never dreamed that he would one day be able to do magic himself.

That all changed when he met the Wizard

[artstar1997]

While the Troll Kingdom in the Hidden AU is a mix of different centuries of the Middle Ages, Mount Rageous’s aesthetic is based on the kingdom of Rosas from Disney Wish, as shown in their outfits. As for Velvet and Veneer, their outfits are jester-themed.

Since Velvet and Veneer in the au are being controlled by Famin Fortune, both their first and second outfits are redesigned to a harlequin’s but they wear split colored tights and Venetian masks. The diamond patterns range from blue and indigo to purple and Veneer wears a jester hat with bells because he was often treated as a clown by Velvet. The two didn’t know that their harlequin looks hides a harsh reality: a harlequin’s role is to serve an audience, a master .. but it’s nothing without a master and no one cares about who they are beyond that.

The monarch of Mount Rageous, Zircon wears a black cotehardie with golden geometric patterns and trim with a fur collar, darker pants and boots with a blue cape and a crown while Princess Cerise’s medieval look is based on Queen Amaya but with her hair being partially loose and she wears a tiara that is similar to her late mother, Quartzine and her aunt Ruby. Both Marvel and Lux’s outfit is based from the concept art of King Magnifico’s outfits while Gloss’s outfit is based on his prologue outfit. Silke’s ensemble is based on Bazeema but with checkers and Cashmere’s dress is designed after Queen Amaya’s storybook prologue dress with geometric prints and a veil to top it off. Glimmer and Shimmer wear matching dresses but the prints and their accessories set them apart. Since Princess Cerise wears a tiara, Silke, Cashmere, Glimmer and Shimmer wear circlets to show their status as members of the royal family.

[oksana-moods]

Queens of Promise - Smut Part

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

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

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

Previous Parts here

“Between Heaven”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, she desperately needed to feel more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This woman would be the death of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart literally fluttered watching her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Body, mind and soul.

Part 9

taglist: @californianwhiterabbit

[chantsdemarins]

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

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

Chapter 1 The Embroidery of Destiny

Chapter 2 The Stranger

Chapter 3 Stories Cannot Burn or Disappear

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

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

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: friday!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You are summoned to the queen’s chambers shortly after your arrival. You come together with the other young ladies from courtyard in the corridor just before a set of painted doors. Within, Queen Margaret keeps court with her ladies, of whom you are to be one of. The thought alone has you devilishly unnerved. 

The guards in their livery greet you with dull eyes. The groom announces your purpose and receives little in return aside from the one soldier’s lazy reach to tap upon the door. He lifts the lever and eases a space between the wood. 

“Your highness, you’ve some ladies requesting an audience,” he drones through. 

There is some movement from within. A lady servant appears in her white cap and beckons you inward. You are further intimidated by the formality of it all. Marcia and Marigold rush ahead to be first and the three earls’ daughters from the White Plans take up their train. You glance over at Calliope and trail after her. 

The doors shut at your back and the lady maid retreats, her soles scuffing amid the murmur around you. You look around the skirts of the other debuts and see women in recline, others perched upon cushions and stools, all at leisure with needle, book, or frame. There is another at the window, sat between two ladies on the bench, the late afternoon breeze stirring the long waves that hang around her face, the rest of her chestnut hair twisted up behind her hood.  

The lady maid stands at the wall in deference, “your highness.” 

The brunette raises her chin and her eyes narrow at the lot of you. You can barely see much past the shoulders of the twins and the other ladies clustered closely in shared apprehension. Still, the twins stand tall and the other ladies hardly seem as wrought as you in the ceremony of it all. 

“The twins of...Mawsley, is it?” The queen declares, “yes, your father proved himself a valuable asset, didn’t he?” 

“Your highness,” the twins recite in unison and bow, “Marcia,” the first introduces herself, “Marigold, the second adds. 

“How keen,” the queen chimes, “you look as the same person. How amusing.” 

“Thank you, your highness,” the sisters chirp. 

“And those gowns, wonderful. I may have to ask after your tailor,” Queen Margaret preens, “and where is the Countess’ daughter? I recall I met you once when you were still a child.” 

Calliope steps dutifully, “my mother sends her regards.” 

“Oh, yes, that poor widow,” the queen bemoans, “she is ever steadfast despite her plight.” She takes pause as you sway to see her, “and the rest of you, forgive me, these last days have been a whirlwind and I’ve heard an endless slew of names one after another. 

“Lady Selene,” the very lady proclaims. 

“Lady Ameri,” she bows in quick succession. 

“Lady Dorida,” the last shows her courtesy in an elegant bend. 

As you come forward, the twins push their arms together as if to block you out with their sleeves. You sidle side to side and sweep around their skirts with an ungraceful stumble, “your highness,” you greet as if you have something stuck in your throat. You swallow before you can muster your own name and title. 

“Woodsdam,” the queen tilts her head and looks from the lady at her left shoulder to the one on her right, “I’ve never heard of it.” 

