#marvel royal au
Text
Yours to Claim
King!Bucky x reader
Warnings: angsty, SMUTT, flufff, Arranged marriage, virginity loss, marriage consummation, bit of bleeding, King Bucky is a sexy, loving, protective warning.
You stood in your new chambers, fidgeting with the lace of your dress, eyes flickering to the various pieces of art work that decorated the walls; moments earlier you had signed your life away to a man you had never met before in exchange for an alliance over war.
A promise of peace if the two kingdoms united; an easy fix at no one’s expense.
Except yours.
You flinched at the sound of the door clicking shut, the king, and now your husband, silencing the hushed whispers on the other side before making his way over to you. Even if his advisors and servants were now quiet, you knew at least one would be lingering around the door way, listening.
Waiting.
You still hadn’t seen him properly, having kept your gaze down to mask the tears that had threatened to fall throughout the ceremony. To your surprise, he didn’t drag you to bed like you expected; instead he strode past and removed some of the many layers he wore for the ceremony before standing in front of you again.
“I hope everything's been to your liking princess-” You were caught off guard with his question, your eyes flicking up, surprised to find soft blue ones looking down at you. “-and that you’ll be happy here”
He cared about your happiness?
You nearly scoffed at the thought but his voice was sincere, not a hint of malice found. You hadn’t noticed before but he had a handsome face; a beautifully carved jaw under his his dark beard, delicately sharp nose, soft pink lips and if you looked for a moment to long, you’d get lost in his eyes.
Shaking the thought away you focused back to the matter at hand. It had to happen one way or another. You agreed to this for your kingdom, there was no point in having second thoughts now.
“They’ll be expecting us to...” Your voice trailed off, glancing off to the side at the large bed that was set in the middle of the spacious room, soft silken sheets and thick lush pillows neatly arranged by the castle maids. You knew how this worked. Love and affection didn’t matter, your marriage wouldn’t be considered legitimate until...
And if you didn’t-
One day you were living your life, preparing for the day you’d have the throne and now you were here.
To be seen in a way no one else ever had.
Touched in places no one dared lay their hands on.
You were now his property.
You tried to push the anxiety that started to claw at your mind, making your way over to the bed and sitting up right as you were taught, waiting for the man you were now tied to, to consummate the marriage. Your breath hitched as you felt the bed dip down beside you from where the king sat, surprised to feel his warm hand gently lay on top of yours, giving you a comforting squeeze.
“Princess we don’t have t-
“I want to” you tried to sound confident but your voice wavered, your breath hitching again when he tilted your chin to look at him, your eyes struggling to hold his gaze.
“This is my kingdom” he said with a firmness that was not directed at you but rather towards the distain he had for the rules that had put you in such a position in the first place, “I’d never force you to do anything, princess” The slight growl in his voice made your heart skip a beat; yet again, there was only sincerity in his words.
However, it was far more complicated for you.
You didn’t want to fail the very duties that had been instilled in you from the day you were born, not wanting the sacrifice you made for your family to go to in vain if anyone dared question the fulfilment of your wedding night.
“I want this” You looked directly at him with confidence but your eyes gave away your vulnerability.
“Then I’ll make it good for you, pretty one” He murmured, the pulse in your veins quickening when his hands came to cup your cheek as he moved you to lay down on his bed. He carefully tugged at the ribbons of your corset, freeing you from the constricting garment and tossing it aside before slipping off the rest of your dress. You felt exposed, lying bare against the cool sheets while he undressed himself; you couldn’t help but glance over at his toned body as he discarded his own clothes, corded muscles running under tan skin, scars from battle decorating his body
The worst was the scarring along his left shoulder, angry jagged lines running from his neck to his shoulder blade, some of the scars extending to his chest and arm. There were divots in his skin from where the cuts ran deeper than others.
It made him beautiful.
You looked away as his pants fell around his ankles leaving him in his all naked glory, feeling hot under his gaze. You instinctively squeezed tightly together, arms draped across your naked chest to cover your modesty. Your eyes were trained on the tapestry that was hung across the room, biting your lip when you felt him crawl onto the bed, kneeling before you, his knees on either side of your legs, bare skin touching yours.
“You’re allowed to look, princess” The king smirked at your flustered state, “I belong to you just as much”
You swallowed thickly, flicking your eyes back to him, involuntarily gripping the sheets finally seeing all of him from his long dark hair falling in waves to his shoulders, his frame broad and solid. A shiver ran down your spin as you continued to trail your eyes further down to his thick length, veins running along the shaft, curved towards him.
You were confused as he moved to lay down beside you, having expected him to lie on top instead but he didn’t; instead he kept his eyes locked with yours, moving your arm to uncover your breasts. You held your breath as he laid them aside, your nipples peaking against the cool air, still waiting for him to shove your legs apart and take what he wanted.
“You’re sure, princess?” He whispered, his face by yours, letting his warm hand rest on your tensed stomach, humming when you hesitantly nodded.
You bit a gasp as his fingers trailed down your body, coaxing your thighs apart, softly caressing the sensitive flesh as you tried to squeeze your legs together. He let out a soft chuckle, moving your thighs apart again, your eyes growing wide when his fingers dipped into your folds, smearing the slick that started to pool between your legs.
“I- you shouldn’t-” You didn’t understand what he was doing, your mind reeling when he moved his fingers close to where you were more sensitive, making it harder for you to control the noises that wanted to slip through.
“I should know every part of my wife” He trailed his fingers back up, watching you intently, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk when he brushed over your swollen bundle of nerves, a gasp escaping you when he pressed his fingers tips against it, “Her most sacred places”
Your breaths quickened, your walls quivering with need, a feeling you had never experienced before, already melting into the pleasure he was giving you.
“I made a promise to take care of you” he started to rub soft circles around your clit, humming and the moan you tried to bite back, your lip caught between your teeth. He pulled his hand away from your soaked cunt, his thumb still glistening with your arousal tugging down on your lip making you gasp.
“You don’t ever have to silence yourself with me princess” His voice dropped an octave, jaw clenched, the meaning behind his words deeper than wanting to hear how pretty you sounded as he pleasured you. He caressed down your body till he found your clit again, rubbing you with such care, building a steady rhythm that had all your nerves lit on fire. A coiling pleasure wound tighter and tighter with each stroke of his fingertips.
“You’re the softest thing I’ve ever touched” His hands had seen war, violence and bloodshed, scars and callouses evidence of his bravery and fierce loyalty to his kingdom.
And now to you.
“Such softness deserves to be loved” he whispered, dipping his head down to your chest, taking your nipple between his lips, gently suckling while continuing to rub slow deliberate circles around your clit. “And worshipped”
Your body moved on its own, your thighs spreading apart, giving him more access to you, your back arching off the bead, needy moans and whimpers filling the room as he switched to your other breast.
“Ooh-it feels-mmphh-” You couldn’t formulate words, hands blindly gripping at the sheets, squirming as he rubbed faster, a fiery pleasure starting to crawl down your spine. You could feel his hard length press against your thigh, your fingers twitching to wrap around him and soothe the ache of his swollen cockhead, his pink tip wet and leaking. He noticed your gaze flick down before looking away, loving your sweet innocence.
“You’re allowed to touch me, princess” He murmured against your cheek, taking your hand, trailing it between your bodies, moving it to wrap around his thick length. He moved your hand along his velvety shaft, his cock hard and throbbing against in your soft palm, “Every part of me is yours now too”
You let out a whimper, hesitantly dragging your hand up and down, learning to build a rhythm he seemed to respond to, listening to the low grunts and groans he made when you twirled your hand around the tip before stroking all the way back down to the base.
“Is-is this okay” Had he not been right beside you, he would have missed the whisper of your voice, a smile gracing is lips as you awaited his answer.
“Of course, princess” James rubbed tighter circles around you, determined to get you make you shatter in pleasure before taking you apart all for himself, wanting every intimate moment you spent with him pure bliss for you. You signed your life to him; he was going to cherish that in every way possible.
“oh-please-p-please!” Your eyes rolled back, your clit swelling as warmth began to spread throughout your body, the coil ready to snap, just a bit more- “Please-” You didn’t even know what you were begging for, your body chasing the building pressure that was holding you right over the edge. You found yourself tugging and stroking him faster, coaxing him to move closer, guiding him to where you needed him most, your cunt clenching, making a mess all over the sheets. His hips rutted in your hand as he slotted himself between your legs, keeping his body weight off you, propped on one arm as he lay above you.
“Please?” Your eyes were glassy, skin hot, a concoction of nervousness, excitement, lust and desire coursing through you as you moved your hands to grip onto his thick shoulders.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” His hand softly petted your hair, eyes swimming with concern, the blunt tip of his cock throbbing against your leaking cunt.
“Take me” you whispered, feeling your heart rate quicken when he reached down between your bodies to line himself up, pressing against your entrance. You whimpered, letting your nails dig into his skin at the burn, feeling his the tip of his cock push into you, stretching your tight cunt apart.
“Shhhhh” He cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he pushed in further, trailing kisses down your nose to your lips, your grip nearly breaking the skin on his back. “I won’t hurt you princess”
You could feel his back muscles tense, focused on filling you slowly, finally joining together in a way that made you husband and wife.
“J-James” You didn’t even consider that you’d called him by his named instead of title, too lost in the feeling of him claiming you, hot pain and pleasure radiating through your body at the foreign sensation.
“I know, I know” he nodded against your neck, his cock splitting you open further, wider at the base. “Breathe, breathe, I have you” He could feel your pussy flutter and squeeze his length, trying to accommodate for his girth. He pulled away from your neck to brush the hairs that clung to your forehead, his thumb gently smoothing the crease between your brows.
“Look at me princess” he whispered against your lips as your cracked your eyes open, the sting slowly melting when you got lost under his blue gaze. He kissed your temple, lips pressed against your skin, your own nails clawing into his back as he fully sheathed himself inside you.
“May I?” He asked, giving you time to adjust to the feeling, only beginning to slowly rock his hips when you nodded, your legs moving to wrap around his waist, thighs squeezing his tapered waist.
“Feels-good” You let out a breathy moan, your legs trembling as he barely pulled out, pressing his cock in as deep as it would go, pushing you into the mattress. You clung around his body as he let his weight drop on you, keeping you covered under him while moving faster, his hand coming to lace with yours.
“So good to me” He rasped, squeezing your hands in his, moaning when he felt your pussy pull him right back in every time he pulled away. It was like you were made for him, every curve and dip of your body molded perfectly with his, your tight wet heat swallowing him entirely, taking every inch he was willing to give you. “You’re mine now”
“No one’s ever going to hurt you princess” His eyes hardened making your cheeks heat up under his protective gaze, dark hair falling around you in a curtain of intimacy. Your family may have married you off to bring peace to the land but he was not going to use that to his advantage to use you. He would take care of you and treat you like the queen you were, protecting his newest most prized treasure. You mewled against his lips, a stray tear slipping past your eyes, his lips kissing them away, a stark contrast to the way his cock was hitting deeper in your cunt, kissing your cervix as he fucked into you.
“I promise” he kissed your wrist, before pinning it against the mattress beside your head, thrusting faster, your moans loud enough to let the next kingdom over know you were at your husbands complete mercy in the most intimate and primal way possible.
“James-James-please-I” Your chest was pressed against his, eyes pleading for your release. He groaned, angling his hips to rub sensitive spot deep inside you making you see stars, spots starting to cloud your vision, the band ready to snap again. He panted, working his hips faster, rolling them, coaxing you further and further to the edge. He could feel his own orgasm ready to burst, gritting his teeth, determined to take care of yourself before giving into his own.
“Let go my princess, let go for me, I have you”
“JAMESS”
He held you tightly as you fell apart on his cock, moaning at the sting of your nails dragging down his body. Your cunt milked and squeezed him, desperate for him to give you everything drop he had. He wrapped his arms around your body, tucking his face against your neck, sinking his teeth into your soft flesh, unable to hold back when he felt your hands card through his hair, softly grazing his scalp before giving it a gentle tug.
“Let-let go for me” You whispered softly in his ear, wanting him to know you accepted him just as much as he accepted you, needing him to understand you saw him as your husband, not just your king. “My James”
“My princess” He groaned against your skin, pushing himself as deep as your body would allow, hot spurts of his seed filling you till it dripped onto the sheets. He continued to softly rut into you, riding through both your highs until he was spent, his cock beginning to soften inside you.
“I have you, I have you angel” He whispered, rubbing up and down your back, his nose buried in your hair, kissing down the column of your neck to your shoulders. “Do you feel alright”
You whimpered at the loss of him as he pulled out, a dull soreness beginning to settle between your legs. Your eyes grew wide at the dots of red that stained the sheets, pouting when you felt a loss of warmth as your husband sat up.
“Lie down angel” He cooed, moving you to lay on his side of the bed and tucking you under the plush sheet before swinging his long legs to the edge of the bed. You reached out for him, your fingers softly grasping at his wrist, wanting to feel him hold you when you felt so vulnerable.
“But-”
“I’m going to take care of your princess. I told you, you’re mine now. Mine to care for” He made his way over to the water that was set aside in the room, dipping a clean cloth to dampen it before making his way back over to you. He carefully wiped you down, between sweet words of how he’d forever put you first, a vow he made when he agreed to marry you. He wiped away the tears that spilled down your cheeks before getting up again to toss away the cloth.
He caught a glance of himself in the mirror, his skin now decorated with new marks left by you, a proud smirk gracing his lips, happy to add a scar, this battle being his favorite one of all.
The one to your heart.
One he’d have to earn with patience and love, this night being the first of many.
“The sheets-” You blinked up at him as he slipped between the covers, pulling you to his chest, cocooning you in his warmth.
“Will be for my eyes only” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, deciding he’d only allow your ladies in waiting to ever enter the chambers, ones that were loyal to you and that you trusted. “You’ll be safe with me”
You relaxed in his hold, closing your eyes and falling asleep to the steady beat of his heart, the anxieties that clawed at your chest disappearing into the night, your heart melting for the man you now were honored to call yours.
The king.
Your James.
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My Crown Upon Your Head
Ch. 1
Prince!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Synopsis: When an arranged engagement between Prince James of Brookland and Princess Natasha ushers the discovery of the existence of a marriage contract between you and said prince, you readily agree to a divorce for the sake of the kingdom. At first, you had been willing to be separated from Prince James but as you spend more time with your husband, you begin to feel things that are forbidden. It does not help your case when James shares the same sentiments. As you combat the emotions that excite and scare you, the discoveries you make of the people that surround you make you suspect there is something else at play...
WC: 3.9k
Warnings: period-typical misogyny, 18+ for delicate issues, typos, not beta'd
A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first Bucky fic! If you think you've read this before... uh, no you didn't ;) Likes, comments, and reblogs makes beananacake a happy writer lol
Once upon a time, there was a girl who accidentally married the prince.
That would have been a story to be told for ages, you thought ironically to yourself. It would have made for an everlasting tale by the Brothers Grimm; storytellers whom you had met during one of your travels to the distant land of Prussia with your diplomat father. They were an odd sort; old men whom you would never have thought to have been the authors to the short tales you loved reading as a child. Their stories were rather macabre despite the hopeful beginnings. After all, not every Once Upon A Time ended with a happy ever after.
I wonder how they would have written my story, you mused rather distractedly as you stood before the King of Brookland.
You had been summoned to the palace the moment your ship had docked into the kingdom’s port. There was no preamble as to why you were wanted; they had only loaded you unto the carriage and had been presented to the monarch without so much as a change of clothing. You were not vain but it would have been more preferable to be wearing the proper attire when meeting with the king. Instead, you met him in your leather breeches, a silk dress shirt, and a waistcoat that you had fashioned from your father’s old vest—all of these articles of clothing were scandalous by themselves, but not as scandalous as knowing the reason why you had been summoned.
“You see, my son is set to marry the Grand Duke’s niece but we find ourselves in an unusual predicament,” said King George II of Brookland as he stood from his throne.
You had no voluminous skirt to tuck your hands into when you were nervous. Instead, you only clenched them at your sides, clutched into fists to calm the nervous quake about you.
“My secretary has found a marriage certificate binding you and my son in matrimony.” The king said disdainfully as he looked down on you. He was a classically handsome man if a bit gaunt and pale. His blue eyes were kind yet piercing. His jaw was strong and covered with a beard that was white as it was thick. His voice rasped with every words as though he labored them out. He was an old man, stooping because of his many years but it did not dampen the regal, commanding aura he had about him.
“You had been married to my son for two decades.”
Twenty years? You would have been but six years! Surely, there must have been a mistake.
You took a discreet step back, afraid of the silent fury in his voice. You had no idea of this marriage to the prince but your lapse in memory only seemed to make the blaze of anger in the king's eyes grow.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I have no idea of this certificate of which you speak.”
A harsh scoff sounded from the man who stood beside the throne. Your eyes flitted to the Grand Duke and the cruel severity from him made you step further back. His features told you he did not belong to Brookland; rather than possessing the strong jaws and high cheekbones of the Brooks, he appeared more foreign. The Grand Duke—an honorable title reserved only for the king’s advisers—had his lips drawn tight, his brown eyes beady as he regarded you.
“His Majesty will not tolerate insolence, child. I suggest you answer in truth.” His words, while spoken calmly and simply, chilled you. His eyes betrayed nothing nefarious but there was an air about him, of something that made him unfriendly to you. Then again, it was his niece the prince was promised to and you had unknowingly married said prince.
“My apologies, Grand Duke,” you bowed your head as you lowered into a curtsy. You could not bear to look him in the eye for one more time.
“Tell me your name again,” commanded King George.
You kept your head low as you said your name.
“If you are who you say you are, then it must be you who signed this contract.” The soft unraveling of the scroll drew your attention and you looked up as the king thrust it before you.
There it was. Your name, written by the hand of a six-year-old child. It was a mess of letters but it was discernible enough for anyone to read your name. Beside it was Prince James’s inscription, no better than yours but still enough to be recognized as the name of the kingdom’s future monarch.
The royal seal of the Barnes of Brookland—a crowned lion standing atop a shield that bore the coat of arms of the family—brought about a memory that had long been buried until that moment.
You watched closely as your father, a scholar and one of Brookland’s diplomats, poured hot wax on the space between where he and another had signed. It was a rich blue with gold flecks, the colors and symbol of your country’s opulence. You were always curious as to why he did the ritual of laying his ring on top of the molten wax after signing the papers. You asked him.
“It is a promise, Y/N,” your father had replied as he took of his signet ring and placed it sigil-down on the paper.
“Like friendship, papa?” you had asked in your small, excitable voice.
He chuckled fondly, caressing your cheek as he watched you in the candlelight. “Of a sort. This paper is a memory of that friendship with our country and this country’s king.”
“Can I do it with my friends?” You watched with curious eyes, taking note of where he had written his name and the fact that it must be sealed with wax and his ring.
“Of course, little one. I shall have to teach you how to write your name so you can sign your promise.”
You beamed, eager to employ this newfound knowledge and practice of sealing your promises of friendship.
You were unable to read as well but it was no matter, your papa will teach you. It was your memory that was prodigious and you remembered his process. First, he took parchment from his sheaf of papers. He signed his name on the first empty space, then the other man did as your father had. They shook hands. Your father poured hot wax and placed the sigil on the promise and placed it on different sheaf of papers.
It was simple enough for you to do.
You recalled that moment you had done it. You had visited the palace with your father and he had let you play around the grounds while he conducted business with the other diplomats of the kingdom. Prince James had been but a boy then, a little older than you were but not old enough to talk affairs of the kingdom. He had been in the garden alone and you approached him with the idea of trying your newfound way of sealing friendships. You had not realized that you had plucked a marriage certificate from the Great Study because, truly, all of your father’s contracts appeared one and the same to you and you had assumed as much for all the papers. You innocently scrawled your name, taking good care in spelling it right as your father had told you. The prince had done the same and with your father’s ring, you sealed your—and the prince’s—fate.
“You recognize it then,” asked the king as he snatched the offending paper away.
“Your Majesty—” The apology did not slip past your lips.
“You may look innocent but I sense ambition in you, girl,” remarked the adviser. There was a hint of malice in his words and you flinched.
“Grand Duke.” There was a warning edge to King George’s tone. He turned to you once more. “You recognize this certificate?”
You steeled yourself, standing erect as you drawled out slowly. “It was not my intention to bind myself in marriage to the prince, Sir.” You swallowed. “My father introduced contracts to me as a way of keeping friendships. As a child of six, I did not know of diplomacy or the legitimacies of binding contracts nor the numerous different kinds of it. I only took the paper as I had assumed all were one and the same. I signed my name and had the prince sign his and stamped it the ring my father had me hold for safekeeping. I did not know that any agreement signed by the prince and sealed with the royal stamp would be legally binding even at so young an age.”
The silence that followed echoed in the throne room. Your boots scraped against the marble floor and you were once again reminded that you were unfit to be meeting with the king in such a state. Women, even common folk, were expected to be in dresses and long skirts. You shunned those articles of clothing whenever you were traveling the waters, finding breeches, shirts, and practical boots better than the full hoops of the skirt that often got in the way whenever you walked about the ship. The sailors were used to seeing you in this garb and did not find it offending at all that you were not dressed like a lady but to the eyes of the king and the Grand Duke and perhaps the many a footman you had passed before entering the throne room, you looked downright scandalous.
“We will keep you in the palace, Y/N.” proclaimed the king, which made you turn to him once more.
Evidently, the news shocked the Grand Duke as well because he turned to the monarch with his question plain on his face. King George held up a hand to his adviser and sat on his throne before answering.
“We will keep you in the palace until we find a solution to this impasse.”
“Of course, Sir,” you replied because what else was there to say?
“Surely, you understand the delicacy of this matter. I would not have you proclaiming to the people that you are the new princess—or rather, had been their princess for near two decades already.”
You were offended at his insinuation but did not show it. You had no right to show indignation towards the king.
“In here, you are contained. You shall still be free to roam the palace grounds as you please but we will not have you out of it. If so, you shall have a chaperone and we would be informed of your itinerary.”
You only nodded. You were a creature of adventure; the very notion of being confined within the palace grounds was comparable to have your wings clipped. But I had started this problem and I must pay for my childish ignorance, you thought to yourself.
