As much as I love seasoned Knight Steve who has been in his princess's life since they were kids, something reaaalllyyyy gets me about the idea of clumsy inexperienced Knight Steve who has recently been assigned as the princess's royal protector and is smitten like immediately. He's always trying to act cooler than he is, trying to pull off fancy moves during sparring matches, or playing it off when he gets hurt ("Tis but a scratch, my lady.") (It was not a scratch. He was stabbed clean through his shoulder). He once nearly sliced off his own hand when he caught sight of his princess talking with some nobleman. That pompous arse wasn't good enough to even be breathing her air. No one is. Especially not himself. This shit has resulted in him tripping over his own two feet and being a clumsy mess whenever she's near. How the hell was he supposed to do his knightly duties? He's hopeless. Completely hopeless for her.
Stony Fanart for the "You gave me a Stocking" event! Tony has a thing for knights, be it in modern times for dressing up, or as a king in a fantasy setting
Made for @phoenixmetaphor <3
(I also made a winteriron version)
Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; a part of this pseudomedieval-fantasy AU
Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8,6k
Summary:
Your practice of magic is punishable by death. Your love is forbidden by law; and yet it has been blessed, more than he knows.
When the crown prince is poisoned, Knight Steven Rogers is faced with a choice: will he risk a war or the love of his life?
And what of you? If asked… shall you risk it all? For the lands where you live… for your knight?
Warnings: attempted murder, poisoning, blood, mentions of death, polytheism, mentions of pregnancy (reader/OFC), Slovak language ‘cause I can
A/N: Actual title is Ochraňuj mě (Protect Me) ...tumblr cannot handle a ň in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; fits after the events of the previous instalments
A/N 2: This is one less smut and more plot, forgive me 🤭 I hope you'll enjoy anyway. Yes, the Merlin inspo is real here. Inspo also from Bílá laň by Vesna. For music, check it out here, for visuals here.
Chodila, chodila za tebou bílá laň
lásky se napila navzdory všem přísahám.
Prosila pány lesa ať ji pustí za tebou
zažít si, jaké to je jít za srdce ozvěnou.
Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj,
jinam nepatříš.
Jako bílá laň svoji duši chraň,
ať záři neztratíš.
Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj,
jinam nepatříš.
Tak ať nepotká
tě kříž. (kříž, kříž, kříž)
- Bílá laň by Vesna
Boisterous laugh. Wine poured in gallons painting cheeks nearly just as ruddy as the warmth of the torches illuminating the high halls of the Starkerbürg castle painted the walls. Rich aroma of butter, oils, meats and spices flowing in the air, clinking of the most precious silverware and a distant sound of flutes as the musicians tasked to raise the already high spirits could be barely heard over the noise of the feast.
Under the watchful eye of the gods or the only God it was now believed there was, a celebration of peace was raving, everything but peaceful and serene; loud and overwhelming instead, a whirlwind of emerald green threaded with gold welcomed by the steady colours of rich crimson and gold. An anniversary of the peace made between the kingdom of Asgard and Starkerbürg, a party led by Thor Odinson, the king of the lands, honouring the deal his late father King Odin had made right before his passing.
The high table with King Howard sitting at the centre, his son Anthony, the crown prince, by his right, along with the woman he was courting, Pepper of the Potts; on her right, King Howard’s daughter, Princess Morgana. On the king’s left, the guests of honour; King Thor, his wife Queen Jane, and his brother Prince Loki. Knights and warriors of the highest ranks, lords and ladies of nobility joining the celebrations, servants all but running around the hall to tend to everyone’s needs.
Then, a sound of a chalice hitting the stone floor, one that would have been met with more laughter, had it not fallen from Prince Anthony’s hand, suddenly scarily pale and trembling. Cold to touch too, a terrifying contrast to his burning forehead glistening with sweat. Body sliding down the chair, barely even faint frantic motions to his chest.
Brief, deafening silence.
The traitorous calm before a storm would hit and leave nothing but death and destruction in its wake.
Chaos.
Swords drawn.
A wave of threats of violence.
A thundering voice of the King of Starkerbürg himself.
Calls for the royal physician Banner.
Images of peace and joy shattered; a single inconspicuous calm face among the sea of others in the face of a tragedy in making.
“Poison. I cannot determine what kind as of yet. Carry His Royal Majesty to his chambers!” the physician called out, not bothered by the fact he was ordering around knights and other nobility. “At once! There is no time to spare!”
Knights practically tripping over each other to tend to their prince, to their future ruler, to their brother in arms even as by rank he stood high above them. Rustle and grunts; a whisper of skirts as the culprit slipped away in the midst of disarray and cries of fear for the prince and the future of both kingdoms alike.
To think that an attack at the crown happening during the presence of a party of another kingdom – one similarly strong – was but a coincidence, would have been foolishly naïve.
Oh there were no such coincidences; this was but the first step towards a war.
And the perpetrator would be treated with that in mind.
“Aconite, most likely,” sounded the verdict, the words solemn on the physician’s lips as he fearfully raised his gaze to the King hovering over his shoulder as he inspected the second most important patient of the kingdom at the royal chambers.
The dark note in Banner’s voice snapped Steven from the haze as he, Sir Barnes, Sir Barton and Sir Wilson stood along the walls of Anthony’s chambers, tall and menacing, but just as helpless as Prince Anthony’s betrothed seated in the corner.
Whatever poison the physician was talking about, it was not known to Steven; but the message written in Banner’s expression was clear as day and terrifying like a night to be spent in the woods with rumoured presence of ghouls.
Inevitable death.
It was true that King Howard Stark might have yet to comprehend, despite his long years of ruling his lands, that one might catch more flies with sugar than vinegar, gain more by threading his actions with kindness than by spitting threats of violence; but he was no fool. He perceived the solemnity of the announcement and received it with a shadow over his already distorted features.
“This… aconite, Banner. What kind of a poison is that?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, but not bending. Not under the weight on the crown on his head, nor under the weight of the tidings he might be scared to receive. His face was but a mask of stern indifference; a silent warning to Banner to choose his next words carefully.
As if stating the patient’s condition was a choice, Steven thought darkly, his heart pounding painfully against his ribcage as he exchanged glances with his best friend standing by his side. When he looked back at the physician, he could see him swallow dryly even from the several feet distance. Yet, the brave man faced the King with his head held high and his expression filled with sorrow.
“A deadly kind, Your Royal Majesty,” Banner said slowly. Rage flashed on the King’s face, Steven’s stomach dropping at both the sight and the worst tidings brought. Death. “It is made from the nectar-filled blossoms or the tubers of the Aconitum lycoctonum flower. There is… no cure known to man.”
A sniffle sounded in the corner of the room, completely ignored except for Sir Barton’s compassionate glance towards the woman who was on the brink of despair at the mere thought of the man she had clearly already learned to love leaving this world forever.
The King beckoned to the guards standing by the door, making them instantly step forward with their spears ready, heading for Banner menacingly.
Steven’s feet twitched as he wanted to step forward to protect the physician, outrage rising at the injustice even as fear twisted his stomach.
Sir Barnes brushed his hand discreetly to stop him.
Steven gritted his teeth, but stayed put for now, watching the scene unfold with disdain.
Sir Barnes was correct in one thing: Anthony being poisoned and having his life hanging on a thread was horrible enough, and rash decisions and actions such as standing up to the King would only make it worse.
A raging man was an unwise man; and the King was only a man too, even as he compared himself to various deities and had nearly as much power as them – which only rendered him more dangerous. There was no point in scaring the physician to death or even hurting him, but such was the King’s power. Such was his God-given right to punish whoever as he pleased. It mattered little that Banner could barely be blamed for-
-for the crown prince’s impending death, apparently.
“Then I advise you, Banner, to find one fast,” King Howard sneered as the guards stood behind the physician now. “Otherwise, you shall meet the same fate as whoever of Asgard dared to try and rob me of my son.”
