Tags: Pirate AU, Royalty AU, Pirate Bucky Barnes, Prince Tony Stark, Lovers to Enemies to Lovers, Passive-Aggressive Bowing, Smut
Bingo Fills: @tonystarkbingo - K3, Kink: Begging
Snippet: Tony never minded his smaller than average stature, but at that moment, he wished to the gods he had another foot of height so he could yell in Roger’s infuriatingly calm face properly instead of having to crane his neck up as he got in his former friend’s space.
“You are a liar and a traitor. You have taken my kingdom’s finest warship and made her a pirate’s ship. You have plundered ships of the lords of the realm and from our allies. Obie has been nothing but loyal to my father and family. A true friend after my mother-” Tony had to take a deep breath before he could go on. Tears threatened to spill over and he could not show these people weakness. When he got himself composed, he continued in a more even voice, “How dare you accuse him of such treachery. How do I know you are not the one behind this?”
“Those ships we ‘plundered’ were the ships from lords who were in on the conspiracy,” Bucky growled. “We only took papers and money Stane sent to buy loyalty from others. The King’s money that he stole to garner support for him and his schemes.”
“What?” Tony gasped as Bucky pulled forth a small chest Tony remembered seeing in Obadiah’s office shortly after his return. It stuck in Tony’s mind since he had never seen such a chest in Obadiah’s office before.
Inside the chest, Bucky brought forth were coins minted in Marvel's treasury and a few pieces of jewelry that had belonged to his mother. Tony’s father would have never given anything that had once belonged to Queen Maria away.
Chapter 2 of A Prince Should (Not) Fall In Love With a Common Thief is available to read on AO3!
Edit: I forgot to add the link to the song that inspired this fic, so here you go!!
Tony is fiddling in his workshop, trying to correct the aiming mechanism on the missile launcher he’s designed when the doors burst open, clanging against the cold stone wall and he jumps, startled at the sight of the normally unflappable Captain of the Kingsguard breathless and falling to his knees before Tony.
His eyes are a stormy blue in the firelight, wide and dark, staring up at Tony, a hand pressed to his chest plate, sword at his hip.
“The king is dead, long live the king.”
Tony stares at him dumbly for a moment before rising and standing over the older man. “You’re sure?” he asks softly, lifting a brow.
The Captain nods.
“I am my King. His heart is still in his breast and breath does not pass his lips.”
As he finishes speaking the bells in the castle and then the surrounding city begin to clang, marking the passing of King Howard Stark, Third of His Name, Lord of Manhattan and Ruler of the Three Kingdoms.
They listen as the bells ring on and on and on....
“Rise Captain Rogers, we have much to do this evening,” Tony murmurs, watching as the older man rises to his feet smoothly, blonde hair gleaming gold in the light of the candles.
He is so beautiful it makes Tony’s heart ache. He takes a step forward and then another, rises onto his toes and smiles when the Captain leans down to meet his kiss, a large hand sliding around his hip to hold him steady as they embrace.
Footsteps on the flagstones send them apart, and when the members of the small council burst into the room Captain Rogers is on his knees again, head bowed in supplication to the new King.
The council joins him and Tony stares down at them, heart pounding.
His plan worked.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tony kneels on the cold flagstones of the cathedral, head bowed, the warm steadying presence of his Captain just a few feet behind him.
He does not pray because there are no gods, despite what the High Priests and his own beloved mother had tried to teach him—he has seen the world for what it is and knows that no loving god would leave his creations to suffer at the hands of a madman.
His father had once been a wise and tolerant ruler. Then Obadiah Stane had become his right hand, dripping poison into his ear, whispering lies and consolidating power for himself and King Howard had become unsteady, war hungry, cold and indifferent to the suffering of his people.
The attack by brigands resulting in the murder of his beloved mother had been the tipping point. They had been identified as Hydra assasins and the country had tipped into war, famine and disease.
Tony watched as his country was weakened, bit by bit, until they stood upon the brink of ruination.
When a man had sought audience with Tony and presented him with the evidence of Obadiah’s hand in his mother’s death, Tony had thought it an ill trick—till Captain Rogers had been summoned to lock the man away and had promptly fallen to his knees, weeping at the sight of his long lost brother, James.
The man had been captured during the war with Hydra and had been tortured and magicked into compliance, used as a weapon to destroy the kingdom.
James has spoken of a Red Witch, a woman who could create a potion that would put its subject into a deep and dreamless sleep. Captain Rogers had seen to it that he would be on guard over the king, that it would be his hand that would topple the potion into the King’s nightly glass of whiskey, that it would be he who held the pillow to his face and ended his cruel and tyrannical rule.
Tony knows the Captain prays for forgiveness, that he grieves the murder he has committed, even as he knows it was necessary. He would not be the man Tony loves did he not.
They will pass the night together here, in silent prayer, where his father’s body lays in waiting. The air is heavy with incense and myrrh, smoky and thick in the back of his throat and it reminds him unpleasantly of his mother’s funeral.
They did what was necessary—he only wishes he had done it sooner and saved his mother.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tony kneels before the High Priest, head bowed as the holy oil is rubbed into his forehead. The crown, when it settles onto his brow, is heavy, laden with rubies and diamonds.
He takes the sphere and scepter and rises, turns to face the Lords and Ladies assembled in the cathedral, gaze sweeping over them as they chant—Long Live the King!
His gaze finds Obadiah in the crowd and he sees the jealousy and anger in his eyes, masked by his smile and traitorous mouth chanting along with the crowd.
It matters little.
His end too is coming.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They are in a council meeting, the day drawing to a close when Tony asks if there are any more matters to be brought before the king.
Captain Rogers moves forward and kneels, “My king,” he murmurs, the adoration in his voice warm. “If it pleases the court I have a matter most dire.”