You were set to sail with your father once again to the return to the distant land of Wakanda. It had been your life; traveling from one kingdom to another. You had learned of cultures and languages, of food and dance, and everything it was that you could ever beheld. Your home kingdom might be tiny and beautiful but the world beyond held more possibilities that you never once thought was within your grasp.
Oh, how you would have wanted to walk your father’s footsteps as Brookland’s new diplomat. You learned from all the travels you have done; your father had made you his apprentice and had taught you everything he knew of his trade. People still underestimated you. It was unheard of for someone of the fairer sex to be an ambassador, so you had never tried. You only acted as an adviser to your father within the confines of his office walls, honing your innate talent of persuasion and diplomacy.
Sadly, your dreams were once again stalled.
“Your Majesty, since I am common folk, my presence in the palace will arouse suspicion.”
The king nodded. “It is all being taken care of. My son's cousin will be arriving soon and you shall pose as a guest with him. You are merely early in your arrival.”
“Of course, Sir.” You paused and looked down to your clothes before turning back to the monarch “There is also a matter of my trunks, Your Majesty. I have arrived empty-handed.”
King George looked at you from your head to your boots. “Are all your clothes thus?”
You shook your head. “No, Sir. This is what I wear when I am traveling the seas. I do not find it practical to wear a skirt whilst I am on deck and the tides are high.”
“Ah, yes. You travel with your father.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He nodded. “I cannot allow you to leave the palace so soon after we have talked. Write him a missive for your trunks but do not mention your business here.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You may go.”
“My King,” you genuflected at the monarch before doing the same to the Grand Duke. “Your Grace.”
You stepped backwards, keeping the front of your body towards the king as you slowly went out of the throne room. Once the doors had closed, you heaved a great sigh and straightened, only to knock against someone behind you. You turned and gasped, rooted in place, at the sight of the man before you.
It was the prince. Prince James Buchanan Barnes. Prince James with his dark hair and fiercely blue eyes and features that told you he truly was the son of Brookland. He had grown handsome over the years, which shouldn’t come as a surprise as his father was a handsome man as well. James—were you allowed to address him as James?—had a firm look on his face, a bit reminiscent of his father’s gaze as he watched you. Broad of the shoulders and fit of the body, his muscled legs were encased in tight white breeches and his coat brought out the color of his eyes. They were as blue as the sea and as clear as the sky.
Your husband. What an absurd notion!
“Careful,” he said as he held you by your arms. His voice was deep and smooth and it caressed you in places that you never thought were possible.
You ogled at the prince. As much as you wanted to look away, you cannot. His gaze held you, searching your eyes and quite frankly, perhaps even your soul. Even if you had nothing to hide, you were scared of the things he would find there. Like the matter of your being bound to him in marriage.
Your heart skipped a beat. It had nothing to do with your being nervous of him finding out about your accidental ploy of being married to him but more of the fact that you had never been looked at like how he was looking at you. Your appearance was unkempt and you had not been able to properly tie your hair but something about his stare made you feel like you were much more beautiful than you truly look. He made you feel emotions not even the best of the world could offer and for the life of you, you had no idea why.
Your knees buckled and you bent down in an ungraceful curtsy. It did not escape your notice that your arms were still caged by his fingers. The heat from his hands seeped through the soft cotton of your shirt into your skin and you gave a shaky breath. “Your Highness, my apologies. I did not see you—”
“James. I thought the hunt would have run you ragged.” You heard the king say as the doors open behind you.
Princes James gave you curious smile and you realized he had no idea of who you were or why you were there. Would it change if he knew? You wondered absently. Your eyes still lingered on his lips.
“It is all right. No need to apologize.” he said.
You turned to his eyes as you rose to your full height. His hands left your arms and the imprints that he left warmed you as you were ushered away.
…
…
…
Prince James Buchanan Barnes was, for all intents and purposes, an apprentice. His whole life he was schooled to be the next king of Brookland. He was taught to be a soldier to know of battle strategies. He had masters who taught him philosophies and history. He was knowledgeable in three languages because his parents had insisted he learn two more so he can converse with more people. He was, essentially, an apprentice monarch. And a king, even one still learning the trade, needed a queen.
Which brought him to the matter at hand. His father had promised his hand to the Grand Duke Zemo’s niece. He had never set eyes on her before and was only sent a portrait that he and his father had looked at and had deemed her beautiful. Her country was powerful and Brookland—albeit teeming with natural and mineral resources—needed to ally with a kingdom for its protection. Marrying a princess from a rich and powerful country was the correct step in ensuring the best for the kingdom. It was what his father had done with his mother. It was fortunate that his parents had fallen in love despite the circumstances.
“I was not aware Princess Natasha was arriving today,” James said as he pried his eyes away from your retreating figure.
It was unusual for him to see a princess not in their finest clothes, either, especially one from a country that was advertised to him as bountiful and rich. He had no qualms, however, about seeing you in such a state. Clad in what was commonly considered as undergarments, you were a small person than what the portrait had let on. You came only until his chin and even then, you still seemed tinier. Your legs were enclosed in buckskin leather, much like his own when he went hunting, and it made him wonder if maybe you hunted as well. You wore a dress shirt beneath a curious piece of waistcoat that you had tucked in the waistband of your breeches and it accentuated your rounded hips and ample bottom. You wore none of those heeled shoes he knew ladies favored. Instead, your feet were clad in flat boots that went up to your knees and showcased your perfect calves. Albeit you were dressed inappropriately, it did not escape him that you were dressed practically. And sensually, he thought to himself.
You were beautiful in the portrait but in person, you were exquisite. The painter failed to capture the smattering of freckles across your nose or the hint of lightness on your hair. There was a small scar on the side of your cheek that he did not notice when he beheld your picture; perhaps the painter found it wise to not include the blemish lest it deterred him from making an offer of marriage to you, even if it was not his idea to be wed to you. Be that as it may, the scar endeared him to you. It made you appear more tangible, more… real, and nothing like the uptight version your uncle had painted you to be.
“Heavens, no. I would never associate myself with that—that thing.” Zemo said, looking at your back in what could only be termed as disgust.
James raised a brow. So you were not the princess. “I would assume that thing has a name and a purpose?” When his question was met with silence, he turned to the king. “Father?”
“Walk with me, boy.” was all the king said. He waved his hand away to his adviser. “Thank you, Grand Duke. We do not need you in this talk.”
“Your Majesty. Your Highness.” Zemo bowed as King George led James away.
He followed his father down the Hall of Portraits. He remembered his lessons of his family’s history, of the important people who had changed the laws and the lives of many. King Alphonse. Queen Mariam. Queen Winnifred, his mother. He knew it best not to dwell on his mother’s untimely death around his father, whom he knew was still mourning her. She had left them so suddenly and they both had not been the same ever since. It did, however, brought them even closer.
“James,” his father started as they arrived in the garden. “There is a matter I wish for you to know.”
Rarely did his father venture this far into the gardens. Queen Winnifred had kept a small alcove for her personal use, locked away but still kept clean by the royal gardener. James often went there when he needed time for himself. His father did not.
“Yes, father?” James asked, watching his father closely as he sat.
Since his wife’s death, the king’s health had deteriorated rapidly. The doctors had deemed it a great depression, one the king will brave in a few months’ time, but James knew his father would never recover from the death of his beloved. Every day he feared his father would leave him so soon after his mother had. The mere idea frightened him.
“You are promised to Princess Natasha,” King George said, to which James nodded. “But there is a small matter we must address before you wed her.”
He raised an inquiring brow. “Does she not want to be wed?”
“She wishes to be wed to you, James. However, we find ourselves at a loss for something you have done some twenty years ago.” He patted the space beside him on the bench and the prince sat.
Twenty years ago? What could he have done at eight years old for his father to remark on now?
“Are we bringing up old sins, father? Because if we are, I do not remember what I had done at eight years old that would bear remembering.”
“My boy,” the king clasped his son on the shoulder. It was a fatherly touch but also that of a king, a touch that brooked no argument.
“You are already married.”
James frowned. Married? Surely, he would have remembered the festivities that came with the union.
“Married? I don’t remember meeting my bride or signing a marriage contract.” He turned to his father. “Are you well, father? Perhaps we should return inside. The sun—” The sun had killed his mother. He did not wish the same for his father.
The king waved his hand away. “I am well, son. Do not worry about my health.” He looked sternly at the young prince. “You are not married to the Princess Natasha but you have been married for two decades now.”
“Father, I must ask you to speak plainly. I had been married for two decades? And not to the princess I was promised? Then who am I married to?”
“Do you know anyone by the name of Y/N Y/L/N?”
James’s frown deepened. He readily denied but stopped short.
Y/N. The name sounded familiar to him. And then he knew. He remembered; the girl he had invited inside is mother’s secret garden and had played with under his favorite tree. Familiar eyes that lit up as they smiled at him, the same ones who had looked upon him just a few moments before. You had brought a paper to him—a promise of friendship, you had said—and he signed it with no hesitation.
“She is that girl you thought was the Princess Natasha, my boy.”
James looked back to the door they had came through, as though he would see you appear if he called your name out loud.
“She is your wife.”
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes royal au#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fic#prince bucky barnes x reader#prince!bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes au#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x you#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#marvel royal au#marvel historical au#prince!bucky#bucky barnes x y/n#my crown upon your head fic#beananacake writes
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The Scarlet Temptation
A/N: I’m sorry if it gets quite rubbish towards the end but it has been over a year since I have even put any work into a fanfic, let alone a major AU.
Princess!Wanda Maximoff X Knight!Reader (Eventual)
Summary: I don’t really know. Just a Wanda Maximoff edit/rewrite of what was supposed to be an original work.
“Look, I don’t care what you think of me,” I said, reins to my horse in my hand. “I am trained to protect you. That’s what a personal guard is for.”
I heard the woman atop my horse sigh and with a roll of my eyes, I turned to look at her. Wanda Maximoff, the heir to the Sokovian throne. The beautiful redhead sat atop Mac Lir, her pale skin contrasting against the emerald green of her dress.
“We need to get you a change of clothes soon.” I mumbled, casting my eyes back to the road ahead.
“Why would I need a change of clothes?” she inquired, a snobbish tone to her voice. “What I am wearing is perfectly fine.”
“If you wanna be recognised” I sighed. “And end up back at the castle, only this time in the dungeons, then sure keep wearing your dress. But you’re gonna need to change into some clean clothes soon.” Looking to the dented, slightly bloody armor that covered my body, I scratched at my head. “We both will”
As we made our way through the forest, my thoughts floated back to the circumstances that lead us here.
The sound of metal clashing against metal echoed and the smell of burning flesh embedded in my nostrils as I ran through the stone halls, one hand hovering over the hilt of my sword, the other holding a torch.
“Come on, where the hell did you go?” I whispered, the orange hue of my torch lighting my way. “Damnit, you couldn’t have gotten far, Wanda”
I kept running down the, thankfully, empty hall, checking rooms left and right as I continued my search. ‘Where could she have gone?’ I stopped in one of the empty rooms, taking a quick break in hopes of trying to remember the hiding spots of the young princess. I leant against a nearby table, closing my eyes briefly in thought, hoping to quickly clear my mind, only to open them soon after when I heard footsteps echoing down the hall, alongside quick panting breaths, getting louder the closer the person got. So in apprehension, I moved to hide beside the doorway, placing the torch in a nearby sconce, my hand gripped the hilt of my blade tightly, ready to attack if needed.
Taking a deep breath in as the door was gently pushed open, I made to lift my sword from its sheath, pausing when familiar red hair caught my eye. I allowed her to step in, closing the door in her haste, leaning against it to catch her breath.
“Your Highness” I spoke, spooking the young woman, my hand quickly shooting up to cover her mouth, muffling the oncoming scream. “Shh, it’s just me.” Gently grasping her arm, I pulled her against me, positioning her between myself and the wall as the sound of multiple heavy footsteps got louder, my hand still pressed against her mouth, our eyes locking as I attempted to tell her to keep quiet.
“Where did she go?” a hoarse voice said, my attention quickly being drawn to it, the heavy wooden door muffling it slightly.
“You lost her?!” a deep booming voice shouted, the sound echoing down the hall. “How could you lose her!?”
“We’re sorry sir” Was the last thing I heard as the voices quietened down and the footsteps started up again, retreating the way they came.
“Mmm!” The young woman mumbled against my hand, eventually dragging her tongue against my hand, causing me to pull away and wipe my hand against my leg.
“Oh, what the hell?” I groaned, shaking my hand out as she chuckled in response. “Why’d you do that?”
“It was funny” She shrugged, stepping around me and sitting on a chair.
“We’re in the middle of an ambush and you wanna have fun?!” I questioned, gesturing my hands wildly, my temper rising slightly before I took a deep breath and took a second to collect my thoughts. “We can deal with that later. For now, I have to get you out of here and somewhere safe.” I offered her the hand that she had not licked before and waited for her to grab hold so I could help her escape.
I was so deep in my own thoughts that it wasn’t until my horse gently nudged me that I came back to reality. Smiling softly, I reached into a pouch on my side and pulled out a carrot, holding it out for my four legged friend to take.
“I’m ok buddy” I told the horse, who huffed in response. “I’m promise”
“What is it with you and this horse?” Wanda asked, tapping her foot to my side, my armor rattling slightly in response. “You have a weird connection with it.”
“Her name is Mac Lir and I raised her myself from a foal.” I said, looking up to the pale woman atop the horse. “I’ve had her since I was a child.” I pat the mare gently on her nose with a smile. “She’s been with me through thick and thin.”
“Huh” I heard Wanda say.
“What?” I wondered looking back to the path ahead.
“Nothing” She said and I hummed in reply with furrowed eyebrows.
We kept on the forest path for a while longer before I spotted a city on the horizon.
“Finally” I heard her complain as we approached the large gate leading to it.
I clicked my tongue and signaled for Mac to pause so I could approach the gate.
“I’ll be right back” I told Wanda. “Pull on this cloak.” I reached into a saddle bag & pulled out a black cloak. “I’m sure you don’t want to be recognised by any spies after all.”
I chuckled as I watched her quickly throw the cloak on before I could turn around however, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my upper body and lifted me up.
“Y/N!!” A boisterous laugh filled my ears as the person spun around in a circle, stray locks of blonde hair flew into my face as we spun. “My friend it has been so long!”
“Thor!!” I chortled, patting his arm. “Put me down you big dummy!” He spun me once more before setting me back on my feet. I spun in his hold before wrapping him up in a hug, my head barely passing his chest.
“Gods, it is so good to see you old friend.” I spoke, my voice suddenly muffled as he wrapped his arms around my head. “But sadly I am not here to see you, I am here on business.” I pulled away from my friend and motioned for Mac to approach, a quiet yelp sounding from the royal sat atop.
“I see” He nodded seriously before a huge smile overtook his features. “Well, let’s go see the king shall we?” We began the walk to the castle.
“You’re father’s still in charge?” I queried, our path leading us through a busy market. “I thought you were about to take over when I left?”
“No, I uh,” Thor admitted, his tone becoming unusually quiet. “He banished me for a short while and I went on a journey of self discovery.”
“Oh, so Loki….” I trailed off. “Loki is in charge?”
Thor shook his head and we stopped in the middle of the market, many a vendor trying to either sell us wares or greet Thor.
“No, uh, Loki & my father both passed” He spoke, head hung low. “My father first and then Loki a while later.”
“Thor, I’m sorry.” I apologised. “I did not know” I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“It’s ok Y/N.” He uttered. “It’s been a while, it still hurts to think about of course but it’s eased with time. However I am not the one in charge.”
“If you’re not in charge,” I pressed. “Who is?”
“Valkyrie?” I spoke seeing the woman sat upon the throne, speaking to one of, what I assumed to be, the royal advisers. “Valkyrie is king?”
“Hello Y/N” The woman, sorry King, in question turned towards me. Deep chocolate eyes locking with mine caused an involuntary flutter to rise in my stomach & a light blush to rise to my cheeks. “It’s wonderful to see you again darling.” She took my hand in her own & pressed a kiss to my slightly bruised knuckles.
“Y/N, who is this?” Wanda spoke up. The sound of her voice reminding me of why we were here in the first place.
“Oh right” I realised pulling my hand away from Valkyrie. “King Valkyrie of Asgard, may I introduce you to Princess Wanda of Sokovia.” I stepped to the side and allowed Wanda to step forward. “Princess Wanda of Sokovia, King Valkyrie of Asgard & my former bethrothed.” I felt Wanda’s shocked eyes on me immediately after I finished speaking.
#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#mcu imagine#mcu x reader#MCU Fanfic#Wanda Maximov#wanda maximoff fanfiction#marvel royal au#Wanda Maximoff fanfic#Wanda Maximoff MCU
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I bet Mobius would've liked Loki's play
#loki#mobius#marvel#what if#lokius#mcu#marvel what if#i've already made up an whole AU plotline in my head where Mobius is a royal advisor#my art
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Kingdom Fall - One
Pairing: Farmboy!Bucky X Princess!Reader
Summary: When an invading Kingdom forces you to flee your home, you find yourself stranded in an enemy kingdom on a farm, and the farmboy is nothing like you thought he would be.
Warnings: Violence, Angst, Fluff, Language, More to Come
Word Count: 2.1K
A/n: Gonna spit out part one of this royal AU because im a what? A slut for royal AUs. I have 7 parts of this written lol. I also have more DBF!Bucky on the roster sooooo yeah im excited for that. Also wanna work on a viking!Bucky X reader. I’m also working on a few one shots and teddy bear picnic, so I HOPE to do another 12 days of ficmas or something like that but I'll keep y’all posted
Anywhoodles, I love you all <3
~*~
“They’ve set fire to the Palace! We must hasten!”
Screams echo from the Palace as you rush through the servants' hallways, your personal guard pushing people aside in his haste to get you to safety.
You mutter out soft apologies to the women you pass, gathering the base of your gown and hiking it up as you sprint after him.
“Come, I can smell the stables. This way!”
You run after him, slowing only when you see your horse.
“Hurry, Princess. Up,” Steve says, helping you up onto your horse and climbing onto his a second later.
“Now we ride!”
As if hearing his command, your mares both start sprinting away from the Palace.
Away from your home, your people.
A risked glance over your shoulder at the flaming building breaks your heart. But, what’s worse, is the group chasing after you and Steve on their own horses.
Following your gaze, the blond glances back and pushes his mare to run faster, desperate to get you to safety, to do his job properly without fail.
“Go, Princess!”
You follow his command, looking back again when you hear him slow his horse.
“Steve!”
With a yank on the reins, you guide your horse back to his, heart in your throat when you see him unsheathe his sword.
He’s sacrificing himself to keep you safe.
“Go, Princess! Now!” He shouts, holding his shield in one hand and a sword in the other.
“No! I won’t leave you!” You grab at your own sword and slide off your mare, stumbling against the uneven ground.
“No! You are of no use to your people if you are dead. You must go.”
You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes.
“I won’t leave without you, Steve.”
He lets out a sigh and presses his forehead to yours for a brief moment.
“I will find you, Princess. This, I swear. Now you must go.”
“You will find me,” you order softly, pulling away from him and looking into his ocean-blue eyes.
He nods firmly, determination in his eyes as you climb back onto your horse.
“I will,” he promises, turning to the sounds of battle.
Your mare starts sprinting away, and only moments later do you hear the sound of swords clashing.
It takes every ounce of self-control you have not to turn around and fight by his side.
But he’s right.
Only the Gods know if your sisters survived, and if they didn't then you’re the only hope your Kingdom has.
You ride through the night, your mare expertly dodging trees and roots and running far away from the danger.
You’ve no idea how far you’ve gone nor where you are, when your horse stumbles on the uneven ground, launching you off of her back and sending you flying into the woods.
Your head smashes against a tree and you tumble to the ground in a heap as the world around you fades to black.
~*~
You awake with a soft groan, your head pounding and your body aching.
It takes a moment for you to remember what happened, but when you do you’re lurching upright regardless of the pain in your head.
Instead of being on the forest floor, however, you’re in a soft bed. The sky is not above you, instead a roof is.
You push to your feet and examine yourself, noting the lack of bindings around your arms and no pain between your legs.
So you haven’t been taken by someone who wishes to do immediate harm to you, but that doesn’t mean that they won’t hurt you at some point.
After taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself, you slowly open the door, peaking around before fully emerging.
You’re alone.
You explore the small house, keeping your breathing light and your feet even lighter.
It has one bedroom, a small kitchen, and an even smaller bathroom.
Your sword and weapons are all piled on the kitchen table, filling your heart with glee. With quick fingers, you slide them all back into place and hold your sword tightly, then head to the front door.
As you’re about to leave, with one hand on the doorknob, the door gets pulled open from the outside.
A huge body steps through the doorway without noticing you, and then you’re colliding with a hard chest.
“Oof!” You exclaim, nearly tumbling to the floor.
A study arm wraps around your waist, keeping you steady, and then you’re pressed against a warm chest.
“Whoa, easy! You shouldn’t be moving too much! That wound on your head looks pretty bad, you must've hit it hard when you fell.” He slowly drops his arm from around your waist and steps around you to inspect the wound in question.
“I cleaned you as best as I could while keeping you decent and your modesty intact, but I gathered some clothes that used to belong to my sister, and I need only light the embers beneath the tub. Now that you’re awake, you can truly clean, I’m sure you must want to.”
You stand there in the doorway, absolutely flabbergasted as this man drones on and on.
He must not know who you are, then, you decide.
“Here, I'll show you the way.”
You already know the way to the bathroom, but you follow him anyway, leaving a wide berth in case he makes a hostile move.
“Who are you?” You ask skeptically, watching as he keeps his back to you, leaving him vulnerable. He must know how many weapons you have, for he’s the one who took them from you. So why is he trusting you like this?
“My name is James,” he says with a small smile thrown your way.
You nod slowly, assessing him carefully.
“I am (Y/n),” you reply after a moment, waiting for the pieces to click in his mind, for him to realize who you are and try to kill you, but he never does.
“It’s very nice to meet you, (Y/n). The water should warm up soon. Linger as long as you’d like, I’m going to be in the kitchen making some food and a nice warm cup of tea for you.”
He leaves immediately after, pulling the door shut behind him.
You wait for a lock to click, for footsteps to barge into the house, or for some sort of fire to start, but nothing happens.
You wait for half an hour, each second ticking slowly in your mind, your sword held tightly in your grasp. Eventually, you strip down to your white slip and step into the warm water, a dagger held in one hand and a washcloth in the other.