“Neither have I,” the leftmost agrees. 

“Farmland,” the right says. 

“Yes, your highness, my father is a farmer, but an earl as well,” you supply. 

“Mm,” the queen looks down her nose as her lips thin, “it appears the Woodsdam style is much... defined. I don’t think I’ve seen that style gown since my grandmother was still on earth.” 

You look down at your modest cotton. The square cut of your bodice is much different than the other ladies’ rounded collars. Your mother crafted the dress from pieces and the seams are tidy, yet it does lack a similar flair to the others around the chamber. You raise your eyes and keep your composure as best you can. 

“Many thanks, your highness.” 

The queen scoffs, “quaint, indeed.” She sits straighter though her posture is already unyieldingly staunch, “ladies, please acquaint yourself. And be certain to pay heed to these ladies who know well the ways of court. For all that’s changed in these past years, we will retain as ever our elegance and our etiquette.” 

You peer around, uncertain what comes next. A lady stands and calls to Calliope, “Lady, it is me, Gwendolyn, of the Spades. Near Clovers, you will know it?” 

Calliope accepts the initiation and there is a swift storm of voices swirling around the lot of you. You flutter hopefully that someone might think of Woodsdam or might’ve been to the waterfall near Aquil, not far from your father’s hold. The twins confer still with the queen and her ladies, trilling and giggling, as Serena and Dorida marvel over another ladies’ sewing frame, and Ameri is overly familiar with a lady swollen with child. 

You drift away from the centre of the chamber, trying not to draw unwarranted attention. It would do little for any to note your insignificance. You’ve all to soon faded into obscurity. No one cares for a farmer’s daughter. 

“Eh, do you read?” The question startles you and has you spinning to face its speaker. She looks as she sounds; squawkish. Birdlike. Her blond waves are woven with strands of silver and her hooked nose is not unbecoming. 

“Yes, lady, I do,” you answer, uncertain if she is genuine or she means it as jab. 

“Have you read Corswin? He wrote a fair tale about a shepherdess.” 

“I’ve not heard of him,” you recover your confidence at her interest. It is clear she humours you, that she is speaking to only keep you from floundering. 

“I must lend you a book or two,” she insists, “come sit with me. These old hens grow tiresome.” 

“Many thanks, my lady,” you accept and claim the stool next to her, shifting it closer. 

“Sarah,” she gives her name, “Woodsdam. I’ve never been. I hate the swamps.” 

“Oh,” you nod, “yes, it isn’t very swampy. Only in the rainy seasons but we get the sun.” 

“Mm, still, I’ve been down Ashton and I hated the place. My horses caught some sickness there,” she gripes, “perhaps though, your home is more pleasant. A woman old as me, though, I don’t venture far as it is.” She tuts and taps her oval nails on the book in her lap, “if my son wasn’t so foolish as to take up his sword, I’d still be in my library, hidden away from these chits.” 

You clasp your hands together and smile. She’s amicable and you wouldn’t want to bother too much. She flutters the pages of her book and huffs. You look around, sensing some intrigue from the other ladies though they do their best not to let their flitting eyes be caught. 

“All these birds know how to do is cloister themselves up like nuns,” she bemoans, “I’d as soon be out in the sunlight. If I were home, I’d be in my courtyard with a better book than this,” she wags the volume in agitation, “and you, lady? What is it you do on the farmstead? Chase hens?” 

“We have geese,” you say, “though they aren’t truly kept. They sort’ve linger around. And some cattle.” 

“It does sound rather bucolic, this must be all so drab to you, castle walls and dusty tapestries.” 

“Oh, it’s all so wonderful,” you expound. 

“It is?” She drawls tritely, “aren’t these ladies of ours so polite? The way they whisper about our hems and our titles. Don’t let yourself be fooled, though I suppose that should be as good a warning against myself. Ladies of the court are like crows; the like shiny things and the hold grudges, and sometimes, they needn’t even a reason to peck your eyes out.” 

You close your lips and swallow. Her tidings only underline the unwelcome forged in the queen’s introduction. All you might forgive is at least she seems genuine in her girding. You look down at your skirts and run your fingers down a crease. 

“The dress is not so hideous,” she assures gently, “some of the ladies do forget we did just fight a war. There are those without silks and without food in their bellies. They should weigh their fortune that they are still alive and well.” 

Your eyes meet and she looks a little less stony. She turns her head to the window and her gaze drifts into the distance. You follow them with a sense of solemnity. Again, you snare a few glances from the others. Many men died, women and children too. It wouldn’t do to care so much for what people think of your wardrobe. 

👑

Your first day at the castle ends in a fine supper of freshly baked bread, beef with gravy, and seasoned scallions, onions, and sweet herbs. It is not so hearty as your mother’s stew which you share as often with the servants nor so delicious. It’s a different sort of taste but not unpleasant. 