The guards grabbed the man’s shoulders and Steven’s hand instinctively went for his sword again; and he was not the only one. Still, the knights stood, hesitant to disobey their King even in the face of the glaring injustice, fighting an inner battle between honour and goodness of heart and the oath they had taken. Their loyalty was to the kingdom and the King represented it most of all, after all; even if he seemed to threaten it the most of all, too, at the moment.
Well, not on Steven’s watch.
“Wait!” he called out as he stepped forward, earning a hard glare from the King himself that should have told him to keep quiet and fall in line, but he could not. Not even for Bucky’s audible sigh behind him. Not when-
“Is there anything we can do for him as of now, is what we are trying to ask,” Sir Wilson spoke up before Steven could, moving to stand next to him.
Steven took a deep breath as his gaze flickered to his comrade, finding his face arranged in a carefully crafted humbleness – as it should be in the face of the ruler even when he was addressing the physician.
Banner’s words were kind, his voice firm and regretful.
“I am afraid there isn’t, good Sir.”
“The Royal Guard and all the knights have a clear mission given by the crown, Sir Wilson,” the King barked as he gestured for the physician to be dragged away, the poor man allowing it without a protest. King Howard’s gaze fell on his son’s pale face as he lied on the bed with nothing but soundless whimpers on his lips, before he snapped back to the four knights present. “Arrest all servants and nobility of Asgard. I shall have the King and his brother for myself. And should my son meet his forefathers, I shall have their heads on a spike by tomorrow.”
With those words, he turned on his heel and stepped out, his leave abruptly followed by Anthony’s wife-to-be rushing to her betrothed’s side, cheeks damp with tears.
Steven regarded the scene unfolding, frozen with horror and unease greater than anyone.
He feared the death of his friend, naturally, as they had just dragged the one single person with any chance of curing Anthony in the whole kingdom away from his bedside.
But Steven feared a lot more deaths too. Should Prince Anthony die, King Howard would unleash pure hell on Asgard and as a consequence, on all Starkerbürg as well.
All the knights knew that; everyone knew that. They all had a heavy feeling in their stomach at the mere thought, their feet slow and unwilling as they left the chambers one by one. Yet, Steven’s heart was heavier.
The thought had occurred to him when he had wondered what exactly the King was expecting from Banner.
To turn back time so the prince had never got poisoned?
To pray to the gods for a miracle?
To perform a miracle himself and cure what was considered uncurable?
The last idea had squeezed his heart in an icy fist, nausea clawing up his throat.
He knew someone who could achieve things as close to a miracle as possible in this realm. He had felt such miracle in his own blood, tissue and cells; he had felt the wonders strong magic was capable of when in the hands of the kind-hearted. He was still breathing solely because of it; and he knew the person who could achieve this closely, intimately even, mind, body and soul, the depth of the goodness of her heart.
Perhaps you would be able to replicate the feat of saving Steven from certain death.
Perhaps your magic was powerful enough to save thousands lives by saving one. Powerful enough to prevent a war.
But hope and miracles were not to be trifled with. Magic was not to be trifled with. Being seen practising magic meant a definite death sentence.
But would it? If it saved the future king’s life?
Surely, he couldn’t risk it; he couldn’t risk your life. Of all the things he had seen in his life, of all the things he had ever had the fortune to hold, you were the most precious one to him. If he brought you here, he could lose you. He could lose you, by his own hand no less, and that would be the highest price to pay for peace he did not even know would settle or not in the end.
No.
That was the one price he couldn’t pay. He’d much rather pay with his own life – but not yours. Gods, never yours.
But if you only could… knew a potion, could do anything at all…
As he marched with his comrades to arrest the innocent – for it could not be the work of all Asgardians at once – his jaw was tense, the dilemma occupying all his thoughts, feeling like it might tear him in half.
Until it hadn’t.
If he did nothing, the war was be inevitable. If he did nothing, he would lose you anyway.
A raging man was a dangerous man and King Stark would burn the world in the wake of his anger and grief, heedless of whoever would burn with it.
Steven stopped dead in his tracks, Sir Barnes nearly colliding with him as a result.
“Steve, what the-“
“I must go,” Steven said in a hushed voice, swiftly changing direction; or attempting to. Sir Barnes’ hand was quick to grab onto his elbow, stopping him, heedless of other knights continuing their path.
“Steve, what in heavens do you mean by that?”
“I must fetch someone. I believe she could help.”
Sir Barnes bewilderment would perhaps be almost comical had it not been for the dread pooling cold in Steven’s gut.
“…she? What—the woman you have been sneaking off to see?” Sir Barnes enquired, causing a startled and utterly confused expression to appear on Steven’s face, a small alarmed sound pushing past the man’s lips despite his effort to remain composed.
Hold on, hold on-- Bucky knew?!
The look Steven received back was unimpressed at best – of course Bucky knew. He knew Steven almost better than he knew himself.
“Save the surprise for another day. How could she possibly help? Is she a physician’s assistant? Or even an apprentice for some insane reason?”
Had Steve had the capacity, he’d glare at Bucky for the offensive tone with which he had asked the question; however, he did not have it and in the brief moment he spent pondering, he realized that Bucky was not opposed to the idea itself. It was simply the ways of Starkerbürg: to try and take a woman as a physician’s apprentice was insane indeed. King had the God-given right to appoint physicians – and King Howard would certainly never approve of a female one.
But that didn’t matter, because that was not who you were.
“She’s… she is a healer.”
“A healer?” Sir Barnes echoed pointedly, doubt colouring his words. “What does than even mean? We do not have time for this.”
Steven huffed, trying to tug his arm free from Sir Barnes’ grasp as his impatience grew along with the number of doubts whether it was ever a good idea to consider your aid; but there were no options. No time to search for them. No time to waste and no time for finesse. He needed to go and he needed Bucky to understand – and more than that.
“She saved my life, Bucky. Back when I fell from the crags into the river… when you thought I was dead-“
“You must have been lucky, fell into deep water. You had superficial injuries. This is a poison. One the best physician of the court claims to have no antidote for.”
Steven swallowed thickly, the heaviest of feelings in his stomach as he chose to reveal his greatest secret as to make a point and be released to act before it’d be too late. “Bucky, I had much more than superficial injuries. She… she helped then. She might be able to help now, but… I will need your help with protecting her should it come to it.”
Bucky looked at Steve as if he had just grown a second head, glancing around nervously as guards and knights alike kept passing them, casting strange looks at them for their stillness. Sir Barnes lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper.
“Are you saying you were wounded much worse and yet she was able to tend to you? In such short time that you were missing then? And that she might be able to help here, now, with a poison that has no known cure?” Sir Barnes demanded hastily, bewildered and clearly irritated. “Are you hearing yourself, Steven? What kind of a healer would she have to be to-“
The almost sardonic voice suddenly fell silent, all blood draining from Sir Barnes’ face when the horrifying realization finally dawned to him. His hand fell limp, finally releasing Steven’s arm.
“Steve, this is not a subject for joking.”
Steven swallowed heavily, heart thundering in his chest, blood pounding in his temples. He shouldn’t have told – but he had to. He had to, right? Bucky needed to understand-
He sighed quietly, whole body strung tight in expectation of his friend exploding in rage – rage he had no time for.
“I am not joking. And you are right, we are losing precious time, I should-”
The sudden grip on Steven’s his shoulder, appearing as to stop him from leaving, was much more brutal than the hold on his elbow had been, fingers digging into flesh even over the layers of clothing.
“You— have you been… lying with a--”
Steven’s voice was quiet, but as sharp and dangerous as the sword resting in the sheath on his hip. “Choose your words carefully, Bucky. That is the woman I love and owe my life to. I would die for her, and I would not have been standing here had she not healed me.”