Maybe it is an ambush, but if it isn't, you don't want to waste this opportunity to clean yourself.
Throughout the entire bath, the door stays closed and nobody tries to enter. Not once.
Once you’re finished, you dress in the clothes he gave you. The dress is a little snug, but a tug on the stitches fixes that swiftly.
It’s nothing spectacular, but you can move comfortably and even fight in it if you need to.
With a dagger in one hand and your sword in the other, you slowly emerge from the bathroom and into the kitchen where James is seated, humming softly to himself.
“How are you feeling?” He asks once he notices your presence.
“Better. Thank you.”
He nods, that gentle smile on his face again.
He rises to his feet and motions to the chair across from where he was sitting, then turns and walks to the counter, “the water is still warm. I wanted to wait to have my own tea with you. I have so many questions for you.”
You watch intently as he pours two cups of tea, handing one to you and then sitting back down.
You wait until after he’s had a sip of his to have a sip of your own, and when the flavour hits your tongue you can’t help but relax a bit.
“It’s my mother’s recipe. She used to make it for my sister and me whenever we were sick or upset. I thought... it might make you feel better. I can’t imagine how scared you must’ve been, waking up in a strange place.”
You want to tell him that you weren’t scared, a warrior doesn’t feel fear, but instead, you take another sip of tea.
“What happened? I found you lying in the woods near the creek, a horse protecting you. It took me nearly ten minutes to tame it enough to check you for injuries. Where are you coming from? Your clothes aren’t from Lornilla and I’ve never seen a woman carry so many weapons before.”
His waterfall of questions gives you a few answers.
Your horse is safe, no one knows where you are, and you’ve wound up in the invading Kingdom of Lornilla.
“I am... not from around here. I travelled a great distance, and I was thrown from my horse when she tripped,” you offer only that as your explanation and he nods, beyond curious but not wanting to push you any farther.
“Where am I?” You ask, taking another sip of the tea and looking around the small house again.
“Just outside the village. If you follow the gravel road there it will take you to the heart of Lornilla, though I don’t recommend a woman such as yourself going there alone.”
Your brows draw together, “do you not think me capable of protecting myself?” You question, your ego bruised.
His eyes go wide and he’s quick to try and explain himself.
“N-No! I just... they don’t treat women well there, is all. ‘Specially not women who defend themselves. You look like a strong person, and, based on all the knives you have, I don’t doubt you could defend yourself, but it’s dangerous to speak against men, even as a man.”
Ah yes, the patriarchal ways of Lornilla rage on.
You have to hold back an eye-roll at the thought of such a useless Kingdom treating women terribly.
But that brings you to your situation now.
You remember the smell of smoke and the sound of screams as the Lornillian army invaded your kingdom.
You know not if your sisters survived, nor if your mother did. But, knowing your mother, you know that if she went down it was not without a fight.
“Are you all right?” James asks softly, worry pulling his brows together.
Why does this random stranger care so much?
“Why did you help me? Why not leave me in the forest?” You ask, ignoring his question.
“You... you were hurt. I couldn’t just leave you there.”
“Why not? Anyone else would have. Or done worse, if we’re close to Lornilla.”
He nods, his lips pursed for a moment, “I’m not anyone else. I’m me. And I know that, were it my sister in your shoes, I’d hope someone would help her. You probably have a family... a husband... who would be terribly worried about you. I know that if I had a wife and she went out and were hurt... I’d want to know that there was a good person somewhere willing to help her.”
His answer surprises you and, as you look into his eyes, you see nothing but truth in them.
“I have no husband,” you tell him after a moment. “I know not if my family is alive. There very well could be no one looking for me...” your thoughts drift to Steve and your heart hurts a bit. “Does this change your thoughts at all? Knowing that you could do whatever you please with no consequences?”
A sour expression covers his face and he shakes his head, “It is not the consequences that stop me from doing terrible things, it’s the actions themselves.”
You watch him for a long moment, surprised and intrigued by him, his kindness, though you don’t fully trust it yet.
“If you do not have a husband, do you know anyone nearby? You must’ve been on your way somewhere, is there someplace I can direct you?” He asks gently.
You shake your head, a grey cloud darkening your mood as thoughts of your family fill your mind, worry tying a knot in your stomach.
“I... no. I don’t know anyone nearby. I don’t even know where I’m meant to go.”
He looks at you, at the way your shoulders slump forward slightly, your eyes draw down and defeat colours your tone, and he feels bad that there isn’t more he can do.
“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. I hope you don’t think I’m trying to make you leave. As long as you need, you may stay here.”
You smile gratefully at him, ignoring the stinging in your eyes.
“Thank you, James.”
~*~
#Bucky X reader#Bucky Barnes x reader#Bucky X reader au#bucky x reader royal au#farmboy!Bucky X reader#farmer!Bucky X reader#Bucky X princess!reader#farmboy!Bucky X princess!reader#Steve Rogers x reader#Steve Rogers x reader royal au#Steve x reader#Steve Rogers x princess!reader#marvel fanfic#marvel au#royal au#nastybuckybarnes
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𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝
Synopsis: The Kingdom of Brooklyn needs a queen, and the Royal Council needs a noble princess. As for newly crowned King Steven Rogers, he needs a love that rebels against conformity, granting him the solace he yearns for. So what happens when all he needs is not what his kingdom wants?
Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x Chambermaid!Reader
Warnings: None.
Genre: Angst | Fluff
Word Count: 6.1K
Author’s Notes: Requested by the sweetest @crazyunsexycool. Thank you, Val, for this wholesome idea! To all Marvel fans out there, go check out her incredible work!🩵
All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 and deceiving word in history will evermore be art. At first glance, it’s enticing, delicate, and memorable. A barrage of emotional responses to the tragedies and the grievances of life. Whether in color or in monochrome, in words or emotions, art is a melodrama that lures you in, pulls you toward its undertow. Until there comes a time when you realize that all these stories were never quite this scintillating, they just were.
“Your Majesty.”
Steve shakes his head as the voice registers in his mind. It takes him a fleeting moment, about five seconds, to realize that he stands within the confines of his chambers. The vibrant rays of the morning sun cascade through the windows, casting an ardent glow. Another five minutes elapse as Steve blinks away his confusion, his gaze withdrawing from the withered pages of his sketchbook, evidence of the relentless assault of his charcoals and ink.
“Maiden Katherine,” he acknowledges the chambermaid in his room. Her eyes are downcast, evading his cerulean hues. “Pardon me, what was it that you said?”
The young woman gasps, though covers it quickly with a cough. Her errant gaze lands briefly on Steve before it strays away once more. “Your Majesty, I was merely asking if you needed anything more.”
A fleeting furrow emerges between Steve's eyebrows, and he casts a swift glance around the room. To his surprise, he finds it immaculate, untouched by the tumultuous night he had spent, forming dents in his rugs and battling wars within the confines of his sheets.
As Steve turns his gaze toward Maiden Katherine, a gentle smile graces his lips. Unable to discern the woman's face due to her position, he finds himself succumbing to a glimmer of hope, however fleeting and insubstantial. Within the recesses of his imagination, he relishes the liberty to conjure an image of someone entirely different, a figure who embodies the yearnings of his heart.
“No,” he says, somewhat resentfully. Because his needs are conditional, and what he truly desires cannot be attained beyond the realm of his mind. “That will be all. Thank you.”
Maiden Katherine dutifully bows to her king, leaving him to his own devices. As soon as the door closes, Steve reaches back to trace the somber outlines of his sketchbook. Once more, his mind veers away from the confines of his chambers, transporting him to a realm far brighter.
SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO
King Joseph and Prince Steven are a juxtaposition.
The King is the valiant moon. The Prince is the selfless sun. The former breathes preservation and prowess, while the latter longs for equilibrium and benevolence. And no matter their dualism, King Joseph sees otherwise, constantly building bridges upon bridges to force his son to concede and meet him. Not in the middle, but where he stands—light years away.
Steve, though ten years old, has a keen sense of understanding. His mother, Sarah, never misses a chance to remind him that he’s a whirlwind for this world, and he couldn’t possibly disagree.
When, like today, the pressures of the crown seem too hard to grapple with, Steve decides to step away. Not forever. Just a little while, until he’s able to face them all again.
He’s at the Royal Gardens, a place he hasn’t visited since last spring after his allergies restricted him to his room. Now, almost a year later, he comes back, disappointed to see that his favorite tree has grown faster than he has.
Steve approaches it, hands on hips and lips pursed in thought. How am I supposed to climb it now? he asks himself. He wishes Bucky was here, but he knows his best friend has sparring lessons, so he tries his very best to follow his own lead and climb it.
He tries to climb, and he manages to pull himself up, but three branches and a half are more than enough to steal his breath. He sighs, seeing that he can’t climb higher. His hands ache from the effort.
Just as Steve contemplates his next move, a small voice calls out, “What are you doing up there, silly?” Startled, he turns his gaze downward, meeting a pair of eyes that feel both familiar and unknown.
“Who are you?” he asks the young girl in the blue dress. He knows she’s not a princess from the fabric’s quality, though her charming face suggests otherwise.
“I asked you first.”
Steve laughs at the girl’s spirited nature. “I am sitting.” She narrows her eyes, unsatisfied with his response. “I like sitting up here. The tree overlooks the castle grounds. It’s nice.”
The girl hums, accepting his answer. She looks up and then around before meeting his eyes again. “Do you care for some company?”
Steve would normally say no. Aside from Bucky, he doesn’t like to spend time with anyone. But the little girl seems nice and curious, something he decides that he likes about her. So he nods his head.
He watches the faint smile on her lips as she holds tightly to the nearest branch and places her weight on it. Within a couple of seconds, she perches herself on the branch facing him.
“Hi.”
“Hi!” she giggles, kicking her feet in the air. Now that she’s closer, he can see that she’s much smaller than him. A few years younger too. He watches her lean against the tree’s trunk, gazing around with pure wonder. “You’re right. It is quite nice here.”
Steve shares a laugh with her before speaking again. “Who are you?”
“I’m Y/N,” she announces confidently. He likes it. Both her name and her attitude. “And you?”
He bites the inside of his cheek. Steve has been conditioned to answer this question in one way only: Crown Prince Steven Grant Rogers of Brooklyn. But he’s scared that if Y/N hears this, she might jump down and leave him alone.
He thinks she’s adorable and kind. Definitely someone Bucky is going to like. So, instead, he says something else. Something he’s never said to anyone. “I’m Steve.”
“Nice to meet you, Steve! How old are you?”
“I’m ten,” he replies apprehensively. He knows that he looks much younger because of his height and weight.
Y/N seems to disagree, marveling at his answer. She beams, kicking her legs higher. “I’m six. Is it nice to be ten? My momma says the number ten is a two-digit number, so it’s bigger than six.”
Steve barely blinks before a soft chuckle escapes his lips. He leans forward a little bit, making sure not to fall. Y/N is sitting there with anticipation governing her features, eagerly waiting for an answer.
“It’s nice. I can retire to bed a bit later than usual.” That seems to satisfy Y/N, who claps excitedly in response. “I have never seen you before,” Steve then remarks.
Y/N hums. “My momma is Queen Sarah’s new chambermaid. I came to the castle with her.”
“Oh.”
Y/N nods. “And you? Does your momma work here, too?”
“Somewhat, yes,” Steve replies. A comfortable silence stretches for a while, both kids hidden amongst the tree branches, listening to the humming of the birds and the voices of the wind.
The birds fly around, some even landing atop the tree and catching Y/N’s attention. She marvels at them, then she suddenly stands up, looking at Steve.
“It must be nicer up there for the birds to sit. Shall we go see?”
Steve hesitates. His blue eyes fill with apprehension as they count the number of branches left. There are six in total, two more than there were last spring. The tree is not too far from the ground, yet high enough for Steve to break his bones if he decides to venture up.
“I can’t climb that high,” he sighs dejectedly.
Y/N cranes her head to study Steve’s face. “Do you want to?” she asks to which he nods. “Then of course you can. You simply need a little help.”
She says it so lightheartedly and surely, it makes Steve’s heart soar. Y/N braces herself and climbs one more branch. She extends her hand, palm open for Steve to take. He hesitates, knowing he shouldn’t and that his father will surely scold him for his actions.
Y/N shakes her hand once, silently asking him to take it. Without thinking much, Steve does. Two minutes later, he finds himself atop the tree with two birds and a new friend.
PRESENT DAY
Steve exhales loudly, his gaze fixed upon the tree etched within the pages of his sketchbook. He traces the delicate curves with his eyes, although he knows them by heart. Every intricate detail is etched into his memory from the countless days spent perched upon the tree’s branches alongside Y/N.
With a wistful glance, he closes the sketchbook and casts it aside, a reminder that before this artful piece and the memories it holds existed, there only ever was an unadorned tree.
“Your Majesty, I can say with absolute certainty that if you continue to wear that expression, it won't be long before the entire court assumes the Robe Bearers have skillfully concealed a stick within your regal attire.”
“Bucky,” Steve grumbles. Though when he catches his reflection in the mirror, he relents, knowing his best friend, and Lord High Constable, isn’t all too wrong. He raises his hand to dismiss his attendants. They bow and exit, leaving the two men alone. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be anywhere else?”
Dramatically as always, Bucky covers his heart with his palm. He looks down, seemingly wounded, before his cobalt blue eyes lift. “I am deeply wounded by your implicit dismissal and your forthright irritation, My King.”
Steve rubs a hand down his face. He has endured twenty-seven years with this man, and sometimes, he wonders if befriending Lord James Buchanan Barnes was a good idea. He knows him all too well now. And if those remarks are any indication, Bucky is, without a doubt, mere seconds away from asking him what’s wrong.
So Steve speaks his mind before the questions begin. “Must I attend this ball?”
“You are the King,” Bucky replies. “And tonight you shall not only be celebrated but you shall also—”
“Subdue to the Royal Council’s wishes and secure the future of the throne.”
Steve’s words have a bite to them. They’re sharp and terse, accentuating the resentment he feels toward this ordeal. He walks away from Bucky, attempting to gather his wits before saying anything else. He sits down on his large bed, one hand on his knee and the other holding his chin.
“Do not think of it this way.”
“How else must I think of this when I have no say?”
“Perhaps you don’t have the freedom of choice when it comes to the matter, but you still have a choice, Steve,” Bucky reminds him. He joins his side, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. He taps him on the shoulder, letting his hand linger there. “The Council has dictated that you shall marry, but only you shall choose who.”
You couldn’t be more wrong, Steve says to himself. He looks away, the words a sharp slap to his face. He’s never been one for conformity, and Bucky knows this. He’s aware of Steve’s rebellious tendencies and audacious disregard for the Crown's decisions.
Steve knows what this kingdom needs—what queen it longs to have. So why should it be one of noble descent when it could be one of noble spirit? What significance holds the nature of her blood, when in truth, we are all blood in nature?
“If the choice was truly mine, I would choose no one but her.”
His eyes are still errant, following a pathway of their own. Though he can’t see it, he feels Bucky’s heavy gaze on him.
“I should have known you were thinking of Y/N back then,” Bucky comments. He nudges Steve’s shoulder with his until the King concedes and gives the Lord his full attention. He remains quiet, though his eyes say it all. “When are you never thinking about her?”
“How is she faring?” Steve asks. Each letter is spelled with a plethora of emotions. Carved with longing and desire. It has been a considerable length of time since Steve last laid eyes upon Y/N. Ever since his father banished her to a distant corner of the castle, accompanied by strict instructions to avoid any form of interaction with Steve.
“Well. Though it is beyond evident that she misses you terribly. The mention of you is the only thing that seems to brighten her day.”
The answer draws a small smile on Steve’s face. He nods, his mind already taking a trek on its own accord, reminiscing the days Steve had spent with Y/N growing up, picturing her dulcet smile and the light that inhabited her eyes.
Steve has forever been a captive of duty. The blood coursing through his veins tethers him to the crown while unwavering loyalty anchors him to his kingdom. His spirit, alas, was never truly his own, and his heart had long been barricaded by the Council. However, within his mind, a sanctuary exists where his thoughts could roam, untamed and unrestrained, as they collide and soar amidst the vivid memories of Y/N and the alluring freedom she perpetually bestows.
He is on the cusp of replying. With what, he isn't quite sure yet. The mere thought of Y/N has left him momentarily speechless, his mind struggling to find the right words. But the insistent knock on his door reverberates louder than any words he could muster.
“Enter,” Steve says as Bucky straightens and stands up.
The door opens and in walks Peter, one of the new guards in Brooklyn. “Your Majesty.” Peter bows. “Lord Barnes.”
“What is it, Peter?” Steve asks.
“His Majesty, King Father Joseph, is requesting your presence.”
Something within Steve throbs, an ache that resonates through his being. His father possesses an innate knack for impeccable timing, a seemingly supernatural ability to intrude upon Steve's most cherished moments.
Reluctantly, Steve pushes himself up and follows Peter to his father's quarters. He treads the well-worn path, the bitterness seeping through every step. The portraits lining the walls and the chandeliers adorning the taupe ceilings are all too familiar, etched into his memory from countless prior journeys.
His footsteps weigh heavily upon the carpet, each one echoing his disdain for the impending encounter. He takes in a deep breath, steeling himself before the guards deliver a resounding knock, heralding his arrival. With a measured breath, he crosses the threshold and enters the room.
Upon doing so, the pain within him heightens, intensifying to a raw and poignant state. It feels as if every fiber of his being wants to claw its way out from within. His gaze fixates on his father, who lies weak and feeble on the bed, attended to by hovering nurses. Yet, within Steve's mind, contrasting images begin to form.
He envisions himself from years past, confined to his own bed, accompanied by illness and fragility as constant companions. But gradually, the image takes on a bitter-sweet memory.
SEVEN YEARS AGO
Steve shakes, uncertain whether it's the cold air or his nightmares that make him tremble. His room feels empty and lonely since his mother's departure, and his father is too busy to give him a second thought. Bucky is off with the troops, stuck in endless meetings. The looming war hangs heavy in the air, and Steve's father has made his choice of soldier, and it's not him.
Steve hates it. Hates being so useless. He cannot even fight for his kingdom, so how is he supposed to rule it one day? He huffs an exasperated sigh, turning around in his sheets. He shuts his eyes, partially because he wants to sleep and purely because he’s trying to force himself not to cry.
It’s not working, though, as he feels the world closing in. The ceiling’s shadows are suddenly creeping closer, and the walls are wailing as they speed ahead. The door to his chambers squeaks, and he thinks it’s flying off its hinges. But in an unexpected shift, the world around him takes on a different hue, one that brings a soothing and calming sensation he didn't anticipate.
“Stevie.” His eyes snap open, and in that instant, he becomes aware of the rapid pounding of his heart.
“Y/N?”
“I heard you weren’t feeling your best.” Y/N smiles sheepishly. She moves a strand of her long wavy hair away, taking a tentative step closer. “I thought, perhaps, you needed some company.”
Steve wants to say a lot of things. But seeing her in her long blue-green dress made him fall quiet. He’s always loved that color on her. It’s his favorite.
You look beautiful, he tries to say. I have missed you. How are you faring? But nothing of the sort comes out.
“You will be in trouble if you get caught,” he hears himself say. Instantly he regrets it. But Y/N doesn’t seem to mind.
She shakes her head and moves closer. “Being with you is no trouble at all, my prince," she murmurs, settling down beside him and clasping his hand in her own. Steve occasionally wishes his hands were larger, more powerful. He feels a pang of shame for the thoughts that have crossed his mind, imagining the different ways his hands would hold her and explore every inch of her being.
His temperature rises at the thought, and even Y/N feels it. She hovers over him, pressing her lips sweetly to his forehead. His eyes close involuntarily. One of his hands weekly clutch Y/N’s own while the other fists her dress. Steve moans under his breath. “You are burning up,” she says with concern lacing her tone. She moves away, and Steve instinctively reaches for her. She sees the worry in his eyes, deciding to brush it away by running her fingers through his hair. “I will not leave, Your Highness.”
“Y/N,” he grumbles weakly.
Y/N smiles, reaching for the bowl of water and the wet rag left behind. “I will not leave you, Steve. I promise.”
PRESENT DAY
“Steve,” King Joseph calls.
Steve is engulfed in a whirlwind of internal battles, ignited by his father's actions that have shattered everything. Promises that were never his to break have been torn apart, and as a result, Steve decides that he's unable to forgive him. He feels no trace of mercy toward him. No trace of love.
The coronation ball is a spectacle of extravagance, opulence, and sheer absurdity. The entire Brooklyn Court has gathered along with monarchs from neighboring kingdoms.
King Stark graces the event with his Queen and their young Princess, joined by King Thor, Queen Sif, and Prince Loki. Steve's gaze catches sight of his trusted Lord Chancellor, Samuel “Sam” Wilson, engaged in conversation with his father and the King of Wakanda.
And though he cannot see him, he knows Bucky must be lurking in the shadows, sharing a hidden moment with Princess Romanoff.
Steve lingers for a few moments before revealing his presence. He stands atop the banister, peering down at the chaos he is about to face. His gaze sweeps across the room, longing for a glimpse of someone familiar, although deep down he knows it's merely a futile hope.
With a heavy sigh, he descends the stairs, fully aware that his destiny lies in wait.
"Announcing His Royal Majesty, King Steven Grant Rogers."
The music begins, and the doors swing open. Steve steps forward, discomforted by the weight of all the attention upon him. He offers nods as others bow and curtsy, attempting to keep a smile on his face. Reaching the throne, he settles into it with more haste than necessary. As soon as he is seated, his subjects rise from their positions.
"Thank you all for joining us tonight," he declares, projecting his voice with a hint of implicit hesitation. “We’re honored to welcome you to Brooklyn Palace. Please, do enjoy yourself. May this merry occasion pave the way ahead for our kingdom.”
The crowd cheers enthusiastically, chanting Steve’s name and singing his praises. They raise their hands in the air and clap without restraint, though Steve doesn’t hear them. He’s out of tune with his senses, his consciousness hauntingly distant. Suddenly and prematurely, he’s thrust back into the moment. He doesn’t know how to react when Princess Sharon enters his line of sight.
“Your Majesty,” she curtseys. Steve has always noticed that she overdoes it, lowering herself far more than necessary. Sam once remarked she did it to appear meek and subdued—traits many men apparently seek in a woman—Bucky, on the other hand, remarked that she was desperate for attention.