Tony lifts a brow, biting back a smirk at his beloved’s acting abilities. “Captain Rogers, rise and tell me this most dire matter.”
The Captain rises and rests his hand on the pommel of his sword, broad shoulders thrown back, blonde hair shining like spun gold and for a moment Tony sees him not like this—garbed in steel and gold, but in his bed, naked and flushed, moaning Tony’s name as Tony rides his cock.
Clearing his throat, Tony lowers his gaze and sips his mead, then lifts his gaze and nods to the Captain. “Speak.”
“My king, I have found troubling evidence that King Howard did not in fact die in his sleep but was murdered.”
There’s a moment of silence before the room erupts in chaos. Tony notes that Obadiah looks calm, large hands clasped together as he silently assesses Captain Rogers.
“This is a serious crime you allege,” Tony murmurs, cutting through the chaos with a swipe of his hand.
The Captain nods and lifts a hand, holds out an almost empty bottle that holds syrupy red liquid at the base. “Yes my King. This potion was discovered and assessed by our own healers. It is a potion designed to put a man so deeply asleep he would not wake were the earth cracking open around him. It would have been mixed into his Highnesses drink—the whiskey he took each night with his trusted advisor.”
The air in the room goes taut and Tony sees Obadiah sit up straighter, brows furrowing as the situation begins to reveal itself.
“I would advise caution Captain—are you truly suggesting Lord Stane had something to do with my father’s death?” he asks carefully, leaning forward to study the Captain. “He has been loyal to the crown for many, many years, why would he murder his king?”
The Captain lifts his chin in defiance, icy rage pouring out his eyes and oh, how Tony wishes he could kiss him, shower him with praise for this magnificent playacting.
“Because my King, he did not intend to stop with your father, he wished you dead too. With no heir it would fall to Lord Stane to rule till a suitable heir could be found.”
The Captain reaches into his belt pouch and produces the final piece of evidence which will secure the noose around Stane’s neck.
“This is a letter between the King of Hydra—Alexander Pierce—and Lord Stane, bargaining for control over the kingdom after the death of both you and your father.”
The Captain hands it to Tony with a subservient bow of his head and Tony lets his fingers brush delicately against the other man’s for a breath before he takes the scroll and studies it. He knows what’s written on it of course; his spy master, the Black Widow had produced enough evidence on Stane’s guilt that there would be no saving him from the hangman’s noose.
Turning slowly, he meets Obadiah’s nervous gaze, his own steely in return.
“What say you Lord Stane? How do you answer these charges?”
Stane stares at him for a moment before sliding from his chair and falling to his knees with an obsequious pleading look on his worn face. “My King, I would never! I loved your father as a brother—I love you as if you were my own son!”
Tony studies him, head tilted to the side before rising, the lords of the council following in a clatter of chairs. “I believe my lord, that you love yourself more than you ever did my father or I.” His gaze is cold and cutting and he waves a hand at the Captain, “Lock him in the tower,” he commands before sweeping out of the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He visits Obadiah the night before his execution, standing over the kneeling man he had watched slowly destroy his kingdom for little more than power and money.
Obadiah meets his gaze with a wry smile. “Stitched me up good eh Tony?” he says with a chuckle. “I won’t deny I had plans to kill you and your father, I just hadn’t gotten there quite yet,” he murmurs. “Which means it must have been you and you little pet, Captain Rogers.”
It’s little more than Tony expected—Stane is a smart man.
Tony nods slowly, “Very good Obadiah,” he murmurs, smiling faintly. “Though it hardly matters now.” He stares at the older man and shakes his head, “I look forward to seeing you swing Stane.”
He pauses at the door and glances back, studying the man in the pale moonlight that slashes across the wall and floor—he is wan and exhausted, kneeling chained to the ground, but Tony feels no sympathy, feels little else but disdain.
“Sleep well,” he murmurs, the iron door clanging shut behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stane swings and the people cheer, pelting his corpse with rotten food, stones and other, fouler things.
Tony shuts the window overlooking the city and turns away, leans into the embrace of his lover, eyes falling shut as Steve holds him.
“You did the right thing my love, my king.”
Tony smiles tiredly and pulls away to look up at Steve, studying him. “You truly believe that, don’t you?” he asks softly.
Steve nods solemnly, “Of course. Stane would have been the ruination of our country. He was responsible for the death of your mother, for the starvation and slaughter of her people. He was an evil man.”
Tony nods slowly and sighs, tired of these games and schemes. “Perhaps you are right. I fear you are too loyal for your own good Captain.”
Steve studies him for a moment and then falls to his knees in a smooth motion that takes Tony’s breath away. Shining blue eyes like the ocean stare up at him with adoration and his chest feels tight.
“I would gladly slay a thousand men to protect you my King,” Steve murmurs intently. “I am yours to command.”
Tony lifts a shaking hand to cup Steve’s cheek, breathless when the man leans into it, lashes fluttering against his cheeks before he peers up at Tony through them, lips parting as Tony slips his thumb inside, and a breath pases between them before Steve’s lips close and he sucks.
Tony switches his thumb out for two fingers, watching in breathless anticipation as Steve sucks on them with tiny moaning sounds, the wet sound of his fingers thrusting into Steve’s mouth lewd and arousing.
He feels himself harden in his breeches and sees Steve’s cock grow, pushing against his tawny breeches, pulsing and leaving a steadily growing wet patch. His mouth waters and he tugs his fingers free, paints Steve’s cheek with his spit, moaning softly at the debauched sight before him.
Cheeks pinked and lips red, Steve kneels, waiting for Tony to command him.
“Shirt off.”
Steve hurries to comply, tossing it aside so his broad, muscular chest is exposed. Tony hums in pleasure and nods, “Undo your breeches, stroke yourself—slowly,” he orders.