“That could be exactly what she wants you to think!” Sir Barnes sputtered. Steven fought the urge to roll his eyes – the absurdity of such statement was glaring.
“Oh for heavens-- I might be a fool sometimes, but I am not an idiot-”
“Debatable!” Sir Barnes whispered as madly as if he was in fact yelling. “As you’re proving it this very moment!”
Steven shook his head, the feeling in his gut growing more gnawing by the second, every frantic beat of his heart feeling like a waste of precious time.
“Bucky, you said it yourself – we do not have time for this! I must go. I will get her, but… please. Help me protect her if the King is blind to the fact she uses--- it to do good.”
Sir Barnes simply stared back, the halls empty by now as much as his gaze, however inquiring.
The grip on Sir Rogers’ arm loosened.
Silence stretched. Precious second ticked by, grains of sand in hourglass no one could turn back falling; and with each and every one, Steve’s stomach tightened further with creeping horror.
Surely his most precious, most loyal friend, having been standing by his side since childhood, would not abandon him now? Surely he would not betray him in moments that might be deciding his fate, the fate of his beloved, of the whole kingdom?
“Bucky, please. I swear-- I’m begging you. I need to-- I need to protect her. At any cost.”
“What of your sword?” Sir Barnes asked dully, appearing indifferent to Steven’s desperate pleas.
What of your knighthood? Are you willing to give up that, if you are forced to leave in the darkness of the night and never return to bring your beloved to safety? Are you willing to leave the path of the honorary knight to become a lawless fugitive?
The smile which found its way to the corners of Steve’s lips was soft; sad and torn, for it was the greatest honour to serve, to protect, to help. He had been and always would be grateful for the rare chance he had got.
But there was no greater blessing of the gods themselves than you having entered his life and taking it by the most beautiful of storms. He loved you. He loved you more than anything and anyone in this world and that was what he would not even dream of giving up.
He didn’t respond with words; and yet, the exasperation on his closest friend’s face told him he did not have to. Sir Barnes understood from Steven’s expression alone. He always had.
“Gods, Steven Grant of Rogers, of all stunts you could have pulled to get yourself hanged, you truly had to go and chose the most foolish one. My God- Steven…”
Most foolish one? Echoed in Steven’s head, the words absurd. No. The most gorgeous one, the purest one, the most blessed, he allowed himself to muse. The most honourable one too, no? Love. Where was justice, if love, the purest emotions of all, was considered a crime? Did the new religious teachings not speak of love being kind, patient, knowing no dishonour and wrongs?
That was how he loved you. Wholly and entirely, kindly, patiently, even if passionately.
It was only then when Steven snapped from his haze and finally noticed a trace of hurt on Sir Barnes’ face when it occurred to him why Bucky had taken so long to respond. He was cross with Steven; but not as much for the alleged crime, but for having kept it a secret. Keeping you a secret; the one closest to his heart, his beloved, hidden from the one person he had always trusted with anything.
“I’m sorry, Bucky. No one could know. She’s-- she is too precious. I had to protect her,” he explained softly, urgently. “And I still do. I will, with your help or without it. But… please.”
Sir Barnes continued to regard him, stunned into silence still, expression unreadable.
Then, he shook his head; what might seem as disagreement however, Steve recognized as resignation. He had known Bucky for too long to not be able to decipher which shake of a head was a no and which was an expression of indignation and regret at his own choice of a best friend.
“Thank you, Bucky.”
And with those words, Steve took his hasty leave, his minute relief drowned in the sea of worry when he sneaked into the stables to rush through the gates of the castle, claiming to be running a King’s errand.
Seeking his closeness
the pretty white doe
having sipped at love
all despite her oath,
she begged the forest spirits
to let her go
to follow her heart
and its eternal song.
Light breeze caressing your hair like the tender fingers of your lover, brushing away a lose strand from your face. Gentle September sunrays of a late afternoon warming your cheeks, long leaves of grass tickling your ankles and your hands as you gathered brownwort, thyme and lady’s mantle, the smell almost too much despite its pleasant notes. Your hand instinctively laying over your belly as the reminder of why you were gathering these particular herbs blossomed in your mind anew, a smile settling on your face. It was not just the time of year blessing people with abundance of these flowers, a nature’s reminder the time was coming to bath in the blessed lake on the Autumn equinox; it was the sweet secret humming under your heart too, growing stronger and more beautiful by day – and slightly bittersweet for for now, it was only yours to keep, your beloved knight none the wiser.
Steven.
The very reason, you suspected, for the heavy feeling in your heart; the reason why none of the kind offerings of mother nature seemed to sooth a jittery feeling you had woken with up from your restless sleep. Unease had been crawling over your skin; a solemnity’s shadows, despite the beautiful weather and the joyful morning realisation that a barely noticeable bump was now showing on your body, a testament to the blessings of love.
The sky was beginning to colour with sunset with no clouds in sight; and yet, you could feel a storm coming, one you did not feel would be of the refreshing purifying kind. The air did not smell of rain; if you breathed in deeply, it reeked of the very death the wind seemed to whisper about in the tallest of birch trees. A warning; a witch’s intuition tuned to the finest hints of the gods of nature and forest spirits. You had tried to sooth yourself, coaxing yourself into peace by wondering if it perhaps was but a new future mother’s anxiety.
Yet, an instinct as old as time whispered to you to know better.
Which was why the wild stomping of hooves nearing your cabin should have not taken you by surprise. But it did.
You rose from your crouch so fast your head span, gathered flowers falling from your hands at the brief faint sensation; you steadied yourself just as Steven’s horse came into view, slowing into a walk as not to startle you or crush all the blossoms on the meadow.
The silent thank you to the gods for seeing your love alive and well left your lips without prompting, followed by your spine tingling with a shudder of power at its base.
Almost as if the gods blessed you for your genuine gratitude and gifted you with strength. Strength you shall no doubt need, for Steven might be living and breathing, dismounting his mare in a thousand-times practised manner, breathtaking as ever, but the distress on his face and the tension of his wide shoulders told you those shoulders carried the weight of the world at the moment.
Feet waking with motion, you met him halfway as he rushed to you, his arms quick to embrace you lovingly but so tight all air left your ribcage for long moments. Steven’s heart thundered against your ear as you hid your face against his chest. Fresh air had washed his clothes of most smells, but sweat and wine and rich spices still enveloped your senses, a tell-tale signs of the feast which he had told you about being interrupted by something vicious.
Yet, you took precious moments of simply breathing your lover in, basking in the comfort his arms offered no matter the circumstance.
He nuzzled his face in your hair, his chest expanding with a generous inhale, a steadying breath which made his heart race faster, as if attempting to outrun the very storm you had felt arriving.
You ran your hands down his broad back, feeling your own heart leaping into your throat as the silence between you, often so sweet and comforting, stretched ominously.
“Steven… love,” you whispered, attempting to shift in his embrace, only achieving his hold growing firmer, his muscles almost shaking with effort not to let go.
Oh Steven… What a terrible feat had been laid upon him?
“What has happened?”
Finally releasing your body, his hands were quick to cradle your face instead, achingly gentle, even as his eyes roamed your face wordlessly, brimming with so much emotion it stirred your unease further.
“Rytier moj?”
Steven’s face softened minutely, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as tenderly as butterfly wings despite the power – or the lack of it – in his grip.
“My love…”
Lips curling in a tiny smile, you mirrored Steven’s affection, reaching to settle your palm against his cheek, fingers of your other hand carding through his hair; your heart fluttered when he leaned into your touch, a wavering breath escaping his lips before they pressed against your palm to sooth the scratch of his beard against your skin.
Despite the dulcet image he made, eyes fluttering close for a blissful moment of nothing but love shared, you felt his body pulse with anxious urgency seemingly seeping into yours through your fingertips.