“Princess Carter.”
“Sharon, Your Majesty,” she rectifies while meeting his eyes. “You may call me Sharon. If you please, Your Majesty.”
To his ears, it’s more of a plea than anything else. Which is why he doesn’t recede. Engaging in idle conversation with her isn't what he desires, for he can already discern the thoughts swirling within her mind, mirroring the thoughts of many other women in the palace. His father had made it unequivocally clear that Steve cannot rule without a queen by his side.
“Your Majesty,” Sharon’s voice beckons. Steve gazes at her, failing to mimic her enthusiasm. “Are you not going to ask me to dance?”
No, he feels the need to say. I do not wish to dance with anyone. But the musicians are getting ready and his father is pinning him down with a glare.
Reluctantly, he extends his hand and picks Sharon’s. “Of course.” Steve kisses the back of her hand. Carefully, he leads her to the dance floor, front and center, waiting for everyone to join.
Bucky stands to his right and Sam to his left. Facing them are Princess Natasha and Duchess Wanda, respectively. Kings Tony, Thor, and T'Challa join next, accompanied by their Queens.
Gradually, the room transforms into a parade of eager guests, lining up in anticipation of the forthcoming dance. A cacophony of music erupts, and the rhythm permeates the air, setting the stage for a whirlwind of movement.
The men bow with a flourish, while the ladies curtsy in graceful synchronization. In the timeless tradition of the dance, they take a bold step forward, closing the distance between them. Steve's hands, steady yet tinged with anticipation, find their place upon the small of Sharon’s back, guiding her with gentle precision.
He sweeps across the dance floor, leading Sharon in elaborate and pristine circles. Her gaze on him is imperturbable, features soft under the lights of the chandelier. Steve cannot understand how her eyes can be so alight—they’re looking at him as if he was the present and the future when he is, in fact, counting the musical notes, anticipating the next switch in partners.
The dance is Steve’s “seven minutes in heaven,” as Sam so eloquently worded it. Though, in reality, it’s a vicious torment. This dance offers Steve the chance to dance with four women—three for two minutes and one for no more than a fleeting sixty seconds. And luckily for him, Sharon’s two minutes are now up.
He spins her to the right, fueled by a sense of anticipation at the thought of stealing a precious moment of respite. She leaves his arms, and he breathes deeply for a moment before Princess Shuri joins him.
"Your Majesty, do me a favor and grace us with a smile. I would hate for my brother to be proven right. He is constantly rambling about how my mere presence seems to unsettle everyone around."
Steve offers Shuri beyond what she has asked for. A heartfelt laugh tumbles from his lips, and he’s elated to know that the music is far louder than his unrestrained chortle.
“Your presence is welcome and cherished, Princess Shuri.” Steve dips the princess, ensuring she doesn’t fall. He brings her back on her feet and continues with the rest of the choreography. “Tell T’Challa you are the single spark of joy and delight this evening has brought.”
“Oh, I will most certainly tell him that.”
With a final smile, Steve releases his grip on Shuri, allowing her to navigate her way toward Loki's outstretched arms. Though her departure may lack grace, it’s far more captivating to watch than the arrival of yet another noble lady, who is now nestled in his arms.
Princess Carol’s face is stoic, and her movements feel robotic, pre-programmed. The silence between her and Steve is tumultuous as the prince leads her through the dance. He’s grateful for her aloofness, granting him the chance to focus on something else other than an unnecessary conversation, or worse yet, a proposal.
His blue eyes meander, traversing the room with a wandering gaze. In the midst of his observation, he catches sight of Princess Natasha and Marquess Barton engaged in a dance. Their movements may lack the refinement of the other nobles, but they appear unperturbed, swaying to a rhythm that is uniquely theirs. Steve notices Natasha intermittently locking eyes with Bucky, exchanging playful winks and smirks that stir a bitter sensation within him.
He thinks he will never experience this. Never be given the chance to love with all his heart and not his mind. To love for love and not the kingdom. To live for his love to rule and not to rule for his love to die.
Princess Carol slips from his grasp with unexpected swiftness, leaving Steve momentarily stunned. His attention lingers on her abrupt departure, forgetting the need to steady himself.
As Steve's palm rests open, a hand slips into his, catching him off guard. His arm instinctively reaches out, hastening to steady the woman who has joined him. The sudden touch electrifies his senses, igniting a rush of anticipation within him.
Blue orbs lock onto a wistful masterpiece, refusing to blink and allowing the moisture to gather, lending a subtle glassy sheen. Steve's steps falter, his footing shaken. Only now does he realize that he has been granted six minutes to breathe and a single dance partner that has stolen his every breath.
At this moment, Steve grasps the true might of the human mind as the dance fades into the background though his feet glide effortlessly across the floor. His heart races with joyous abandon, his thoughts sprint in a frenzy, and his eyes struggle to keep pace, captivated by the dazzling radiance emanating from the figure in front of him.
Steve's eyes fixate on the familiar turquoise dress adorning the woman’s figure, a sight he has imagined countless times in his most indulgent thoughts. Yet, reality surpasses any fantasy he could conjure. With fervent intensity, he absorbs every detail of the woman before him, noting the familiarities that stir his heart and the subtle differences that ignite a sense of curiosity.
He towers over her now, his height surpassing hers by more than an inch. His presence is imposing, a protective and ardent force. They stand close, near enough for her to catch glimpses of green in his eyes and for him to feel the softness of her bodice against his chest.
Time passes, maybe a minute, or perhaps more. He doesn’t know. Because with her, time is a paradox, too complex to comprehend. Or perhaps, plain unnecessary.
He notes that no one is dancing, noble men and women retreating to the ballroom's margins. They're entranced by Steve and his partner. Their glances multifaceted, both welcoming and unnerving. But he doesn't pay attention to them. Not when the musicians are still playing, granting him an infinity of respite.
He clutches the woman tighter, lifting her up in the air. The light catches the tiara on her head, the one he had specifically requested for her as a gift on her sixteenth birthday. She had once refused to wear it, claiming she wasn't a princess. And she was right. She's not just a princess; she's a queen.
There is so much to say. Too many questions to ask. And yet, Steve can only whisper one thing as he sets her down on her feet, his lips lingering close to her ear.
“You are divinity in human nature, and I have evermore longed to confess to you this.”
Y/N says nothing, but the gasp that tumbles out and the fingers that trace Steve’s elbow speak of it all. “You haven’t changed,” she notes. He shakes his head and gives her a disbelieving look as if to urge her to look at him again. “You are just as warm and just as kind. Just as beautiful,” she enunciates, whispering the last part.
The words reach his ears, carrying with them a genuine sincerity that resonates deep within him. He releases a soft exhale, a breath that caresses her face. Her delicate lashes gracefully meet, pulling his attention away from her magnetic eyes to her angelic smile.
Steve is captivated by every aspect of her presence, his senses entranced by the enchantment that surrounds them both. “I have longed for you,” he admits. Immediately, Y/N's eyes burst open, revealing a clash of waves within her irises—a turbulent ocean of swirling emotions.
“I’ve heard, and I’m here to satiate your longing, My King.”
"Prince," Steve corrects briskly. As he holds her waist, Y/N places both hands on his chest. He tenderly caresses her bottom lip. "Don't cease to see me in a different light now, princess."
“I am not a princess,” Y/N refutes. “As for the last half of your sentence, no matter who you become to the world, you will always be my prince, Stevie.”
In that brief moment, her eyes reveal a vulnerability that tugs at Steve's heartstrings. “Y/N, tell me you are truly here. Tell me this is not yet another deceiving portrait my mind has conjured.”
“I am real.”
“How?”
“Queen Mother Sarah,” she admits. Her voice carries a tinge of sadness at the memory of the late queen. “Before her demise, she called for me. You were away at the time, fighting the war against Hydra’s army. She made me swear to attend your coronation ball. To be by your side once more.”
Oh, mother. Steve stands in disbelief. Though his mother passed seven years ago, her presence lingers within him. A constant source of comfort and guidance. He can't help but compare the stark contrast between his mother's love and his father's hostility, fueling a mix of emotions within him. The dominance and aggression of his father's actions only serve to heighten his appreciation for his mother's enduring tenderness and thoughtfulness, even in the realm of the afterlife.
“I needed to be by your side, even though I know I will be in trouble.” Y/N’s voice shakes him out of his stupor. She’s biting on her lower lip, her long hair hiding half her face. “Your father will surely order me farther away.”
“Let him try,” Steve challenges with determination, causing Y/N to wear a wearied expression of disbelief. With tenderness, he adds, "I'd like to witness anyone daring to separate the future Queen of Brooklyn from my embrace."
King Joseph seethes with a fiery intensity, teetering on the edge of explosion. Anger courses through his veins, overwhelming his senses in the wake of what he has just witnessed. With resolute determination, he guides his son towards the Council chamber, his mind already brimming with scathing words, poised to unleash his fury upon him.
“Of all of the women in this court and beyond, you have decided to entertain a chambermaid for the better half of the evening!”
“She is not a mere chambermaid, father. You know well who Y/N is!”
"A mere distraction," the King counters vehemently, his fist slamming down on the dark oak table with a resounding thud. "A disgrace," he continues, his voice filled with simmering indignation.
“A queen.”
"Never! Over my dead body, you imbecile!" King Joseph retorts, his voice laced with venomous defiance, unwilling to yield to his son's audacious declaration.
"So be it then, father!" Steve roars with fiery determination. "All you have ever cared for is for Brooklyn to be the nexus of the Grand American Dynasty, no matter the cost, no matter the price! Your vision is so narrow that you fail to see the alternative paths, the possibilities beyond the ones you have carved for yourself."
“The avenues you traverse in your thoughts are nothing but insignificant alleyways leading to nowhere, boy!”
"They are mine. All of them belong to me alone," Steve asserts with unwavering conviction. "They are the boulevards of my childhood and the thoroughfares of my future. They are paths carved by a woman who has treated me far better than my own father ever has!"
“She is insignificant!”
"How dare you! You have waged wars and battles, leaving me to mend the relationships you have severed. You have sowed fear and wielded despair in your son and your kingdom, and I will not allow you to condemn me or my future any longer."
“Steven!”
“No! You will listen, and I will lend my ears no longer. I am the only heir to the throne. You and the Council be damned if you do not willingly allow me to marry the woman who will rule Brooklyn with far more grace and vigor than you ever had. Mark my words, I will take matters into my own hands and fight for love and justice, even if it means defying the entire kingdom.”
“You would never," King Joseph says, his voice seething with anger and contempt, his eyes blazing with fiery defiance.
Steve smirk. It’s dark and vindictive, sending shivers down the spine of his father. “Watch me,” he whispers, his voice laced with a chilling determination.
He marches out of the chamber and onto the grand ballroom. His heart thumps in his chest, louder than the mellifluous sounds of the musician's instruments.
He moves through the crowd like a lion king walking through his kingdom. His gaze locks on Y/N, standing beside Bucky and Sam. As their eyes meet, a mixture of surprise and anticipation reflects in the depths of her gaze, mirroring the emotions pulsating within him.
As the world around them fades into a blur, leaving only the two of them standing in the spotlight, Steve's years of etiquette training and courtship knowledge seem insignificant. Despite his mastery of courting rituals and the art of conversation, Y/N possesses the uncanny ability to shatter his carefully crafted facade. With a mere glance, she erases the learned scripts from his mind, leaving it a blank canvas, ready to be painted by her presence alone.
He doesn’t count his steps though he suspects they’re brisk. He reaches out and tugs at her hand, drawing her closer. Steve lets go of his thoughts and his constraints, deciding to focus on her. His lips are fierce as they suddenly clash with hers, and the sound of their lips moving together seems to echo louder than the
The kiss becomes a clarion call, a declaration of war and surrender in a single act. It symbolizes the culmination of suppressed emotions and unspoken promises, a deluge of feelings too long restrained. It ignites a storm of passionate responses, an uproar of joy and relief that reverberates through the room.
In that fleeting moment, it embodies Y/N's tenderness and longing, intertwining with Steve's defiance and resolve. The kiss bridges the fractures of their past and ushers in the promise of a shared future.
Like an art piece, it's crafted with meticulous detail and profound meaning. Its evocative power lingers in the air, leaving a trace of its essence. The kiss is not just a mere gesture. It's an effervescent expression of their love, unique and incomparable.
At this moment, Steve and Y/N claim their own narrative, painting their own masterpiece of connection and desire. It's an art piece that captivates all who witness it, leaving an indelible mark on their hearts and memories.
“I need a queen,” Steve breathes in haste. I need you, he’s trying to say. I breathe you.
And Y/N laughs, delicately and boldly. She presses her palms against his cheeks, the warmth of her touch fanning the flames of Steve’s love.
“Let me be everything you need and more.”
Steve Rogers has my whole heart, and I was unbelievably happy when Val overflooded my inbox with requests!! Still got one Mob!Steve and Professor!Steve one shots to write, which I'm super excited to start with. Btw, how the hell does Val know all my favorite tropes?
Anyhow, I was so excited, so I powered through this one. The others? Might take anywhere between 3 to 5 business months to release them. But Sab will try her best to release them sooner.
Don’t forget to send in your Marvel/Harry Potter requests!
Can’t wait to share more!!
#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#captain america#captain america x reader#captain america x female reader#marvel fanfiction#avengers fanfiction#marvel mcu#avengers#the avengers#king!steve rogers x reader#steve rogers royal au#king!steve rogers
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Secrets 9
Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape; grossness on Bucky’s part; Steve’s an asshole. 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.
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes
Summary: A long-buried family secret comes to light and changes your entire life.
Notes: Y’all. Really I be like what haven’t I touched in ages? Then I go for it.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Take care. 💖
You stood on your mark, surrounded by strangers as more awaited you just inside the grand hall. You were unprepared despite Barnes' efforts. You didn't want to be there nor were you equipped for it. Especially not after your first meeting with the king himself. The idea of a whole facsimile lifetime with that man did little to steady your nerve.
You twisted in your heels and glanced behind you. Even without Barnes as your chaperone, there were too many courtly bodies around to witness any attempt at flight. You sighed and listened through the door just ahead of you, crossing your arms before you remembered yourself and forced them to your sides. Were you really going along with this?
"I should be in class right now," you grumbled to yourself. "I was halfway through my degree, you know? I don't need this. I had a life…" You paused as you noticed the curious gaze of a man in outdated livery, like a statue against the wall, "what's with you? Is this like those ones with the fuzzy hat? Are you allowed to move?"
"Your highness, I am permitted to move if required. I am avowed to do so in service of your safety," he responded to your surprise.
"Huh," you twiddled your fingers and pursed your lips, "and what if I said I was safest away from here?"
"Your highness, I've been ordered to keep you here for the same purpose."
"Oh, you have? Does the king think I'll run?"
The man squared his jaw and stared at the opposite wall, a stoic knight out of time, "I cannot speak to the mind of his majesty."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Fuck." You snarled under your breath and noticed how the man blanched. You apologised and returned your attention to the din that flowed in from the next room.
"..on behalf of Astrania, I welcome my betrothed and proudly introduce her…"
Your feet were stuck in place, as if quicksand was all around you, your body paralysed. Nah, this wasn't real. You could just leave, right? It was like one of those absurd movies but it was hardly a comedy and far from romantic.
"Your highness?" The guard prompted and you flinched.
"Oh shit," you hissed under your breath.
You took a step and your ankle nearly bent. You stumbled and continued through the doorway, dawning the mask that Barnes worked so hard to craft. You hated yourself the instant your cheeks bulbed in that manufactured smile.
The room of bodies startled you. You may have expected an audience but this was something else. More faces than you could count and all dressed just ridiculously as yourself. The absurdity of the situation further numbed you to the reality.
You caught Barnes' eye as you strode blindly before the court. The dearth of sound that held the silent figures in anticipation resembled the calm before the storm. You held your breath as the duke gave am encouraging but emotionless nod.
King Steve stood expectant and straight-backed, waiting as he reached out in a formal gesture to welcome you. You didn't know what else to do but play along. You neared and let him take your hand and he kissed the knuckles in an overly gallant manner. The flash of a camera whitened your vision as you gripped him unwittingly in your surprise.
He raised your hand as he drew you to face the crowd. You blinked dumbly as he clung to you and slowly lowered your arm between you.
"The Duchess," he declared, "and I must say I am hardly disappointed."
You peered at him from the corner of your eye and withheld a grimace. The fakeness in his tone made you cringe internally all while promising an equally shallow future. You smiled bigger and gave a polite wave, just as Barnes had trained you. At that thought, you almost let your true emotions break through.
The crowd oohed and ahhed as Steve slowly leaned in, his hand running up to your elbow. He kissed your cheek, letting his touch wander to your lower back. He hid a growl in the gesture, "I see you got your head straight."
He faced the crowd again and pinched your side as his hand drifted back. You held back a wince and once more searched out Barnes. He was the only one among the crowd who seemed to notice, if only because he knew what to expect.
“Without further ado, let’s eat,” Steve’s tone was jovial, “and celebrate. Astrania will finally have a queen again.”
You aimed your eyes straight ahead, unseeing as you fought to keep the facade in place. Mindlessly, you were led away by your fiance, his hand firm around yours once more. You met him with daggers as he showed you to your seat, pulling it out with courtesy, another show for his people.
As he settled in the chair beside you, your displacement became even more obvious. You were the foreign princess, the newcomer, entirely out of your depth. The weeks of fastidious education on the part of Duke Barnes could not augment a lifetime of discipline. You felt yourself drowning as your boiling resentment met with icy uncertainty.
“Not so mouthy now, are you?” Steve uttered as he beckoned for a servant to fill his glass.
“If you want a show, I can put one on,” you rebuffed unfiltered.
He stifled a snort and rested his hand on the back of your chair, reaching his other to cover the top of your glass and keep the servant from pouring. “She’ll stick to water, I’ve heard wine makes her sloppy.”
You looked at him pointedly as he smirked. To anyone else, it might look affectionate but the gleam in his eyes assured you otherwise. You thanked the servant and agreed that water would be better.
“What do you know of me?” You asked as you looked away derisively.
“I know a lot more than you think,” he hid his words behind his glass before he took a sip, “you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Neither do you.”
“Is that a threat? Must I remind you that treason is still very much a crime here?”
“I’m just doing as I’ve been bid, your majesty. I’m matching your energy.”
“Is that what Barnes advised?”
“Oh your lap dog has been very helpful.”
“He is a duke, you should address him with his proper title. Perhaps I should speak with him about his teaching methods. It appears he requires a firmer hand–”
“So you don’t do anything yourself, then? You just snap your fingers liked a spoiled little–”
“Careful,” his hand slid down the chair again and you felt another pinch. This time, your lips twitched as his dug his nails in through the fabric, “you should be happy I didn’t come to that hole your mother hid you in and drag you out myself.”
“Ow,” your cheek ticked as you resisted the urge to swat him away, “why don’t you ask Barnes what kind of student I was?”
“I’ve heard it all, trust me,” he retorted, “but I’m a king, I don’t play your games.”
“You’re a f–”
“Language,” he pinched and twisted until you grasped the edge of the table, “we are all very traditional here, some would say old-fashioned in a sense… a wife has a duty to obey.”
“I am not your wife yet–”
“If you had any choice in the matter, you wouldn’t be here right now,” he took another gulp of wine and quickly smiled over the brim as a guest approached, “Countess,” he rose and nudged you with his knuckle. You stood reluctantly and smiled at the redhead, “my lady, you’ve heard as much of my fiancee as any,” he rested his hand on your arm, “this is countess Maximoff, duchess.”
“Your excellency,” the title almost curdled on your tongue, “it’s so nice to meet you.”
“And you! We’re so excited, my husband—” she looked around, “ugh, Victor does lose himself at these things. Anyhow, the kingdom has been so eager to see the king married, since he was a prince and there is quite a titter about your arrival.”
“Oh?” you feigned interest, “how kind, truly, it isn’t… that big a deal. People get married all the time–”
“Yes, but royal weddings are once in a lifetime!” She preened, “I wasn’t around for the previous around, but I think Victor was coherent enough of a child to remember…” she toyed with a golden ring and glanced around, “pardon me, I thought he was with me, I’ll go hunt him down.”
“Right, um, okay,” you said thinly and she shuffled off. Steve sat and cleared his throat. You joined him as embarrassment burned in your cheeks.
“Why don’t you let me do the talking?” He sneered, “good practice for our marriage.”
You swallowed and bit down on another nasty remark. You ignored his taunting gaze and reached for your water, lamenting your surrender as his wine caught your eye. This would be easier with a taste of champagne, tolerable at least.
👑
“Lady Romanoff,” Barnes’ voice piqued your nerves, “what do you think of our future queen so far?”
He stepped up next to the woman with her crimson locks as you shifted in your heels. Steve loomed beside you as he had much of the afternoon, the brunch slogging by in suffocating pretense. You rolled your eyes, earning another nudge from the king.
“Your highness, I can speak for myself,” you narrowed your eyes.
“It is hard to gauge one’s own work,” he framed you with his fingers as if taking a picture, “I did my best to whip her into shape.”
“Well, I hope you kept the actual whip out of it,” Romanoff snickered, “I believe that would be the right of her betrothed.”
You resisted another derisive sneer as you kept your lips curved in a perfect smile and mustered a crackly chuckle.
“Let’s hope it isn’t needed,” Steve added wryly.
“I have no reason to disprove, she’s considerably refined considering her tutor,” Romanoff chided.
“Rich coming from you,” Barnes clucked.
“Are we roasting Bucky already?” Another man approached with a mimosa in hand, “I have quite a few in the chamber.”
“Don’t,” Barnes warned and you were almost amused as the tables turned on him.
“Wilson,” Steve greeted, “you’ve been… elusive.”
“Ah, you know I’ve gotta work the room,” the man winked at you and bowed his head, “duchess.”
“Hello,” you muttered awkwardly.
“Lord Wilson, earl,” Steve filled in for you.
“My lord,” you addressed him properly.
“Don’t worry about remembering my name, I’m sure you’ve forgotten left from right by now,” he kidded.
“Uh, yeah, yes,” you took a deep breath, “a lot of people here.”
“A queen must know her subjects,” Steve reprimanded as he hooked his arm through yours, “excuse us, there is a final matter to be dealt with.”