Steve does as ordered, moaning at the first stroke, eyes hooded and heavy on Tony. His throat is dry—he fumbles for the pitcher of mead and pours himself a goblet, sits heavily in his chair, legs spread wide as he watches Steve stroke himself.
Tony undoes his own laces and wraps a hand around his cock, gasping softly, hips jolting when Steve moans at the sight and strokes himself faster. Tony toys with himself lazily, letting the heat burn through him till Steve is rocking his hips and moaning constantly, sweat dripping down his torso as he approaches his release.
“Stop.”
With a high, pained moan, Steve’s hand falls from his cock, his whole body rocking forward as his desire demands touch, sensation.
Tony tucks himself back into his breeches and rises to his feet unsteadily, swaying from mead and desire as he looms over Steve. Cupping his chin he lifts Steve’s head to meet his gaze and swallows a sound of pleasure at the sight of his beloved so golden with arousal it shines on his skin like the sun.
“You’d stay like this if it I asked it of you, wouldn’t you?” he asks, aroused and amazed.
Steve nods lazily, “Anything for you my King, anything.”
“Even if I said you couldn’t come? Even if I wanted to use you for my own pleasure and stave off yours till it pleased me to allow it?”
Steve nods eagerly, leaning harder into Tony’s hand at his jaw, eyes hooded and hungry, so dark blue they look like storm clouds.
“I am yours my King, my Tony. Yours...”
Tony swallows hard, the weight of what he’s being given settling into his belly like molten steel.
“On the bed then,” he whispers hoarsely, “on your back.”
Steve hurries to comply, limbs uncoordinated and desire weakened. He is a large man; tall and broad and strong, but here, here he is not the Captain of the Kingsguard, here he is Steve—beloved of the King.
Tony strips him of his breeches and removes his own, slicks his hands with oil and begins stroking Steve’s cock while his other hand pushes between broad thighs and against the furl of muscle there.
Steve whines and arches into the touches, moaning Tony’s name as he is slickened, loosened and filled with Tony’s fingers. Each time Steve draws close to the edge Tony’s hands still, his gaze rapt on his lover as he moans and writhes, begging his King for more.
“Are you ready for me my love?” Tony croons, stroking Steve’s cock slowly so he can watch the man whimper and writhe, nodding desperately and begging Tony to take him.
“Please Tony, My King, please, take me,” he gasps, hips arching desperately.
Tony himself is at the end of his rope, hands shaking with want. He nods and soothes Steve with a gentle hand on his thigh before he slicks himself and pulls his fingers from inside the other man, hushing him gently when he whines at the loss.
Tony pushes Steve’s thighs wide and teases his hole with the head of his cock before pushing in with a low groan, cursing at the tight swell of heat around him. Steve moans and arches, crying out Tony’s name as he pushes deeper, filling him in agonizingly slow inches.
Tony leans on one hand over Steve, nails scraping his skin as he begins to thrust, the heat in his belly roaring to life and demanding harder, faster.
Steve cries out with each thrust—breathless gasps of Tony’s name, eyes wide with amazement and adoration.
My king, my king...please, my king
Tony pinches one of Steve’s nipples almost viciously, reveling in the pained gasp it elicits; releases it and watches as Steve sinks into bliss, hips rocketing up as Tony thrusts, his unattended cock throbbing and spilling droplets down the reddened skin.
Steve shudders under him with each of Tony’s increasingly desperate thrusts, cries growing high and wanton, body taut as a bow string, ready for release.
Tony pinches Steve’s other nipple and reaches down with his free hand to stroke his cock and snarls out a demand, “Come now Steve, come for your king.”
Steve’s eyes roll back in his head as Tony thrusts recklessly, gasping as his own release crashes through him and then Steve is coming with a shout, cock painting his skin white, shudders running over his body in waves.
Tony!
He clenches around Tony as his thrusts grow wild and erratic and Tony groans, half a sob on his lips as Steve’s release goes on and on, rippling through his large frame in devastating waves.
Steve!
Tony spills inside Steve with low broken moans and shudders as his hole clenches around his cock, the sensation too pleasurable, bordering on painful and he thrusts a few more times till it is painful and then withdraws carefully, collapsing beside Steve with a gust of breath.
As the air cools the cum and sweat on their skin, Steve rolls to his side and stares intently at Tony, one large hand splaying over Tony’s heart.
“It belongs to you,” Tony whispers, laying his own hand over Steve’s.
Steve nods and lifts Tony’s hand to press against his chest, feel the steady beating of his heart beneath his broad chest.
“As does mine. You have my heart, my body, my love,” he murmurs, “I am yours Tony, my King, my love.”
As Tony rolls into his side and kisses Steve he hears the cries rise up in the city as the food stores are passed out to the hungry and the sick are tended by the best healers.
Long Live the King!
It will take time to undo what Stane and his father have done.
Long Live the King!
He watches as Steve falls asleep, lashes burnished bronze in the candlelight, skin like golden marble, more beautiful than the finest sculptor could imagine.
Long Live the King!
It doesn’t matter how long it takes, so long as his Captain is by his side, in battle, in bed, in every move he makes to secure his kingdom and keep his people safe.
So I’ve been developing this idea for a whiiiiile and I’m deciding to say fuck it and give it a shot. :) Hope you guys like it.
Here’s the link to: Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven
Summary: It took the kingdom of Hydra five years to finally take advantage of the disappearance of the Stark Kingdom. It took Prince Brock two weeks to make the small, unprotected village of Marveline hate his existence. His ways left Captain Rogers to go looking for help, hoping to find a royal family that could protect the people. But what happens when he hasn’t come back? It’s up to Bucky to find out what happened to his best friend and the royal siblings, but he never expected what’s to come.