“I did not sleep well…” you confessed, his already pursed lips turning down. “I had a heavy feeling in me. Now I know the gods had not warned me simply for their own whims. What’s happened?”
Steven opened his eyes again; with a single caress of the breeze, he straightened, his aura of a knight – a fierce protector, a loyal friend, a humble determined servant – returning with its full force as did his worry.
“I need your help.”
A simple plea.
A simple answer.
“Always, rytier moj. Anything,” you promised.
One would expect relief to fill your lover’s features; instead, dread twisted them into a frown of dismay. Almost as if he had been hoping for your rejection.
Why?
The whisper of death among the trees grew louder, haunting, sending such a shudder through your body not even your lover’s warmth could hope to protect you from it, another urgent question scratching at the back of your mind.
Death, the trees seemed to whisper.
Whose death?
“Oh bosorka moja…”
Not Steven’s. Never. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.
And not your child’s. You’d claw a throat open with your bare hands had anyone tried to take them away. Take her away. You had dreamed two nights prior, dreamed of a girl with Steven’s beautiful eyes and your hair caressed by the wind, her laughter filling the air as he sat her on his shoulders and she placed the daisy crown on his head-
The image had been so full of hope, so bright, so full of promise; it battled the current scent of death fiercely, one blending into another, and it felt like you were stood in the middle.
Your choice. Your power.
Your victory; or your loss.
You gulped, your gentle hold on Steven’s face growing shaky; with fear or the weight of responsibility, you weren’t sure.
“What is it, love? You are worrying me… come in. Tell me what weights down your-“
“Prince Anthony has been poisoned,” he said at last.
The whisper of the wind seemed to turn into a screech of a gale, even as the tree leaves and grass barely rustled.
The Prince… was he the one whose death you felt impending? It must have been.
In a split second, it became so clear why Steven was so shaken.
An impending death of his brother in arms. Of someone whom he served and appreciated.
Of the future ruler; quite possibly caused by the attempts of the party of Asgard.
An act of war.
Should Prince Anthony die, there would be no stopping at one death. Devastating number of lives could be lost. Including Steven’s.
No. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.
But could you stop it?
Stood in the middle. Your choice. Your power.
Could you prevent a war?
Your mind was set into a whirl, various herbs and remedies for different poisonings refreshed in your mind.
“Do you know which poison it was?” you asked urgently, dropping your hands; and confused as why Steven’s remained firmly on your face, his expression speaking of pain greater than before. “Steven, love. What are his troubles? I can send a potion, pass it as a remedy from a physician-”
“Burning feeling in his forehead, weakness of muscles, trembling, cold sweat… he fainted and could not be woken up, only for a brief moment. He had trouble speaking, began to shake, fainted again...” Steven listed slowly, his unease growing with every word.
And so did yours.
Determination bled out from your body drop by drop, replaced by dread, the very weakness your lover was talking about as if settling in your own muscles and bones.
“The physician believes it might have been... aconite?” he added.
You had figured as much, seemingly endless moments before Steven spoke the dreaded word.
Aconite.
The worst nightmare of all living things; the deadliest daydream of those who meant harm and would not stop until their enemy released their last breath.
Death, screeched the breeze in the crowns of the birch trees; the yew trees, the very symbol of passing, joining in.
Death. War. Death.
Your power. Your victory. Your loss.
Your voice shook more frantically than young aspen leaves in the wind.
“Steven… aconite is deadly. I have no potion or salve for this. There is no cure-”
“That is what physician Banner said.”
“But then what…”
Your voice trailed off, words stuck in your throat, air stolen from your chest. A lighting from clear skies could struck you at the very moment and you would barely take notice of such.
It all made sense now. You having lost sleep. The whispers of death. The assumed shiver of power you shall no doubt need. And at last, Steven’s almost palpable dismay when you had said you’d help. That you’d do anything.
He had hoped you’d help.
He was terrified of it all the same.
You could feel blood draining from your face, rushing past your ears; unspeakable horror and determination swept you like the non-existent gale in the tree crowns.
“Steven…”
His grip on your face grew firmer, unsteady but urgent, his forehead pressed against yours as his eyes slid shut, his whisper a frantic promise, a confession and a prayer at once.
“I know. Believe me, my love, I know, and I have never been more scared of anything in my whole life,” he said huskily, barely audible over the wild thundering of your heart, the shaky sound of your quick breaths, even as the rest of the world faded into background, all noise ceasing. Or perhaps even the sparrows forgot how to sing, struck by fear for their life.“I would have not asked this of you if I did not fear that Anthony’s death would unleash a war with Asgard and might destroy us all… and if I did not believe I could protect you.”
“Steven-“
A thumb over your lip, gently pressing to silence your protest, Steven guided you to look up to his eyes, every word falling from his lips an oath signed by his own blood.
“Bosorka moja… I shall protect you, no matter the cost. You must know I would lay my life for you. I will, should it come to it. As long as you are safe.”
Consumed by adoration and terror at once, you slipped from Steven’s hold, shaking your head.
He had not the slightest idea what he was speaking of, the reckless fool.
He had no idea.
And he had no idea whom he would be leaving should he deliver on his terrible promise.
“These words are not nearly as comforting as you believe them to be! How would we-- how would I live without you?” you lamented, feeling the fire of power and indignation burn inside of you, chasing the fear away for several beats of your heart. “And I-- I am not even sure I can heal him.”
“You healed me,” Steven offered kindly, encouraging, confusion and the softest trace of hurt at you having escaped his touch twisting his face. He had no idea. He had no idea at all. “You said I was at the brink of death myself-“
“You were,” you spat, not appreciating the reminder – not of his injuries, nor of your past recklessness, as grateful as you were for the latter, not a single regret in your mind for having risked it all to save the handsome stranger with goodness etched into his very soul, having shone so bright it had outshined your doubts and fear for your life. But this was different. So much circumstance had changed. “But I was… I had faith in your soul, saw your good heart. I believed to be safe from you should I be too weak to protect myself after I casted my spells, and for that, I was able to pour all my magic into the healing. And I-- I was much more careless with my power then… “
You made a pause, inhaling slowly, gathering courage in the face of Steven’s features twisting further with distress.
“But Steven… that was before. I-- before we-“
“What is it, bosorka moja? Before what?”
Your lower lip trembled, regret lacing the soft touch of your fingertips to his face.
This was not how you wished for him to find out. You had told him before, erased his memory to ease his conscience and to prepare for the right moment, a moment fit for such joyful tidings; but much like him, having rushed here asking for help despite the unspeakable risks, you had no other option.
You had no choice.
You had no time.
The deep-sea blue with a forest green shade of his irises brimmed with emotion, tenderness and silent question.
With a lump in your throat, you dropped your hands again, curling them around your middle as if to protect the secret and save it for a reverent moment your love and lover – and your child – would have deserved.
Steven regarded your stance with dread visibly climbing up his throat. You could see it in his eyes, the sudden uncertainty, the questions written in his eyes growing frantic and painful.
Why had you stepped back from him? Why had you evaded his touch? Why did you seem taken by sorrow? What secret had you been keeping from him? For you must have had some. You must have not told him something crucial – and in a dark time like this, it shall come to light.
You appeared so shaken; you appeared scared. Of something he had failed to protect you from?
Or of his reaction to the revelation?
You chose your words carefully, speaking them slowly, even though you could feel him hanging onto every syllable.
“It is not only me anymore who needs to be protected.”
Steven did not understand; that much was clear from his expression, from the step he took closer to you only for you to take a step back, etching his hurt deeper into his face.
“I… I do not understand, my love. Do you have—do you know of someone who could help you? Do they need protection too?”
The they tasted of poison much bitterer than aconite; disbelief and profound pain.
You could almost hear it, the absurd questions he seemed to be asking himself. Was there… was there someone else? Someone else who had earned your love more fiercely than he had? More deserving?