“Wait, I–”
There was no argument to be had as Steve herded you away. He stopped you away from the clusters of guests and signaled with his other hand above your head. You craned around to follow but had no idea what was going on.
You winced as his hands explored your dress, fixing it around your figure with tiny tugs. You stilled him with a stammer.
“Hey, what are you doing–” you met his heated snarl and recoiled, “your majesty–”
“Put on a pretty smile for your king,” he instructed as he straightened the pin in your hair, “you’ve been unexpectedly…submissive.”
“Oh, thank you, what a glowing compliment–”
“Don’t push it,” he warned and patted your arm, “and try to play along.”
A servant appeared at his other shoulder as Steve turned to take a glass and fork from the table. He clinked until he had the attention of the room and handed over the cutlery and crystal flute. In its place, he took a deep blue velvet box, hexagon and soft in his long fingers.
“Thank you, everyone, for attending the duchess’ debut and this celebration of our engagement. While this union has been written for many years, it is a relief to finally have her here and to be able to fulfill the promise I made to my father to rule Astrania proudly and with a good queen at my side. I only hope she can fill the shoes my mother left behind.”
The room tittered and you smiled awkwardly, letting the subtle slight roll over you. You didn’t care about these people or what they thought of you. They lived in this bubble of shining chandeliers and overpriced wines. They were all prisoners in this antiquated charade. That thought did not soothe that feeling of constraint that coiled around your neck.
“I made another promise to my mother, who sadly was unable to attend today,” he continued, “but she was able to send this along.” He raised the box, displaying it to the room, “the very same ring…” then pulled open the lid on its hinges, “that my father gifted her upon their own engagement, and his father before him to my grandmother…”
You bit your cheeks and fought to keep from bouncing in your heels. You were never one for being the center of attention and this whole day had been a fiery hot spotlight glaring down on you.
Steve turned to you as he freed the ring and relinquished it to the waiting servant. He took your hand as he bent his knee and you stiffened as you could do nothing but watch. He knelt and lined up the band with your finger, sliding it up so the large diamond sparkled brightly in the hue. He kissed your knuckles before he stood. You hated how well he played his role.
You struggled not to rip your hand away, not to tear the ring off and throw it in his face. It was humiliating. Even if everyone thought it was real. For weeks, you’d been forced to prostrate yourself, to play along with the script, all for what? This man who was nothing more than a shell, an entitled prick who never had to work for a single thing in his life, all while you were working to be his perfect little doll.
The crowd let out another babble as Steve stepped closer, his arm around you as another camera flashed to capture the moment. You groaned through your tight-lipped smile and felt a jab in your hip.
“Almost there, duchess,” he said under his breath, “don’t think this asshole forgot about earlier.”
#steve rogers#bucky barnes#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#dark!bucky barnes#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#steve rogers x reader#bucky barnes x reader#series#secrets#royal au#au#captain america#winter soldier#avengers#mcu#marvel
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An Eternity with You is All I Dream Of
Royal Guard!Ultron x Royal Fem!Reader AU
Warning: Angst (hurt/comfort), fluff, smut
NOTE: Yay, the long waited fanfic for reaching 1k!! Thank you all and I hope you enjoy <3 !!!
Word Count: 5,5884
You had always considered Ultron a childhood friend; although, according to him, ‘childhood friends’ would be too much of a title for him. He was part of the Kingdom’s Royal Guard, the General in fact and the other sentries were well-known protectors or assistants. Growing up, you were constantly reminded of the difference in ranks and your parents were constantly pushing you away from him.
‘He’s not for you,’ or ‘He’s the Guard, he’s only here to protect you,’ or ‘You need other friends.’ You were growing tiresome of the excuses, but that didn’t stop you from meeting him or visiting while he was on-duty.
You were hiding from your parents, knowing they were about to pester you with unnecessary excuses to drag you away. You used Ultron’s large figure to hide behind him, avoiding the maids, who were probably searching for you.
“Did you hear about the festival, My Lady?” His voice rumbled softly. “I shall be your escort, if you desire.”
“What festival?” You grinned up at him. “And no need for formalities, you may always call me (Y/N).”
“While the other sentries were on-duty within the kingdom, I heard about an upcoming festival tonight. It’ll be filled with food, performances….I also heard some popular artists will be selling handcrafted artistry.” Ultron turned to look at you. “I know how much you like them. It shall be my gift for you.”
“Oh no need, you’ll only need to escort me.” You smiled. “I look forward to it!”
“(Y/N)!” Your mother cried out. “I have been looking all over for you.” The Queen marched towards you and yanked you away from Ultron, who returned to his position.
“I was only talking.” You yanked your arm away from her grip. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t think about running away,” the Queen grabbed your arm. “You’re of age and no suitor. By Heavens, child.” You rolled your eyes as she dragged you away, catching one last glimpse of Ultron before following begrudgingly. Ultron only wished that he was a different rank.
He quickly shifted position to guard your bedroom, watching carefully as a maid slipped in to leave clothes for you before leaving. You appeared momentarily with an exhausted expression, one he knew too well. You slipped into your room without another word and stared at the fancy dress laid out for you.
“Gods…..suitors, why do I need suitors?” You mumbled bitterly. Ultron snorted lightly at your words, while you were struggling to put on the dress. Romance…..dating…..they're all nonsense. This damn dress…… He stood still as you cracked the door open, peering up at him. “Ultron….I need your help.” You whispered. Making sure no one else was around, he discretely entered your room as you held your hair. He didn’t need to breathe, but he swore he could feel it leave him as he gazed at you. Nervously, he grabbed the two strings and gently tightened it.
“Is this okay?”
“A little bit tighter…..” You instructed, feeling the ropes tighten gently and you couldn’t hold yourself from chuckling. He paused and through your uncontrollable fit of laughter, you managed to choke out, “I’m going to walk out there…..and since the dress isn’t tight enough, it’ll fall off and I’ll be….topless in front of people.” He didn’t even want to imagine the outcome or the situation. Without hesitation, he quickly secured the corset, as you didn’t have time to react and fastened the strings.
Your face was red from the laughter and slight tears were displayed at the corner of your eyes. Ultron's words were caught in his throat as you beamed. “M-My apologies, Your Royal Highness.” Ultron stuttered out before leaving the room. You breathed in and out, getting used to the outfit, chuckling at his reaction.
Soon enough, you were ready to face the suitors your parents had chosen. Granted, you were a bit late but you didn’t doubt that your parents were used to it. You walked out of the room, closing the door as Ultron waited to walk with you. Your face was flushed as your cheeks were tinted, but you still grinned up at him. Ultron could feel himself heating up Amused, you could hear the way his vents roar as he averted his gaze. “You’re…..You look beautiful, as always.”
“Come on.” You reached out your hand for him to take, and he reluctantly intertwined his hand with yours. “I wonder what kind of suitors my parents picked out. I bet they can’t even compare to you.”
It took a moment for him to process what you implied. “M-My lady,” Ultron stammered out. “I am but your Royal Guard….it is and will always be my responsibility to guard and protect you. You know it is unlawful for me to engage with you, romantically.”
“Unlawful my ass.” You snorted. “I don’t care about that.”
“....That is, your responsibility.” He spoke very softly, still, you heard. You stopped shortly as you turned to face him, taking both of his hands into yours.
“Ultron, you have been with me since I could remember. You taught me almost everything I know….you read me stories, we even continued reading after my parents expressed their disagreement. You even stood up for me. You make me laugh, you try your best to comfort me when I’m upset, you always think of me when you go out into the kingdom and bring back something cause you know I’ll like it.” You smiled. “ I can’t think of another person I’d spend the rest of my life with.”
Ultron’s eyes looked into yours, searching for something before he looked away. “I’m flattered that I’ve had a big impact in your life…..but you’re an adult. You need to find someone else.” Your heart sank and you could feel the tears, but you pushed them down.
“I see….well, it’s not like I didn’t do anything about it.” You squeezed his hand before walking down the corridor in silence.
Upon reaching the entrance, the two of you pulled away as Ultron opened the doors for you. The room fell silent as you walked in, greeting your parents first before turning to the audience to greet them, they all bowed to show their respects. Your mother did most of the talking, but it’s not like you were paying attention; you were busy scanning each of the suitors. You didn't know whether to congratulate your parents for their…eccentric taste, or scoff at their punctuality.
“(Y/N) (L/N), you are to pick your suitor and attend the festival happening tonight.” Your mother’s voice rang. Your head snapped to her and your mouth opened but your voice was gone.
Soon enough, your voice returned. “Mother….I planned on going with Ultron. It was our plan, to go as friends.” You stayed composed.
“And now you will go with your suitor……not to worry, Ultron will accompany you.” She dismissed. Your eyes locked with Ultron, who just shook his head and you sighed in defeat. The announcement went on for a while, and the queen was busy giving each suitor an introduction, but her words slipped through your ears. Can we get this over with?…..
Now, it was time to choose a suitor. You scanned each of them: Leon, the eldest son and the one that looked the least annoying, Joseph was the youngest but he didn’t look sweet or innocent at all, and Mattias was the middle, he looked attractive but his eyes held something unreadable.
“Perhaps, I’ll go with Prince Leon.” You declared, just loudly for the room to hear. Leon smiled at you and you thought, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.
You were busy getting dressed for your supposed date to the festival, debating which accessories to wear and what color dress it should match with. You cracked open the door and dragged Ultron in.
“Which dress should I wear? I’m having a crisis.” Both the dresses were the best and perhaps the most elegant, compared to the other outfits you owned.
Ultron picked up one of the dresses before bringing it up to you, he sheepishly replied, “this one brings out your eyes and hair.”
“You're the best.” You gently took the dress out of his hand, before disappearing behind a room divider. You slipped into the dress and attempted to fasten the corset on your own, but to no avail.
He heard soft grunts and mumbling. “Your Royal Highness, do you need any help?” Ultron called out. You sheepishly stepped out, tugging at the corset strings to indicate that you did need help. He chuckled softly before moving towards you, he took the strings into his hand and tightened them. You could feel your heart racing and you were scared that he could hear it. The pounding of your heart was all you could hear, not even Ultron calling for you. His hands shook you out of your trance. “Are you alright?”
“Ah, yeah I’m okay.” You breathed. “Maybe a little lightheaded.” You reached out to grab your head as you sat down on the edge of your bed.
“Is it too tight? I can redo it if you need–”
“It’s alright.” You insisted. “I never thought this would….be a reality for me.” You admitted with a short laugh. Ultron promptly joined next to you, staring at his hands.
“If….If he tries anything, and I mean anything, don't be afraid to tell me. I will not hesitate to protect you.”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.” The rest of it was silence, but not the awkward type. Just plain silence to enjoy the other presence. “He’s here.” Ultron announced, and as if on cue, a sharp knock pierced the air. Ultron stood and looked towards you, but you simply stared outside the window. Not wanting to keep Prince Leon waiting, Ultron opened the door and dismissed the accompanying sentry.
“How do you do?” Prince Leon bowed his head at Ultron, who immediately reciprocated the display. He then made room and signaled Prince Leon to enter, though he left the door open. Prince Leon bowed to you, “Your Royal Highness.”
You stood up and bowed deeply. “Shall we head out?” He nodded curtly and offered his arm. Ultron noted your hesitation and your unwavering compliance, he followed shortly after closing the door.
Upon exiting the castle, your eyes gazed up at the sky, pausing before exchanging a few words with Prince Leon. He watched carefully at your interaction, only following a few meters behind. Prince Leon said something to you and you let out a laugh, grasping your stomach as you couldn’t stop yourself. He didn’t know what these feelings were; he obviously wanted the best for you, but he also wanted to be the one for you. Could this be….? Surely not, Ultron could never get jealous.
“I must say, I was surprised by your decision.” Prince Leon started. “Among my brothers, I am not the most charismatic or attractive.”
“Ah, being the eldest among them was the winning factor….I suppose.” You smiled softly. “I went with my guts and I trusted how kind your eyes looked.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Well of course, Your Highness.” You chuckled and he laughed. “Still, I don’t believe that you're not charismatic or attractive. You’re well-mannered and sweet, surely you must have ladies swooning for your hand.”
“Perhaps I was too busy to notice.” He grinned. The two of you continued to walk through the festival while conversing, urging Prince Leon to try different foods. The two of you enjoyed a musical performance, and he exchanged compliments to the musician. He noticed that you were staring fondly at a ceramic plate, it was glazed and decorated rather beautifully. He bought it for you, as a token of his gratitude.
"Oh no….I can't accept this." You denied, but the Prince insisted and you eventually agreed. It was a memorable night and you genuinely enjoyed your time with the Prince.
The festival began to die down and the Prince turned to meet your gaze, “Would you like to accompany me on a walk nearby? There’s a lovely lake and we could talk by the shore.”
“Oh, uh sure.” You agreed and he guided you to the lake. You glanced back to make sure Ultron was nearby, but your eyesight was getting blurry and the amount of people confused you. The lake was lovely, but no doubt it was too dark to see any features. You just enjoyed the full moon’s reflection against the water. You asked into the silence, "what did you want to talk about?"
However, the atmosphere immediately got tense as you heard nothing but the water and crickets chirping. “Your Highness….” Prince Leon whispered and you turned to his direction, aware of the figures approaching them. Three men with weapons cornered them against the lake, and one in the middle stepped forward.
“We just want her.” They beckoned to you when the Prince stayed unmoving.
“.....and what do you intend to do with me?”
“There are people who would offer a handsome price for you, my lady.” They all laughed, but it was sickening. Prince Leon sharply drew his knife.
“I didn’t think a sword would be an appropriate accessory to a festival.” Leon grimaced. You saw Ultron slowly approaching them from behind. When he reached a reasonable range, he shot out tranquilizing bullets to the other two. The leader sharply turned around and dodged Ultron’s attack, but he was forced to step to the side. Which gave Ultron the advantage of putting himself between you and the perpetrator.
“What is your business?” Ultron demanded. “Your compliance will determine if you get out of this kingdom safely or not.”
“I won’t answer you!” From the corner of your eye, you saw one of the henchmen squirming, and you saw it reaching for its weapon. From the light of the full moon, you saw the glint of wicked metal and the outline of a mace. You immediately stepped in front of Ultron to interfere, by stomping on the hand; the man cried out in pain and ultimately dropped the weapon.
Unbeknownst to you, this gave the perpetrator perfect time to strike. Ultron immediately fired a tranquilizing bullet, but the perpetrator slammed into you, impaling you with his blade. You fell to the ground as the noise around you fell deaf, you could see Ultron and Prince Leon exchange words in urgency.
“Princess, please stay with me!” Leon cried out while Ultron tended to the stab wound. “We must get her to the castle.” Cautiously, Ultron ripped off the hilt of the sword from the perpetrator's hand, careful as to not move the blade and disturb the wound. He gently picked you up before turning to the Prince.
“If it’s okay, do you mind bringing the leader? The henchmen are useless.” Ultron could barely keep his voice composed. “The tranquilizers I fired is enough to keep them unconscious for 10 hours.”
“I will,” Prince Leon nodded. “Please get her to safety.” Ultron nodded as he slowly rushed you back to the castle. He already alerted the other sentries, as a couple guarded the entrance, awaiting for him to arrive.
"My Liege, someone has harmed the Royal Highness. Please prepare the doctor for immediate treatment." Ultron spoke urgently. He didn't have time to hear the King's response as he hurriedly made way into the castle. "I must alert you, Prince Leon will bring the one responsible in shortly." Growing impatient, Ultron slowly lifted off the floor and flew at a steady pace towards the medical room. The castle doctor paced the room as the doors burst open, he immediately instructed Ultron where to place you. Once you were in the doctor's care, he watched from the side and even instructed a few of the sentries to help out in any way.
A sentry immediately alerted Ultron that Prince Leon arrived with the perpetrator. Knowing you were in good hands, Ultron left to take care of the bandit. Waiting alongside the Prince was the Queen and King; they exchanged worried looks but that disappeared when they saw Ultron.
"Your Highness," Ultron bowed deeply. "The Royal Highness is in the safe care of the doctor….and my sentries are overseeing that the treatment goes accordingly."
"Thank you, Ultron. We don't know what we would do without you." The Queen smiled. "Please help Prince Leon and escort this….outlander to the dungeons." Ultron nodded and watched as they disappeared down the corridor.
"Judging from his appearance….he looks like a rogue from my Kingdom," Prince Leon observed. "Though, I hope that this implication is in no way connected to anything." Ultron remained silent as they walked downstairs.
"Interrogation will commence in 24 hours, enough time for him to wake up and realize his actions." Ultron grumbled. They found an empty cell, which was pretty much unused and not in the best condition. They still dropped him on the stone cold bench and Ultron locked the cellar. "A sentry will be down here to overlook his condition. It will notify me if he wakes up…..let's go and update the Queen and King."
".....you love her."
Ultron paused, as he gazed at the Prince tentatively. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I can see the way you look at her….it's funny, cause when I went to her room earlier, I had suspected that I was interrupting a moment between you two." Prince Leon chuckled. "I understand the struggle."
"You do?"
"I have…..someone in my Kingdom……” Prince Leon hesitated, scared to reveal his secrets to a stranger. If you could trust him, then Leon trusted him. “ I too, was forced here, only because my parents failed to recognize love."
"Ah, I'm sorry."
"Don't be, I did have a wonderful time but I understand her heart has already chosen someone." Prince Leon smiled softly. “She’s lucky to have you."
Ultron chuckled, “it’s more like I’m lucky to have her.”
As Ultron and Prince Leon reached upstairs, they heard loud shouts. "Oh, Your Highnesses, wonderful news! The doctor has successfully treated the wound and the princess is in stable condition. He says that she should wake up anytime soon." Both Ultron and the Prince exchanged a glance as they rushed to the infirmary. When they reached the room, you were in bed and the doctor was busy writing notes.
"Ah, thank you for bringing the Princess. Nothing was critical, so surgery went smoothly and her condition has been stabilized." The doctor smiled at Ultron. "She'll wake shortly."
"Thank you." Ultron nodded as he left. Shortly, the remaining sentries left, giving you ample room and space to breathe. Ultron approached the bedside and peered down at your sleeping form; you looked so peaceful. "....if only I had been quicker, then you wouldn't be in this position."
"You did everything you could." Prince Leon urged. "If anything, I should've brought a weapon. My carelessness almost costed our lives."
"No, no, that's not your fault. You couldn't have known–"
"Neither could you." Prince Leon pointed out. "None of us have the ability to see into the future…..we did everything we could and fortunately, the Royal Highness is safe." Mutual agreement passed between Ultron and Prince Leon, and they stuck by your side until you woke up. It was midnight, while Ultron was checking your vitals and Prince Leon had fallen asleep, your eyes cracked open and squinted at the bright room.
“Ultron….” You called weakly, your hand aimlessly reached out. He stopped short of what he was doing and gazed down at you in shock and awe. Once you saw him, you broke into a grin, “You’re okay……”
“I’m okay….we’re okay.” Ultron gently took your hand. You and Ultron stayed up, talking and trying to suppress your laughter; although, he constantly urged you to rest. Within the silence, he murmured, “I thought I lost you.”
“I’m alright, thanks to you.” You smiled.
"No…..I don't know what I would do without you." Ultron sighed. He lifted your hand to his lips. Your face flushed and Ultron seemed to realize the effect of his action. He quickly pulled away while you were still processing.
Thankfully, Prince Leon awoke and rushed to your side. This gave Ultron the time to visit the Queen and the King, notifying them about the good news. They rushed out of their bed chambers, crying out in joy when they saw you. Both Ultron and Prince Leon backed out of the room, not wanting to interfere with such a private moment.
The rest of the day, Ultron accompanied the Queen and King to interrogate the prisoner. Some information was deemed useless, but soon enough, he cracked. He admitted that he was hired by one of the suitors. The prisoner admitted that he never got their name, and their appearance was also a mystery. This information was brought to the King of the suitors, who appeared troubled. Devastated, the King apologized to your parents and immediately called back the suitors. Prince Leon left, but not without saying goodbye and expressing his best wishes to you.
The doctor returned and reexamined your wound, announcing that you healed rather quickly and you were able to move to your room. Unless it was to be disturbed or reopened, then it would take longer to heal but wouldn’t be critical. You nearly jumped out of the bed from joy.
After dinner, you were carefully escorted to your bedroom by Ultron himself.
"Thank you."
"Anytime, My Lady." Ultron gently placed you in your bed, making sure you were comfortable. "I have a sentry on the way, they'll be arriving with a medical kit. We need to reapply that bandage."
The two of you remained silent, awkwardly waiting for the sentry to arrive. You didn't know if you could even sleep; your head was racing with everything that occurred within the past few days.
There was a sudden knock at your door that interrupted your thoughts. Ultron immediately moved to the door and slightly opened it, taking the medical supply from the sentry. He closed the door behind him and you smiled as he lifted up the supply kit for you to see.
"How is your wound?" Ultron asked. "I came with fresh bandages."
"It's been worse." You shrugged. Ultron nodded and waited for you to lift your shirt, averting his gaze when he almost saw past that. His hands worked effortlessly and gingerly to reapply the bandage, wrapping it perfectly. You only wished that it lasted longer, his touch lingered over your skin and you wanted it engraved into every crevice. "Thank you."
"I'll be outside if you need anything else." Ultron reminded and began to pack the medical supply. You reached out to grab his arm, your mouth open but you struggled to get the words out.
"Stay, please." You placed a soft kiss on his hand, urging him to stay with you. Ultron hesitated but obliged, joining you in your bed. Moving carefully as it creaked and dipped.
"Princess….." Ultron whispered, but you stopped him by pressing your hand to his chest. You looked up at him, feeling the thrum of his system. It feels warm.
You gazed up at him, his head was tilted and his eyes were closed from the touch of your hand. "Just call me (Y/N)." You insisted. The two of you held your gaze, his eyes were busy studying you and you caught the slight flicker of his eyes looking at your lips before meeting your gaze again.
His mouth opened and you knew what the next words were going to be, "I need to–" you didn't let him finish his sentence as you pulled him in to press your lips to his. Ultron moved his hand to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. When the two of you pulled away, your hand returned to his chest to feel the quickening of his systems. The metal armor was warmer.
"For so long, I have loved you." You finally spoke. Ultron closed his eyes, trying to compose himself and think of what to say. Your hand reached out to cup his face, his eyes blinked open as the two of you held your gazes. "I still love you. And don't think about what's to come…..none of that matters. I don't even want to think about what's to come if you're not in the picture."