Chapter One
The moon shone bright throughout the stables, unable to bring a sense of calm to the furious beast within. The horse, a large black stallion, fought against its restraints, pulling and tugging at the thin rope. Creaking wood signaled the attempts weren’t futile, but the horse halted at the sign of a glowing ember nearing the front of the stables.
“We must be quiet.” A stern voice caught its attention. Humans? “If the prince’s sister finds out we’re doing this —“
“I know, I know.” The horse stilled when it saw a candelabra and clock rounding the corner. “Fury, yes? That’s your name?” It talked. That wasn’t normal, even for the horse. It tilted its head, as if trying to understand what was happening. The candelabra grinned when it focused on the stallion, dipping into a low bow. “I’m afraid we’re in need of your help.” As the piece of fancy dining equipment hopped forward, Fury trotted back. “Oh, will you calm down? We’re friends of your owner! Steve Rogers?”
“We are not friends with —“ the clock started arguing, silencing himself when he saw the look given by both animal and candelabra. “Fine,” he grumbled, “We’re friends with Steve Rogers.”
“Was that so hard, Rhodey?” The candelabra grinned and lit a candle. Looking back to the beast, he explained, “Rogers said he has a friend. Find him and bring him here.” Reaching up, he burned the rope that held the horse in place. “Go! Run or whatever it is that you do!”
Fury took off at breakneck speed, disappearing from the stables and into the night. Rhodey adjusted the time on his face, the ticking allowing him some form of comfort. “Is bringing another stranger to the grounds really our best option, Wilson? She retaliated so harshly when the Captain came looking for help.”
“Someone needs to break through to her. If Captain Rogers couldn’t, maybe someone else can.”
“You have a lot of hope for her.”
“I have to.” Wilson looked up, his gaze landing on the tower residing in the east corridor. “We’re running out of time.”
———
“Good morning, James. Off to a late start?”
Bucky’s gaze landed on the girl who had spoken. He recognized her. She was the woman that sold pastries for her family. What was her name again? Dot? He smiled as he took long strides to her bakery. “I had some new equipment to pick up.”
She glanced at the large bag attached to his hip. There were a lot of rumors that Steve and Bucky were a little…off compared to the rest of the villagers. At least ever since they came back from the war. Steve was still loyal to the old ways. He believed the good royals would return. Meanwhile, Bucky was always trying to learn new things. Whether it was books or science or anything, the man had an odd fascination with anything new and different. No one knew what to expect when they came back, but this wasn’t it. The two had changed from the goofy friends and became something else.
So when Hydra came around? The village was struggling, desperate for any sort of help. They didn’t realize that Hydra was just the wrong kind of royalty. It didn’t take long for Steve to have enough of Hydra and Prince Brock. He disappeared in search for a kingdom he could be loyal to.
And Bucky became a bit of a hermit. No one saw him around except for when he chose to run a few errands. Bucky didn’t seem to like people.
Dot fidgeted with her fingers before tucking her hair behind her ear. “I hear Prince Brock is visiting today. Will you - will you be around?”
Bucky frowned, knowing what she was really asking. Would he be protecting them? Steve and him had made a point of protecting the women and children when Hydra came to visit. Brock was a little too eager to get to know the women personally. While he did as he pleased, soldiers would often torment the children and make them work for them. It made the pair sick.
But Steve had been missing for a week and Bucky had to find him. He didn’t have time for Brock and his games. “I’m afraid I’m busy.” He offered an apologetic smile and Dot nodded. Bucky noticed the way she trembled, the fear that made her shoulders tense. “If they’re still around by tomorrow morning, I’ll see if there’s anything I can do. But without Steve,” he faltered. “I’m not exactly hero material anymore.”
Dot hugged herself, knowing she had to try to understand. All the soldiers came back differently. Their coping mechanisms weren’t something she was supposed to understand. “I appreciate your honesty.”
“Just try to stay indoors.” Bucky turned away, knowing if he didn’t leave now then he’d get himself in the middle of the chaos. Then where would he be? He wasn’t a soldier anymore. He shouldn’t have to fight anymore.
Approaching the home just outside the village, Bucky’s feet trudged through the dirt. Night was edging closer and he could already see the moon peeking through the clouds. However, as much as he loved the idea of seeing the stars, he still couldn’t shake the guilt he felt when Dot asked for his help. Running a hand through his messy hair, he shook the irritating emotion and pushed it to the back of his mind. He had other things to work on. Like why Steve had been gone for so long.
Kicking the door open, old floorboards creaked under his weight as he lit a fire in the small fireplace. He was desperate to feel some sort of warmth. Bucky made his way to the table and started pulling out its contents. A telescope, maps, pieces of old equipment that he could reuse — each had their purpose. He shrugged off his coat, throwing it over the back of the nearest chair. The house felt empty without Steve.
He hated it.
Walking to the nearby cabinet, he grabbed a bowl and her food. “Alpine, come get some food.” The small patter of her paws signaled the feline’s arrival. She hopped on the table as he set her food down and immediately her purring signaled her content. Alpine always made his life seem so easy. Smiling slightly, he ran a hand over her soft fur before focusing on his newest finds. Picking up one of the pieces of scrap metal, he flipped it in his hand and eyed it carefully. That should work.
Though the house was small, Bucky and Steve had made sure to divide their space. The second floor was for Steve with his own bedroom, a room for painting, all of it. Meanwhile, Bucky got most of the first floor despite the shared space. A bedroom for him and Alpine and the backroom for his creations and all of his books.
It was funny, before the war neither of them would have expected Bucky to really be such a nerd. Sure, he loved science and breakthrough tech, but before the war, he had really only been keen on watching. Now, after being a prisoner? After a lack of control and having to constantly fight for every scrap of knowledge? Bucky refused to be left in the dark about anything. If he could understand it, he wanted to know it.