You retire at the queen’s behest. She declares she must see to her husband and several of the other ladies claim the same of their own. You rise and wait courteously to tail after other ladies, not wanting to get underfoot as you so often did on the farm. As you stand aside, Lady Sarah swats you with her book. 

Skirts swish against the rows of chairs and benches that line the long table. The dining chamber is set with the portrait of peregrine and similarly hawkish depictions woven into tapestry and tablecloth alike. Despite the uniform decor, the furniture is mismatched and the hews of wood and metal alternate with each piece. 

“Don’t fear the stampede, little calf, run with it,” she chides, “ah, I’ve decades upon these sows and they plod like heifers.” 

He uncouth words draw your surprise. She laughs at the look you send her and waves you off with the hardcover. She shoulders past you without pause. 

“One day you will see, it is better to speak the truth than let it shred up your soul,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Ah, naivete, how entertaining you are.” 

Her voice carries and you notice how the other women shy away from her. There’s a glint of deference to the tilt in their chins as they part for her like a like drawn in the sand with a stick. You wonder how she can be so bold and why the other might tolerate it. As Queen Margaret girded, you are to maintain propriety. Sarah seems to carry the same manners as any farmhand you’d known. 

You hurry to meet Calliope near the door as she departs. She seems the tamest of the lot thus far. Sharp-witted but not needlessly cruel. She turns her head slightly in acknowledgement of your presence. 

“There you are,” she mutters. 

“Did you enjoy the afternoon?” You ask brightly. 

“Enjoy? I tempered it,” she retorts, “I’ve the measure of most ladies.” 

“The measure? They were all quite friendly.” 

“You are too friendly,” she admonishes, “this is court, you cannot be so simple. Each lady is attached to a lord, thus they work upon his purposes. Her ears are always listening, eyes always seeing.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You represent your father and though mine may be in the ground, I carry his mantle all the same. We are our houses, not ourselves here,” she keeps her voice low and slows markedly to keep away from the others, “you should count yourself fortunate for my wise counsel, lady, for no other would give it.” 

You chew on her words, tasting their bitterness, “so why do you, Lady Calliope?” 

“For I despise those twins and I know they aren’t so keen on you,” she sighs, “and I saw you as any other did with the dowager.” 

“The dowager?” You echo. 

“The king’s mother, Lady Sarah,” she sends you a sharp look, “don’t tell me you didn’t realise?” 

“Oh? No? She spoke of books and her gardens, she didn’t mention...” you peter off and snap your mouth shut. But she had, she did say her son ran off to war. “Oh!” 

“Oh! Indeed,” Calliope mocks and shakes her head. “Look, I’ve not the patience for these women, but you’re not so bad. You don’t speak without meaning. Shall we be companions?” 

“Pardon?” You let your surprise bleed through. 

“I need at least one person I might stomach, how about you? I don’t think the others are so eager to be friends. Marcia did say how you look like a peasant.” 

“She did?” You frown. 

“Hm, you need me,” she insists, “you can’t let yourself be so whimsical. Never mind what they say or think. What do they care so much for anyhow? They are a duke’s daughters, they will do well enough.” 

You carry on next to her. You feel as if you’re being pulled in all different directions though all tell you just the same. Be wary 

[leehanji]

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

...Coming soon to an AO3 near you.

Patreon || NSFW

[artficlly]

lady of the ghosts [chapter 8]

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

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

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

Word Count: 3.5

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

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We definitely are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is a new feeling growing in your gut. 

Hope.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hansdampfinallengassen]

Stephen Rogers, Cleric of Protection.

[darthbloodorange]

Their lives were sworn to the benevolent King Arno II. Their hearts were sworn to one another.

Under the cover of moonlight, they meet in the northern forest to be together until the sun rises. Trusting the trees to keep their secret.

For the: ✦ Stucky Bingo - AU: Medieval [O5] (Card: 5054)

Word count: N/a - Moodboard Title: Sworn Hearts Rating: Gen Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers Warnings: None Major Tags: Medieval AU, Knight Steve Rogers, Knight Bucky Barnes, Secret Relationship, Forests ~ Summery: Their lives were sworn to the benevolent King Arno II. Their hearts were sworn to one another.

Under the cover of moonlight, they meet in the northern forest to be together until the sun rises. Trusting the trees to keep their secret.

[IMAGE ID: A 3x3 grid of images. 1- Bucky's face. His hair is long, and his jaw is heavily stubbled. 2- Riveted mail with slight staining. 3- Close-up of an armoured sculpture holding an ornate sword. 4- Five petaled purple flowers in the soft moonlight. 5- The trunk of a large tree with a section of bark removed. A love heart is carved into the bare trunk. 6- A forest floor carpeted in tall stems of tiny purple flowers. 7- Close-up of ornate armour. A simple sword held in front around hip height. 8- Shinny butted mail. 9- Steve's clean-shaven face. His mid-light hair swept back.]

[demobatfluffyart]