"My Lady….."
"I want you." Your voice rang and echoed in his head. "If you'll have me." The tension was heavier than morning fog, and Ultron met your gaze, his hand reaching up to intertwine with your hand.
"I should be asking you that." Ultron chuckled. "Of course I'll have you, if you'll have me." He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours before he went in for the kiss. You smiled against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tried to pull him closer to you. His leg shifted position, where his knee rubbed against your sex and you let out a breathless moan.
"Ultron ~" you sighed with content and pleasure.
"I'm here, I'm here, Princess." Ultron assured as he placed gentle kisses to your neck. One of his hands trailed down, gently rubbing your inner thigh in a circular motion. "Please do tell me if I do anything to hurt you….or if anything I do is to your discomfort."
"I trust you."
"Princess–"
"Please." You spoke softly. "I need you."
"And I need you too." He said it so softly, under his breath so that only you could hear. He pulled back, moving your undergarment to the side and your face flushed as he stared incredulously.
"Ultron….."
"Shhh, just keep your pretty eyes on me." He whispered. Perhaps he had a hypnotic hold on you, as you couldn't look away. His thumb rubbed your clit and you threw your head back from the sudden stimulation. He hummed in content as you squirmed under him, his other hand placed on your thigh to keep your legs apart. "So good……"
Your hands gripped the sheets in anticipation, throwing your head back as you felt him insert a finger. "Ahh ~! Yes!" You moaned out. Ultron chuckled at your reaction, his finger reached every weak spot inside and his thumb continued to stimulate your clit. His digit hit a sensitive part and you convulsed around him. "Ultron ~!"
"Oh……" He hummed, continuing to focus on that specific spot. Intensely watching your reaction as you cried out in pleasure, how your eyes closed tightly and your eyebrows furrowed together, and how your hands reached out to grab onto his arms. "Princess, you're so irresistible."
With those praises, you reached your high. You let out a startled moan while Ultron gazed down at you in awe and adoration. As you were coming down from your high, he pulled his finger out and briefly left, only to bring back a warm towel. You gazed up at him with a flustered expression, while he was busy cleaning you up. “I will find a way to marry you.” You blurted out.
Ultron wasn’t remotely surprised or taken aback. “It’s a good thing I know your ring size.” Taking in your reaction, he chuckled as your face flushed heavily.
He joined you on the bed, his hand tracing the outline of your arms and lingering over your hips. “I.....” Your sudden voice interrupted his train of thoughts.
His gaze then met yours, "are you sure?"
"Yes, yes I'm sure." You smiled, taking his hand into yours.
Ultron lined his cock to your sex, though he was a bit hesitant. His hand squeezed against yours and he pushed in. You let out a choked cry, hissing from the penetration and Ultron briefly stilled. “Princess—“
“Keep going,” you moaned out. “Please.” Slowly, he pushed himself deeper inside. You tightened your grip on Ultron’s hand and your other hand held onto his arm; every time you thought ‘this was it’, he continued pushing deeper inside. Eventually, bottomed out and you let out a groan.
“(Y/N)?”
“Y-You’re so……big.” You whined out.
“I’ll be gentle,” He grunted, leaning down to steal a kiss. “I promise.” His words lingered over your lips and you reached up to connect your lips to his, again. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he gave a test thrust, earning a breathless moan. He began to roll his hips, careful as to not handle you roughly and in consideration to your injury.
“U-Ultron,” you breathed out. “Faster.”
“My Lady?”
“Please, I need you……go faster.” You urged. “Be rough with me.”
“…..My Princess, you’re injured. I don’t want to reopen the wound.”
“Please ~” you pleaded, your eyes fluttered open to look up at him. Ultron didn’t want to leave you unsatisfied, so he tentatively leaned down, his head resting between your neck and shoulder while his free hand moved down to grip your hips. Pinning you in place, he began to quicken his pace, roughly thrusting into you. His chest was pressed to yours and he could feel the quickening of your heartbeat, it made him feel alive and safe. You made him feel alive and safe.
“S-so warm.” Ultron stammered out. Your only response was lewd mewling, letting out heavy moans and broken grunts as he continued to bury himself deep inside. He had brushed against a particular spot, earning a loud and whiny moan. You didn’t even complain when he paused, repositioning himself and continued to focus on that specific spot. Your mouth hung agape, but the overload of moans were caught in your throat.
“U-Ultron,” you sighed out. “U-Ultron, please…..please ~! A-ah……” You babbled, your arm clinging onto him. He moaned into your ear as he rutted into you, feeling you clench and tighten around him. Ultron pulled his body away and began to pound into you, muffling your moans while you tried to squirm away.
Still, his grip on your hip was unbreakable, and you moaned into his hand as he mercilessly pistoned his hips into you. Your hand moved to hold onto the one covering your mouth, looking up at him through your lashes. Gods, he’s beautiful…..his brows were furrowed and his eyes held the most focus in them, and for a moment, you caught his gaze.
“Princess…..” Ultron breathed. A certain angle rendered you speechless, you gasped out as you tried to muffle your moans. His gaze moved from your face, to the bouncing of your breasts to his thrusts, before briefly studying your wound.
“M-more….more, more, more, more ~!” You pleaded. Without warning, you felt your high come crashing down. Ultron grunted heavily as you convulsed around him, wrapping around him with warmth. He continued to rut into you, resulting in you squeezing him from the overwhelming sense of overstimulation. Your voice was sore and weak, whining as his lips nipped at the shell of your ear.
"I am eternally yours." He whispered. You wanted to respond, but the continuous thrusts stole your voice. You ended up moaning and gasping, all while Ultron buried his cock into you. With both hands behind your knees, he pushed your legs and spread them even further apart as he pushed inside.
This new angle almost had you reaching your orgasm every thrust; you gasped and moaned as he practically brought you to see stars. "Y-yes! So good, so good…..Ultron ~" you managed to gasp out. "P-please, more!" At those words, he began to continuously pursue your high, over and over again. His thrusts became almost ungodly and overwhelming with pleasure.
You were clinging onto him, constantly reminding yourself that this was really happening. He filled you to the brim with every thrust, hitting every spot and your eyes rolled back as you had no words to warn about your orgasm. Ultron's hips stuttered as he mumbled under his breath, his hands gripping the plush of your thigh as he continued to chase your high. The lewd noises of your soaked sex filled the room and it echoed into your ear; it was all you could hear. Your moans and gasps and how good he was making you feel.
"Princess….." He whispered and leaned down to press his lips to yours, leaving you breathless. You began to feel lightheaded from the overstimulation. "I love you."
Your heart flew and you wanted to say it back. The minute you opened your mouth, an entire series of moans and broken gasps flew out. You managed to breathe out, "I love you, and forever will, my Knight."
"A-ah princess," Ultron gasped, his brow furrowed as his mouth hung agape. "I'm about to–" Oh gods, he's beautiful….. You immediately tensed and moaned as you felt a surge of warmth filling you.
"O-oh ~!" You gasped. Soon after, you came undone as Ultron pushed your hips down, intentionally brushing against a sensitive spot. After a couple of minutes, he pulled out and you watched in awe as his cock retracted. "That was……amazing."
"The sex or the contraption?" Ultron chuckled and you smiled.
"Why not both?" You reached out to him, and he reluctantly fell into your embrace. "You're amazing."
After a while, Ultron stirred from your hold. "My beloved….I need to go."
"Please, stay." You whispered into his neck. “Stay with me.” Ultron hummed and nodded, smiling to himself when he could feel you smiling against his shoulder.
"You shouldn't sleep on your side." He pointed out. You grumbled as you returned onto your back. "We can cuddle another time."
"Promise?"
"I promise." He sighed with content, placing a kiss on your head. "Goodnight, princess."
“Goodnight.”
#ultron#ultron x reader#ultron/reader#ultron fanfic#fanfic#ultron mcu#marvel#marvel fanfiction#fanfiction#fluff#angst#lemon#royal guard x royal au#perhaps in another universe#ultron is hot#eat up#avengers age of ultron#ultron marvel
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Forbidden Romance
Summary: You are in love with Prince Thor. He will soon be King and is hosting a ball between Kingdoms so he can find his future bride. Unfortunately, the Kingdom of Asgard is not ready to accept the Chief of the Royal Guard as the new Queen.
Warnings: inappropriate language, use of violence and adult content in the future of fanfic. some characters belong to the Marvel universe and others were created by the author. this chapter has a slightly steamy part but nothing heavy.
chapter one chapter three
Chapter Two
"Your Highness." You say looking at Thor with a meaningful look. He knows it's important not to give away the idea that you two have an affair. Especially in front of important people. And certainly Steve was important.
"Thor tell me, how did you get a Royal Guard so efficient? She was the first to question my presence here." Steve says looking impressed, which makes you curious. Have you won the admiration of yet another prince?
"She is extremely efficient at what she does. That's exactly why she's head of the Royal Guard and my trusted person." Thor responds by trying to appear more authoritative than usual.
"And she's about to give your royal highnesses privacy. If I may." You say, bowing in front of the two and turning to leave. But from afar you see a shadow and decide to check the corridor.
"I hope you know I can have your head for eavesdropping on a royal conversation." You say to whoever might be in the hallway, but before you can draw your sword to threaten the person, they reveal themselves to you.
"I see that Asgard's training is still as good as it was when you were a simple guard." James Barnes speaks as he looks worried that you will stick your sword in him.
"What is the biggest idiot of all time doing so far from his kingdom?" Your speech seems a bit mocking and James laughs. You and Barnes used to train together when you were younger. He, who was born in Asgard, decided to explore other kingdoms.
"I came after my favorite pupil. It seems you are protecting the future King." Barnes speaks pointing his head towards the two princes who are inside the trophy room.
"You know very well that I wanted to be head of the Royal Guard. And you, I assume, are accompanying Prince Steve." You say as you analyze Barnes. He looks just as hot as the last time you saw him. You and him had an affair before he turned his back on Asgard.
"You won't be surprised to know that I am the Chief of the Royal Guard of the Kingdom of Kyrax. I always knew Asgard already had the perfect Chief of the Royal Guard, so it's my luck to have decided to serve in another realm." Barnes says, trying to flatter you. The truth is, the two of you used to compete to see who would become the Chief of the Royal Guard ever since you met.
"I hope it was worth it, leaving your kingdom to serve another is extremely foolish. But I'm glad Prince Steve has you around. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare for the Royal Ball that's happening later." You say, petulantly. You harbored a certain resentment towards James. He betrayed the kingdom that you both valued so much because he was sure he wouldn't be better than you.
"I missed you." James murmurs as he grabs your arm. The clanking of his armor against yours makes a horrendous, skin-crawling noise. You look at him, without a reaction. As you're about to respond, you notice Thor and Prince Steve are behind you. You move your arm away from Barnes' hands, wondering how long they've been there.
"Are we interrupting something?" Thor asks, clearly annoyed, while Prince Steve strangely seems to just be observing your reactions intently. You could swear you saw him smile slyly.
"Your Highness. Y/N and I were just talking about old times. I must say, it's a pleasure to see you both together." Barnes says, composing himself and stepping back a bit from you. He seems to seek support from Prince Steve, who nods slightly as if to say 'I'll get you out of this.'
"Indeed, Barnes, it's a pleasure to stand beside Asgard in moments like these. That being said, I look forward to seeing you at the Royal Ball later, Prince Thor. And you too, Chief of the Guard. Now, Barnes and I will retire to my luxurious chambers." Prince Steve says strangely, keeping his gaze on you. As if you intrigued him. Thor, like you, seemed to have noticed and appeared bothered, but he only nodded and let Steve lead Barnes away. When you turned to leave, he grabbed you. Your body was pressed against the cold wall of the Grand Asgardian Castle while the future King was extremely close to you.
You had two options, to give in or resist. But something inside you, like a warning, reminded you that this could be one of the last times you could do this. So you pulled Thor towards you with all the strength you had and kissed him. It was almost a violent kiss because in a way you're angry with Thor. He acts as if he has no choice at all, but he doesn't allow you to move on. Thor however seemed to like it, he held you firmly by the waist as if he wanted to grab you and never let go again. The taste of Thor's mouth was almost etched in your mouth. You felt your intimate area becoming increasingly wet as Thor's firm hands passed through your armor. Damn that fucking armor. Not that the royal robes allow you to play Thor the way you'd like. You then nibble on Thor's lips as if you want to tease him at the same time as you want to leave him wanting more. You bite his bottom lip hard enough that it bleeds a little but that only turns him on more. Your kiss, besides taking your breath away, now tastes like blood but that doesn't stop you from continuing.
"Is this all jealousy?" You ask as Thor kisses your neck, almost kissing the armor, and he smiles.
"She says while almost devouring me for being about to spend a night surrounded by women. Or do you think I don't know why my lip was bitten?" You smile, thinking that it seems Prince Thor really knows you. You kiss him lightly as if apologizing.
"It's just a keepsake. Soon this won't happen anymore, and all we'll have are these memories. Treasure them, Your Highness." You say, stepping away from Thor and giving him a final goodbye peck. He seems somewhat taken aback, but you're too busy thinking about how dangerous yet extremely exciting this situation is.
The night arrives quickly as you busy yourself with organizing security and ensuring the Royal Guard is prepared for the event. That's when Loki knocks on the door, all gleeful as if he's about to burst with happiness. You're not in your event armor yet, so you're somewhat inadequately dressed for the occasion, but you open the door as Loki continues to babble your name while knocking.
"I bet you'd prefer Thor here right now, but I bring good news. The grand King Odin has asked me to inform you that you should dress in a beautiful gown. It seems that a certain someone is interested in you. So, no armor tonight. Someone will bring you some dress options since I imagine you don't have any or if you do, they're not suitable for the Ball. Good luck. I always knew you would find something better than my dear brother, but you've outdone yourself. Just wait until he finds out. Anyway, I'll get ready. See you later, and um… remember to smile." Loki speaks so fast that you almost get lost, and he doesn't give you time to react or ask who he's referring to.
Soon, two maids arrive with options of attire and various preparations to make you presentable. Every second that passed while several people who usually only attend to royalty were fussing over you, you felt that something was wrong. And suddenly, the moment arrives. It's time for the Ball.
#thor odinson x reader#thor odinson x you#thor x reader#thor x you#thor series#thor masterlist#steve rogers x reader#thor odinson#steve rogers#pietro maximoff#james buchanan barnes#marvel fanfic series#marvel fanfiction#marvel characters#queen frigga#odin allfather#heimdall#jane foster#lady sif#reader insert#spotify#reign au#kingdom au#royal au#forbidden love#Spotify
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Soft King Bucky
Im in the middle of writing this smutty fic with arranged marriage and King Bucky and in the middle of writing it, i had another thot pop up which I have to get out right now like RIGHT NOW.
Imagine soft king Bucky on your wedding night. Its the first time you’ve ever been intimate with someone and your anxiety has been high all night because you know the maids and servants will inspect the sheets the next morning, your honor and dignity thrown to the wind.
But that's the way things were.
You gave yourself to him, letting him touch you and make love to you, sealing the both of you together as you had promised in your vows. He was careful and soft, cradling your body to his, focused on knowing you would be protected along his side, putting your pleasure before his.
You wanted to melt into him, feel every ounce of the love he was willing to give but anxiety held you from letting go, worried about the aftermath, worried about if he see you were pure.
The euphoria that consumed you both pulsed through you as you sat up, your stomach dropping at the stark white sheets. You scrambled up slightly in hopes of something but the sheets were anything but tainted, pure and clean as if you’d never laid on his bed.
“I’m-I’m sorry-” Tears well in your eyes, panic rising in your chest, fearing the anger he’d feel, seeing you as tainted and impure.
“What for darling” He whispered, concerned etched on his face as you let out a choked sob, not knowing what you could possibly go, there was no evidence to show you were pure, untouched before him, to show that he was the only man to have you this way. You squeezed your legs shut, curling up in a ball, shame consuming you, already hearing the words the kingdom would brand you. “My princess?”
“I didn’t-I don’t understand, the sheets- you’re the only one I’ve-” You trembled as he pulled you into his arms, shutting your eyes, unable to watch his disappointment when he saw who he married. Bucky’s brows furrowed, taking a moment to understand why you were so distressed, hiding your face away. He thought over your words, tension crawling up his back, his jaw clenching when he understood your fear. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, keeping you close to his chest, pressing a firm kiss to your head, his lips brushing your hair as he spoke.
“I agreed to marry the intelligent and headstrong princess to rule by my side because her mind and beauty had my heart when I saw her. A fierce woman fit to be by me, when she rode her horse into my kingdom alone, demanding justice for her people without fear of what could happen to her”
He reminisced the day you strode into his castle, head held high, not a drop of fear in your eyes with a dagger strapped to your hip, sword firm in your hand.
He fell in love before you opened your sweet lips to tell him right off.
“Look at me princess” He cupped your cheeks making you meet his intense gaze, thumbing away the tears that streaked your cheeks, “I shared my bed with you because I wanted to love you in in every way possible, not as a test of your worth”
You were still tensed, curling up into him further while he moved you to lay on top of him, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He pulled the covers over you, protecting you in a cocoon of warmth, tilting your chin to meet his eyes again.
“You have my heart, that is as pure as it gets” tucking your hair away from your face, pulling you in for a kiss to your lips. “No one else gets to decide that, princess, no one”
#king bucky#king bucky barnes#bucky barnes royal au#bucky barnes smut#bucky smut#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes#James Buchanan Bucky Barnes#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#james bucky buchanan barnes#marvel smut#bucky fluff#Protective Bucky#protective Bucky Barnes#king!Bucky#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x reader smut#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x princess#bucky barnes drabble#bucky x reader#bucky x smut#bucky comfort
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My Crown Upon Your Head (Ch. 2)
Prince!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Synopsis: When an arranged engagement between Prince James of Brookland and Princess Natasha ushers the discovery of the existence of a marriage contract between you and said prince, you readily agree to a divorce for the sake of the kingdom. At first, you had been willing to be separated from Prince James but as you spend more time with your husband, you begin to feel things that are forbidden. It does not help your case when James shares the same sentiments. As you combat the emotions that excite and scare you, the discoveries you make of the people that surround you make you suspect there is something else at play...
WC: 4.9K
Warnings: period-typical misogyny, 18+ for delicate issues, mentions of war, Sam and Bucky are slightly out of character but let's just say it's for the sake of the fic, more of exposition in this one, large chunks of paragraphs, badly translated language
A/N: I will officially OPEN a TAGLIST! I cannot keep a fixed schedule for updating MCUYH so anyone who wants to be included, just comment down on the fic or maybe send me a message (my ask box is being annoying so it's useless atm). Please enjoy!
It was an unusual request that you asked for lemons and lavenders with your writing materials but they delivered. You merely said that they were for you to bite on but truly, the lemons were for writing a message that only your father could decipher. What was once a simple trick your father had taught you during your travels was now your only means of communicating with him without the rest of the palace knowing. You had only used it for important missives and what else could be more important than for your father to know that you had been married to the prince and that you were to be kept to the palace indefinitely.
You wrote carefully, telling him to keep the information to himself. You had no ambitions of being a princess and the irony of you being one—or being deemed ambitious by the Grand Duke—was not lost on you. You kept your secret message short and concise, and you also told him no promises of future missives lest you be found out. Once you were finished with the lemon ink, you let it dry and took to writing the obvious message with ink. You scribbled, in between the lines written in lemon juice, your request for your trunks, writing implements, and the many books you were supposed to be reading. The visible letter was short and direct and you sealed it with wax and a sprig of lavender—your unofficial insignia—so your father would immediately know that the message was from you.
When you have sent your letter, you met with the Head Housekeeper. She assigned to you a personal lady’s maid and had two girls prepare a bath for you and another to bring you an appropriate change of clothing. The Duke of Queensfield is bound to arrive by nightfall and the King will not want his guest to appear unprepared, she had said as she looked at you sternly. You cannot find fault in that; you still smelled like the salt of the sea and you did not want to further scandalize people with your unusual choice of clothing.
“What shall I call you, miss?” asked the maid—Wanda, she replied when you asked of her name—as she scrubbed your shoulders with warm water and simple soap. You had told her that you were fine with bathing yourself but the surprise on her face made you realize that you had made a terrible faux pas. Of course, guests of the king were expected to be waited on hand and foot.
“Y/N, please,” you replied. “I am all but noble so please do not burden yourself with titles to call me. If you are uncomfortable with calling me by my name, you can continue calling me ‘miss.’”
“I must confess, miss, I am inexperienced as a lady’s maid. I had only been an apprentice mere months before the queen passed.” Wanda told you humbly.
“I do not have my own personal lady’s maid.” You told her in confidence. “All that you do is of great help to me already.”
Wanda’s eyes were owlish on her face when she turned to you in surprise. She was a beautiful little thing despite the frailness and pointedness of her features. Her hair, an enviable shade of titian, was pulled severely in a bun on her nape and gave her a look that was beyond her years. The softness of her accented voice, however, betrayed the maturity of her features—she could not be any older than twenty.
You smiled gently at her. “I am unbearably common, Wanda.”
“It is rare for the king to house a common guest, miss, if you do not mind me saying.”
“I find my situation quite uncommon for a commoner like me.” You let her wash off the lather. “Your accent. It is familiar but I cannot place it.”
She paused in her ministrations, looking at you once more with her green eyes, before returning to her task. “I was from Sokovia,” she said simply.
Was. Such a simple word but it conveyed a thousand griefs. You knew of Sokovia, of the disaster that had been wrought by powerful countries at war. Sokovia was not at fault for existing in between two quarrelling nations. It was unfortunate to have been in the middle of it all. It had been all too sudden; the call for war happened unexpectedly that they had not amassed an army in time to defend themselves. It was the decimation of its capital city of Novi Grad that had put an end to the existence of such small but promising land.
“Forgive me.” You touched Wanda’s hand, squeezing it gently to convey your sympathies. “I would not have asked if I had known.”
“It is of little consequences now. My home is now here, in Brookland. To work for the kingdom is an honor, miss.”
You smiled gently. “Our monarchs are kind and just.”
“Yes. Most especially the queen, may her soul rest.” She hummed a regret-filled sound. “When she died, the whole kingdom was devastated. Since then, the king had been in poor health. He is worried for the kingdom’s future should he soon follow his wife.”