Lighting the lantern in the small room, Bucky picked up one of the books he forgot to finish reading the night before. He closed it and set it on top of a large stack of others. Eventually he’d get to them all. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day. Taking the piece of scrap, he reshaped the metal into a dome and cupped it under the lantern. He was sick of the wax pileup that came from the late nights. At least this way he could reuse the wax and turn it into more candles. They were getting expensive nowadays.
Running a hand through his hair, Bucky redid the bun at the base of his neck. He walked over to the window. The shutters were old and would need replacing soon, but that wasn’t it. Outside, he saw the faintest glimpse of what looked to be —
Steve’s horse.
“Steve,” he murmured. His stomach twisted and heart clenched. Where was Steve? Why was Fury alone? Bucky bolted out of the room and ripped open the back door. He heard it slam shut behind him as he took off across the field, relieved when the beast seemed to recognize him.
Coming to a halt, he grabbed the burned reigns patted him on the neck. “Whoa, there, calm down.” The horse seemed to fight him only for a moment before coming to his senses. He nudged Bucky in the shoulder, trying to turn him around and pull him back where Fur had come from. “Hey, stop.” Bucky tugged on the reigns once more, knowing Fury had a short temper. He still wasn’t entirely sure how Steve could deal with such a beast. Running his hand down the horse’s neck, he took a step back and looped the reigns around his fist. “You know where Steve is?”
Fury tugged at the reigns and Bucky knew he’d have to trust this crazy, infuriating animal. Oh, if Steve could see him now. He’d never live it down. Glancing back at his home, he took a slow breath. Mounting the stallion, Bucky turned away from his home, from the village.“Come on, show me the way.”
Fury took off and Bucky hoped and prayed that the horse remembered the way he had come. If not, things would get a lot worse. Glancing back at the disappearing village, he noted the way the stars were making themselves clear in the night sky. That had to be a good sign. Right?
———
Surely it shouldn’t be taking this long to bring Steve back. Why did Steve have to be such a knight? Why did he have to insist on finding another pair of royals? Nothing good ever came from them. No, he had to find Steve and bring him back. Then they could find a way to fix things with Brock and Hydra. Bucky ducked under a branch as Fury led him off the path. It had been hours since he had run into Steve’s horse and he had to say, he wasn’t exactly a fan of this idea. Anything would have been better than blindly following a wild animal.
“How the hell do I get myself in these situations,” he grumbled, looking around. “Fury, where are you taking me?”
The horse nickered, but made no other notion to show that it understood anything Bucky said. Clenching his jaw, Bucky cringed when he heard the crackle of thunder and saw lightning light up the night sky. Water came down in a heavy downpour, earning an irritated grunt from the rider. “I swear if you are leading me to the middle of no — where.”
Bucky’s gaze shifted to the sky as they broke through the edge of the forest. He didn’t remember any of this. Glancing back, he searched the grounds in hopes of finding a path and yet there was nothing. So how — how was it possible that there was a castle here? And for no one to know about it?
Gothic architecture shone brightly with every flash of lightning. Tall towers, looming gargoyles, and intense statues made the place look foreboding. It was intense. “Did you take me to Hydra, you ridiculous horse?” Dismounting, Bucky’s boots landed in the mud. It splashed onto his pants, but he ignored it. This wasn’t a time to focus on appearances. “What is this, Fury?”
He flinched when thunder rumbled through the sky, running a hand through his sopping wet hair. This was not what he had in mind for today. Hand holding tight to the reins, Bucky pushed open the gates. Fury jerked back, forcing him to stumble and earning a sharp glare. “Excuse you, why would you bring me all this way only to stop at the entrance?” The horse stared him down and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine. Chicken.” Bucky dropped the reigns and turned back to the castle.
Prince Anthony, First of His Name, Protector of the Kingdom, Creator of Miracles, the Iron Knight.
Tony had always been interested in many things. Though he had perfected the art of fencing and swordmanship, as expected from a prince, he had preferred studying from a very young age. He had loved spending his time in the library, and later in a workshop in a formerly abandoned tower of the castle, set up solely for his curious endeavors in alchemy and metallurgy and astrology. Some said God blessed the young Prince, some said he had made a deal with the Devil. Sometimes there were strange noises or lights coming from the workshop in the tower, and sometimes it became quiet for days. But Prince Stark always emerged with new wonders from there once the suspicious lights or the worrying quiet had ended. He was also always ready to throw himself in the way of danger if it threatened his people. The neighboring rulers kept talking ill of him, but the people of the castle, of the kingdom adored their Prince. After he rose to the throne yet it seemed no other ruler would allow their daughter to marry the strange king, Anthony shrugged and started to look for a boy among his own people to adopt a new prince into the royal family.
---
Title: A4 - Royalty
Creator: Menatiera (me)
Rating: G
Pairing: none
Warnings: none
Summary: Moodboard of Tony Stark as a prince of a medieval kingdom. TSB fill for the square A4 - Royalty. @tonystarkbingo
Tony lowers his bow, eyeing the arrow that sticks out of the target. It’s skewed a little to the left, not quite dead center.
“Decent, I suppose.” He remarks, drawing another arrow from the quiver strapped to his back. His father chuckles, watching as Tony draws his bow. The young prince purses his lips as he releases the string with a thwack. The second arrow sticks right next to the first.
“You’re too hard on yourself.” Howard says, squeezing Tony’s shoulder gently. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
Tony stifles back a groan. Walks with Howard usually end up with some sort of lecture, or reprimanding.
“Sure,” He replies, a bit annoyed, placing his bow and quiver on the wooden stand next to him. Howard nods and guides Tony away from the range, walking down the gravel path to the royal gardens.