The way your love remained hidden, the distance he still had to keep, laid heavy in his mind, always, now feeding his doubt; his fear that someone else now occupied the space he had so selfishly taken up in your heart.
But had only been here mere days ago, yes? Surely you could have not--- you would have not… or had you? No. That wasn’t possible. You were the kindest most loving person he had ever met, loyal to a fault – and he was blessed to be yours, to be loved, unconditionally, more than he deserved for keeping you his little secret.
You could not read thoughts; but Steven’s always seemed to be laid bare in front of you to card through. Betrayal and resignation all at once, jaw tight to mask his hurt, to hide the very doubt you read so clearly. Doubt, but not of you; of him. He had always carried it with him, the guilt of not providing for you as he imagined he should for his beloved.
Doubt, crystal clear in his gaze. It was possible, was it not? The most wonderful woman he had ever met, finally fed up, the goblet of your patience finally having overflowed, deciding to find a man worthy of you, able to take care of you, truly, one you were willing to-
You could not bear his mind screaming anymore, even as you had not heard a single word, a single thought, all of it but achy questions expressed by his gaze alone.
“No, Steven, I do not--- I merely cannot only think of myself now,” you said softly, searching for words to reveal the secret at last, not, not wanting to and craving it all the same. “I… I need to protect us.”
His shoulders sagged, doubt and heartache erased at once, tenderness at your worry for him melting into his smile.
“Do not fret, bosorka moja. I can hold my own.”
The faint smile in the corner of your mouth hurt, tears burning in your eyes.
“I know, rytier moj… and yes, I meant us, but I--- I also meant us.”
The arm you had curled around your middle shifted. Your palm spread pointedly over your belly as you met his gaze with hesitance and silent hope; for as much as you dreaded revealing the source of your worst fear, the tidings were still joyful. And you hoped with the entirety of your heart that Steven would accept them as such, much like the first time.
But first, he had to comprehend them.
Several rushed beats of your heart it took him; but then he finally did.
Suddenly, it was his turn to stand still and rigid as if a lightning from the perfectly clear skies struck him. And it might have as well.
His voice was barely louder than a breath, hoarse, laced with careful hope despite the glaring truth.
“You—we- are we-?”
A crystal-clear memory of those being the very words he had spoken the first time entered your mind, a single tear spilling over; the awe and reverence on his face mirrored his expression all the same as you confirmed.
“Yes.”
“You are with a child? My child?”
It would have been amusing, the questions, if you hadn’t been on a brink of hysteria and hadn’t there been a metaphorical sword hanging above your heads while you indulged in revealing the sweetest secret there was between lovers.
“Yes.”
Countless grains of sand in hourglass fell, Steven simply observing you, his gaze feasting on the entirety of you with newfound emotion that touched your very soul and made it shiver with delight. He observed you with such adoration and devotion you could only imagine he would show to a deity descending to walk the Earth.
And then he was surging forward, falling on his knees in front you, one hand on your hip, the other wrapping around your lower back to keep you close as he laid his forehead on your belly, shaky, slow and careful; nothing short of reverent. Despite the circumstance, all the tears prickling in your eyes found their release – every inch of your body sang, feeling Steven’s love for both you and the life he had a generous hand in creating.
“Oh bosorka moja… láska moja,” he muttered into the fabric before he looked up, hesitant fingers slipping under, to feel the very bump you had only noticed today. His lips parted in mute awe, eyes turning glassy with sheer delight and wonder at the miracle.
You allowed yourself another moment of basking in his love; feeling the delight spreading through every vein, through every bone and nerve, all the way to your very core and source of power. Your hands found gentle purchase of Steven’s hair as his lips pressed to your belly.
But then, the inaudible crackle in the air brought you both from your reverie, the breeze screeching of death instead of new life returning.
There was no choice; dread filled your being along with a haunting whisper of opportunity from a voice speaking in tongues you barely understood and yet deciphered as guidance.
You must go. You must try. Despite the risks.
Stood in the middle. Your power. Your victory; your loss.
Your only hope and your possible doom.
“I shall try my best to help, even as I do not know if I will be able to. But Steven…” you addressed him softly, revealing one more piece, one more source of joy, “our little girl must remain safe at any cost.”
The hands sprawled around your middle twitched, a single tear escaping him as his eyes shone.
“Our--- a girl? How-“
“It is but a feeling,” you admitted, earning a brilliant smile which lasted too shortly.
You smiled tightly in return, a few more tears rolling down your cheeks as Steven’s hand softly caressed your barely-there bump again, butterflies seemingly to erupting in your stomach, your heart humming.
He rose to his feet with something in his eyes turning steely, his gentle voice once against taking on a heaviness of an oath.
“I will protect you both, even if it should be the last thing I will ever do.”
One wavering breath was all the luxury you granted yourself before springing into action, not allowing yourself to lament at the potential of death weaved into Steven’s promise. You could not afford any more distraction. The hourglass was unrelenting, rushing you.
“I know. We shall get going.”
You could feel his eyes on you, a mute confusion as you ruminated through the cabinets, the fire lit, a small pot placed on it, two handfuls of water, milk thistle, ginseng roots, and sprinkle of uncaria leaves added to the mix.
“You can sit down, love, I shall only complete the potion swiftly and we will be on our way,” you assured him, reaching for a pinch of turmeric to add.
Steven did not, in fact, sit down – if anything, you could feel him grow taller behind you, as if his growing bewilderment added an inch or two to his already impressive height. His stare was firmly set on you, a little burning and slightly insulting since you could almost hear his silent questioning of your sanity.
A potion? But you had said-
You looked over your shoulder briefly, your lover’s body nearer than expected, causing you to need to crane you neck a bit.
“No, there is no potion to neutralise the poison – but this remedy strengthens a body, aids it to fight off an infection and weakness,” you explained, expecting Steven’s face clearing, but not waiting for it do so, busying yourself with reading the mental list of ingredients, recalling every indispensable element. Milk thistle, ginseng, uncaria leaves, turmeric… ah. Yes. Where herbs were concerned, rare or common, that would be all. Only one last ingredient.
A gentle hand on your elbow stopped you as you were turning to the stack of knives, halting your movements tenderly but firmly. Blinking, you lifted your gaze to Steven’s face again, disconcerted by his unreadable expression.
“Is it… safe?”
Had it not been for the large distress he was in, the feeling oozing of him and adding to your own shakiness, had it not been for the tenderness of his touch, you’d feign a slap to chase his hand away at the almost silly question – and at the sudden doubt in your knowledge and power and your reign over it.
“Steven, love, my apologies for the bluntness, but Prince Anthony is on his deathbed, so I cannot very well hurt him further and I shall have you known that this very potion you have drunk yourself-”
“For you,” he clarified, two soft syllables in contrast to your slightly exasperated words, your voice falling silent as sweet worry reflected in his sky-blue irises. Despite the circumstance, your heart seared at the fussing, no matter how groundless and ironic. “I am asking whether it is safe for you and our… our child to prepare that. I know it may seem irrational given why I am here, but-“
It was, you had to admit. And yet. You spent a precious moment, precious grains of sand falling in the ominous hourglass above your heads, placing your palm over his hand, reassuring.
“It is perfectly safe, rytier moj… certainly no more dangerous than rushing to the castle, the very heart of the Kingdom, and attempt to save the prince using the most outlawed practice in these lands,” you added with an unsteady cheekiness, earning an exasperated glare; and a full body shudder he couldn’t hope to contain.
The same tremble ran through your body; and yet, the whisper for caution was overshadowed by a tingle of energy unknown, a wordless encouragement. Almost a haunting promise from the Fate itself that bravery shall be rewarded.
But if that were true, where would the ever-present whispers of death and upcoming end fit in the mosaic then?
Shaking your head as well as the overwhelmingly bewildering sensations off, you charmed a soft smile for your lover and love – for the father of your child, already caring so deeply for the life to be born out of your love – and let your hand fall, turning back to your work as stream began to fill the cabin.