You let her dry you and bring your chemise before you pressed on with more of your questions.
“Is the prince incapable of ruling?” you asked as you adjusted the cotton garment against your body.
You had known princes were schooled into being future monarchs since their infancy. Perhaps Prince James was otherwise engaged in other matters, especially in that of being a soldier.
Wanda laced your stays as she replied.
“Prince James is very capable, miss. However, the king has stipulated that the kingdom be ruled by a king and a queen. He has to marry before he ascends the throne.” She passed you a modesty petticoat and, once worn, fastened a heavy hoop skirt around your waist.
Of course. It was the very reason you were called for, after all. Your presence had been a great hindrance to the future of the kingdom. With you still legally wed to the prince, he would not be able to marry the Grand Duke’s niece.
“Does he have a bride he wishes to wed?” you asked, bobbing as she brought another two more petticoats and the outer skirt overhead. “Are your privy to that information?”
Any woman, noble or not, would be curious about the future queen of the kingdom. Even one married to said prince.
“The Grand Duke’s niece, miss. It is said she is a Princess from Russia.”
A princess. It was now truly understandable why the Grand Duke was irate with you. Who else was a better match for the prince than a princess?
The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you remembered James’s intense gaze. He had looked over at you appreciatively even in your disheveled state, and you had reacted in a way that had only been shown in Shakespeare’s comedies. There was a flutter of excitement that coursed through you at the sight of his appraising eyes—heady, potent, foreign; it made you feel silly. You knew you were flustered when you had looked at him, felt the heat rise and color your cheeks, and you made an utter fool of yourself by giving an ungraceful curtsy. You were often calm and collected in the face of royalty, always poised and proper, and in that moment, you stumbled. All because of your husband.
Oh, dear.
You needed to stop calling him thus, even in your thoughts. The king would have you punished if he ever caught you referring to the prince as your husband.
Wanda rearranged the many petticoats under your skirt before running a flat palm down to keep it in place. She took a similarly colored bodice and fastened its buttons at your back. You faced the mirror and stifled a gasp when you saw your reflection. The dress was a confection of delicate lace and beautiful pink silk taffeta. The bodice was left bare, save for the intricately made neckline. Seed pearls and violet-hued gemstones were sewn with gold thread in elegant, floral motifs across your chest. Lace as delicate as a spider’s web cascaded just beneath it, fluttering at the slightest touch of the wind. Short, puffed sleeves of the same pink taffeta and cream-colored lace were gathered with a delicate pink bow on your arm. The layers of flounce that encircled the skirt may have dated the dress to the fashion of the yesteryears but it did not diminish the inherent beauty. It was simple yet opulent; it was a testament of Brookland’s quiet riches. And it fit perfectly as though it was made for you.
“Oh, how beautiful,” you gushed. It was a dress fit for a royal. “But I feel I am not fit to wear it. Such a dress would be missed by its owner. I am perfectly fine to receive a simple frock.”
“The late queen did not have much simple dresses, miss,” Wanda remarked as she bent down to fasten your shoes.
“I beg your pardon?” You must have misheard. Surely, the palace would not have lent you a gown from the late queen’s personal closets. “You mean to tell me this belonged to Queen Winnifred?”
“Yes, miss. Our Sunday’s bests are not fit to be worn to a receiving of the Duke of Queensfield, and the Head Housekeeper’s dresses would not have fit you properly without being taken in. This dress seemed the most fitting to present to you.” Your maid replied innocently.
Of course. If only your trunks had arrived during your bath, you would have a choice of dress albeit not as elegant as the one you were in. It is only a matter of clothing, Y/N. Princess Shuri had even lent her ceremonial robes to me when I needed them, you thought to yourself. Yes. There was no need for you to worry overmuch with your appearance. In the meantime, you would relish the feel of wearing Brookland’s fineries on your body.
“The Grand Duke, he is not a Brook,” you said when you sat before your vanity.
Wanda had insisted to style your hair and you agreed, knowing a simple plait would not be appropriate for meeting the prince’s cousin.
“No, miss. He was a part of the Sokovian nobility.” Wanda replied as she combed and pinned your hair.
“I see. Was he the highest ranking official who had been exiled here?”
“I do not think so. Although, he had been the only one who wished to serve the king.”
It was no wonder why his niece had been chosen as the prince’s bride. If the saying was true—that the Sokovians were unfailingly loyal—then the king could not have chosen a better future queen for the kingdom. It was another reason why you must divorce the prince as soon as you can.
You dismissed Wanda when she had finished with your hair but not before thanking her for her help. You strode out of your room with a new sense of purpose. Any book on the politics of the kingdom would be a great help to you and to this predicament you put yourself in. The palace library would have housed these scholarly books you needed.
You had a vague memory of where the library was, supposing it hadn’t been moved in the last twenty years since you had been here. You recalled it being situated near the gardens on the east of the grand staircase, with ornate double doors of gold gilding. Portraits of the current royal family and ones of the prince should be hung on either side of its entryway. You went down the grand staircase and headed right, smiling politely at the stunned footmen who hastily opened the doors to the library for you.
The scent of wood and books assaulted your nose before you saw the richly decorated library. Dark oak shelves were teeming with books of all shapes and sizes and it reached up to the grandly decorated ceilings. There were murals of heavenly bodies painted on the dome, of vibrantly colored scenarios that told of religious histories and Brookland’s myths and legends, and each panel was artfully done as the next one. Arched windows with views of the palace gardens gave ample lighting to the otherwise dark room. In the middle of it all lay two opulently carved long tables; each bearing candles, sheafs of paper, and writing materials. A mezzanine wrapped around the room; the shelves on it housing even more volumes. At the opposite side, a cavernous marble fireplace blazed generously.
On any other time, you would have perused every title of the books held within but for now, you settled for any book on Brookland’s laws and constitution. You walked over to the section of the library where you assumed housed those books and, pulling out one on the subject of constitution, settled by a window as you started to read.
You were not educated much in Brookland’s laws but you knew that the volume you were reading had been outdated, evidenced by a passage saying that land disputes must be settled with blood through fisticuffs to the death. It was barbaric and antiquated and it made you go to the mezzanine to find another book that may have held the answers you were looking for.
A tome on matters regarding matrimony caught your eye and you pulled it out. It was dated to the last century but still, it was recent enough for you to study. You opened it to the contents table and scanned its pages as you slowly came down the spiral steps.
“Mein Gott!”
A rustle of papers made you look up and to the eyes of Grand Duke Zemo. He stared at you in alarm, his skin turning a deathly pale that you had not realized was possible for someone of his complexion. His mouth was hung open in shock and his hands trembled as the papers wafted from them.
You quickly executed a curtsy to the surprised man. “Your Grace.”
“Wie konntest du hier sein? Du bist tot!”
His eyes were wide and unseeing; his gaze passed right through you.
“Are you all right, Grand Duke?” You asked worriedly.
You stood there, unmoving; afraid that suddenly doing so would spook the already-terrified man. It had been some time before a noise disturbed the eerie silence of the library. The loud cracking of the fireplace from behind you effectively shook him from his stupor.
He blinked in rapid succession, the glazed look in his eyes vanishing as he saw you. Color returned to his cheeks until they were tinted an angry shade of red. “I thought I had seen Queen Winnifred.” He whispered harshly.
“Forgive me.” You said, although you did not know why. It only seemed to be the appropriate response at the moment. You flattened a hand down the front of your dress. “My trunks had not arrived and the Head Housekeeper had offered for me to wear Her Majesty’s dress.”
He stared openly at you, his sharp eyes roaming about your figure. Gooseflesh prickled at the trail his eyes left on your skin. He finally turned away to pick at his fallen items and you stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to dismiss you.
“What are you doing here?” he asked instead as he placed his items on the table.
“I was hoping to find something to read, Your Grace.” you replied, watching as he lit a candle. “There was a book on the constitution of Brookland—”
He raised a disbelieving brow as he glanced at you. “First, you marry the prince and now, you wish to learn more about the laws of the land?”
His question oozed incredulity and judgement.
“What shall be next? You will turn us out of the palace?” He scoffed. “Do not fancy yourself helping us out of this problem. You have made one mistake already, girl. God knows you would be creating another one for me to solve.”
You kept silent. It was unjust of him to think of you so, especially when you and he were towards the same goal. You did not want to remain married to the prince for long—heaven knows you were not brought up for such a task—but Grand Duke Zemo did not have to be nasty in his refusal of your help.
“Find some light reading,” he said. “Girls like you cannot comprehend the legislations of the land. There is a book on flowers that I find befits someone of your stature.”
You gave a polite but strained smile. A string of explanations sat at the tip of your tongue but you withheld it. It was futile to argue with the man, much more when he yielded power over you.
“Thank you, Grand Duke.” You replied shortly. “If you could point me to the direction of those books, I would be happy to take one.”
“Such impudence,” he murmured before grudgingly pointing at one corner of the room.
Taking the heavy tome, you replaced it before heading towards the section of the botany books. There was an array of them, all of botany but of different subjects. You also saw the different languages of the books, more artfully designed than the others. The foreign books appeared untouched, the gold foil of the titles still complete and glinting in the sun.
There was a section of German books and you plucked one out of the many unblemished volumes. You also took two sheets of paper and a pencil from the table when you descended.
“I shall bid you good day, Your Grace.” You curtsied in his general direction. He waved his hand at you dismissively and it cued you to leave the awful man alone.
In the very least, you knew where the library was located. The book about the laws of the land would have to wait. This book on botany, however it came to your possession, looked interesting. You were conversant in many a language, reading this German book would not pose a problem. It would keep you occupied while you waited for your trunks to arrive.
…
…
…
From his window, James watched as you emerged to the garden.
If he were honest with himself, he would say he was disappointed that you weren’t wearing your breeches and shirt anymore and that he could not admire your shapely figure but with the dress you had now donned, there was no mistaking the contours of your body. He had not had this visceral reaction to the Princess Natasha’s portrait, but then again, he had not seen her in the flesh. You, however, he had seen and admired. There was no mistaking what a great beauty you were and he would be blind to deny such visible truth to himself.
He could not find it in him to be angry with you. It was a peculiar situation you both had gotten into, the innocent intentions and legally binding contracts. His memory of you had rang clear in his head by the time he finished speaking with his father; he remembered your hope for a friendship with him, your eagerness in trying to copy your father’s way of sealing such relationships, and the way you were excited when you both had—unintentionally—sealed each other’s fate. It was simply laughable and not worth getting furious over, unlike his father and the Grand Duke Zemo.
With a renewed sense of vigor, James headed towards the garden. The ledgers had become awfully boring and the numbers had started to swim before his eyes. He had not even touched the missives that had piled on his desk lest he misunderstand important matters. This is a much needed reprieve, he convinced himself. I will do better once I have taken a stroll in the gardens.
He was determined to get to know you, that much was true. Even if you were not to remain married for long, he was eager to learn more about you. King George had said that you had traveled to different kingdoms and territories with your diplomat father and had lived in those places for nearly all your life. You were foreign as much as you were a Brook; that in itself was fascinating to him. Among other things, that is.
“Your Royal Highness, I suppose the reason for your rushing is so we can train,” came an amused, sarcastic voice behind him.
James stopped and turned towards its source. Samuel Wilson, the Captain of the Royal Guards, walked towards the prince with an air of equal parts amusement and frustration.
“Whyever would you think otherwise?” James asked, a brow quirked at the obvious jape.
“You have been avoiding all my attempts at getting you to train.” remarked Sam. “Is it so hard to pick up your sword again? You had not been the same since the battle in Sokovia. A little movement should take away the laziness in you.”
“I had not been evading you and I am not lazy. I have had other important matters to attend to.” The prince exited the building with Captain Wilson trailing behind him. “And besides, don’t you tire of losing to me?”
Where were you? James thought as he scanned for you in the gardens. You could not have moved so quickly in the short time he went down to find you.
“I have never lost to you. I was simply bolstering your already inflated ego. And if you’re looking for the mysterious miss, she’s due west.” Sam said.
“I am not looking for her,” James replied hastily, much to his chagrin.
“Of course,” Sam said in a false grave tone. There was an unmistakable knowing grin in his words.
“I am not,” insisted James but approached you anyway.
He did not want to disturb your peace. You were poring over a book on the table while your hands were busy over a piece of paper. Scribbling, perhaps? he thought to himself as he watched you.
“I shall go and introduce myself.” Sam told him as he strode on ahead.
James followed behind him, taking on an impassive air so he did not seem overeager as he approached you. It had been a while since he last felt this way about a woman. It had been with Dolores—Dottie, as how he came to know her. She was an interesting character; ambitious for a mere daughter of a seamstress but wise beyond her years. A pity it was that he could not continue his friendship with her; the call for war drove the two of them apart. As he fought, she had gotten married. James was rightly heartbroken but he knew it would not have stood against his father. Princes married with royals, as was the custom.
“Sam Wilson, Captain of the Royal Guards, at your service.” Sam said as he bowed before you.
Against the backdrop of the high summer sun and the palace garden blooms, you appeared resplendent.
“Good day, Captain Wilson.” You smiled gently. You turned to James and curtsied. “Your Royal Highness.”
The wind tousled at your carefully coifed hair. Lemon and lavender, he thought as he caught a whiff of your scent.
James cleared his throat, which had become uncommonly tight. “Sam, this is Miss Y/N. She is my father’s guest.”
“Miss Y/N,” Sam repeated. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss atop it.
“I’ve heard stories of your triumphs in the war.” You told Sam, a polite smile gracing your face. “It must be quite a task to be commanding so many soldiers in the battlefield.”
“It is no simple feat. Prince James wishes he could command the army as I have,” Sam said with a sly grin.
James rolled his eyes. Disparity of their classes aside, Sam often jested with the prince and vice versa. But even if he and the captain were close friends, he had not told the captain as to why you were present in the palace. He knew it would do more harm than good to tell him of your relationship with each other. His father had been adamant that he divorce the two of you quietly so he could push through with James’s wedding to the Princess Natasha.
“I do not wish to command them, Sam. I do.” James said as he puffed his chest out with pride.
You snickered, then promptly apologized when both men turned to you with equally surprised looks.
“Oh, do forgive me. I do not recall ever seeing such a display of bravado since a proud young panther pounced at the older, more worldly one for a piece of food in Wakanda.” You rambled, a rosy tint rising on your cheeks.
At that, James laughed.
Any person would have cowered at the sight of the prince and the captain of the Royal Guards but not you. You were natural and you spoke your mind with such ease that it made him admire, as well as envy, you. There was no pretense or false modesty about you and it was refreshing for him to see that you weren’t one to fall at his feet and wax poetic about his title or his dashing good looks.
“And who won?” Sam asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“One panther or another. I did not stay long enough.” You told him, adopting a serious mien. “Otherwise, I would have been their next meal.”
James smiled deeply. Your wit was sharp. It was a rarity these days. Most often, he was faced with a bumbling fool or a stammering twit.
You were also a proficient artist, he remarked, as he took in the array of papers on the table. You were sketching the flower that was on your book, halfway done by the looks of it. And intelligent as well, he silently mused as he saw the language of the book. He knew not many other people who had studied German; it was arduous language and was commonly taught to the children of noblemen and royalty. Most certainly it was not taught to the common folk.
Every little thing he uncovered about you made him all the more curious.
“You study plants?” James asked as he motioned to your sketch. And a remarkable one at that, he thought approvingly.
You cast a furtive grimace at its direction. “Oh, no. The Grand Duke suggested that I read a book on flowers because it befits me instead of taking the book I was intending to read.”
He raised a brow at that. Zemo may appear hawkish but the man was as meek as a church mouse. “And what was it that you wanted to read?”
When you caught a rosy lip between your teeth as you hesitated, it was a surprise that he did not catch on fire on the spot at the heat that coursed through him.
“I was reading about the constitution and the laws of the land, Your Royal Highness.” you said after a moment’s hesitation.
“Whatever for?” Sam asked. “If you do not mind my asking.”
James had momentarily forgotten his friend was present.
You turned your attentions to the Captain, hesitance still marring your face. “My… friend desires to learn of the grounds of separation. She is convinced she isn’t a fit match for her husband.”
“If I may inquire, why is the lady convinced she is not suit for her husband?”
“For one, her husband is so above her in stature. It is an unusual marriage, if I dare say so, Captain.” Your eyes met James’s as you went on. “They had unmistakably signed a marriage contract and had been bound since.”
There was uncertainty in your eyes as you looked at him. In anticipation for my reaction? James wondered. Your offense was great in King George’s eyes but to him, it was comical. Absurd and laughable. If Sir William Shakespeare were alive and present, he would have another comedy in his hands.
But it was a matter between you and him. Sam need not hear nor know of it.
“Yes, highly unusual.” Sam remarked. “But no matter. Should you wish to return to the library, I am certain His Royal Highness would be of great help to you.”
The prince nodded, hiding his surprise at being mentioned by his friend. “Yes, of course.” He leaned in towards you, a secret smile on his face. “Although, I must warn you, the language the laws were written in are not in German. Most are in Latin.”
You smiled and a dimple sank into your cheek. “It is no matter. So long as all of them are not wholly in Latin, then I think I shall understand it.”
James found himself mesmerized; his eyes trained on your lips for longer than what was allowed. They were petal-like, soft, and fresh.
“I’m afraid I must excuse myself.” Sam said suddenly. “I do not think Prince James would be coming with me to practice his swordplay so I shall leave him in your hands.”
“Oh.” You said, surprised, and turned to the Captain. “I’ve no intention of stealing him from his training, Captain.”
“And I believe he has no intention of coming to it.” Sam said wryly. He took your hand and bowed over it. “It was a pleasure to have met you, Miss Y/N.”
You smiled. “The pleasure is all mine, Captain Wilson.”
As Sam vanished behind the doors, James turned to you.
“Shall we take a turn about the gardens, Miss Y/N?”
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes royal au#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fic#prince bucky barnes x reader#prince!bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes au#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x you#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#marvel royal au#marvel historical au#prince!bucky#prince bucky#bucky barnes x y/n#my crown upon your head fic#beananacake writes
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Jesse and Miranda in 👑
👑 OC dressed as royalty
Jesse: *marries into royalty*
Miranda: *becomes convinced she's next in line for the throne*
(Exclusive look into the Epilogue of the Royal!Au lmao)
#ninjago#ninjago fanart#ninjago ocs#legacyverse#Royal!Legacy AU#oc: jesse marvell#oc: miranda marvell#art tag#art of mine#works of mine#ask games
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More Than a Mission Masterlist DISCONTINUED
Multi-part Adam Warlock x Princess!Reader
Summary: When the Guardians have a mission on Bangdat, a cold, snowy planet, they come to realize not everything is as it seems.
Warnings (will add as the story progresses): swearing, fem!reader, the royal system is a little sexist, the Guardians on the mission are like the OGs + Adam (cause i miss them okay?)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
#fanfic#writing#female reader#princess reader#royal au#gotg v3#gotg vol 3#gotg3#adam warlock x reader#adam warlock#marvel#marvel fanfiction#mcu imagine#mcu fanfiction#mcu fandom#mcu#will poulter#will poulter x reader#gotg#rocket gotg#gotg fanfiction#nebula#rocket raccoon#drax the destroyer
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A Correspondence of Obligation - Five
Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Princess!Reader (Royal AU)
Summary: Obedience, duty, pristine smiles—raised as the princess of an oppressive kingdom, you knew nothing else. Your father signed your life away at the ripe age of five, black ink bleeding into a contract between nations, fate cemented with the flick of a quill. So when the time came to fulfill the promises you were too young to make, you expected much of the same in the land of Brookshire. But Prince James had other plans, as did the enemies looming outside the castle walls.
Word count: 5k
Warnings: Angst, lots of longing
a/n: I love love feedback, so let me know what you think! Thank you for reading ♡♡
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
~~
Lady Wanda loved to gossip—you’d learned that quite early on.
Each day in Brookshire, you’d make your way to the dayroom for tea and ‘fraternizing’ as your mother used to call it, and she would spill everything she’d learned from the halls. Kitchen maids, stable boys, noblemen; no one was safe from Wanda’s wandering gaze, and that made for very good entertainment. And Wanda was loyal to you, never one to share your business with others. She was considered a lady in your court, after all.
So after two days of lying in bed and moping, the sun restricted by the linen curtains that still let in entirely too much light, you decided you would need to brave the castle halls and get some answers from the fountain of knowledge herself.
You said ‘brave the halls’ quite literally; Bucky had been lurking at your door relentlessly, passing notes through your guard that you left unread on your vanity.
Someone must have been informing him that you weren’t reading them, because after about five or six abandoned parchments, Bucky instead found the two minute sliver of time that your guards changed, and spoke through your door, instead.
“Please, princess, just give me ten minutes. I promise I will explain everything and you won’t have to say a word.”
No answer for that one, although his voice had surprised you.
“I am begging you—completely on my knees and begging for you to simply listen to me, darling. Please.”
His voice sounded more rough that time, more broken. Probably comparable to yours.
I am new to this and doing terribly, believe me, I know. The way I feel for you overwhelms me and I did you a great disservice by not sharing a whole truth. But I cannot sleep knowing you hate me, cannot breathe.
You were so confused—inconsolable and filled with an anger both new to you and so deeply repressed. He couldn’t sleep? He felt overwhelmed? You had shoved your covers over your head long before he left your door.
“Steve tells me that you refuse to speak to him as well. Do not shut others out because of me. Your cousin had no idea that that… woman would do such a thing.”
The revulsion as he spoke the word shocked you, but still not enough to get out of bed.
“Please, at least spend some time outside during the day. I promise I will not bother you. I miss you endlessly but I’d rather you be happy and distant than any other variation.”
You had pressed your hand to the door when he came by that time. It was around midnight and you were plagued by the desperation in his voice. Your stomach had that same feeling that arose when he brought you hot chocolate on your first day here, but then you had slipped and the door hinge rattled and the quick intake of Bucky’s breath on the other side of the door had you running back to bed.
“I miss you.”
That one nearly did you in. Because he wasn’t asking for anything, wasn’t pleading for a forgiveness you didn’t even know how to provide. He simply wanted you to know.
Bucky had already been by for his morning groveling, so you knew the halls would be safe for at least the next two hours. He was supposed to be in the throne room to receive the people’s loan requests for the day. You just hoped he hadn’t abandoned his duties in favor of trying to wipe your memory of the kiss that still burned your eyes every time you blinked.