Tony’s never been too fond of the gardens, as gardening has never been a hobby he’s taken up. It’s too dainty, too Omegan, for an alpha like him. (He’s kind of cocky, okay?) Not even his mother enjoys garden, preferring to stay inside and cook or socialize.
“You’re mother and I have been talking,” Howard starts, and Tony can’t help but interrupt.
“That’s a first.”
Howard glares at his son, clenching his jaw to bite back a retort.
“Attitude, Anthony. Your mother and I have agreed that it’s time you have an omega of your own.”
Holy shit.
Tony almost regrets being an ass.
Almost.
“Wait, are you serious?” He sputters, turning to face his father. He smiles tightly.
“Yes. There’s a pretty young thing arriving today from Saint Monica’s.” Howard says, almost nonchalantly. “I want to talk to you about some things fir-“
“Oh my god! When?” Tony shouts, completely ignoring his father’s words. He’s sweaty from arching in the heat, as well as a quick jog beforehand. Any omega would still fawn over him, but he wants to make a good impression.
“In about an hour, but-“
“I’ve got to go, dad!” Tony exclaims as he runs down the path, heading to his own private quarters.
He runs a bath immediately, stripping quickly so he can wash up. The hot water feels great on the alpha’s sore muscles. He could stay there forever, steam clouding his vision, but he has places to be.
Tony picks out one of his nicest tunics, a dark red one with gold embroidery. It fits him like a glove, the metal Stark Coat of Arms glinting under the natural light of his room. He dresses in black trousers and his newly shined black boots. As he adjusts the smaller, more casual gold crown on his head, there’s a knock on his door.
“Come in!” He shouts, rubbing his thumb over one of the rubies on his crown. His mother enters the room, in a gold summer dress.
“Mother,” Tony breathes, smiling softly at her, tearing his gaze away from his reflection.
“Your omega will be here any minute, Anthony. Let’s head to the front gates.”
Tony holds out his arm for his mother, leading her to the front steps of the castle. Howard is already there, watching a pristine white carriage come up the road. Tony takes a deep breath as the horses come to a stop in front of the steps.
“It’s okay, darling.” Maria assures him, squeezing his gloved hand. “I’ll go greet him. You stay here.”
Tony holds his breath as his mother climbs down the steps, opening the door to the carriage. A figure emerges from inside, and-
He’s a literal angel.
“Queen Maria!” The omega yelps, hugging his mother tight instead of bowing or shaking her hand. Tony’s mouth is parted slightly as he watches the two interact. The boy is dressed in white silk robes, matching the purity of his skin.
Tony swallows thickly as his mother and his omega walk up the steps.
The boy is even more beautiful up close, whiskey eyes wide as he looks at Tony, pink lips a perfect Cupid’s bow.
“Alpha?” He asks, tilting his head to the side, chestnut curls falling over his face.
“Yeah, that’s me.” He manages to choke out.
“Alpha!” The omega exclaims happily, wrapping his arms around Tony and squeezing tight. He smells delicious, like flowers and honey.
“You’re so handsome! And you smell so good!” He squeals, rubbing his face against Tony’s clothed chest. The older boy can’t help but purr, loud and comforting as he strokes the omega’s soft curls.
“God, are you even real?” Tony mutters, because he can’t believe the gorgeous thing in front of him.
“Yes! All real!” The omega jokes, giggling.
Tony is going to do anything he can to hear more of those giggles.
“What’s your name, sweet thing?” He asks, glancing to where his parents speak with the driver of the carriage.
“Peter!” The boy tells him, biting his lip and gazing up at Tony. His eyes are already full of love and adoration.
“Peter,” Tony purrs, leaning down to nuzzle into the omega’s neck. Peter giggles happily, cocking his head so he can bare more of his neck.
“Alpha,” Peter whines as Tony nips at his soft skin teasingly.
“All yours baby,” He promises, gently running his hands up and down Peter’s arms. He’s so soft, like a kitten, and Tony just wants to sit and pet and cuddle him.
This is a commission for one of my AO3 readers who wanted one done for her upcoming birthday, but I figured you guys would like a peek. Enjoy!
(and feel free to ask questions, I’m super excited about it)
***************
Sunrise.
Golden rays crept along empty streets, highlighting worn stones and crumbling brick, slipping across windows to brighten sleepy homes, touching on the highest fronds of the palm trees and sparkling across the oasis pools.
The city woke up slowly, begrudgingly, eased from dreams and slumber and coaxed to awareness, first the lower streets where the children begged for coins, then the middle places where vendors parked their carts and hawked their wares. Next were the homes crowded one on top of the other, dishes clinking in kitchens as breakfast was prepared, the crisp night air exchange for the scent of sugary syrup and freshly baked bread.
The stained glass of the temple windows caught the light and flared into brilliant colors, washing the narrow streets with shades of red and green and blue and for a few minutes before the sunlight moved on, the reflecting pool at the temple stairs was awash with rainbows.
The palace outside the city was the last to be woken by the coming day, the light climbing sandstone walls and spilling through exquisitely crafted archways, flooding hallways and illuminating golden threads in woven tapestries, soaking into plush carpet and weaving through heavy curtains until the palace glowed from within, brilliant and opulent and so far above anything and everyone below, it seemed nearly ethereal, untouchable by anything except the sunrise.
The sunrise touched everything.
Everything except the Nomad.
Once upon a time, Steven Rogers had been an entire person. He’d had a name, he’d had a family, he’d had a life and a reason to smile, and he’d sat every morning and watched the sunrise feeling hopeful for the new day.
But once upon a time was a decade and a lifetime ago, before the war and before Hydra, before Steven had been branded a slave, turned from soldier to assassin, and condemned to the shadows. Now he was the Nomad, come to the dawn only to ready himself for the dusk, to watch his target in their final hours, to count the minutes until the moon rose in the night sky and the shadows followed his steps.