One last ingredient; a life essence to help maintain life.
You cradled the handle of the blade carefully in your hand, turning your other palm against the tip; the knife was out of your hand before you could comprehend how, pressed flat to Steven’s thigh, shielded from your touch.
“I’m sorry. I--- is that necessary?” Steven asked with a painful edge to his voice, his continued concern causing your heart to tremble.
“Yes… it is but a drop of blood, my love, I promise. A speckle of life essence to maintain life.”
His frown deepened as you reached for the knife again, fingers brushing his soothingly as you grasped at the handle. So many emotions played over his features; hesitance, concern, guilt. He must have realised you had used your blood before to cure him before you had even learned his name, another sacrifice having been made aside from having left yourself completely vulnerable to him when you had drained your magic and body alike to bring him from the death’s doorstep where you had found him at.
Then, an almost shy question, as if he felt too bold to even suggest such heretic thought.
“Life essence… would mine suffice, then?”
Where his implication was shy – that his mere mortal, human blood could match yours, the blood of a born witch – his determination was not.
He met your eye, a brilliant satisfied sparkle lighting up his irises when he read the truth in your hesitant gaze.
“Yes… it would. But-“
Your knight offered his left palm outstretched, no further questions. The bottomless trust in his gesture and in his eyes caused a lump to grow in your throat; the mere idea of cutting him, even if it was to only be but a scratch, had ache sting deep within your ribcage.
“Are you cert-“
“Would you rather I lead the cut myself, love?” he asked, his voice tender upon your hesitance, understanding the action would cause you pain – as if you were to hurt yourself instead.
And you might as well.
Your hands were made to heal his wounds, not cause them; your hands were made to erase his aches, not bring them; your hands were made to love, not hurt.
Your read in his gentle gaze as he nearly read in yours: I despise the thought of hurting you, rytier moj; It is but alright, bosorka moja.
You shook your head.
“I-- no. I may do it. I apologize, we do not have time for-“
A hand grasping your jaw, soft lips silencing your apologies; your eyes fluttered close despite seeing right through the trick. You felt the pressure of his hand against the blade, the silent sound of protest earning you a deeper kiss, a softer caress of his lips against yours, tasting sweeter than summer breeze, so achingly tender.
“There you go, bosorka moja…”
With his retreat, Steven ran his thumb over your cheek, smiling; then, he moved his injured hand into yours, leading you above the pot.
Slightly dazed and exasperated still, you sighed and carefully squeezed his wound to indeed only spare a drop of his precious blood.
As you pressed your lips to his fingertips in a thank you, you let your healing power flow through your touch, closing the cut your body should have worn.
“This had better be the only blood spilled today,” you whispered; and prayed too. You met your Steven’s stormy gaze as the contents of the pot sizzled, sweet coppery aroma rising in the air.
“It will, bosorka moja. It will.”
He sealed the deal with a kiss, sweet and desperate and bruising.
And falling on deaf ears, whisper in the crowns of the birch trees, his and your words echoed the very same song.
Blood had better be spilled…
Today, today, today…It will, it will, it will…
Next part
Other headcanon and playlist
S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe
Complete masterlist
Endearments used:
Rytier moj (My knight)
Bosorka moja (Witch mine)
Láska moja (Love mine)
I hope you liked this - let me know your thoughts!
pairing: knight!steve harrington x fem!princess reader
wc: 777
warnings: none. tis' a clean story.
summary: knight and princess talk about the visiting duke over oil painting.
A/N: another story to my knight!steve series. alone together is the first one but you could read either one standalone.
masterlist
“was hoping i’d find you here. was beginning to worry you climbed the palace walls again and i’d have my head chopped off.” a male voice entered your quiet art room.
barely a glance over your shoulder you knew who was stepping behind you. the gentle clang of his armor and weapon reverberated off the high ceilings.
“i’d never let them do such a thing. can’t waste a pretty face away.” the smirk evident in your words.
the footsteps and clanking stopped just over your right shoulder, “they don’t write sonnets about this face for nothing, princess.”
an unprincessly snort left your nose, “oh do they? you must recite some to me one day. would adore to hear.”
steven hummed, “what is your focus on today, princess? you mostly paint when stressed.”
focused brush strokes paused, ignoring the way your heart beat just a bit faster that he knew something so small about your ticks. “not always. it’s just when… inspiration hits me. and perhaps it may be when i can’t control something.” resuming practiced strokes, a band of fury hidden beneath a poised grip.
“might i inquire what has you… vexed?” steven took two steps over, now in your peripheral.
shades of periwinkle and indigo mixed, “if you must. but mind your words.” speaking slowly, fully concentrating on your work.
“would this have anything to do with a certain duke? one who happens to be visiting for the week?” you ignored the gentle venom of the word duke.
“lord hargrove’s arrival has been known for many days. though his intentions of travel have not been stated until the day of his arrival.” seeing shades of red while adding spots of white.
“i’m guessing-“ “marriage! lord hargrove is here for my hand in marriage. in request of my father and his, for the good of our kingdoms.” stains of paint dripped down the canvas in tears.
“marriage,” steven repeated, you could imagine the slight snare on his face at the word.
“yes, marriage,” a deep sigh from overuse of the word, “to a man i don’t know and is expected to wed in the spring. no choice in the matter.” rinsing your brush in the murky paint water, tapping it against the lip before pressing it onto a cloth.
“not quite fair to expect that of you.” steven grabbed a stool close by to be placed beside you. he was now sitting shoulder to bicep.
you couldn’t help your scuff, “i’m but a woman. they only tolerate us cause we can be sold like sheep and breed like a calf. a single syllable from our lips can bring us death. seen not heard.” your once melancholy painting transforming into a brutal storm, one that brings sailors to the ocean floors.
dropping your brush beside your easil, you finally turn to sir steven. his back straight with knees bent at the perfect angle, a slight spread to the long limbs. forearms resting on thighs while mindlessly tugging at his fingers, head dipped with untamed strands of hair flinging about.
you spoke before you could stop, “let me paint you.” speaking quietly not wanting to disrupt the peace.
steven’s head picked up and met your wondering eyes, “pardon?” a pinch to his brows.
you cocked your head, “let me paint you. would cheer me up.” standing to your feet in search of a spare canvas.
“princess-“ “please? i wish to paint the face people pen poems and sonnets about.” trying to feed his ego.
you heard the deep sigh but saw the little smile before he could wipe it away, “your wish is my command, princess.” starting to move before you rushed over and rested a palm on his shoulder, “stay. the lighting is perfect.”
he peered up, long lashes framing normal brown eyes that held something special. his patches of silver armor cool under your warm palm. “just sit like before, but keep your head up.”
“am i getting a portrait done by the lovely princess y/n l/n? i must be the luckiest man alive.” his sword clicked off the wooden stool leg.
you started collecting more oil colors, “i would say so. and i would also say i’m the luckiest princess alive since i’ll get to stare at you while detailing my work to perfection.”
satisfied with your supplies and making sure they stay put, you begin your simple outline in black chalk. the simple task is a distraction from your loose words and hummingbird heart.“quiet flattered, princess.” princess said in a low tone that forced you to suppress a shiver. “only the best for my favorite knight.” saying the words only to yourself.
A snippet from my fic "knight beloved" —part of my Pride and Treasure series because @soliloquent-stark asked for it here ❣️✨💋
(Dragon tony/knight steve pre smut incoming)
"Continue," Steven whispered, his eyes wide and pleading and body trembling with unbridled energy. He did not look like a knight who had just returned from a gruelling task. But rather like a man offered a bribe. His face flushed a deeper shade of red as he spoke. But he did not stop. "I want... I have thought about this, you know."
"About a dragon touching himself?"
"About my dragon," Steven corrected stubbornly. "I want to see you Anthon. Would you deny me this?"