You cracked the heavy wooden door keeping you protected in your room and peeked your head through with an almost comical slowness.
“Sir William,” you stage whispered, glancing up at the stiff guard to your left. “Has the prince truly left?”
Sir William glanced at you from the corner of his eye, clearly over your antics in his old age. “Yes, Your Highness. But he will surely return. Lady Natasha and the duke haven’t been by yet. Shockingly.”
You huffed out a relieved sigh and slinked through the door, ignoring the news of your friends. The hem of your dress skimmed at the tops of your feet with each careful step. The hall was wide and empty, but as you breezed past tapestries and portraits, you felt watched; you felt as if Bucky had eyes everywhere, desperate to get even a single chance at a conversation with you.
And instead of annoyance consuming you at the thought, your chest hurt. Because above all—above the ignoring and the hiding—there was the pain. There was the memory of Bucky’s gaze, adoration overwhelming the blue hues, love written in his smile. There was the feel of him forever impressed upon your skin; against your back, your cheeks, your hands. That all felt tainted now, and you weren’t sure if there was anything he could say that would undo that.
You weren’t sure if the filter that now held firm over every memory with him could ever be wiped away.
You needed to speak to Wanda. Bucky would give you every piece of information needed for forgiveness, but Wanda, Wanda… you knew she would give you everything. Period.
The door to the dayroom clicked open without any hang ups—no hidden princes jumping out from dark corners—and the small group of ladies by the window stood to bow. You had been missing from afternoon tea a few times now, and you could tell by their shifting eyes that they were more than a little curious as to why. You made a beeline for Wanda, anyway.
“Lady Wanda, would you mind taking a turn about the room with me?” you asked, a feigned calmness in your regal posture.
She caught on faster than you could blink. “Of course, princess.”
Her arm looped with yours as the other ladies sat, clearly disappointed in their lack of gossip. The rugs in the dayroom made the walk a silent one, but the birds that flitted past open archways made up for that missing stride. They landed on branches and ruffled leaves, creating a small buffer for your hushed words.
“I am sure you have heard what happened,” you spoke to the ground, Wanda’s hand tightening on your arm as she took a small inhale.
“Unfortunately.”
“Then you must know what I am about to ask you.”
Wanda nodded to the ladies as you passed them, smiling as she whispered, “Of course. And I have looked into the topic at great length.”
A few more steps away from the card game by the window and she stopped you by an archway, faking a look out at sea.
“Queen Sharon and the prince spent a lot of time together when they were younger. Their courts were politically distant, but their parents encouraged them to play together since they were so close in age. There was never anything between them. Sources tell me that the queen may have had a childhood crush, but the prince was never interested. He kept his flings quick and detached—waiting for you, I’d suppose. And he hasn’t been with anyone in the last three years.”
Your lashes fluttered to the edge of the archway, taking a moment to collect yourself. You knew Bucky must have been with at least one other person before you. He was a few years older, and you wouldn't expect him to be completely celibate while he waited for his arranged bride to finally join his court.
But the thought still tugged at something deep within your chest, the images conjured from the cruel corners of your mind trying to suffocate you.
Wanda continued after an inhale of the ocean breeze. “The real root of the problem here is with Madripoor’s monarchy. They have been struggling since before Sharon became queen, constantly trying to grapple with a population that is on the brink of a revolution. High taxes, little resources, queens that demand too much—they lack the love of their people, and that’s never good for unity.
“Many believe that Sharon’s parents sent her to Brookshire so often because they hoped the prince would take her for a wife instead, but that can never be proven. And besides, once James was able to make decisions for himself, he was dead-set on you.” Wanda nudged you away from the view, finally turning to meet your gaze as you continued your walk. “What I’m trying to tell you, princess, is that Madripoor is on the brink of a political collapse. Sharon is losing her power and a union with Brookshire would be just what she needed to gain it back.”
Your mind was a flurry of emotion and logical thought, the two twisting and convoluting your already tattered opinions. Sharon needed political power, and Bucky would be able to give her that. They didn’t have a history of romance, and, according to Wanda, Bucky had safeguarded any emotional attachment for the moment he met you.
But Sharon was a competent queen; she knew that attempting to break up a royal decree, one blessed by the churches, would be considered treason.
“Do you think that the queen…” you began, uncertainty heavy in your tone. “Do you think that she has fallen for the prince? You seem so sure that he would never want her, but would she want him? She is a queen, Lady Wanda. Even if he does not love her, that’s two kingdoms the prince would gain with the union. I can only offer him a treaty.”
Wanda scoffed, the sound echoing in the room. “I have heard many things about Queen Sharon, but being a romantic is not one of them.”
You worried your bottom lip as you rounded the next corner of the room, more confused than ever. You didn’t have much experience with love; you weren’t allowed to even speak to most of the boys in your court, let alone kiss them. You couldn’t imagine using such an intimate act as a ploy for political power, but up until a few months ago, there were many things you couldn’t imagine.
The joy of riding a horse. The way your stomach flipped every time Bucky let his fingers glide along your jaw. The freedom of walking the halls without a particular destination in mind. The rage and the betrayal and the dejection that came from watching a man you had never expected to love you kiss another woman.
You didn’t know what to believe—who in this whirlwind of a court you were supposed to trust when everything was such a novel experience for you.
“Princess, may I speak freely?” Wanda questioned, her eyes never leaving the side of your face, watching as you parsed through a thousand emotions.
“You may always speak freely.”
“I know what you saw. And I know your background. You expected the worst from the prince and instead, you found… something else. Seeing him in that room must have pulled the ground out from under you.” Wanda came to stand in front of you, gripping your shoulders in a stern, friendly manner. “But I have never seen a man look at a woman the way the prince looks at you. I have never before seen the lengths he has gone just to catch a glimpse of you these past few days.
“You know I am the ears in this castle, and, Your Highness, all I hear from James is you.”
Your chest heaved, Wanda’s hands rising and falling with the motion. Your mouth parted but no words escaped. Your eyes stung and welled up until the figure in front of you became glassy. It was improper to cry in front of others, to cry in front of your ladies, but Wanda simply squeezed your arms in response.
“I’m not telling you to forgive him.” She spoke softly, comfortingly. “I am simply suggesting that you hear what he has to say. But make him work for it. He may be a prince, but that does not excuse him for being an imbecile.”
Your laugh was heavy and shadowed by unshed tears, but it was a laugh, and that was more than you had managed over the last few days.
Wanda had given you something to hold onto—a way to make sense of this mess that had become your life. And while it wasn’t a solution, maybe when you were forced out of the castle tomorrow for your foreboding date with the prince, you would at least pretend to listen.
~~
“You look lovely.”
“Do not talk to me, Steven.”
“What—Y/n, please, I have apologized more times than I can count,” Steve exasperated, jogging to catch up with your guard as they guided you down the winding hall.
“Perhaps you should learn to count higher.”
Your cousin finally reached your side, matching your determined pace as you hightailed it to the back gates of the castle. With Wanda’s words still ringing in the back of your mind, paired with a very strong—albeit pandering—pep talk from Natasha, you had made resilient plans to be unwavering on this trip with Bucky; to listen to his words, but only to listen.
If he wanted your forgiveness, you would need a lot more than words. That is, if what Wanda said was the truth. If there was even a hint of actual romance behind that kiss—if Bucky had any part in initiating it—you were done. You would live an entire lifetime of loneliness before you became a fool, a woman on the side.
“You started speaking to Natasha again!” Steve called, trying to catch your attention. “She knew about Sharon as well.”
You spared a glance in his direction. “Natasha knew that Sharon was still in the castle. She did not know that the queen was getting comfortable in Prince James’ room. And I would hardly consider dressing me each morning a wanted conversation.”
In all honesty, you missed both of them more than anything. Natasha had come to your room the night you cried against your bed sheets with open arms, but you had given your guards strict instructions to not let anyone in. The words were muffled by tears, and Sir William looked about two seconds away from dashing protocol to hug you, but the order was there.
Natasha had given you space. It wasn’t until just yesterday that you had given her a chance to explain herself. She had known Sharon was still in Brookshire, but her station did not allow her to find out where. That admission had eased some of the spiraling betrayal deep within your chest, but your head was still light from all the tears you shed.
Somehow, Steve’s actions felt worse. He had been in Bucky’s chambers when Sharon was there. He had joined you after breakfast for walks around the courtyard just minutes after speaking to the queen, a smile and fond eyes staring down at you as you shared court gossip. And he had never said a word to anyone, other than the brief comments made to Natasha.
It was worse than betrayal—betrayal was localized, concrete. What you felt around your cousin was simply hurt, and hurt was all-consuming.
Steve huffed, desperate. “Well neither of us knew she was going to make advances toward him. Bucky certainly didn’t know. At least give him the chance to explain if I am sentenced to the silent treatment for the rest of my life.”
“You are sentenced to a lifetime of not speaking.”
A strangled scoff left his throat. “Y/n—”
You whirled around on your heel, furrowing your brow to focus on something other than tears. “Steven, I have trusted you my entire life. Back at home you and Natasha were all I had after mother passed. You told me I would always have you and I believed that. But you… you chose this court over me—chose to keep secrets that have left me hollow. I don’t know what to believe anymore, if you even still want me as someone to keep close, so you will excuse me if I am reluctant to speak to you.”
Steve’s expression was nonplussed, grieving. It was as if you had slapped him and left him stunned, feet rooted to the polished ground and mouth unable to close. You had half a mind to feel guilty when his lip quivered, but then a soft voice left him, unlike anything you had ever heard.
“I will be in the carriage with Natasha. Right behind yours if you are to need anything.”
The wide, wooden doors behind you boomed open, the warmth blooming along your back stealing any response you would have shared. It was a gentle warmth, with clouds normally uncharacteristic to Brookshire dotting the sky. You turned with a twisted expression and found that a small group had formed at the back gates of the castle, waiting for you to step through and join your fiancé in the carriage.
A trip to the outer edge of the kingdom was to come, where the ports were plentiful and the people were bustling with trade. You were excited for the journey—back in Hyland you rarely got to see much—but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t just a little tainted.
Because instead of pure excitement radiating from you, there was a twinge of hesitancy as Bucky rounded the carriage, a sword at his hip and a tiredness to his face.
Your foot caught an unevenness in the ground when you spotted him, all coordination leaving your body with the curl of his hair and the clenching of his fingers at his sides. You hadn’t seen him in days, and without a door to keep him from view, you felt your hands begin to tremble as you fell.
“Whoa!” Steve called, his arm catching you around the waist. You saw Bucky’s head shoot up at the sound from across the courtyard. “Are you sure you’re up for today?”
With the worried step Bucky took toward you, you were straightening yourself out in an instant, brushing off your cousin’s arm and inhaling, deeply. “I’ll be fine, Steve,” you murmured. But your words held less than a fraction of the bite than they’d had before.
You tried your hardest to keep your eyes forward and your head held high as you walked to the carriage; Bucky had to think that this wasn’t the end of the world for you. He had to understand that you were a princess first, and would be fine without a strong, loving union with him. That’s what you had expected when you first got to Brookshire, anyway.
And on the outside, you were sure that’s how it appeared.
On the inside, there was a storm raging through every inch of your body.
“Princess,” Bucky greeted, his tone wavering when you finally allowed your eyes to fleetingly meet his. “Coney Port awaits your beauty.”
You felt your stomach clench.
Keeping a strong front in the presence of others, it seemed.
You nodded to him, a slow motion that implied things you could hardly even grasp yourself. Bucky grimaced at the action, mouth parting but no words filling the space. When you passed him, you felt a piece of you crumble, the piece that longed for the warmth of his hand on your back or the whisper of his lips along your temple.
Peter, who had been watching the exchange with an uncomfortable smile, quickly found his place by the steps of the carriage, an eager hand held out to help you into the cab. But Bucky was faster than him, your fingers taken into the hands you had missed so terribly.
He didn’t have a glove on. It was protocol that princes wore gloves on their outings, part of the uniform of royalty. And Bucky always wore them when he was supposed to.
So when that spark traveled up your wrist and bloomed in your chest—when your breath caught in your throat as his skin touched yours—you were sure his forgetfulness was intentional.
That charming imbecile.
You watched as he shut the doors behind you, making sure your dress was securely in the cab with delicate hands. Squire work, really, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind, grateful to simply be close to you. You hoped he would keep this air once you started your long carriage ride; you hoped he would be pleasant and gentle because you needed to keep your mind clear in order to fully grasp his words.
Bucky entered the carriage with a timid, shaky breath soon after you were settled. He sat opposite to you, his knees inches from yours in the enclosed space. It felt heavy—the atmosphere. It felt as if everything the prince had planned on saying over the past few days was crushed beneath an intangible weight.
You almost thought he might’ve given up. That maybe after so much time spent against your door, he decided his dignity was worth more than your forgiveness.
That thought was wiped from your mind when you saw the way his fingers twitched on his lap—the way his knee bounced as you waited for the horses to lead you to the edge of the kingdom. Nerves, so uncharacteristic of a prince.
When the horses did finally begin the journey, your body jolted back with the force, the edge of the seat digging into your shoulder. You were grateful; it grounded you enough that you weren’t shocked when you heard the delicate timbre of Bucky’s apologies over the strong hooves.
“I know this is unfair,” he began. “That I am making you listen to all of this when you are trapped in a carriage with me. But I have thought of nothing but your tears for the past few days. Even if you do not forgive me, please, just allow me to explain. Allow me to take away some of that hurt.”
Turning your head from the window, you faced him, finally getting a good look at the discoloration under his eyes and the pale nature of his skin. His beard was unkempt and his hair, while held firmly by a crown, looked disheveled in a way only another royal would be able to discern. You dipped your head in response, not quite trusting your voice to be any stronger than his.
Bucky’s relief was palpable, a gust of staggering air leaving him.
“I grew up with Sharon. We were childhood friends, nothing else. I can swear to you that there was never anything between us and I never want there to be.”
“And was there ever… anything with anyone else?” you cut him off, already breaking your own rules. If he was to tell the truth, you would need it all.
He sighed, fingers tucking loose hair behind his ears with little coordination. “I have been with other women.” Your throat hurt at his confession, an unwarranted possessiveness taking over. Bucky hadn’t known you back then, he hadn’t promised you anything. “But I never let it go anywhere. I didn’t want it to go anywhere when I knew you were my future—”
“You may continue.” You didn’t really care to hear more about the other women that didn’t go anywhere. Twigs snapped beneath your words.
Bucky looked conflicted for a moment, the carriage jostling his body as he tried to read the imperceptible emotions on your face. He wasn’t aware that you already knew most of the story he was going to tell, so schooling your face into a mask wasn’t nearly as hard as it should’ve been. You felt bad for a moment, considering the secret you were keeping, but the secret was yours. This time, you got to know things that he did not.
He cleared his throat. “Um, Sharon. She had been acting differently as of late. Sending me more letters, asking to visit court—up until a few days ago I thought she had developed feelings for Steve. But she had been pushy at your ball, making me dance when I was clearly trying to join you elsewhere. After we left for the night she was enraged. She told me I wasn’t behaving like a future king, that you were a bad influence.
“I thought she was just trying to help lead me in the right direction since we had been friends for so long, but then she… well she made her intentions clear and she wouldn’t leave.” Bucky leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his legs and avoiding your eyes. “She told me that I didn’t need you. Repeatedly. She offered me Madripoor.”
You sucked in a sharp breath; knowing he would say that did not lessen the blow.
The sound appeared to shoot through Bucky’s chest, causing him to glance up at you from under furrowed brows. And despite himself, he grabbed for your hand, a desperate plea for your attention.
“Please understand, I would turn down so much more for you. Before you came to this court I might’ve humored the thought, but, princess, now that I know you I would turn down far more than a kingdom.”
“Why?” you whispered over tumbling rocks and loose dirt. “Why would you do all of that for me? You’ve never even… I mean, I saw you in that room with her. The way you were kissing her. You’ve never…”
The hand around yours tightened. “I was not kissing her. She heard you speaking to my knight and kissed me the second the wood passed the door frame. Y/n, Sharon wants power, not love. She knew kissing me would drive you away from what we already had and thought it would give her an opening.”
You blinked, the most important part of your question left unanswered. You already knew what Sharon’s motives were, and you knew that Bucky was more than sorry by his haggard appearance and the words left at your door. But you still wanted to know why.
Why hadn’t Bucky kissed you when he had kissed so many in the past? Why had these unnamed women been given the luxury of the prince against their lips when you were the one he would give up kingdoms for? Why hadn’t he at least tried?
And why were you different from the rest—better than a queen?
“I know...I know that,” you hushed. The cabin took a harsh right, the abrupt shake making his hold on you trail up to your arm to keep you steady. You continued. “But how am I supposed to believe all of this when it comes to me? How can you feel this way about me when I have hardly a clue who I am myself? I have not had a single moment in my entire life to find out who I am and you somehow seem so sure.
“You’ve been closer with others in the past. How can you be so sure of me?” you stressed, trying to convey the mess of your thoughts to a man still seeking your forgiveness. Bucky simply shook his head, his eyes flitting between both of yours with a frantic confusion.
“I do not understand.” Bucky finally reached past the skin of your wrists, cupping your cheek in an unsure hand. The tremor in his touch could be felt even through the jolting of the carriage. “Darling, they were nothing compared to what I feel for you. I thought this was about Sharon.”
“It is, but—but it’s also so much more because… because you haven’t kissed me. And I had to see you kiss her.”
The carriage shook to an unnatural degree, the horses disrupted and frantic. You weren’t sure if they were supposed to be running at such a speed, but the urgency with which the driver was calling out to them told you that they weren’t. Bucky took a concerned glance behind your head to peer out the window, but his hand on your face hadn’t budged. He slotted his knee between yours, moving forward to encase you in safety.
You reached up to brush your fingers along his knuckles, too focused on your jumbled thoughts to notice the way the guards on horseback could no longer be heard beside the carriage; you couldn’t focus on anything other than the novel distress coursing through you. Is this what love was—confusion and unrelenting insecurity if not in his presence?
The light graze brought the blues of his eyes back on you, his mind now consumed by the touch.
“Princess,” he breathed, a sadness dripping from his tone.
“Why don’t you want to kiss me?”
Bucky couldn’t answer you.
Bucky couldn’t do anything other than watch as your carriage was split in two, wheels flying and horses rearing back until they had enough calm to run. And they did run; they ran from the wreckage and the men that came on even faster steeds with bloodthirsty smiles and red-handled swords. Red was not the color of Brookshire. Bucky didn’t take the time to notice that as the last threads of your dress fluttered past him like letters lost to the wind—like words forever forgotten.
He reached for you; he stretched so far that he was sure he would catch you, but your head knocked against the window, and suddenly you were falling faster than he would ever be able to move, eyes closing on the terror that ripped through him like a curse. You fell, and the men on horseback didn’t appear to care about anyone else laid out on the disrupted trail.
So Bucky couldn’t answer you. He could simply watch as his worst nightmare played out, the sword on his hip clinking against broken wood as his body tumbled away from yours.
His conjured light leaving him along with his consciousness.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes#prince!bucky#royal au#sebastian stan#marvel fanfiction#a correspondence of obligation
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Day 8 of Halloweek OCT 31: Demise of a nation - unseelie!Bucky x seelie!reader
🚩As all of these will be dark/horror mood boards & blurbs, it goes without saying that there will be dark and/or horror themes. I will add specific warnings if there is anything that may be especially triggering however please keep in mind that dark and/or horror themes will be present regardless.🚩
disclaimer:credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest.
“Do you think yourself clever, girl?”
My eyes flicker to Lord Steven but they quickly return back to their original place; on the king who lounges behind him. Amusement flashes in his silver blue eyes but he lets nothing cross his stern mask of a face.
“I have asked you a question and as your lord…”
“It appears we are at a cross roads then,” I interrupt the lord and he snarls at me.
“Excuse me?”
“It appears…”
“I heard what you said!”
“that we are at a cross roads then,” I finish without taking my eyes off of the king. He may look like a man but I know that beneath his calm and collected demeanor lies a monster. He is Unseelie; he feeds on chaos and destruction while sipping wine. Grotesque horns and foul fangs rip from his skin when he chooses. He laughs when Seelie cry and plead for their lives.
The king is Unseelie Fae and he is my mate.
Lord Steven stomps towards me, gripping me by the chin, and forces me to look him in the eyes, “what do you mean?”
I look him up and down, “you are not my lord.”
A horrifying smile stretches across his Unseelie face as his own fangs and bark like skin appears.
“If I am not your lord and you will not answer my questions then will you obey your king?”
I let out a snort, “I have no king.”
Although I can’t see him, I can hear my mate shift in his throne and make his own noise of annoyance.
“Then will you not listen to your mate?”
“Enough,” his demanding voice booms across the room. Lord Steven lets go of my chin and retreats to his spot next to the king’s throne. The king has taken to leaning against his fist as he studies me. He’s searching for something I would never willingly give over and when he doesn’t find it, he sighs disappointedly.
“Tell me, mate, why the Seelie army has gathered outside my castle’s walls.”
I shrug.
“Seeing as you are the only Seelie Fae here,” he trails off, insinuating that I need to finish his sentence but I do not.
I straighten my shoulders and take a half step backward which sends the guards around me into high alert. The tip of a sword digs into my back and I smile for a brief moment.
“I hope that you have prepared yourself, mate,” I shoot back with an edge of vengeance and malice in my words, “for the demise of your nation is coming.”
As if on cue, a roar of a thousand Seelie Fae soldiers is heard from outside and a guard comes bursting into the throne room. He’s panting and looks terrified as he stutters out that the Seelie have breached the wall. The king lets out a growl that rattles the windows as his true form breaks free.
“What did you do?” He snaps at me but all I do is smile back at him as my army storms the castle.
#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#halloween#halloweek#bucky barnes fic#marvel imagine#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes reader insert#marvel#Seelie Fae#unseelie fae#Unseelie Bucky x reader#royal au#royal#Fae Bucky x reader
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Red, White & Royal Blue (NatSharon’s Version)
#where’s the au fic???#nat the royal daughter of the russian monarch or smth#sharon the first daughter of the american president#hello? anyone?#sharon carter#natasha romanoff#natsharon#emily vancamp#scarlett johansson#red white and royal blue#marvel comics#mcu#mcu au
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