The Nomad existed on edges, clung to fringes, grasped at remnants and every time he spilled blood at Hydra’s command, he crossed his skin with ink so he would never forget the places he left pieces of his soul.
And this morning as the Nomad watched the sun glint off the highest parts of the palace, he flattened his palm over his collarbone, along the bare strip of skin that would be filled with ink tomorrow, his very last design, the very last time a needle would touch his body.
This sunrise marked the beginning of the Nomad’s last day with Hydra, his decade fulfilled, his time of killing finally over. This time tomorrow, the Nomad would walk away a free man, free to reclaim his name, free to return to the place his village had burned, free to try and find love and normalcy and a life all over again.
He didn’t know what the Prince had done to deserve a death, or why Hydra worried about a spoiled child locked away in a high palace, and neither did he care.
Amyr Antony Stark would be dead by sunrise tomorrow, and the Nomad would be free to leave the shadows and feel the warmth of the sunrise on his face once again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes / Tony Stark
Rating: Teen and Up
Tags: Royalty AU, Romeo and Juliet References, Love on The Run, Assassination Plots
Chapter(s): 1/3
Summary: Bucky was expecting a few fun days away from the front, nothing more, but instead of a relaxing handful of nights partying at some poor schmuck's ball he wound up stumbling across a plot to assassinate the Prince. Thus began a countdown to thwart the plan and save the prince, all while trying to pretend he's still just another foreign dignitary.
Prompt: -lunges- -whispers- knight!winteriron, soulmates, wings? Bonus: imagine pretty pretty princess winteriron. Do with this what you will. (ilu)
“No,” Bucky declares, heartbeat racing.
Steve frowns. “That wasn’t a request.” Steve is resplendent in his uniform, the black outfit contrasting against the enormous brilliant-white wings that are tucked against Steve’s back.
Bucky’s own gray wings - except for the bottom, where they fade to bright blue - twitch until he stills him. He locks his jaw for a moment, glaring at Steve.
Steve doesn’t react except to cross his arms and tilt his chin up. He’s intimidating now, sure, with broad shoulders and muscles bulging on his biceps. He has half a hands’ width of wingspan on Bucky, too, but Bucky can remember those earlier times when Steve was small and shrimpy, getting kicked in the dirt because he hadn’t grown into his wings yet.
Bucky isn’t intimidated in the least, but Steve is in charge tonight because Steve is the favored knight of King Howard Stark. Bucky doesn’t begrudge Steve the position, doesn’t even want it, but it does mean Bucky has to follow Steve’s orders tonight.
“Fine,” Bucky snaps, wings rustling in anger before he settles them again.
Steve sighs, dropping his arms. “Buck, come on. You know you’re one of the best…”
“Unless you change your mind, I don’t want to hear it, Sir,” Bucky replies, slurring the honorific. They’d become knights together, though Bucky had started his squireship first. Steve had flourished under Sir Erksine, working twice as hard for the knight after getting passed over so many times. Bucky had been chosen early by Sir Schmidt, and Bucky had been too eager and excited to become a knight to say no. In the end Bucky and Steve were knights together, though they had vastly different experiences as apprentices. Disrespecting the Sir title came easily to Bucky, given his role model, but it was an insult that Steve couldn’t stand because of his.
It’s not Bucky’s best idea, pulling the insult out now, since Steve’s face loses the little compassion he’d had.
“I’ll see you inside,” Steve bites out and turns away.
With Steve gone, Bucky sighs and lets his wings droop. Guarding the prince had once been his favorite duty, but not tonight. Bucky didn’t want to stand next to Prince Anthony tonight, not when it was Prince Anthony’s - Tony’s - Soul Matching ceremony. Bucky doesn’t want a front row seat to Tony’s Revealing, where he finds out what color represents Tony’s soul and will come to dust the ends of Tony’s golden wings. Bucky doesn’t want to see who will step forward from the crowd to court Tony with similar colors on their own wings, because it won’t be Bucky.
The atrium is filling with people - mostly nobles, but enough middle and lower class to keep dreams alive - with soul-red feathers. As a prince, Tony had been tested early in puberty and now the results spread so that the room could be packed with a variety of the right type of mates. Red, orange, even purple - any soul colors that had an ounce of red in them would fill the room tonight in hopes of matching the prince.
Bucky, with his bright blue soul and bright blue-tinged wings, now has to watch everything unfold while standing in the front of the room. He would much rather hide in the back and let the fantasy he’d fabricated die in peace.
But Bucky has his marching orders, and so he takes one last look in the mirror and fixes a few errant feathers back into place. Then Bucky turns and strides for Prince Anthony’s rooms, a mask of indifference on his face.
Already waiting on the outside of the prince’s chambers is Sir Romanoff. The bright pink feathers edging the bottom of her wings could’ve made her a potential contestant for the prince’s hand, but she was already mated with Barton, a baron on the outskirts of the kingdom.
She raises an eyebrow when he takes his position on the other side of the door.
Bucky scowls and turns his head away. At least Natasha will wait to tease him until later, her focus on her duty. If it had been Wilson, then Bucky would’ve had to put up with teasing and sympathy in equal parts all night - because of course the whole flock of them knew about Bucky’s feelings for the prince.
The door opens and Bucky’s spine straightens.
Tony steps out, glistening in glittery black fabric. He looks like the night sky, with his golden wings behind him the heralding of the morning sun. Real gold winks from Tony’s wings, light golden chains woven into the feathers. Bucky can’t imagine a more beautiful sight.