Anthon shuddered with the melody of his knight's voice. And his body picked back the familiar heat of yearning.
His tail curled and showed off his gaping slit to his knight. Steven's eyes were dark in the low light of Anthon's flames. But they held more warmth than any flame a dragon could conjure.
"May I," he asked politely, taking only half a step to state his intentions. Anthon tried to contain his enthusiasm as he nodded. "Your will have to guide me, beloved."
The first touch of Steven's fingers sent a violent tremble all over his body. Anthon hoped dearly no one had followed Steven to the forge. He might not be able restrain his voice tonight.
Summary: Having to hide your relationship because of your status as a commoner, you and Prince James "Bucky" Barnes meet in secret in an old hunting cabin far from the rest of the world. Except, of course, from Sir Steve Rogers, a loyal knight and Bucky's best friend.
Words: 3k
Warnings: secret relationship, threesome, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering (f receiving), knife kink, some body descriptions (plus size reader)
a/n: took some inspiration from the prompts for @buckysbirdie 's ice cream shop writing challenge & @fineanddandy 's 3k/35 3s birthday collection. title from altar by kehlani which I listened to a lot while writing this. moodboard by me, divider by @firefly-graphics
@historygeekfics 💝
unbeta'd and edited by me, so if you see any mistakes, no you didn't :)
18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI. IF YOU INTERACT AND YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR AGE VISIBLE ON YOUR BLOG YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. 18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI.
"You're here."
A sudden rush of hair fills your lungs, your body tenses all over when you hear your prince's voice.
"Bucky."
With cautious footsteps his broad form leaves the rotted doorway of the ancient cottage and approaches you slowly like he would a wounded deer.
It would be comical if you didn't feel as frightened as you do. Like you could spook or do any harm at all this beast of a man in front of you.
"My love."
Your breath shudders from your chest as he reaches a hand out to you, opening his arms enough for you to run to them, to fit in between them like you belonged there.
The furs that line his cloak have trapped in the heat from the castle, saving them so Bucky could gift them to you now as you nuzzle in close to his chest.
With a sigh from your lips Bucky finally relaxes.
"I'm sorry I took so long, my love. Why did you not open the hearth? It's freezing in here."
You look up from his chest to where his brow is furrowed.
"I didn't want to start the smoke early and draw attention to our location. Hiding hasn't been easy of late, you know that."
Bucky only grunts and presses a kiss to your head. He pulls his cloak from his shoulders and wraps you in the luxurious velvet and furs.
His arms are as thick as the logs he throws into the hearth. You watch as he rolls his sleeves and stacks them just so before lighting the kindling. It takes a few moments for the fire to really get going. Once Bucky's satisfied he comes to you, lightly coated in soot, lifts you and places you on the bedroll situated on the floor by the fire.
"Better?"
With his big body sandwiching you between him and the flames?
"Much. Thank you."
His thick fingers draw away the hair that rests at the nape of your neck. A light press of his lips has a shudder running down your body all the way to your toes until they're curling in your shoes.
"I've missed you, my love."
The scrape of his stubble rubs against your tender flesh as he whispers into your neck.
"I've missed you too. Why did it take you so long to come to me tonight?"
Bucky's hand leaves your hair to tug on your shoulder, wordlessly asking you to turn to lay on your back, to face him.
The moonlight sneaking through the windows of the cabin only partially illuminates his face, shining on the sharp crystal blue of his eyes.
"What is it, my prince?"
Bucky doesn't answer. Those eyes continue to search your face, run the length of your nose to land on your plush lips. You can feel his desire pulsing through him as the two of you lie under his cloak. His body shifting closer, clinging to you like a second skin. The tip of his pink tongue swipes out against his full bottom lip and you want so badly for him to kiss you.
And like he's reading your mind, your prince does.
Soft and gentle at first, morphing into a deep claiming of your mouth. A man starved, filling you with his tongue, taking your own into his mouth.
"Bucky," you gasp. "My love, please."
He groans, trailing kisses down your jaw as his hand moves to your breast. The thin fabric of your dress is easily torn, pulled apart by your beast in search of your pert nipples.
Bucky finds them with his fingers first, tugging them till they're firm and aching as he grinds his own hardness into your hip.
You're not sure if he's aware he's doing it but his gasps into the curve of your neck only spur more wetness to leak from your core.
The rasp of his fingers against your breast are soon soothed by his laving tongue, hot and wet in the cool air.
"Yes! Bucky," you gasp as he grabs handfuls of your breasts, squeezing them together to lick from one nipple to the other. He groans, smothering his face in your softness, nipping and sucking at your breasts, marking them as his.
Strands of chestnut brown fall free from the bun tied at the nape of his neck as you tug on his hair, the loose tendrils tickling your skin.
"My prince, please. I need you. Touch me, please," you beg and beg, babbling from pleasure. But Bucky doesn't say a word. He feasts from your tits like a babe, suckling and groaning.
Your pleading turns incoherent as he climbs atop you. His length now pressing at the apex of your thighs, pressing into the barrier of your skirts like he's trying to dig you out of their depths.
The heat in your womb builds, churning, making your head spin until the damn breaks and your screaming, spasming against Bucky's overbearing form pressing you into the floor.
"That's it. That's it, my love. Fuck, you're so beautiful."
When the molten waves finally subside you're gasping for air, chest exposed and heaving under your prince's watchful eye.
"An angel. A gift from the heavens."
You see a flash of silver on your left, almost imperceptible through your half-lidded, hazy eyes. But you know from the swift sounds of tearing and the cool slide of metal against your skin that Bucky's drawn his dagger and sliced clean through the middle of your dress to your skirts. Your eyes snap open, taking in the shocking sight of his sharp dagger laying on your soft tummy as he works to slide off the remnants of your dress. The hilt of the blade lies between your breasts, waiting near your heart for its owner to pick it up once again.
"Did you have to ruin my dress though?"
"I'll buy you three more," Bucky leans down to kiss you, once again taking his dagger in hand and twirling it in his nimble fingers before sheathing it. "Better ones even, if you'd like."
"That's not the point," you huff, mourning the loss only briefly before you're imaging wrapping yourself in furs that match Bucky's own. Making a statement to whom you belong.
"Oh, but you look so pretty when you pout," Bucky taps your lower lip. His thick finger pulls it down the slightest bit and you're already opening your mouth wide, inviting him inside.
Your prince slides his finger down your tongue, filling you slowly until he tickles the back of your throat making you gag.
He chuckles, watching how your eyes flutter, how your breathing changes, goes deeper.
"My angel. My love. Come to me."
Bucky kneels over you, watching you watch him as he pulls down his trousers. His thick, oozing length bobs over you before he sits down on the furs, patting his lap for you to come sit.
The furs are soft and forgiving on your knees as you crawl towards him. Your eyes stay on his cock as he circles the base, giving himself a squeeze then stroking long and languid up his length.
Thinking he means for you to ride him you move to straddle him, wrap your thick thighs around his waist, but he stops you.
"No, my love," he doesn't stop stroking his cock as he speaks. You tilt your head, suddenly confused. Did he not...want you anymore? Surely that couldn't be the case. Not after what the two of you just shared. Especially not with his current...predicament in hand.
Bucky's free hand cradles your face, his eyes searching yours.
"What would you think about Sir Steven joining us tonight?"
You freeze. Your stomach flips back and forth. Your heart's suddenly racing, threatening to break free from your chest.
"S-sir Steven?"
"I see how you look at him, my love. How you clench your thighs together when he smiles at you. How you giggle like a schoolgirl when he speaks to you."
You sputter in shock.
"Bucky, I -- I don't know what to say."
Bucky chuckles and lifts your head to kiss you. Your eyes, which had been unable to meet his own, close and you lose yourself for a moment in the sweet softness of his lips.
"I understand, angel," he smiles into your lips. "I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't trust either of you. Sir Steven is my right hand, my best friend. And you, my love, are my everything."
You shook your head, not believing for a moment. Like this was a trap, a trick, too good to be true. The idea of both of these men caring for you...loving you. It was almost too much to bear.
"He's so desperate for a taste of you, my love," Bucky whispers into your ear. "He hungers for your sweet cunt. After all these months standing guard outside this cabin. Hearing me ravage you, treasure you, take you apart, while he can do naught but stand and wait and listen."
Your core clenches, pulses with need as Bucky speaks. You knew in the back of your mind that Steve was out there, had to be in order to protect his prince, but the fact that he was listening, lusting after you silently in the dark. It thrilled you. And it terrified you.
You were thoroughly embarrassed and unsure if you could look Steve in the eye again knowing what you knew now, even though it shouldn't come as a surprise.
"What do you say, my love? One word and he'll be here. Or another and we'll never speak of it again. Either way, know I love you. I always will."
Bucky's so serious it hurts. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, forcing you to look, to know that he means it. He refuses to let you hurt or to let this come between the two of you.
"Yes. Yes, Bucky."
Your prince smiles at you and captures your mouth once more.
"I want to make you feel good, angel. So good."
"You do, Bucky. You will."
"And so will he."
Bucky calls for Steve then and as he walks through the door you're reminded by the chill that you're on your knees, completely bare. You scramble to cover yourself with the tattered remains of your dress.
"No, my love," Bucky stops you, tweaks a bare nipple as he kisses you. "Show him. You're too beautiful a gift to hide away."
Steve sends a small smile your way, kind as always as you meet his gaze.
Slowly, Steve removes his coats and his weapons, keeping them within reach just in case. He approaches you much like Bucky did earlier, as if he's afraid to spook you.
You don't know what to say to this man. Even broader than Bucky in some ways and just as powerful a force. The prince's study blade, always by his side.
Thankfully Steve speaks first.
"May I...kiss you?"
He's kneeling before you, still in his shirt and trousers. The only sound in the cabin besides your breathing and the blood rushing past your ears is the slick sound of Bucky stroking his cock.
With that oddly grounding sound at your back, you find the strength to nod your head. Because you do, God, you do want this.
Steve takes your head in has hands, large and warm like Bucky's, swallowing you up in their care, and he kisses you.
His beard is grown out, not stubbled like Bucky's, but softer on your cheeks and chin as he presses close. Not devouring but tasting, savoring like you're his last meal.
You have to force yourself to stop comparing the two men. The differences between their touch, their tastes, stand out but so do their similarities. And when you have them both here, ready to devour you whole, any time spent pondering instead of soaking up their affections would be a waste.
Steve's kisses grow more urgent, his hands find your waist and travel up your curves to cup your breats. They're sensitive from Bucky's earlier ministrations, tender in spots from love bites and bruises sucked into your skin.
"Jesus, Buck. What were you trying to do, maul the poor girl?," Steve jests to his friend over your shoulder. You can't help but laugh into his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt.
"That little hellcat in your arms has done worse to me before, believe me."
"Oh now I'm a hellcat, my love? What happened to me being your angel?"
Bucky grins and curls his fingers in the air, calling you forth.
"Then show me. Show me how good you are and come swallow my cock."
You gulp and nod, crawling back to Bucky on your knees. You can feel Steve's eyes on you as your hips sway.
"Fuck. Look at you," Steve groans as you bend down and take Bucky into your mouth.
Your prince feels hot and heavy on your tongue. A thick, veiny mouthful that takes a few moments to adjust to a you work up and down his length. Bucky groans, resting a hand in the back of your head, not pressing, just holding you there, keeping you on his cock.
Behind you, you hear the rustle of trousers being removed and slick sound of Steve working his hand over his cock.
You groan around Bucky's length, the idea of Steve watching you take Bucky down your throat making your slit weep, your juices running down your thigh.
Feeling more confident, more brazen, you lift up on your knees, spreading them and arching your back so Steve can see... all of you.
Your knight groans and his hand picks up speed as he watches your dripping, clenching cunt.
"Touch her, Stevie. Go ahead."
Bucky's voice is deep, relaxed, when he speaks. It sends a shudder rushing through you. You'd beg Steve to touch you now if your mouth wasn't full.
Expecting a tentative hand on your back side or finger on your folds, you're shocked and unprepared when you instead feel Steve run his tongue flat up your cunt. From your clit your hole, he licks a wide stripe, collecting your slick on his tongue.
"Oh, fuck! Steve," you gasp, pulling off of Bucky's cock. Your hand works overt his length as you cry out. Steve's wonderful, perfect mouth is sucking on your clit, your folds, savoring every inch of your cunt.
With one thumb he spreads your inner folds open and moves in close to spear your cunt with his tongue. The thick muscle penetrating your walls with an unbelievable hunger.
Bucky was right. Steve desperately wants to completely devour you.
Feeling neglected, even though he loves watching your face contort in pleasure, Bucky takes you by the hair and shoves your mouth back down over his cock.
You jolt in surprise but immediately get back to it, working him over with you mouth and fist, making sure to occasionally tug on his spit slick sac as well. It tightens under your fingers and you know Bucky's close. His legs, shaking as you take him deeper and deeper.
Steve's relentless behind you, still fucking you with his tongue, lapping up every bit of you he can reach. You can hear him still frantically stroking his cock as he feasts from your dripping center.
"Fuck, that's it, angel. Suck me dry."
You take Bucky's cock as far as you can, your nose just brushing the hair at his base, as he shoots molten hot down your throat.
"Fuck!"
Bucky pulls you off his cock and up to capture your lips in a hungry kiss, groaning into your mouth as he tastes himself in your tongue.
Behind you Steve replaces his tongue with two thick fingers and it's only after a few pumps that you're screaming, coming all over his hand and dripping on the furs beneath you.
Seconds after you crumple into Bucky's lap, completely spent, Steve's growling, jerking his cock over your ass, and coating your backside with his hot seed.
"Fucking hell, angel."
Bucky pulls your limp body up for another kiss then turns your head to face Steve. The blond kisses you, licking away some of Bucky's cum from your chin that dribbled out.
Bucky lays you down, curls you up in his side as his knight cleans your backside with some fabric from your dress. The poor garment has seen too much tonight.
Once Steve has finished he goes to dress again, to return to his post outside.
"Stevie."
His head whips around to look at you, halfway done lacing up his trousers.
"Stay. Please. For a little while?"
Steve looks from you to the door and back again, unsure.
"Your prince orders you to stay," Bucky mumbles, already starting to fall asleep.
"Oh, shut up, Buck."
You giggle as you reach out for Steve, your lovely, golden-tongued knight. Pulling him into the warm furs in front of you with Bucky lightly snoring at your back.
Steve is hesitant, shy almost, like you were before he dove his face into your private bits.
"Thank you, Stevie."
"Well, what the prince says goes," he shrugs.
"No. For keeping us safe. For keeping our secret safe," you raise your hand to his strong chest, feeling his heart beating a strong, steady rhythm under your palm. "It's hard, loving someone quietly like this. Hiding it when you know it could be taken away. So...thank you. For keeping us safe. And for loving us too."
Steve sucks in a breath, like he thought you didn't know, couldn't see how he felt. You saw it when he looked at Bucky too. You knew how they cared for each other.
"Until tonight I thought I might've been imagining things. Thinking that maybe we didn't all feel the same. That you didn't feel the same. So I ignored it. Until Bucky asked me if I would let you in. I thought I was hiding it so well, how much I care for you. But Bucky could see it, could see that I care for you as much as I do for him."
Steve stared at you in awe.
"Bucky's a fool if he thinks this is going to be a one time thing," you smile at Steve, biting your lip and trying not to laugh and wake the oaf behind you.