“Sir Romanoff,” Tony greets with a smile. “How relieved I am to know you’re here to fight off any overly enthusiastic pursuers.” Natasha checks that the hallway is still private, and then she rolls her eyes. Then Tony turns to Bucky, and Bucky gets to stare into bright, warm brown eyes and imagine, one last time. “Sir Barnes,” Tony whispers, eyes wide. Tony opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He nods instead, his wings rustling, and then strides for the atrium.
Natasha raises another eyebrow at him, but Bucky ignores her.
Bucky had first disliked the arrogant, spoiled prince that the king had dropped into Steve’s flock for self-defense training. Then, against his better judgement, Bucky had come to admire the stubborn ass who had matched Stevie’s own determination, as Tony had gotten up and flown again and again and again no matter what Steve or the rest of them threw at the prince. Then… then it had all changed when Tony had cracked a joke and Steve, feathers ruffled, had dragged Tony into the slums, down underground where the poorest lived, and showed Tony first hand the effects of some of Stark policies.
Tony had changed after that, after listening and seeing, and he hadn’t stopped changing, improving, challenging since then. Arrogant and brash Tony might still be, but there was a heart under it, a big one, and Bucky would never get enough of seeing it. How could Bucky do anything else but fall in love with him? How could anybody else resist?
Still, nothing had happened between them. There was once, an almost, where they landed in a field after a long-distance flight together. They’d brushed wings, on accident and then again on purpose, feathers sliding together. Tony had turned in, Bucky had reached out, and then Steve had landed, calling out to them, and they’d remained… an almost.
The atrium is packed with people, brightly colored outfits and feathers alike. So many wings almost dragged on the ground, piled on with jewels, the wealthy declaring status because they were so rich they didn’t need to fly.
Tony’s adorned chains were light enough to still allow for flight, and Bucky loved him all the more for also loving the air.
Maybe Steve knew what he was doing, not that Bucky would ever admit it, because Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off Tony anyway. Bucky might as well overlap as to actually be responsible for Tony’s safety. All through dinner and the aerial entertainment, Bucky’s eyes stayed glued to Tony’s shimmering wings and brilliant smile.
Then comes time for the ceremony.
Sorcerer Supreme Stephen Strange walks to the front. There are a handful of magicians who travel from village to village to reveal the soul markings of all who are past the age of twenty and still unmarked, as well as take care of any other magical mishaps, but only the Sorcerer Supreme would be fit for the prince.
King Howard and Queen Maria step back, and Tony stands alone, commanding the attention of the entire atrium. Tony smiles, at ease, and winks for the crowd.
“Prince Anthony,” Strange begins, “it is both my honor and duty to reveal your soul markings. Do you consent to your coloring?”
Tony casts a quick glance to the side, and Bucky blinks as they meet gazes once again.
“I consent and will accept my markings,” Tony promises, gaze back on Strange.
Bucky stares, but Tony doesn’t look his way again.
Strange nods and his hands begin to move. “May your colors grown in quickly and remain vivid,” he says in the age-old tradition.
Tony bows his head, as if Strange’s magic weighs upon him. Then Bucky realizes that Tony is simply staring at his chest, where the coloring always starts.
Bucky tries to remain alert for any signs of danger. Now, with everyone fully occupied in staring at Tony, would be the time to stage an attack, but Bucky darts glances back at the growing circle of light in front of Tony’s chest.
At first, Bucky thinks he’s deluding himself with his fantasy again. He blinks and pinches himself, but the bright blue color swirling in front of Tony’s chest doesn’t change to anything with red.
The crowd gasps, whispers starting, and that’s when Bucky starts to believe his own eyes.
Soul markings change in color tint often enough to be common place. A lightening or darkening of the color is not unheard of. Extreme moments of joy or grief might bring in a slightly new color, shifting a purple to having more of a red undertone, or perhaps introducing more blue into a green. Shifting colors completely from an expected red to a true, vivid blue… That type of color shift is mythical.
“Hmm, that looks ‘cerulean blue’ to me. Do you concur?” Tony asks as he considers the colored ball of light still floating in front of his chest.
“Close enough,” Strange says. “Spread your wings, prince,” and his hands pull apart.
The ball of color pulls apart with them, flying back to coat the bottom feathers on Tony’s spread wings. The color will stick for the first few days, after which Tony’s own feathers should begin to change in color to match. The bright blue feathers - still not red - shine against the bright gold on the rest of Tony’s wings.
“Strange! What happened? This is not even close to the color from before!” King Howard hisses as he strides up to the sorcerer.
The room, supposed to be packed full of potential soul matches to court Tony, are all reds and oranges and purples. None of which are good fits for the bright, vivid blue that adorns Tony’s wings.
“No, it isn’t, is it?” Strange muses, smirk tugging at his lips.
“I’ve changed, Father. A simple explanation,” Tony says lightly. “That test was so long ago.”
Then Tony turns to Bucky, a smile stretched from ear to ear.
“Sir Barnes. Your colors indicate you might be a potential match. Would you do me the honor of a flight?”
Bucky steps forward and takes a knee in front of Tony. He picks up Tony’s hand and kisses the back of it, ignoring Howard’s glare and arched, angry maroon wings. Soul matching are supposed to transcend class boundaries - more of a dream than a reality, an illusion because even perfect matches can be ignored for wealth or propriety - but it is enough to allow a common-born knight the chance to fly with the prince, and Bucky will take it.
“It would be my honor, my prince,” Bucky says, warmth in his tone and in his eyes as he rises to his feet.
There will be more battles to come later. The king and queen can demand more suitors, of proper colorings, to attend to Tony. They can attempt to halt their matching, though Bucky and Tony’s colorings are near perfect. But for now, Bucky takes Tony into the open air of the atrium, and he puts every feather he has, soul-blue and gray alike, into performing the best courtship dance the Stark kingdom has ever seen.
